Gospel Story Finder

One of my favorite pioneer stories illustrates this protection principle. It is the story of a pioneer girl named Agnes Caldwell, who was in the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. At the time, she was only 9 years of age. As told in her own words, she related:
Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me—the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.
She goes on to share,
Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver . . . called to me, “Say, sissy, would you like a ride?” I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.” At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. . . . Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon. [4]
Agnes Caldwell arrived safely in Salt Lake City on Nov. 9, 1856. She later married Chester Southworth and became a mother to 13 children.
Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway with grit, determination, faith, and hope.

In a branch with many recent converts, the girls have had several opportunities to fellowship new members and to do missionary work. After Elizabeth had been a stake missionary for about a year and a half, one of her Cambodian friends from elementary school began investigating the Church. Missionaries asked Elizabeth to attend the discussions to support her friend, Phally Chhim. Elizabeth happily agreed, and a few months later Phally was baptized.

Before I was old enough to date, my parents discussed the rules for dating and the expectations they had for me. Based on those expectations, we have a tradition in our family that the first date be a double date arranged by an older sibling. When I turned 16, my older sister and her future husband arranged a perfect double date for me.
Our first destination was to grab strawberry ice-cream cones. Then we headed to a beach, had dinner, and walked around. We went to the fun alley for some air hockey and games. At a playground, we ate yummy birthday cake. What a great first date!
By following my parents’ rules, I have been able to enjoy each stage in life. I have experienced group dating, then single dating, and now the blessing of a temple marriage.

Mom and Dad were thrilled when I was born. I was their only child and they had waited for seven years. When excited well-wishers came to the house to see the new baby, Mom held me up to the window inside the house and the onlookers viewed me from the front yard outside the house. No one was allowed into our home to welcome me and to hold me.

As I grew, we visited my grandmother often. She lived close by. I loved playing with cousins there. They could take their shoes and socks off and play in the grass and dirt. I could play, but only if my shoes remained on. My Mother insisted that my bare feet could not touch the ground. Alarmed with the flies at Grandma's house, Mom would shout at me "Don't let those flies touch you!" She was frightened by what their tiny feet might carry. She didn't like me touching door knobs or anything else others had touched. When it was time to leave, Mom would scrub my fingernails with a scrubbing brush until they would bleed. Mom initiated strict rules and I obeyed or I was beaten. I noticed as young as three years old that Mother acted differently than others. I didn't know why, but in my adulthood, her condition finally had a name and some of my questions were answered.

Mother developed OCD before I was born. She had an intense fear of germs and performed cleaning rituals to eliminate the fear. She viewed herself as germ-free. Everything and everyone else was contaminated. Mother's family knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to help her. In those days, OCD did not have a name or any kind of treatment. Thank goodness, today there are medications and behavior therapies to assist.

My dad was a fulltime National Guardsman. When he received a promotion, we moved from Driggs, Idaho to Idaho Falls and bought a new house. Dad focused his spare time on finishing our downstairs. I hoped the new home would help my mom change from her old ways. It didn't and life only got worse. Dad was tired of her compulsive behavior. He soon divorced Mom and moved out.

I thought my life had ended. I was seven years old and Mom had full custody. It was just Mom and me. She began working full time. Dad remarried and resided within our city. Mom's anxiety increased and so did her OCD. She scrubbed things at work, but most cleaning routines were performed within our home and yard.

Mom moved me to the downstairs bedroom, while my toys and most of my clothes remained with her. I was never allowed again onto the main floor of the house. I lived in the basement for the next nine years. Restrained by Mom's fears, I had no say or control. I was frightened and heartbroken in that dimly-lit basement.

Our house was connected to a one-car garage. I could enter my house only once a day by following a well-established pattern. I disrobed in the garage and Mom carried me down stairs to newspaper that I stood on while she scrubbed the stairs and stairway. When I was too big to carry, Mom allowed me to walk downstairs. After the stairs were cleaned, I could walk from the newspaper to the bathroom, bathe and dress following a certain routine. In my bedroom, I could touch only my light switch and two drawers of my dresser. In my double-sized bed, I could only touch the left-hand side. I didn't understand these rules, but I obeyed.

After Mom finished her rituals downstairs, she would climb to the top of the stairs and shout to me, "Turn off your light." I hated turning off my light! It was very dark. I worried about monsters finding me and I'd hide my head under the covers. I knew if I needed help, Mom would not respond. There was no interaction allowed until morning when Mom would choose my clothes and bring them downstairs with breakfast.

I questioned myself ... if I tried harder, if I were cleaner, if I were nicer, would Mom allow me to live on the main floor with her? I desperately wanted her to change. We never talked about it. Only occasionally did I dare ask her "to please change." She would quickly answer, "I will change tomorrow." The next day she'd be the same or worse. I was helpless, hopeless, and all alone.

The Lord provided me with good people along my path. A kind neighbor friend introduced me to Primary. I began attending with her. It was a happy setting and I looked forward to it every week! My Primary teacher taught me about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and that they loved me. That was survival information! It felt good, it sounded right and it provided much needed comfort. I'm grateful for that Primary teacher who week after week bore testimony of gospel truths. She didn't know I felt unloved and disvalued. She didn't know that Mom could not hug me because of my germs. She didn't know the vital impact of her words, but the Lord knew. He was there. He reminds us "[I] knoweth all things, for all things are present before mine eyes;" He knows our hardships. He knows our pain.

Also, in Primary I learned of prayer. "Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing." I began talking with Heavenly Father and sharing my fears. I asked him to save me from the basement monsters and later with maturity, I pleaded that I could escape Mom's compulsive behavior and demands. I felt the Lord near and I held on tightly to His hand. I had hope! I kept praying and waiting, praying and waiting.

I was fearful of Mom and knew I could tell no one about my home life. I knew I'd be punished if I told the "secret."

When school was out, Mom arranged for others to watch me at their homes while she worked. If no one was available, I would be left at my home, locked out of the house, as Mom left for work. I never had a key to open the door and the house was always locked. During the summer, Mom would bring me a sandwich on her lunch hour and I could drink from the garden hose. My bathroom was an empty tin can in the garage or a fast bike ride to the gas station. Reading Nancy Drew books, listening to my transistor radio, weeding the marigolds, watering the lawn occupied some of my time. The best times were spent riding my speedy, blue bike with friends. I have many fun memories!

My mother dated frequently and I'd stay the night with friends. A few families were active in the Church and one in particular demonstrated righteous patterns that I grew to love. For instance, every morning before breakfast was served, they knelt around their kitchen table for prayer. I cherished those moments and the spirit of family unity. Each time I bowed my head in that setting, I noticed the round braided rug we knelt on under their round wooden table. I remember that clearly and the feeling of hope I had for a future time with an eternal family that could kneel in prayer together. Was it possible? I know now that survivors of dysfunction can reverse the trend and start new patterns that follow the Savior. We are not stuck where we started.

In the garage with doors closed, I liked singing Primary songs. The lyrics would echo off the walls. It seemed extra voices sang with me. "I need my Heavenly Father to help me every day. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way." Those songs helped me then and in the years ahead. Often a musical phrase would circle in my head and remind me of who I was and what I could become.

I remember a Beehive class that left a lasting impression. The topic was temple marriage. The teacher taught enthusiastically and was full of the Spirit. I left that class knowing there was only one way to marry and that's what I wanted. I held on to the Lord's hand.

I can’t refrain from telling you one other thing about that visit with my brother in Washington. He was to take a B-25 bomber to Texas to pick up something and return to Washington the next day. I went with him. That was the only time we flew together.

Many years later I was honored by Weber State University, where we both had graduated. He had been a student body officer during his college days. Because I would be in South America, he agreed to attend the banquet and accept the award in my behalf.

In his acceptance speech he told this story—part of which is true. He said that in Texas we were lined up side by side on the runway ready to take off. He radioed to me and said, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”

Then he told them that after I became a General Authority of the Church, once in a while I would check on his behavior and add, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”

Well, Leon made it. He is now where I hope one day to be.

Our family hears Him when we watch general conference together. Our family has a general conference tradition. Before each semiannual and general conference of the Church, we take the time to write down questions that we would like to receive answers to and revelation to guide our lives. Without fail, we have always received answers to our questions, and we always hear the voice of the Lord in general conference. A great example of hearing the Lord’s voice through general conference happened to my daughter Camilla. In October of 2011, we had recently moved from Provo to Salt Lake City. This move was particularly hard for Camilla, so we decided to home-school her for the remainder of that school year. Not having friends was hard on Camilla, as it would be for any 3rd grader. Her question for the October 2011 General Conference was simple, “How can I make more friends?” Our family is always aware of each other’s questions, so we can be mindful of and help each other to find answers during conference. The very first speaker of this entire conference was Elder Richard G. Scott. Listen to the following comment he made about the power of the scriptures and its ability to be a friend to us: “The scriptures provide the strength of authority to our declarations when they are cited correctly. They can become stalwart friends that are not limited by geography or calendar. They are always available when needed.[11]” We all looked at Camilla when Elder Scott said this, and her eyes lit up and she smiled the biggest smile. Not only did Camilla learn that the scriptures can be a source of strength and companionship to each of us, even to the point of being stalwart friends, but she learned that God does speak to us through general conference.

After graduation, at summer’s end, I moved away from home to attend college as did she, leaving hundreds of miles between us. We kept in touch. It would be another three years before Annemarie would confront me about the Church.
“I’m here!” she shrieked, bounding across the crowded room and grabbing me in an enormous bear hug. I bounced up and down, laughing like a third grader, and ignoring the fact that I was not only 21 years old but at the center of attention. Friends and family members smiled in amusement at my joyous reunion with Annemarie. “I was so afraid I would be late,” she panted, squeezing into a chair next to me.
“I wouldn’t have started without you,” I assured her. Then I took a deep breath as a hush fell over the room. I carefully opened the large envelope and silently read the first few lines. “Santiago,” I whispered.
“What?” my parents screeched. “Speak up!”
I cleared my throat and announced, “I will be serving in Santiago, Chile!”
After congratulations had been given and treats passed around, Annemarie and I escaped onto the front porch swing.
“What are you thinking about?” she questioned.
I smiled with satisfaction. “My mission, what else? I’m so excited to serve!”
She smiled back, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I’m happy for you.”
“But … what?” I prodded. Only the lazy creaking of the porch swing and crickets chirping in the distance interrupted the silence. My inquiry hung in the air for several moments before she spoke.
“Do you remember when I asked you if your church makes you happy?”
I nodded, smiling regretfully in remembrance of that first time I bore my testimony to her. I had been so unsure of myself, so timid. Now, within a few months, I would be testifying to strangers in broken Spanish.
Annemarie continued, “I want you to know that you’ve proven yourself to be right. You are the most religiously enthusiastic person I’ve ever met. My admiration started that day in ninth grade when you refused that beer, and it’s been growing ever since.”
I stared, dumbfounded. “How come you never told me that before? I’ve always wondered what makes you so apprehensive to talk about religion.”
She frowned in thought. “It makes me sad,” she admitted. “Religion makes you happy, and it makes me sad.”
“Why, Annemarie? That’s not the way Christ would have us feel.”
“I’ll never be able to feel enthusiastic like you about my religion, and I wonder if it’s my fault. It’s not that I haven’t tried. What am I doing wrong? I’m afraid I’ll forever be a failure at faith. So I end up avoiding church altogether. That is why church makes me sad.”
“I am happy for you,” she reaffirmed, smiling shakily. “I just wish I could be like you. Isn’t that what you and all of our friends have been hoping for all these years? That one day I would be a member like all of you?” She winked knowingly.
“Yes!” I replied with a laugh. Then more seriously, I said, “That is what I wanted in the beginning. That was before I understood some things. I don’t want you to be like me at all. I want you to join the Church of Jesus Christ so you can come to know and to be like Him. That’s what my church is all about.”
“Mine, too.”
“Look, please don’t feel that I’m degrading the church you attend in any way, but not all Christian churches contain the fulness of His gospel.”
“And you think that is found in your church?” she asked.
I looked into her dark blue eyes, channeling all the strength and emotion of my soul into bearing witness. “I want you to know that I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true and contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“How do you know it’s true?” Annemarie challenged. “Can you tell me the exact moment you knew your church was true?”
“No,” I admitted slowly. “I don’t remember an exact moment when I knew. I think somehow I’ve always known it.”
“Lucky you,” Annemarie teased with a smile.
“You can know it too. Ask in faith and God will show you the way.”
“I’ve been wanting to find the way for such a long time,” she sighed wearily. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Read the Book of Mormon and pray about it,” I said. “If the book is true, the Church is true. It’s that simple.”
“I’m glad that’s your idea of simple!” Annemarie burst out. A moment of indecision flashed across her eyes, and I watched her gradually relent. “Okay, Beth. I’ll do it.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She added, “Don’t get your hopes up. Be good out there, Beth. I’ll miss you.”
Two months later, I entered the Missionary Training Center, satisfied with the testimony I had left with my friend back home and excited to testify among my new friends I had yet to meet in South America.

I was thankful and comforted to know that the full-time missionaries were called to give my son a priesthood blessing
My empathy for those parents greatly increased a few years later when I received a phone call informing me that my own son, living 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away, had been hit by a car while riding his bicycle to the university where he was working and studying. Though I felt powerless to help him, I was thankful and comforted to know that the full-time missionaries were called to give him a priesthood blessing and that a ward in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA, had responded to his family’s needs. Ward members brought meals to his home and helped his wife, who had given birth just the day before the accident, care for their other three children.
Imagine how my gratitude increased when I learned that the missionary who had blessed my son was the same young man who had received a blessing from my husband five years before. I was amazed that the service given had returned in full measure!
My faith in and prayers of gratitude to my loving Heavenly Father have continued to increase as I contemplate that He knows all of us and what we will need. I believe that this young missionary was there so we could see the foreknowledge of God in a very personal way.

President David O. McKay once taught:
"You know, I am afraid too many of us are like that Scotsman...who had lost his wife by death. His neighbor called on him to give comfort to him, saying what a good neighbor his wife had been, how thoughtful of others she had been, and what a good wife she had been to Jock, who was mourning her death. Jock answered: 'Aye, Tammas, Janet was a guid woman, a guid neighbor as you say...She was, aye, a guid true wifey tae me, and I cam' near tellin' her sae aince or twice.'[12]
We should be quick and sincere with words of love and comfort, commendation and appreciation.

The importance of not mistreating others is highlighted in an anecdote about Hillel the Elder, a Jewish scholar who lived in the first century before Christ. One of Hillel’s students was exasperated by the complexity of the Torah—the five books of Moses with their 613 commandments and associated rabbinic writings. The student challenged Hillel to explain the Torah using only the time that Hillel could stand on one foot. Hillel may not have had great balance but accepted the challenge. He quoted from Leviticus, saying, “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Hillel then concluded: “That which is hateful unto you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole of the Torah; the rest is commentary. Go forth and study.”

Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.

We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.

But Joseph did more than use soft words guided by the Spirit to show love and compassion for his enemies. His kind treatment of two spiteful persecutors is one example.
On order from the governor of Missouri, two agents, Reynolds and Wilson, arrested Joseph in Nauvoo in June 1843. They cruelly abused their prisoner, punching his sides with their pistols, threatening his life, and taking him away before he could see his family.
The tables were soon turned on the two officers when they were forced to return to Nauvoo to be tried for threatening the lives of Joseph and another Church member. Joseph had a feast prepared in celebration of his safe return, and among his guests were Reynolds and Wilson.12 That afternoon, in a speech to Nauvoo’s citizens, Joseph reported, speaking of Reynolds and Wilson:
“I have brought these men to Nauvoo, and committed them to her from whom I was torn, not as prisoners in chains, but as prisoners of kindness. I have treated them kindly. I have had the privilege of rewarding them good for evil. They took me unlawfully, treated me rigorously, strove to deprive me of my rights, and would have run with me into Missouri to have been murdered, if Providence had not interposed. But now they are in my hands; and I have taken them into my house, set them at the head of my table, and placed before them the best which my house afforded; and they were waited upon by my wife, whom they deprived of seeing me when I was taken.”13

With limited space and resources, it’s not easy to have a garden or a supply of food. But “our bishop told us that it’s not a matter of having a place to garden—it’s a matter of finding a way to obey the principle,” Lindo says. So he improvised. “I got some wood and made a box. Then I took several bus trips out to the country and brought sacks of soil back with me. I planted some vegetables.”

When the 1990 earthquake hit, they were glad they had put some rice and canned foods in a closet. Although their apartment building was destroyed, they were able to salvage and use some of their supply.

“We do our best,” he says in his unassuming way. “The Lord knows whether you’re doing all you can do.”

Later, after I went through the endowment session, I saw a man who was receiving his endowment for the first time. I watched as he finally entered the celestial room and embraced his family members. The joy they felt was palpable and brought tears to my eyes.
This reminded me of when I entered the celestial room on the day of my own endowment and was greeted by my family, including my dad. It gave me hope for the joy I will feel when we are reunited again—joy that I will get to experience because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. The temple and family history work we do truly can remind us what matters most.

My own blessing is short, and it is limited to perhaps three-quarters of a page on one side, yet it has been completely adequate and perfect for me. I received my patriarchal blessing as I entered my early teenage years. The patriarch promised that my blessing would “be a comfort and a guide” to me throughout my life. As a boy I read it over and over again. I pondered each word. I prayed earnestly to understand fully the spiritual meaning. Having that blessing early in my life guided me through all of the significant events and challenges of my life. I did not fully understand the meaning of my blessing until I gained more maturity and experience. This blessing outlined some of the responsibilities I would have in the kingdom of God on earth.
President Heber J. Grant told of the patriarchal blessing he received: “That patriarch put his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me a little blessing that would perhaps be about one-third of a typewritten page. That blessing foretold my life to the present moment.”
Elder John A. Widtsoe said: “It should always be kept in mind that the realization of the promises made may come in this or the future life. Men have stumbled at times because promised blessings have not occurred in this life. They have failed to remember that, in the gospel, life with all its activities continues forever and that the labors of earth may be continued in heaven. Besides, the Giver of the blessings, the Lord, reserves the right to have them become active in our lives, as suits His divine purpose. We and our blessings are in the hands of the Lord. But, there is the general testimony that when the gospel law has been obeyed, the promised blessings have been realized.”
This was well illustrated in my father’s patriarchal blessing. He was told in his blessing that he would be blessed with “many beautiful daughters.” He and my mother became the parents of five sons. No daughters were born to them, but they treated the wives of their sons as daughters. Some years ago when we had a family gathering, I saw my father’s daughters-in-law, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters moving about, tending to the food and ministering to the young children and the elderly, and the realization came to me that Father’s blessing literally had been fulfilled. He has indeed many beautiful daughters. The patriarch who gave my father his blessing had spiritual vision to see beyond this life. The dividing line between time and eternity disappeared.

The year 1998 was a turning point in my life. During that year, though concerned about my studies, I decided to work part time after school to avoid my father. Our relationship had been tense for a long time, but it was now turning into hostility. The anger we both felt was ready to erupt.
Then a miracle changed our relationship. One night at work, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints paid a visit to one of my coworkers. They shared a brief message with him, and I listened casually to what they said. Curious to hear more, I accepted their invitation to listen to the discussions.
In the first lesson, I learned I could live with my family even after death. A sense of remorse concerning my relationship with my father filled my heart. I knew it was time to repair the damage. My desire for a happy and a forever family gave me the courage to speak to my father. At first he didn’t respond, but my fervent and constant prayers and my faith in God gave me the strength to keep approaching him. I knew as long as I did my part, Heavenly Father would do His.
Day by day, God answered my prayers. The misunderstanding between my father and me dissolved, and our hearts softened. God’s love overwhelmed me, and in three months I was baptized into the Church, becoming a member of the Hsin Ying Branch, Tainan Taiwan Stake. I still show my love to my father, just as my Heavenly Father did to me.

My husband and I were living in New Zealand during 2012 when Parliament was debating a bill that would redefine marriage and the family. We read the bill and were concerned about how it would affect religious freedom and the sanctity of motherhood, fatherhood, and marriage.
As part of the process, Parliament invited everyone in the country to send in their opinions about the proposed bill. We knew that the Lord’s doctrine on marriage and family was clear on this issue, and we felt we needed to speak up. We noticed a box on the form that we could check if we were willing to stand before Parliament to defend our position. My husband and I looked at each other and said, “Let’s check the box!”
We received word several months later that we were chosen to present before a Parliamentary committee. After much prayer and fasting, my husband felt directed to share thoughts from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf,1 and I felt a strong prompting to go back to the moment when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) presented “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” in the 1995 Relief Society general meeting.2 We both felt led to know what to say; it was undeniable. We also knew it was going to be very hard. We decided to put everything in God’s hands and said, “We’ll do what you want us to do; we’ll say what you want us to say,”3 even if it may be unpopular. We became more concerned about what would be recorded in heaven versus what would be recorded in Parliament.
As the day arrived and they called our names, they told us we had the option of presenting separately or together. We immediately thought, “What symbolism! Of course we will go up and defend the doctrine of the family together.”
After we gave our statements, members of Parliament started their questioning. They didn’t seem happy with what we said, and answering their questions wasn’t easy. Eventually our time was up, but before we left, we handed each member of Parliament and the press a copy of our statements and a copy of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”
This was a difficult experience, but it changed our lives. We learned that it is possible (and necessary) to talk to others about the Lord’s doctrine on marriage and family—and that it can be done with courage, clarity, and kindness. Our relationship with Heavenly Father has been strengthened, and our testimony of the doctrine of the family has grown. We testify of the tremendous blessings and joy that have come into our lives as a result of this experience.

Do you remember the neighbor in Ohio I mentioned who influenced me to attend Ricks College, Wayne Marler? He spent nearly four decades of his career in the Church Educational System. In January, I attended his funeral in Franklin, Idaho, where he and his wife retired. Franklin has a population of about 1,000 people. His daughter shared a story about him at the funeral. With the approval of his family, I would like to share this story with you today.

Wayne was battling cancer, and his daughter shared that she never recalled her parents missing church until his health began to rapidly decline this past Thanksgiving. With Christmas coming up (as it was on a Sunday), Wayne started to brainstorm how he could get to church since he was now in a wheelchair. He called up his son-in-law who lived nearby and asked him, “Do you have any kind of vehicle or something we could use to get me to church? Hey, don’t you have an enclosed snowmobile trailer?” His son-in-law responded that he had purchased one a few weeks earlier. And Wayne responded with a creative, problem-solving attitude, “Can’t you guys push me up that ramp into the back of that trailer so I can get to church?” And his son-in-law said that they could make that happen for him.

Several members of his family were required in the trailer to help stabilize his wheelchair as they made their way. It was only a short distance from his home to the church. And he was able to attend his final sacrament meeting with members of his ward and family before departing this mortal existence a little over two weeks after Christmas.

Wayne loved being with the Saints. He devoted his life to the Church and to his family. He missed the warmth and strength of worshiping Christ together with his family, neighbors, and friends. He missed the personal interactions of the members of his ward, even though it had only been a few weeks he wasn’t able to attend.

Some years ago, I was afforded the privilege to serve as a mission president and became intimately acquainted with more than 400 missionaries. We had one young missionary who was very ill. After weeks of hospitalization, as the doctor prepared to undertake extremely serious and complicated surgery, he asked that we send for the missionary’s mother and father. He advised there was a possibility the patient would not survive the surgery.
The parents came. Late one evening, the father and I entered a hospital room in Toronto, Canada, placed our hands upon the head of the young missionary, and gave him a blessing. What happened following that blessing was a testimony to me.
The missionary was in a six-bed ward in the hospital. The other beds were occupied by five men with a variety of illnesses. The morning of his surgery, the missionary’s bed was empty. The nurse came into the room with the breakfast these men normally ate. She took a tray over to the patient in bed number one and said, “Fried eggs this morning, and I have an extra portion for you!”
The occupant of bed number one had suffered an accident with his lawn mower. Other than an injured toe, he was well physically. He said to the nurse, “I’ll not be eating this morning.”
“All right, we shall give your breakfast to your partner in bed number two.”
As she approached that patient, he said, “I think I’ll not eat this morning.”
Each of the five men declined breakfast. The young lady exclaimed, “Other mornings you eat us out of house and home, and today not one of you wants to eat! What is the reason?”
Then the man who occupied bed number six answered: “You see, bed number three is empty. Our friend is in the operating room under the surgeon’s hands. He needs all the help he can get. He is a missionary for his church, and while we have been patients in this ward, he has talked to us about the principles of his church—principles of prayer, of faith, of fasting wherein we call upon the Lord for blessings.” He continued, “We don’t know much about the Mormon Church, but we have learned a great deal about our friend; and we are fasting for him today.”
The operation was a success. When I attempted to pay the doctor, he countered, “Why, it would be dishonest for me to accept a fee. I have never before performed surgery when my hands seemed to be guided by a Power which was other than my own. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t take a fee for the surgery which Someone on high literally helped me to perform.”
Such is the house of God.

A few weeks ago, joy and nostalgia dominated our conversation as Sister Haight and I drove to the airport to see our eleventh grandchild leave for his mission. During our brief visit—with warm greetings and emotional embraces—we recalled some of the historical accounts of how the message of the restoration of the gospel had influenced our family, of how our missionary grandson’s great-great-grandfather, Joseph Toronto, heard and believed the message of the gospel from missionaries in Boston in 1843, 150 years ago.
Joseph Toronto assisted with the building of the Nauvoo Temple. Brigham Young had made a strong appeal on Sunday, July 6, 1845, for the Saints to “remember [and pray for] the temple” and to “pay your tithing.” The Saints were anxious that the temple be finished sufficiently that ordinance work might begin before the exodus westward. More workers and tithing were desperately needed. Joseph Toronto, the new convert, visited Brigham Young after the meeting and declared that “he wanted to give himself and all he had to the kingdom of God.” He handed Brigham Young $2,600 in gold coins (see “Italian Pioneer,” Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16). Brigham Young blessed the Italian convert, proclaiming that “he should stand at the head of his race and that neither he nor his family should ever want for bread” (Joseph Toronto: Italian Pioneer and Patriarch, comp. Toronto Family Organization [1983], p. 10). Later, in 1849, he was called to accompany the new Apostle Lorenzo Snow to his native Italy to open that land for the preaching of the gospel (see Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16).