Gospel Story Finder

Lockyer L., age 11, Queensland, Australia
After watching my five older brothers be baptized, I longed for my baptism day. I felt very happy when it was my turn to make my baptismal covenant!

A second point of concurrence is avoiding pregnancies in unwed mothers. Unfortunately, the world’s “final solution” is abortion. Abortion, like unchastity, produces, as Jacob so eloquently wrote of unchastity, conditions in which many hearts die, “pierced with deep wounds” (Jacob 2:35). Listen to these sounds of pain put in the form of questions to me by a young woman who had two abortions:
“I wonder about the spirits of those I have aborted—if they were there, if they were hurt. I was under three months each time, but a mother feels life before she feels movement.
“I wonder if they are lost and alone.
“I wonder if they will ever have a body.
“I wonder if I will ever have a chance again to bring those spirits back as mine.”
Alas, brothers and sisters, “wickedness never was happiness” (Alma 41:10).

When I studied experiences in Church history, I realized that I might not be the only one who has felt this way. I found hope in the story of William W. Phelps, who was an author, missionary, and leader of the early Restoration. He was a good man. He preached the gospel wherever he traveled and became a trusted member of the Missouri High Council. William was also a close friend of Joseph Smith.
Which is why his betrayal of Joseph was particularly painful.
In 1838, mobs and militiamen attacked and pillaged the Saints in Missouri, destroying homes and beating resisters. In the aftermath, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders were arrested for baseless crimes. Afraid of being prosecuted alongside them, William W. Phelps and several others made a deal with the prosecutor: testify against Joseph Smith and go free.
Under oath, William joined others in bearing false testimony against the Prophet. After the trial, Joseph and other Church leaders were incarcerated in Liberty Jail. While William left the courthouse a free man, he felt the weight of his actions on his shoulders. Several years later, Joseph Smith received a letter from William asking Joseph for forgiveness.
“I am as the prodigal son,” wrote William. “I have been greatly abased and humbled.”
The Prophet wrote back, “Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal.”
Joseph Smith was filled with compassion for William. Just as the father celebrated the return of the prodigal in the scriptures (see Luke 15:11–32), so too did the Saints receive William Phelps back into the fold.
Repentance and forgiveness for William—which likely seemed impossible to him—was now a reality. And it can be a reality for us too!
Joseph Smith acknowledged the pain that William had caused: “We have suffered much in consequence of your behavior—the cup of gall, already full enough for mortals to drink, was indeed filled to overflowing when you turned against us.”
But Joseph continued, “However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Father has been done.”
Joseph recognized that William’s sins had been paid for and that there was no need for William to suffer any longer. William’s repentance to Heavenly Father could free him from guilt.

Among the early converts in Kenya were two brothers, Benson and Nickson Kasue. When Benson was about eighteen years old, he was introduced to the gospel by the Dennis Childs family of the United States. Brother Childs was a veterinarian on a research project in Kenya and hired Benson to work for him. A warm friendship ensued, and Benson became interested in the Church. He then introduced his brother to the gospel. When the first missionaries came to Kenya, the brothers studied with them and requested baptism. But “it looked like that was never going to happen,” he says, “because the Church had been denied registration in our country. I waited for about four years. I did everything I could do, but I wasn’t baptized. I thought maybe God was testing me. I prayed and fasted, and prayed and fasted.”

Because the Church was denied official recognition, special permission was required from government authorities before anyone could be baptized. In 1985, approval was given for private baptisms in homes, and the Kasue brothers were finally baptized. In 1986 Benson and Nickson became the first Kenyans to serve full-time missions—Benson in California and Nickson in Washington, D.C.

After their missions, both Benson and Nickson married in the temple and continued sharing the gospel. Among those they introduced to the Church was their older brother, Julius. After four years of investigation, Julius joined the Church and moved back to his village of Chyulu, a rural area about 250 kilometers southeast of Nairobi, Kenya. Julius and his wife, Sabina, became the nucleus of a branch there. The experience of the Chyulu Saints is representative of the faith found among the new congregations being established throughout Africa.

Let me give you an example. A mother was diagnosed with cancer. Soon she began treatment, and immediately, the Relief Society sisters went to work, planning how to best help with meals, transportation to medical appointments, and other support. They visited her regularly, providing cheerful companionship. At the same time, the Melchizedek Priesthood quorum sprang into action. They provided labor in adding a remodeled bedroom and bathroom to make it easier to care for the sick sister. The young men lent their hands and backs to participate in that significant effort. And the young women got involved: they cheerfully arranged to faithfully walk the dog each day. As time passed, the ward continued their service, adding and adapting where necessary. It was clearly a labor of love, each member giving of him or herself, unitedly showing caring in individual ways that blessed not only the suffering sister but each member of her family.

After a valiant effort, the sister finally succumbed to the cancer and was laid to rest. Did the ward breathe a sigh of relief and consider the job well done and well over? No, the young women continue to walk the dog daily, the priesthood quorums continue to minister to the father and his family, and the Relief Society sisters continue to reach out in love to ascertain strengths and needs. Brothers and sisters, this is ministering—this is loving as the Savior does!

Michael and his friend Daniel were having fun playing with cars in Michael’s room.
Daniel, I talked to your mother. She said you can stay for dinner.
Yes!
Go wash your hands and come sit at the dinner table.
After washing their hands, Michael and Daniel sat down at the table.
This looks yummy.
Daniel, don’t eat yet.
Why not?
We need to say a prayer first. Dad, can Daniel say the prayer?
He’s welcome to say it if he wants to.
I don’t really know how.
I can help you.
OK.
You just need to close your eyes, bow your head, fold your arms, and tell Heavenly Father that we are thankful for the food and for other good things. Then you say, “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Daniel closed his eyes, folded his arms, and bowed his head. He said a short prayer.
How was that?
Good. You are good at praying.
Yes, he is, Michael. And you are good at teaching.

As I sat across from a member of the stake presidency, my heart started pounding. I had felt jumpy since the stake clerk had called to set an appointment. Would he know I was not worthy to serve?

I had decided that some sins would be easier to take to the judgment bar of God than to reveal here on earth, thinking it would be selfish to disclose things that would bring pain or embarrassment to my wife. Better to overcome them by myself and live with the burden. The only problem was that I couldn’t overcome them on my own.

I sat there as the counselor in the stake presidency extended a call to serve. He asked, “Brother, would you accept this calling?” How I wanted to shout, “Yes!” Instead, almost involuntarily, I heard myself say, “I cannot; I need to clear up some sins.”

Anxiety and relief poured into me simultaneously as I confessed the general nature of the sin. He asked if I had spoken with my bishop. “No.” My wife? “No.” He shook my hand, smiled, told me he was proud of me for confessing, and directed me to talk with the bishop and my wife.

I obeyed, telling my wife first—thereby eliminating my biggest fear. She still loved me! Yes, she was upset, and we would have to work out some things, but she loved me and encouraged me to visit the bishop.

When I went to see the bishop, he immediately welcomed me into his office. With difficulty, I tried to articulate why I was there. After hiding my sins so long, I hardly knew where to start. He lovingly encouraged me to come clean. I explained the general nature of my sins and asked for time to provide the full inventory of my misdeeds. He readily agreed.

I still had yet to fully confess, but I felt the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders. I also felt a renewed hope of freedom, finally, from this burden.

I spent the next weeks praying, reading the scriptures, and creating my inventory to present to both my bishop and my Heavenly Father. First I took my list to Heavenly Father, with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, to let Him know I was sorry and sincerely desired to change. I set another appointment with the bishop and shared my list in its entirety. He didn’t frown, yell, or chastise me; instead, he gave me a big hug. He let me know of his love and the Lord’s love, informing me that I was now on the path of true repentance. I knew it was true.

Confessing my sins, formerly my biggest fear, became one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. It was the first step for me to truly understand the gift and the healing power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

I was really touched by the second one I watched: “Dare to Stand Alone,” with a story from President Thomas S. Monson.
In this short clip, President Monson described his experience at Navy boot camp. On his first Sunday afternoon there, the chief petty officer directed them where to attend their churches. He sent the Catholics to one building, the Jews to another, and the Protestants to yet another. President Monson didn’t know where to go, since he was not any of those religions, so he just stood his ground feeling completely alone. “Courageous and determined, yes—but alone,” he said.
The officer came up to him and asked, “And just what do you guys call yourselves?” It wasn’t until then that President Monson realized there were other men behind him. Almost in unison they said, “Mormons, sir!”

Chris watched as a man in a Scout uniform carefully placed six cars at the top of the track. “Our car is in lane two,” Chris whispered to his dad. His stomach was aching. He wished they had stayed home.
“Which one is yours?” Sarah, his sister, asked loudly.
Chris pretended to not hear her, not wanting to draw attention to his car.
But Sarah persisted. “Chris, which one is yours?”
“It’s the one in lane two,” Dad answered her. “The yellow one with the red stripe.”
“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed proudly. She turned to her friend, Brandy, and pointed up at the cars. “That’s my brother’s car. The yellow one with the red stripe.”
Chris looked at his dad. “Will you please make her be quiet?” he begged.
Dad smiled understandingly. “Sarah,” he said, “would you and Brandy get us some cupcakes, please?”
Sarah was delighted with the assignment. She and Brandy hurried off to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Chris muttered.
“Cheer up, Son,” Dad said, putting his arm around Chris’s shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just the Pinewood Derby.”
Chris forced himself to smile. “You’re right, Dad. We can try again next year.”
Dad nodded. “This year is just for practice. We’ll do better next year.”
When everything was set, the crowd cheered and the races began. Chris didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. He stood up to get a better look as he watched his car win the first race. “We won!” he gasped in disbelief. “Just barely, but we won!”
“I guess the car’s in better shape than I thought,” Dad said.
Sarah and Brandy returned with cupcakes for everyone. “How did your car do, Chris?” Sarah asked.
“It won!” Chris told her happily.
“Really? I thought it was broken.”
“It is,” said Dad. “And the races aren’t over yet. They race the cars six times, once in each lane. Then they average the times. We’ll see how our car holds up.”
The car didn’t hold up very well. It went slower each time it raced. In the last race, Chris’s car crossed the finish line well behind the other cars.
Brother Rogers came over. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What happened? Your car started out great.”
“I’ll show you.” Dad picked up the car and turned it over. The back left wheel was sitting awkwardly on the axle. “Our car had an accident before the race.”
“Oh?”
“My little brother, Adam, threw it,” Chris explained. “I wouldn’t let him play with it, so he grabbed it and threw it.”
“It was a pretty good throw, but a pretty bad landing,” Dad added. “It cracked the wheel and bent the axle. I managed to straighten the axle, but there was nothing I could do about the wheel.”
“And where’s Adam now?” Brother Rogers asked.
“My mom stayed home with him,” Chris said. “She said she didn’t think he would enjoy watching the races. I think maybe she was afraid he would ruin someone else’s car.”
Brother Rogers ruffled Chris’s hair. “I have a little brother. They can be a trial sometimes.”
Chris nodded his head. “That’s for sure. But it wasn’t really his fault. All he wanted to do was roll it across the floor like I was doing. If I had let him have a turn, he wouldn’t have thrown it.”
“Think of it as a learning experience,” Brother Rogers said. “Next time you’ll be more patient with him.”
Chris nodded.
The man in the Scout uniform whistled loudly. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. We have some trophies and ribbons to award to the winners.”
Chris picked up the cupcake Sarah had brought him. “Well, I guess I’ll eat my cupcake now.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll go get you another one if you want me to.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m sorry your car didn’t win,” Sarah said. “Maybe it will get a prize for being the prettiest.”
Chris shook his head.
Brother Rogers announced the names of the boys with the best overall times. Chris watched as each boy shook hands with Brother Rogers and took his prize. Next, there was an award for the best-looking car. Sarah shook her head sadly when Chris didn’t win.
“We have one more prize,” Brother Rogers announced. “We have a prize for the car with the single best time. And the winner is Chris.”
Chris looked up, surprised. “Me?” he asked, fearing he had heard wrong.
“Yes, you,” Brother Rogers laughed. “Your time in the first race was the fastest time all night.”
Chris hurried up to the podium, wiping the cupcake off his hands as he went. He smiled as Brother Rogers handed him the trophy.
Chris hurried to his seat. “Check it out,” he said proudly, holding the trophy out for his dad to see.
“Let me see!” squealed Sarah. As she reached for the trophy, she lost her balance and started to fall.
Chris and Dad both grabbed Sarah and held her steady as the trophy fell to the ground. It landed with a loud crack, and broke into two pieces.
Chris groaned. “Not again.”
Sarah started to cry. “I’m sorry.”
Dad picked up the pieces. “I’m sure we can glue it back together.”
“What happened?” Brother Rogers asked.
“Just another learning experience,” said Chris. He turned to Sarah. “Don’t feel bad. I know it was an accident. Anyway, it makes sense that my broken car should win a broken trophy.”
Sarah smiled through her tears. “You’re not mad?”
“No, I’m not mad. Let’s see if there are any more cupcakes. I think Adam would love it if we took him one.”

It was my senior year at Greenwich (Connecticut) High School when I had the chance to take college recruiting trips. Deep in my heart I wanted to play for BYU, but when I made my official visit, Coach Edwards called me in and said, “Steve, we hear you’re a pretty good athlete, but we’re sorry, we don’t have a scholarship for you right now. If one opens up, we’ll let you know.”
Obviously, I was very disappointed when I went home.
But somehow a scholarship did open up. All summer I worked like a crazy man trying to get in shape for football. I ran miles and miles. My dad had an old ’65 Oldsmobile. It was a huge car—the kind that holds five people in one seat. And I used to push that around the neighborhood because I once saw Dick Butkus do it to get in shape. All it did was mess up my back, but I worked as hard as I could to be ready.
As I worked, I tried to figure out which quarterbacks would be in front of me. I thought there were about four ahead of me, and that wasn’t too bad for a freshman. But you never knew. Maybe the coach would really be impressed and make me third team. And then maybe he’d want me to get some playing experience and make me second string. And then, maybe he would think I was great and make me first team as a freshman. That was my frame of mind when I got to BYU that fall.
I remember the day I arrived at school. I went to the fieldhouse and looked at the depth chart, which everyone’s name by position and order. I saw all the names I figured I’d see in front of mine, but there were more. Not until I got to the end of the list did the name Young appear. Eighth-string quarterback—in parentheses. That’s like letting you be in the school choir but putting you off in another room to sing by yourself.
And the parentheses. What did that mean? Maybe waterboy? What?
I soon found out. In practices, I was to play the opposing team’s quarterback. Unfortunately, the defensive players never figured out that I wasn’t really the opposing team’s quarterback. They creamed me all week long.
I remember so many times when the opposing team, with me at quarterback, would run the dumbest plays. They’d have ten guys go one way so the quarterback would be left alone. Then their defense would smash me. I’d be at the bottom of the pile; my helmet would be turned sideways, and I’d be peering out through the ear hole, trying to see where I was.
After about five weeks of that, I became very discouraged. The coach didn’t even know my name. It seemed that nobody cared.
I called my dad and said, “I’ve had it with this whole thing. I’m not having fun; I’m not enjoying myself. I think I’m going to quit and come home.”
Luckily, because he truly cared for me, my dad said, “Son, you can quit, but you can’t come home. I don’t live with quitters.” So there it was. I kept on playing, no matter how discouraging it got.
One of my toughest tests came at the first home game. It was a crisp fall afternoon, the band was playing, the balloons were up, and there were people everywhere. There was excitement in the air, but not in my heart as I walked over to the stadium with that huge crowd. Eighth-string quarterbacks don’t suit up, so I was going to sit in the stands with the rest of the spectators. I was deeply disappointed and discouraged that I wasn’t playing. I wondered how in the world I would ever make it onto that field. It seemed almost impossible.
That very day, right there in the stadium, I decided I would do two things. First, I was going to be the first player on the field every day and the last one off. Second, I was going to give 100 percent to every play I ran, no matter how stupid it was. I was going to execute every play like it was the last one of my life.
Now I was asked to run a lot of dumb plays that season, and I got a lot of mud in my face. There were a lot of days when the varsity players thought I was crazy because I didn’t leave the field until after they did. It was embarrassing, but I hoped it would make a difference.
And it did make a difference. I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe Coach Edwards glanced over during one of those dumb plays when I was working extra hard, and he said to the coach next to him, “Hey, who’s that scrub quarterback over there? Let’s check him out.” What matters is that I didn’t quit, things got better as the season went on, and I finally got the opportunities I had always hoped and worked for.
The key was learning to develop good habits and self-discipline so when the coach just happened to look, I was doing my best. When I was the eighth-string quarterback in parentheses, becoming the starting quarterback at BYU often seemed impossible. It was the little things I did every day, the habits I developed, that eventually put me on that field in front of 65,000 people. It’s the same way with the gospel and life. Our ultimate goal of returning to live with Heavenly Father may seem an unreachable goal at times, but the daily habits we develop in life are the ones that will help us get there. We need to develop habits of hard work, self-discipline, honesty, consideration, and finding ways to serve those around us. We need to develop the habits of scripture reading, meditation, and starting and ending each day with prayer—good, sincere communication between us and our Heavenly Father.

Gilly Anglin-Jarrett, who is Northants Police Stop and Search Working Group Community cochair, said:
“I first met Arthur at the February 2020 Stop and Search Working Group chaired by Assistant Chief Constable James Andronov. Our group is looking to build better relationships and to support community members to be more unified and empowered. We are a cheerful, impartial critical friend to the police service.
“At that meeting, Arthur’s contribution quickly showed how much he understood the importance of community building and a positive partnership approach with the Northamptonshire police.
“Since then, because of the pandemic, the subsequent meetings were all dial-in. Even when Arthur wasn’t able to attend, he contacted me with the things he wanted to raise on the agenda, which showed a real level of commitment. Recently we were asked to be part of discussions about gang violence in Wellingborough. Arthur was able to let us know about successes he has had in various parts of Northampton through the wide range of community activities he is involved in, building relationships through helping out and doing good.

Mitch Dunford has been a member of the high priests group in the Santee First Ward, Santee California Stake, for most of the 11 years he has lived there. “Our high priests group has studied the scriptures together and done missionary work together,” he says. “We’ve given blessings to each other and to others’ family members. Our camaraderie is a natural outgrowth of helping each other honor callings in the priesthood.”
On the night of Sunday, October 26, 2003, the high priests in the Santee stake, along with most residents of San Diego County, found themselves under attack by the largest wildfire in the history of California. For nearly 24 hours, 50- to 70-mile-per-hour (80- to 110-km-per-hour) winds had pushed 100-foot (30-m) flames and burned hundreds of homes, killing 13 people.
Mitch Dunford stood alone in the hills behind his home with a garden hose in one hand and a shovel in the other. Earlier he had taken his wife, Cathy, and their five children to a hotel. When the evacuation order was lifted, he returned home to see what he could do.
“The fire was 4 feet [1.2 m] high and 30 feet [9 m] wide,” says Brother Dunford. “It was coming from two directions. It was so quiet. I just stood there, wondering if I could really stop this fire by myself.”
Meanwhile, stake president Chris Allred was atop the stake center with binoculars. With flames coming toward the Dunfords’ house, he began making phone calls.
“I was alone,” says Brother Dunford, with more than a little emotion in his voice, “and then one by one they came—the ‘boys’ from the quorum and their sons, each with a shovel. I was overwhelmed, yet it seemed just the way it ought to be.”
Fifteen minutes later the first wave of fire swept through.
“We beat the fire down and tossed dirt on it,” says Steven Schimpf, 15, who came with his dad, Bishop Randall Schimpf.
After the first wave was out, the second wave came. They beat back that one too.
A news cameraman climbed up to the group and was amazed to discover they were just some men and boys from a church helping one of their own.
“It was touching to have our home saved by my priesthood brethren,” says Brother Dunford. “It is so typical of the way they are. My neighbors couldn’t believe all those men and boys just showed up to help. But we know it’s what you do when you’re a member of a priesthood quorum.”

Not too many months ago I received a letter from a man who once thought he could have it both ways. He has now repented and has brought his life into compliance with gospel principles and commandments. I want to share with you a paragraph from his letter, for it represents the reality of flawed thinking: “I have had to learn for myself (the hard way) that the Savior was absolutely correct when He said, ‘No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.’ I tried, about as hard as anyone ever has, to do both. In the end,” said he, “I had all of the emptiness, darkness, and loneliness that Satan provides to those who believe his deceptions, illusions, and lies.”

Thirty years ago, President Dallin H. Oaks spoke of a letter he had received “from a man who said he had attended [a sacrament] meeting and listened to seventeen testimonies without hearing the Savior mentioned.” President Oaks then noted, “Perhaps that description is exaggerated [but] I quote it because it provides a vivid reminder for all of us.” He then invited us to speak more of Jesus Christ in our talks and class discussions. I have observed that we are focusing more and more on Christ in our Church meetings. Let’s consciously continue with these very positive efforts.

Self-reliance is not an event or a single achievement, it is a lifelong quest. It is something that we need to constantly be working on. We need to always do our best and especially be honest with our employer or customers. What does it mean to be honest with our employer? To me it means that during my work hours, I will do my job and not play games on my phone, for example. If I am selling tomatoes in the local market, I will always sell the best ones and not purposely put rotten tomatoes in the bottom of the package. What happens when we do play online games during work hours or put rotten tomatoes in a package? We may have a short-term benefit, but we will not progress in the long term. The Lord cannot bless us if we are not honest. A scripture that comes to my mind is found in 2 Nephi 9:28–29: “When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish.

“But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God.”

When the time was finally up and the scores were tallied, Curry’s all-boys’ team found itself in second place, defeated by an all-girls’ team. “I don’t believe they beat us,” Curry said. “How could anyone work faster than we did?”

Next time Curry wants girls on his team. “Girls are allowed to go inside a house because people trust them,” he said.

Kelly Corkrin, a member of the winning team, won’t disagree. She found everyone her team met had a little something for them to do. “It made me feel good that the people trusted us and let us into their homes,” she said. “Nowadays, I’m not sure I would do that. I guess they were impressed that we weren’t just hanging out, wasting time.”

There were no hard feelings between the two top teams, however. Both first- and second-place winners received the coveted prizes: water squirting toys. As the winners loaded their weapons, everyone else ran to arm themselves with the same old tools they’d been using all day: water buckets and empty soap bottles. The activity ended with a splash.

There are many other opportunities to share the gospel. For example, just this summer I received a happy letter from a new member who learned about the restored gospel when an old classmate phoned her to inquire about an illness she was experiencing. She wrote: “I was enlightened by the way he presented himself to me. After [a] few months of learning from the missionaries, I was baptized. My life has improved since then.” We all know many whose lives would be improved by the restored gospel. Are we reaching out to them?

They don’t get chased by dogs or have companions. They don’t write letters home on preparation days because they still live at home, in Pleasant Grove, Utah. But the Willeys—Anthony, 18, Elizabeth, 16, and Kristina, 14—are still missionaries, music missionaries, actually. They were set apart in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“When I was set apart,” Elizabeth says grinning, “I was told, ‘Now you’re the youngest sister missionary.’ It made me feel special.” And she enjoyed being the youngest sister missionary until a year or so later when her little sister Kristina was set apart and took over as the youngest.

Again he crossed the sea in 1856 with another large group of Welsh Saints. They became part of the handcart migration of that fateful year. They made it to the Valley without great suffering, but the two companies who followed after them, the Willie and Martin Companies, suffered terribly because of the snowstorms in which they were caught.

Elder Jones did not travel with the earlier-going handcart company. He came with a group of returning missionaries who were able to travel faster than those with carts. It was this group that found the Willie and Martin Companies beleaguered in the Wyoming storms and brought word to Brigham Young, who immediately marshaled resources to go out and help them.

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