Gospel Story Finder

My name is Koshi. I live near the Sapporo Japan Temple. I loved sitting by a window in my house and watching the temple be built.
During the open house, I invited my good friend to come with us. He thought everything was beautiful.
I like to think of the temple dedication as its birthday. That day was also my birthday. And President Monson’s too! My parents and I got to be in the temple when it was dedicated. I even got to meet President Nelson.
I am so grateful to live near the temple. When I have hard days at school, I can walk through the grounds on my way home. I feel Heavenly Father’s love for me when I am there. I look forward to when I can go inside to do baptisms and later get married there.

“Mommy, Daddy,” Colin said, “get up!”
He tugged harder at his parents’ puffy blue quilt.
Mommy opened her eye for a second, then snapped it shut. Daddy rolled over and said, “Colin, why are you up so early?” Daddy’s voice croaked like a frog, the way it always did in the morning.
“Because I just remembered something important.”
Mommy opened both eyes, and this time she kept them open. “What did you remember?”
“I’m supposed to give the scripture today in Primary.”
Daddy groped for his glasses on the night table, and Mommy pulled the covers tightly around her. “I wish you’d told us yesterday when we were getting ready for Sunday,” she mumbled.
Colin wished that he’d remembered too. But he hadn’t. Maybe it was because he’d never said the scripture before. He hadn’t been in Primary very long.
Daddy rolled out of bed. “Well, Colin, let’s go find a scripture. You can learn one right now and still have plenty of time to get ready for church.”
Daddy and Colin went into the living room and got down the big brown Bible. “How about this one?” Dad said. “Matthew 19:14 [Matt. 19:14]—‘Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’”
“That’s a nice scripture,” Colin said.
“Do you know what it means?” Daddy asked.
“Not exactly, but I think it means that Jesus loves kids,” Colin answered.
“You’re right,” Daddy said. “When some parents had brought their children to be blessed by Jesus, his followers, called disciples, tried to turn them away. But Jesus told them to let the children come to him.”
“That’s a perfect scripture for Primary,” Colin said. “Besides, it’s short.”
Daddy laughed and helped Colin learn the scripture. They worked on it for quite a while. Colin said it slowly and loudly, just like Daddy told him to, until he could say it perfectly. He was ready.
A few hours later, when Colin was sitting in Primary, Sister Marlowe asked him if he was ready with his scripture. Colin grinned and said, “I sure am. I’ve been practicing all morning.”
Sister Marlowe looked happy and asked Colin to sit in the front.
At first it was fun to sit there and look at the other children. Then he noticed how many people there were. The rows were full of children and teachers. Some of the girls and boys were little, like Colin—but some were big! Those big kids won’t listen to me, he thought. They might even laugh at me.
Just then Sister Marlowe announced, “Colin Samuels will give our scripture now.”
Colin walked to the microphone. His knees shook, and his hands were sweaty. His heart pounded so loudly that he wondered if everyone could hear it.
At the microphone, he took a big breath and started to say his scripture. But nothing came out. Not a single word. Colin couldn’t remember anything.
The room got very quiet. Colin was the quietest of all. He felt as if hundreds of eyes were staring at him.
One of the teachers coughed. Colin’s teacher, Sister Lopez, smiled. His best friend, Jacob, squirmed in his chair.
Colin looked at his mommy and daddy sitting in the back row. Daddy was trying to tell him something, but Colin couldn’t tell what it was. Mommy was smiling at him, but she looked a little worried.
Colin turned to Sister Marlowe and whispered, “I can’t remember.” Then he went back to his seat and sat down. His face was burning, and he felt like he was going to cry. How could he have forgotten? He knew it so well when Primary had started.
Sister Marlowe stood up and said, “You know, boys and girls, sometimes if we don’t say something out loud, Heavenly Father still hears us and knows what is in our hearts.”
Colin thought about Heavenly Father listening. Please help me, he prayed in his mind. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Suddenly he remembered his scripture. He jumped up and walked to the microphone. Sister Marlowe looked surprised but put her arm around his shoulders and stood with him while he spoke into the microphone.
Colin looked straight at his daddy and mommy. “Matthew 19:14—‘Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’” [Matt. 19:14]
Every word was exactly as he’d practiced it. Daddy and Mommy both smiled. Sister Lopez smiled and winked. Jacob grinned. Even the big kids smiled.
Colin sat down. His knees didn’t shake any more, and his heart stopped thundering. With Heavenly Father’s help, he’d done it! He’d remembered his scripture! He grinned at everyone in Primary—even at the big kids.

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared a childhood experience that impressed upon him the importance of a loving family. When he and his brothers were boys, their mother had radical cancer surgery that made it very painful for her to use her right arm. With a family of boys, there was a lot of ironing, but as his mother ironed, she often stopped and went into the bedroom to cry until the pain subsided.
When Elder Christofferson’s father realized what was happening, he secretly went without lunches for almost a year to save enough money to buy a machine that made ironing easier. Out of his love for his wife, he set an example of nurturing within families for his boys. Of this tender interaction, Elder Christofferson said, “I was not aware of my father’s sacrifice and act of love for my mother at the time, but now that I know, I say to myself, ‘There is a man.’”4

I was not prepared for my brother’s phone call. “Mom just passed away,” he said. “She fell and hit her head.”
I was shocked. My mom was gone at age 60, and I had just talked with her the night before. I kept asking myself why this had happened. I couldn’t understand why she had to leave me. I was angry! I dwelled on my anger for several weeks.
Eventually, I decided who was to blame. It was God’s fault. He took her away from me too soon. My mom missed many milestones in my life, and I thought it was because of Him. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I was a devout Christian. Instead of relying on God for strength, I turned away from Him and shut Him out of my life.
I missed my mom so much. As I was growing up, my home with my parents was a safe place. No matter where I was or what I was doing, every time I talked with my mom or spent time with her, I felt at home. Now that “at home” feeling I loved was gone.
Years went by, and I lost my faith almost entirely. I tried to understand why my mom had to die, but nothing brought me peace. Then, for about one week, the following thought repeatedly came to my mind: I needed to look heavenward for understanding. I told this to my dear friend who was a member of the Church. She asked if I would like to learn more about her faith.
I didn’t realize it right away, but the Spirit woke up my soul from a sound sleep. The more I learned about the gospel, the more I felt I had found a safe place again. The feeling of being “at home” returned.
I was baptized in May 2013. I am grateful that my faith returned. I no longer turn my back on God. Instead, I embrace Him. I am still saddened by my mom’s sudden passing, but because of my faith in God, I know that I will one day be “at home” with my mom and my family forever.

Lucius and his mother settled into a new home in a small town. Lucius’s dad had died the year before, and his mother had to work long hours to support the two of them.
Lucius didn’t know anyone at church. Some of the children at school looked at him strangely. He noticed that everyone at church and school was white. He looked at his own dark skin and, for the first time in his life, saw a color difference.
When his mother arrived at school one afternoon to walk Lucius home, some children threw rocks at them. One rock hit his mother in the head, and the gash started bleeding. Lucius ran inside the school and grabbed a paper towel. He darted back outside and pressed it to his mother’s head.
All the while, Lucius prayed as he had learned at home and at church. Tears crowded his eyes as he thought of how his mother had put him behind her, protecting him from the rocks with her own body.
“I’m fine,” she said, holding the paper towel against her head.
Lucius knew his mother would never complain. He put an arm around her waist while they walked home.
“I don’t want to stay here,” he said when they arrived. “You said that people here were nice, but they’re not.”
“We can be angry, or we can go on being friendly,” his mother said. “Remember that there are lots of good people in the world and right here in our town.”
That evening, Lucius saw people walking up the sidewalk to his house. They carried cakes and pies.
The first woman handed him a white cake. “Please take this and enjoy it,” she said.
Before Lucius could thank her, the next person in line gave his mother a chocolate cake. “We want you to know that what happened to you is not who we are.”
“Looks like we’re going to have a party,” his mother said. She smiled widely and cut into the chocolate cake. She continued serving pieces of cake and pie until every one had been fed. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate our new home and new friends.”
Lucius never forgot his mother’s example. He graduated from high school and went to college. He wrote books about people getting along and looking beyond the color of their skin.
Years later, Lucius returned to the town where he had gone to school. A classmate who worked at his old school asked him to speak to the students.
Lucius told the story of the rock-throwing incident and his mother’s reaction to it. “You have the power to make a difference by deciding to love your neighbor,” he told the students. “Just as my mother did and just as Jesus taught.”

Lucy also exercised faith and liberally drew upon the power of God to heal her from physical affliction. While living in Kirtland, Ohio, she made a concerted effort to study the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants. Then, an accident occurred in her home, where she fell down the stairs face first and severely bruised her head. Her eyes became inflamed until she went blind. The ensuing distress Lucy endured for days was indescribable. Turning to priesthood power when medical remedies had failed, Lucy called upon elders to administer to her. Instead of asking for the restoration of her sight, Lucy asked for something better. She requested that the elders ask God to not only heal her eyes but ensure she would never have to use glasses again. After the elders administered to her and removed their hands from her head, Lucy read a passage in the Book of Mormon and never wore glasses again.7

Part of the power for the participants seems to come from the hill itself, like the mythological tale of the giant Anteaus who received all of his strength only while he was touching the earth. One could not help but be humbled while selling a copy of the Book of Mormon on the very hill from which the records in it were uncovered years before. I myself was caught up in the zeal of it and put myself to the test several times.
For instance, there was the man who helped me out on the freeway when I ran out of gas. In payment for the gas I thought I might as well give him the gospel—it was the least I could do. By the end of an hour he had enthusiastically agreed to see the missionaries. Among the audience, my favorite tracting trick was to claim I was a representative from a magazine (which I was) that was interested in nonmember opinions of Mormons. If they had no opinions to give, then I offered to inform them about the religion and get their opinions along the way. It worked great! At no time, though, did I do anything extraordinary except try to be an instrument of the Lord.

Some years ago a brilliant and highly educated young woman spoke in Berchtesgaden, Germany, to a conference of military personnel who were members of the Church. I was there and heard her. She was a major in the army, a medical doctor, a highly respected specialist in her field. She said:
“More than anything else in the world I wanted to serve God. But try as I might I could not find him. The miracle of it all is that he found me. One Saturday afternoon in September 1969 I was at home in Berkeley, California, and heard my doorbell ring. There were two young men there, dressed in suits, with white shirts and ties. Their hair was neatly combed. I was so impressed with them that I said: `I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll buy it.’ One of the young men said: `We aren’t selling anything. We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we would like to talk with you.’ I invited them to come in, and they spoke about their faith.
“This was the beginning of my testimony. I am thankful beyond words for the privilege and honor of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and peace this glad gospel has brought to my heart is heaven on earth. My testimony of this work is the most precious thing in my life, a gift from my Heavenly Father, for which I will be eternally thankful.”

Because I’ve spent many years mingling with nonmembers, entertaining and being entertained by them, I’m often asked how a member of the Church should respond when confronted with a conflict of standards, particularly in regard to the Word of Wisdom. Perhaps the best way to answer the question is to relate some of the ways I’ve handled the problem and share some of the principles I’ve learned from my experiences.
Let me first address the problems a host may face when entertaining nonmember friends.
Today, my wife and I simply request that visitors in our home observe the Word of Wisdom. We have no ash trays, and serve no coffee or alcohol. I even ask friends not to smoke in the car I drive and the small planes I fly. None are offended. But it wasn’t always that easy.
I remember a tough time when we were just married. I was barely back from my mission and had accepted a position with one of the most important international banks in the world. They sent us to South America, where we were expected to entertain friends of the bank and many dignitaries. I learned something fundamental about different cultures during those years. Every culture devises social forms and rituals to communicate hospitality, friendliness, and acceptance. Some of these rituals fit comfortably with the Word of Wisdom, but others do not. We found, however, in nearly every situation, as both hosts and guests, that we could modify the content of these social rituals and come up with something that would still let us participate warmly and sincerely in the friendliness implied in the ritual.
For example, there’s the delicate business of formal champagne toasts in traditional champagne glasses. When I was a guest, I would ask the head waiter for juice instead of champagne. All you need to do is talk to him when you arrive. Do not wait until the moment of the toast because you cannot ask the whole party and the host to wait for you. A tip to the head waiter helps him remember who you are. It also helps to tell him where you will be standing if there is a large group of people.
When an LDS member is the host and needs to offer a toast, the problem is more conspicuous. I solved the problem successfully for the first time in Paraguay, and used that formula from then on. At a major banquet in which I had to offer a toast to the president of the country, to his cabinet ministers, and to Paraguay as our host country, I decided to use water. In Paraguay one of the bank’s clients was the new municipal water system, which for the first time in that country’s history produced a pure, fine-tasting uncontaminated water. At the appropriate time, I lifted my champagne glass full of water and announced to the assembled important people, “I don’t know what you have in your glasses, but in mine I have the purest of liquids—water from the municipal water system of Asuncion—and I lift my glass in a cordial toast to his Excellency, the President,” etc., etc. The compliment was sincere, and it worked very well. They laughed, and no one ever forgot that “Mormon Toast.”
As hosts, we had two styles. According to our agreement with the bank, we entertained “bank style” for business purposes when they paid the bill—the waiters, the caterers, etc. But there were many occasions when business friends would drop in unexpectedly and we would invite them to dinner. We would say, “You’re here as our friends, and we want to treat you as family.” We would serve them only what we were serving the family—no coffee, no drinks.
At other times, when it was a special affair of our own, such as a party for relatives or visiting Church dignitaries from Salt Lake City, we would tell our guests in advance that this was to be a “Mormon party” and they would understand what was expected of them. Nearly always, if some smoked, they had simply forgotten and would go outside when given a gentle reminder.
Being a host has a different set of problems than being a guest in a nonmembers home. It’s a lot easier to be a guest. Our hosts bent over backward to make us feel comfortable, and we tried to help them. We found that juices, not milk, are the easiest substitute for coffee. I found that when our hosts asked, “Coffee?” they really wanted us to feel comfortable and were perfectly happy to take care of us if we answered, “No, thanks, but do you have any juice?” If they didn’t have any juice, we simply reassured them that we really didn’t need anything. But the next time we were in their home, they always had some juices on hand. In most countries there are now hot cereal-based beverages or herb “teas” that are easy substitutes for coffee or tea.
I sometimes used the same approach with wine at formal dinners, asking for unfermented grape juice instead. They usually didn’t have it the first time, but they did the second time. We found out that almost everyone wanted to try our unfermented grape juices with their dinners. We didn’t try to be furtive about it. We just made it part of the enjoyable dinner conversation.
Hostesses who were inviting us to their parties usually called to ask if we had any preferences of juices; if there were other things we couldn’t eat, such as ham; or if we were vegetarians. We always explained at each opportunity what our Word of Wisdom was, and they were usually relieved that it was so simple.
Tobacco was never a problem. People don’t smoke to be sociable. There may be some societies where there is a tobacco protocol, but I have not encountered them. Abstinence is a sign of wisdom in the international social circles I have been in.
There is one occasional moment of very high protocol, however, which is a bit of a problem unless you are forewarned. That is in those very elegant homes where they serve high tea, a ritual usually reserved for intimate family members and close friends of the family. The tremendous formality and protocol of the whole affair are most impressive, almost symbolic. The tea service is ornate sterling silver, sometimes dating back hundreds of years. The cups and saucers are of the most delicate imported bone china. The hostess has her place, and a matron of honor is chosen to help her pour the tea from the pot or hot water on to tea bags in the cups. The hostess looks at you and says, “One sugar or two?”
One answer is just to say, “Neither thanks, but a lovely hot lemon tea would be nice.” That makes it easy for them to just pour the boiling water over the lemon slice always available, and you could enjoy it and the delicious pastries arranged on silver platters in front of you.
In my experience I have never found it necessary to avoid a social situation because of the Word of Wisdom. If there wasn’t an easy way or a humorous way, there was never anything wrong with the direct way: “No, thanks.” No one ever said anything other than, “Can I get you something else?”
I have never found any cause for uneasiness or embarrassment in observing the Word of Wisdom. I have never found a host or hostess who was not totally interested in serving exactly what we wanted. No one ever questioned our standards; in fact, I do not remember a social occasion in which we were not asked to explain our religion, and most of the time it was the Word of Wisdom that started the conversation. As I perceived it, we always had the respect of our friends and colleagues for our position.

During my youth I had cultivated my spiritual soil. I had planted the seed of prayer in my heart and had felt the growth of knowing that there is a God and that he answers prayers. I had planted the seed of service by home teaching and performing other Church tasks, and I had felt the growth that told me that there is joy in such deeds and that in serving my fellow beings I was truly in the service of my God. I had paid my tithing and had felt the joy of having the windows of heaven opened to me.

Because of these and other thoughts and feelings and commitments, I was in a springtime condition when I planted a mightier seed than I had ever planted before. I accepted the call to serve a mission.

After my bishop announced to me that the Lord would like me to serve a mission, I left his office and went directly to the service station where I worked and told my boss that I was going on a mission. He replied, “That’s good. It’s great training. You’ll be able to speak up and have a lot more confidence when you come home.” Then he added, “Just don’t stand up in church and say you know the gospel is true, because you can’t know that. Those who say such a thing are liars. They don’t know it’s true.” I could not tell him at the time that I knew the Church was true, but I did tell him that I thought it was.

The most abundant harvest came for me some two months after I arrived in England as a missionary. Those first weeks were difficult, and I had been homesick and heartsick. But at the same time I had an intense desire to be a good missionary. I had been assigned to tell the Joseph Smith story to the other seven missionaries in the Hull District. I stood up to recite that which I had diligently and prayerfully prepared and planted within my heart. At first my message was just words, but then something happened. I felt a swelling within my soul which filled me with such joy I could scarcely speak. In my heart I could see the Sacred Grove and I could see Joseph Smith and I could see that he could see God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Then I knew it was good and was true. I didn’t think anymore that the Church was true—I knew. When I returned from my mission, I said in the presence of my former boss that I knew the Church was true. To have not done so would have been a denial of the very real harvest that had grown within me.

Prior to and in the early days of my mission I had desired to know the Church was true. Yet it had not been my main all-consuming concern. The big issue for me was the heartfelt desire to be a good missionary. As I sought after that goal, almost from the sidelines instead of from head-on, I came to know that the Church was true.

I have had the frightening experience of feeling lost more than once. When I was very little, I went to Salt Lake City, Utah, with my parents. I had never seen such a big city. My mother, who thought that I was with my dad, went into a store. My dad, thinking that I was with my mother, stayed outside to wait while she shopped. But I just kept walking down the street. Before I knew it, I was half a block away and didn’t see a single familiar face or place. I didn’t know what to do. I was petrified with fear. My parents quickly realized I was gone, however, and it took them only a few minutes to find me.

Colonel Thomas Kane, a special representative of James Polk, president of the United States, visited the Mormon pioneers in 1846 while they camped in Iowa, preparing to cross the Missouri River. He had read newspaper articles about the Saints, describing how they had frequently been persecuted and driven from their homes. As he walked through the woods near the outskirts of the camp, he came upon a lone pioneer who was secretly praying. Thomas stood quietly listening to the man humbly express thanks for the restored gospel and petition for the Saints’ protection during their travels.
Thomas was very moved by this experience, and he became a lifelong friend of the Mormons, although he never joined the Church.

I was only 12 years old when the missionaries arrived for the first time to preach in the city where I was born in northern Chile. One Sunday, after I had been attending the small branch for six months, a missionary offered me the bread as he was passing the sacrament. I looked at him and softly said, “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he replied.
I told him, “Because I am not a member of the Church.”1
The missionary couldn’t believe it. His eyes were shining. I suppose he thought, “But this young man is in every single meeting! How can he not be a member of the Church?”
The following day, the missionaries were in my home, and they did everything they could to teach my whole family. But since my family was not interested, it was only my weekly Church attendance for more than six months that made the missionaries feel confident enough to continue. Finally, the great moment I had been waiting for came when they invited me to become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. The missionaries explained to me that since I was a minor, I would need my parents’ permission. I went with the missionaries to see my father, thinking that his loving answer would be “Son, when you are of legal age, you will be able to make your own decisions.”
While the missionaries spoke with him, I prayed fervently for his heart to be touched so he would give me the permission I wanted. His answer to the missionaries was the following: “Elders, over the past six months, I have seen my son Jorge get up early every Sunday morning, put on his best clothes, and walk to church. I have seen only a good influence from the Church in his life.” Then, addressing me, he surprised me by saying, “Son, if you will be responsible for this decision, then you have my permission to be baptized.” I hugged my father, gave him a kiss, and thanked him for what he was doing. The next day I was baptized. Last week was the 47th anniversary of that important moment in my life.
How grateful and happy I am for the decision that my father let me make 47 years ago. Over time, I have come to understand that the condition he gave me—to be responsible for that decision—meant being responsible to my Heavenly Father and seeking my own salvation and that of my fellowmen, thereby becoming more as my Father expects and wants me to become. On this very special day, I testify that God our Father and His Beloved Son live. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“Look at those clouds,” Mom said as she looked out the car window. “I hope that it doesn’t rain.”
“Look at those hills,” Dad said cheerfully. “They mean we are almost to the Missouri River.”
I sighed. We had been riding in the car for over two hours on our way to Omaha, Nebraska, from our home in the center of Iowa. My brother and I were crowded between packs of clothing and the food we were taking for our two-day stay. We were going to the cornerstone-laying and dedication of the Winter Quarters Temple. I could hardly wait to get my first glimpse of our new temple and to see our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley.
I thought about my ancestor, Sarah Anne Nixon, who was just about my age when she crossed Iowa on her way to Winter Quarters 155 years ago. What was it like for her?
September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi RiverTremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.
“May I eat some of the crackers and cheese?” my brother asked. “I’m starving.”
“We’re almost there,” Dad assured him. “We’ll have a big lunch soon.”
We had been in the Chicago Illinois Temple district, and it took all day to drive there. I am glad we don’t have as far to go now. We had been praying for a new temple closer to us, and the Lord heard our prayers.
October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”
Mom started humming a hymn in the front seat of the car. I recognized the tune. It was “Now Let Us Rejoice.”
“Is that one of the hymns you memorized?” I asked her. She was singing in the choir at the cornerstone-laying ceremony. I knew she had to rely on her memory because the choir would not be using books.
“Yes. Memorizing the hymns wasn’t easy, but it has become a real blessing to me. It made me think more about the meaning of the words. I realized that these songs are about the promises given in the temple. So I am singing about my fondest hopes and dreams.”
I could see tears in the corner of her eye, and I felt my own heart grow warm. When I turned to look out the window, I saw a sign that said “Mormon Bridge.” We were nearly there.
November 15, 1846—Mama died todayWe buried her beside the trail on the plains of Iowa. We were unable to stop in Mt. Pisgah because they had no room, so our rescue company pressed on toward Winter Quarters. Now I must be mother to Thomas, Harriet, Margaret, and baby Rose. My oldest brother, John, says that we must not lose faith. Papa and Mama were sealed together in the Nauvoo Temple. This thought alone seems to comfort Papa. It comforts me as well.
While waiting for the ceremony, we visited the pioneer cemetery on the temple grounds. We read the names of hundreds of people who died here so long ago. But it is not really a sad place—it is a reverent place, like inside a church. We spoke softly about these pioneers and about what they endured for their beliefs. Because of them, we, their descendants, are now able to build temples and worship God freely. I am grateful.
December 1846—Winter QuartersWe have settled as best we can into a log hut. It is a rude dwelling, but we are better off than most. This is not our final home, but for now we are grateful for time to gather again as Saints. I wish Mama was here, but I feel she is watching over us. When the spring comes, I will finish the journey that my mother began, for her dream has now become my own.
The rain stopped while the choir sang, and we were able to put down our umbrellas. During the ceremony, I looked up at the windows in the temple. In the stained glass are pictures of rivers, trees, pioneers, and Native Americans. Looking at these windows is almost like looking at a beautiful vision of the past.
I saw the prophet today. He cried when he talked about the pioneers and the sacrifices they made in Nauvoo, in Iowa, and here in Winter Quarters. He said that he felt that they were here in spirit, watching us this day. Then he invited all the children to come up and put some cement onto the cornerstone after he was done. But I was content to watch. My heart was full.
I am glad I was here today. I feel happy inside. I believe that whatever happens to me in my life, I can be strong and faithful like the pioneers, just as long as I remember this place and this day.
“In a message about the pioneers who crossed the plains over a century ago, President J. Reuben Clark spoke words that apply to pioneers in every age. …
“‘They were pioneers in word and thought and act and faith. … God keep their memories ever fresh among us … to help us meet our duties even as they met theirs.’”Elder Dallin H. OaksOf the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles(Ensign, November 1989, page 64.)

This promise has been fulfilled for thousands of PEF participants, including Pablo Benitez of Uruguay. Pablo was working 12-hour days at a grocery store, barely scraping together a living, when he decided to change his life. He started attending school, but as the cost of tuition and fees increased, he found he was unable to finance his education alone.
Through PEF he was able to complete a degree in physical education. As a result, he has received several jobs over the years, each one improving his income. He even reports, “I often receive job offers for full-time work or substituting for others that I cannot accept because I do not have enough time. And all of this is thanks to the PEF and to the chances that opened up to me because of my schooling.”
Because of opportunities gained through education, Pablo can support his family while serving and building his community as a teacher.

Emma ran into the living room. It was time for family home evening.
“Kyle is going to a new school,” Daddy said. “So I am going to give him a father’s blessing. I will give you a blessing too, Emma.”
“A blessing is a way for Heavenly Father to tell you things He wants you to hear,” Mommy said.
First it was Kyle’s turn. He sat in a chair. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. Daddy put his hands on Kyle’s head. Emma folded her arms too.
Daddy said Kyle’s full name. He said he was blessing him by the power of the priesthood. Then he said, “I bless you that you’ll be able to do well at school.”
What will Heavenly Father tell me? Emma wondered as she listened to the rest of the blessing.
Soon Daddy said, “OK, Emma, it’s your turn.”
He helped her climb onto the chair. She folded her arms. She closed her eyes tight. Daddy put his hands on her head. He said lots of happy things in the blessing. Emma felt like she was getting a big, warm hug.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Daddy said. He took his hands off her head.
“What do you remember from your blessing?” Mommy asked.
Question for You
When have you felt Heavenly Father’s love?
“Daddy said that Heavenly Father thinks I’m special!” Emma said. She felt warm in her heart. She knew it was true.
Mommy smiled. “You are special,” she said. “And Heavenly Father loves you.”

Julie Loper, the Mia Maid adviser in the Sunnyside Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, shared this story: “My husband and I concentrated one of our family home evenings on what to do in case of an emergency. Since our children were so young, we felt the most important thing to tell them was to get help as fast as they could. We made up several situations, acted them out, and tested our children to see if they understood.
“Little did we know that the following Wednesday our efforts would pay off. Our daughter, Erin, 15 months old, fell into a four-foot-deep irrigation box that had a great deal of water rushing through it. Three-year-old Ryan was just coming out of the house when he heard her cries.
“All Ryan could see was her fingertips holding onto the cement. He did not take time to investigate further, but immediately called me for help as we had discussed the week before in home evening. Those valuable seconds saved made the difference. I was able to reach her before she was forced down into the pipe which carries water onto other farms.
“Had Ryan waited before going for help, Erin’s strength would have gone before help arrived. If he had attempted to pull her up himself, probably both of them would have fallen in. Ryan said, ‘Family night helped me know what to do.’”

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’
“But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.

Just before dusk on September 12, a party of missionaries returning from the British Mission arrived in camp. They were led by Elder Franklin D. Richards (1821–99) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, my wife’s great-great-grandfather. When Elder Richards and the others saw the difficulties of the handcart company, they promised to hurry on to the Salt Lake Valley and send back help as soon as possible.
When the Franklin D. Richards party reached Salt Lake City, they immediately reported to President Young the precarious condition of the immigrants. The Saints in the valley had not expected more immigrants until the following year, and news of their plight spread like wildfire.
Two days later, October 6, 1856, general conference was held in the Old Tabernacle. From the pulpit, President Young made the call for men, food, and supplies in mule- or horse-drawn wagons to leave the following day to render assistance.2

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.