Since the first time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints exposed me to the teachings of modern day temples, my soul was hooked. It was like a magnetic pull that drew me to participate in proxy baptisms for the dead. The spiritual experiences I obtained in the baptistery firmly confirmed to me there is a God who intimately cares about each individual soul and His presence can be felt inside the temple. Despite my love for the temple, natural disaste

I was raised as a member of the church, but gospel principles weren’t taught in the home, and they certainly weren’t lived. My parents’ relationship was fraught with problems, colored mainly by my mother’s serial adultery. We were all aware of it but nobody spoke of it. My dad withdrew from all of us, not just my mom, leaving her alone to parent, which created an environment that was sad and toxic. Of the four children in my family, both boys became drug dealers, and both gir

When I was 20, I was raped. I won’t go into that story itself, but for years I thought the story was that I had put myself into a situation where I had sex with a man and didn’t really want to. At the time of the #metoo moment, I learned that I had indeed been raped, but I still blamed myself for putting myself into a vulnerable situation.

During a Stake Women’s Conference I found myself overwhelmed in many ways. I came feeling so out of place, ashamed, and yet desperately seeking forgiveness and peace. I sat alone on a pew as the opening hymn began.

Several years ago, I was planning on leaving the continent for at least several years, so my siblings and I decided to have a reunion. Since we are spread across multiple states, provinces, and countries, we thought Las Vegas to be a fun place to gather. While there, between the fun and food, we thought that one of the best things we could do together was attend the temple. Since we had just flown in for the weekend, we all rented our temple clothes, and proceeded to an or

A few months before my first husband passed away from cancer, his doctor called and told me I needed to come right away—he wasn’t doing well and they were very concerned. We were still newlyweds in our mid-20s. He was treated and hospitalized 250 miles away, and I had to stay home with our baby to work, which meant I could only visit him on the weekends.

I love the variety of windows in temples. Having taken a stained glass class, I appreciate the intricate effort needed for these architectural additions, as colored glass is selected, shaped, and soldered together. My quarter-century of temple worship is like a stained glass window—various facets make a beautiful picture through a delicate, time-intensive process that enhances my life.

My first experience inside the temple was sealed to my family at six years old. My father had been recently baptized, and my family was excited to be sealed in the temple. I remember feeling the Spirit and recognizing the importance of being inside the temple walls. It was a special day for my family, and the Spirit left an impression on my heart of a feeling of home and a desire to return. Throughout the rest of my childhood and my teenage years, I eagerly look forward to th

In 2014, I ventured into the world of family history and quickly became passionate about seeking out my ancestors and performing their temple ordinances. Attending the temple became increasingly meaningful as I spent time working on behalf of my own family, people I had come to know and love through the process of researching their lives and families.

It was June of 2012, and scripture study hadn’t been a priority of mine for many, many months, sad to say. An upcoming cruise industry conference in New York City, to be followed by visits to family and friends meant that I’d be away from my home and family in Nova Scotia for a little while. Pre-travel anxiety combined with some guilt moved me to try to feel the Spirit through one of favourite books, Jesus and the World of the New Testament by Huntsman, Holzapfel, and Wayme

Last year when we were contemplating uprooting our family from Texas and moving back to Utah, I was seeking an answer from the Lord. Our lives were good in Houston. My husband and I had excellent jobs, a home and neighborhood we loved, and many friends who had become like family. All three of our kids had all been born in Texas, and that was all they had ever known. The thought of leaving such familiarity and goodness was unnerving and scary, but we had always had the hope of