Gospel Story Finder

Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said. “But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something. I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.

The last of the rain that had let up an hour ago ran down the gutters, carrying leaves, papers, and other debris along with it. The air smelled clean and fresh, but Ian Rollins didn’t notice it as he drove slowly along the empty streets. Neither did he notice the distorted reflection of neon lights in the puddles on the ground as dusk came on, or the rising moon peeking through storm clouds. He just drove, not paying any more attention to where he was going than to the post-rainstorm outdoors. His thoughts and concentration were wrapped up deeply in more pressing matters.
Driving was what he did when he needed time to think, and this October night, there was plenty for him to think about. His birthday was coming up in a couple of months, his 19th birthday, to be exact. And something he had not thought about in a long time, had put off thinking about, had suddenly appeared—going on a mission.
His parents certainly wanted him to go. Their comments and questions about what he thought of a mission had become more and more frequent until, that evening at dinner, he informed them that they might as well stop bugging him about it because he didn’t know if he even wanted to go. “Why?” they had asked, as he knew they would. And the worst part about it was that he couldn’t tell them what he didn’t know himself. The best way he could put it to himself was that he didn’t want to think about a mission, and that meant it wasn’t for him.
On another level, though, another thought would surface briefly. Maybe it was really skepticism that kept him from wanting a mission. It was hard for him to believe the returned missionaries who said a mission was the best two years of their life. Maybe there were better things to do with his time. No matter how he tried to explain it to himself, though, he always got a feeling of emptiness and misdirection when he put thoughts of a mission away.
Tonight Ian was determined to convince himself one way or another by thinking out the pros and cons while he drove. He continued to wrestle with his thoughts as he absently turned right onto a dark side street. Then something caught his attention and he looked around.
Most of the lights on the street were out, but one neon sign glowed blue light into the darkness. “Hats,” it said, and the sign underneath it in the window said “Open.” Ian had never seen this small shop before, and with a bit of curiosity that surprised him, he parked his car and crossed the street to go in.
Inside, he was confronted with what seemed like a mountain of hats, all shapes and sizes. Hats were piled on tables, stacked three or four deep on plaster mannequin heads, hanging from hooks on the walls the whole length of the shop. For such a small business they were well stocked, but that made it look more like a rummage sale than a hat boutique. Even the counter where the cash register sat had hats scattered on it. On the wall behind the counter was a sign that simply said, “We’ve got what you need.”
I doubt that, Ian thought sarcastically to himself. You don’t even know what I need. He was still curious about the place, though, so he began to browse.
The first thing he found was a score of baseball caps advertising various musical groups. He picked out one from a group he liked and took it to a nearby mirror to try it on. He stuck it on his head, and suddenly a strange thing happened. He was no longer in a quiet little hat shop. He began to hear a great roar, and the temperature in the room got hotter, and abruptly he saw a crowd of people bathed in glaring lights. Then he realized he was in an arena, and he was there to sing to all those people. He was the lead singer of the group, ready to step up to a microphone and belt out the lyrics to a top-ten hit. All the same, he knew he was still Ian Rollins, with the same indecisiveness plaguing him. That didn’t change, no matter how vivid this illusion was. He pulled the hat off, and slowly the image faded and he was back in the shop.
No hat had ever had that effect on him. He stared at it, trying to see what had made it do that, but in his hands it looked and felt as normal as any other hat. He was still contemplating this when a voice from behind startled him.
“Need any help?”
Ian turned, and behind the counter was an old man with curly white hair and a gray mustache. He was dressed in a white shirt and gray vest that struck Ian as old-fashioned for some reason. He peered at Ian through round, wire-rimmed spectacles.
“No, thanks,” Ian said, “I’m just looking.” The old man nodded. “How late are you open?” Ian asked.
“As late as we need to be,” the old man answered. “It varies from time to time.”
Ian turned back to the hats, shrugging off the strange answer the man had given. The next hat he tried on was a dusty old top hat. As soon as it was on, the cluttered shop became a spacious ballroom, and he was dressed in a tuxedo and shiny, black shoes as well as the hat. His arm was linked in the arm of a beautiful young woman. Her hair and clothing were styled in a way he had seen in old movies and in the pictures of his grandparents when they were young. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the woman smiled at him as he led her onto the dance floor. But Ian still felt hollow and confused, and he removed the hat. Immediately he came back to the real world.
It had done it again! When the illusion was happening, it all seemed perfectly normal, but when he took the hat off and reality came rushing back, he realized that he had been dreaming or something. He looked at the old man, who was still behind the counter. He didn’t act like anything strange had occurred. He was sitting there, reading a book. Ian almost asked, “Did you see that?” then thought better of it. He didn’t want anyone thinking there was something wrong with him.
This is all very nice, Ian thought. But I still haven’t figured anything out, and it’s getting late. Even so, he decided to try on one more hat, just to see what it would do. After looking around a bit, he found an old, brown derby. Ian didn’t think very much could be interesting about such a nondescript hat, but he put it on anyway.
Before he even saw anything, he was suddenly very hungry, and his feet hurt like they did when he went on Boy Scout hikes. Then he saw where he was, on a dirt road lined with trees that were laden with leaves colored by autumn. A cool breeze made an occasional leaf float to the ground. He was walking down this road, and alongside him was another man slightly taller than he, dressed in a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. Ian himself was carrying a Bible and a Book of Mormon bound by a leather strap. Suddenly, he heard himself say, “Do you think they’ll put us up tonight?”
The other man answered, “I don’t know, Elder. They don’t have much. You know that the father was killed last year at Belleau Wood, and they’ve been struggling ever since. We may have to go on to the next house after we talk to them, and ask for board there.”
Ian sighed. The next house was two more miles away, and he’d been walking all day on the oatmeal he’d had for breakfast. His feet hurt, but at the same time he was happy, because they were finally going to see the Kilminsters, with whom they’d been trying to make an appointment for weeks. Now that they’d consented to see the missionaries …
Ian stopped walking. He knew where he was this time. He was on a mission in a rural area around the end of World War I, a time when missionaries had no cars, no bikes, no apartments, no money. They walked to their contacts and took food and bed where they could get it. In spite of all that, Ian felt no sense of hardship or deprivation. He only felt calm and peaceful, as he knew he was in the right place. It was a good feeling, and it did not diminish with the visual imagery as he took the derby off. It replaced the confusion that had filled him. Tears came to his eyes as he stared at the hat without really seeing it. It was selfish of him to think that he couldn’t go on a mission today and reap rewards as great as those who went years and years before, fighting personal hardship to bring the gospel to God’s children. Ian knew now what he wanted. He took the hat over to the counter.
“How much is this?” he asked the man.
“Five dollars,” he answered. “Bit dated, ain’t it? Nobody wears ’em anymore.”
“I don’t know that I’ll wear it, but I kind of like it.” Ian paid for the hat, and the old man put it in a box. Ian hurried out to his car, eager to get home and talk to his parents.
The old man watched him through the window as his car pulled away. Then, with a smile, he turned the sign to “Closed” and flipped off the lights.

Illustrations by Alessia Girasole
“It’s scripture time!” Lila said.
Lila loved reading to her little sister, Ánika, and her baby brother, Svetan. Soon Lila would be getting baptized! To be ready, she wanted to read the scriptures every day.
Lila opened the scripture storybook to the first page. Ánika and Svetan snuggled close so they could see the pictures.
“Listen carefully because I’m going to ask you questions after,” Lila said. Then she started reading the first chapter.
“Before we were born, we lived in heaven,” Lila read. “We didn’t have bodies yet. We were spirits.”
Lila, Ánika, and Svetan looked at the pictures of people dressed in white.
“Ready for your first question?” Lila turned to Ánika. “Where did you come from before you were born?”
Ánika clapped her hands. “Heaven!”
“That’s right,” said Lila. “And where did Svetan come from?”
“He came from heaven too,” Ánika said. Svetan giggled and put his fist in his mouth. Lila and Ánika laughed. Svetan was the cutest one-year-old in Argentina!
“Our whole family came from heaven,” Lila said. “Jesus did too. He came to help us so we can live with Heavenly Father again.” Lila pointed to the picture of Jesus on the page.
After she finished reading, Lila kept thinking about what it must have been like to live with Jesus in heaven. She wanted to be like Him. She wanted to always choose the right!
The next day at school, Lila’s tummy rumbled as she waited in line for breakfast. She could almost taste the empanadas as Señora Ruiz slid them onto her plate. They smelled so good!
Then Señora Ruiz poured Lila a cup of milk. Uh oh, Lila thought. The milk looked darker than usual. Sometimes her school added coffee or tea to the drinks.
“Is there any coffee or tea in the milk today?” Lila asked.
Señora Ruiz waved her hand. “A little coffee,” she said. “You won’t even taste it.”
Lila thought for a moment. She remembered how she wanted to be like Jesus and choose the right. She knew drinking coffee was something the prophets said not to do.
“No, thanks. I won’t have milk today,” Lila said. She gave Señora Ruiz a smile. Then she sat down to eat.
That night, Lila helped Papi wash dishes in the kitchen. She was still thinking about the scripture story. She was thinking about the milk too.
“Papi?”
“Yes?” Papi said.
“Why did Heavenly Father want us to have bodies?”
Papi thought while he rinsed another plate. “Well, He gave us bodies so we could become like Him,” he said. “Your body is a home for your spirit. That’s what we mean when we say our bodies are temples.”
Lila nodded. She sang a song about that in Primary sometimes! “So that’s why Heavenly Father wants us to take care of our bodies?”
“Exactly,” Papi said.
“Today at school, they put some coffee in the milk,” Lila said. “I didn’t drink it, though. I’m trying to take care of my temple.”
“I’m proud of you,” Papi said. He dried his hands on a towel and gave Lila a hug.
Lila hugged Papi tight. She was happy to take care of the body Heavenly Father had given her.
The family in this story lives in Argentina. Turn to page 10 to learn more about their country.

“Alexander, please be quiet and put the bear away. It’s time for the sacrament.” Alexander put the bear back into his sister’s diaper bag and slumped down on the bench. I know I’m supposed to think about Jesus during the sacrament, he thought, but I don’t really know what to think about. Sometimes he tried to imagine what Jesus Christ looked like. Long hair, a beard, white clothes, and sandals, maybe with lots of straps. It seems like Jesus walked around a lot, he thought.
I walk a lot, too, he decided. I’d like walking home from school if it weren’t for Zachary. Why does he have to bother me? He’s always walking close behind me and stepping on my heels. One of these days, I’m going to clobber him. I’ll just turn around so fast, he won’t have time to duck, and I’ll whack him with my backpack. No, that would make Mom and Dad sad. What can—
The deacon brought the bread, and Alexander remembered that he was supposed to be thinking about Jesus Christ. He passed the tray along and tried to concentrate again. He remembered the words of a Primary song: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still And think about Jesus, his cross on the hill. … It shouldn’t be hard, even though I am small, To think about Jesus, not hard at all.”* He tried to picture the images in the song. He thought of the poster that Sister Behunin had made to teach them the words of the song. Sister Behunin always makes good posters, he decided.
He heard the priest begin the prayer on the water, and he closed his eyes and again tried to concentrate. “… that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.”**
“Always remember him.” Remember what? It’s hard to remember something I don’t even know, Alexander thought.
After church, Dad reminded him that he was in charge of the lesson for family home evening and asked how it was going. “Do you need any help?”
Alexander hadn’t even started preparing. “Can you help me find out more about Jesus? I want to know what I’m supposed to remember about Him. You know, like in the sacrament prayers?”
“Well, what do you already know about Him?”
“Christmas … He slept in a manger. He got lost once as a boy. I think they found Him at the temple. He walked around a lot and talked to people. He got baptized. He died on the cross. He was resurrected. And He talks to the prophet today.”
“That’s good, Alexander. That’s all true. Now tell me about the Savior and you. Does He know your name?”
“Huh? Me? How would I know if Jesus knows my name?” Alexander tried to remember a story about Jesus talking to children.
“Why don’t you tell us about Jesus Christ and children for family home evening. I’ll help you find a few scriptures.”
Alexander was nervous about that. Sometimes it was hard for him to read the scriptures by himself. But he knew that Dad would help him, so he agreed. His dad showed him a few scriptures to read and told him to come and talk with him after reading them.
The next night, Alexander was ready for family home evening. First he told the Bible story from Mark 10:13–16, where Jesus’ disciples scolded the people for bringing children to the Savior and He told His disciples to let the children come to Him. He held them and blessed them.
Then, from 3 Nephi 17:11–13, 21 [3 Ne. 17:11–13, 21] in the Book of Mormon, Alexander told about Jesus Christ visiting the Nephites and inviting the children to come to Him. He waited until every child had been brought to Him. He prayed with them and blessed them one at a time. Alexander finished by bearing his testimony. “I am thankful for Jesus. I know that He loves me. I believe that He knows my name.”
The next week during the sacrament, Alexander listened to the prayer. Then he got out his Book of Mormon. He turned to 3 Nephi 17 [3 Ne. 17] and found the verses he had marked in red the week before. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine standing in a crowd and seeing the Savior. He imagined Jesus asking to see the children. He tried to imagine climbing up on Jesus’ lap and hugging Him and hearing Jesus say his name and give him a special blessing. He tried to think of what Jesus would say to him, and what they would talk about.
After church, Alexander’s mom told him she was proud of him for being so reverent during the sacrament. He didn’t say anything, but in his heart, there was a special warm feeling.

After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.

I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.

I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.

By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.

One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.

For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.

One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.

Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.

My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

Lance looked around the Scout camp at the beautiful scenery—jagged mountains, green forest, and the still surface of the lake. His view was interrupted as Cooper, a new member of his Scout troop, walked by lugging his gear. Cooper hadn’t said a word during the drive up to the camp. Lance thought Cooper seemed secretive. Did he have something to hide?
“Maybe it’s just because he’s new to the troop and doesn’t really know anyone yet,” Lance thought.
But he couldn’t help wondering if Cooper could be trusted. Earlier, Cooper had taken another Scout’s pocketknife. The knife’s owner, Cameron, stopped him. “Hey, that’s my knife,” he said.
Cooper looked down. “I have one just like it,” he said. “I thought it fell out of my bag.”
“Why don’t you check your bag?” Cameron suggested.
Lance thought Cooper pretended to look surprised when he found his own knife in his bag. “Oh, sorry,” Cooper said. He handed Cameron’s knife back to him and walked off.
Even though Lance could hardly wait until the next morning to start earning more merit badges, he was also excited about the large cave they were going to sleep in. In the light of the flickering campfire, Lance lay in his sleeping bag admiring the badges he had already earned. He had badges for Environmental Science, Archery, Climbing, Leatherworks, Swimming, and Rowing. While at Scout camp, he planned on earning badges for Fishing, Canoeing, and—
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance noticed someone watching him. It was Cooper. He was lying apart from the others in the dimness of the cave, eyeing Lance’s badges. Lance folded his merit badge sash and put it next to his backpack. Then he turned his back on Cooper and went to sleep.
The next morning, Lance’s Environmental Science and Archery badges were missing! He wished he had zipped his sash inside his bag. Then he remembered how Cooper had been looking at the badges the night before. Lance looked around, but Cooper was nowhere to be seen.
Lance’s heart beat quickly as he searched through Cooper’s backpack. The badges weren’t there. “He probably hid them in a less-obvious place,” Lance thought.
The more Lance thought about it, the angrier he got. He had gone on Scouting activities with the other boys, and nothing like this had happened before. Lance knew Cooper had taken his hard-earned badges.
Outside the cave, Lance saw the Scout leader, Brother Maxwell. Lance approached him and asked him where Cooper was.
“He just went through those trees to take pictures of the sunrise,” Brother Maxwell said. “Can I help you with something?”
Lance explained what had happened. “Cooper has been acting suspicious ever since we got here. First he took Cameron’s pocketknife, but Cameron got it back. Now he’s taken two of my badges. I know it was him because of the way he was staring at them last night. He’s so quiet, like someone who has something to hide.”
Brother Maxwell laid a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We can’t accuse anyone without proof, Lance. Maybe he’s shy because he’s new to the group. And maybe he was staring at your badges because he’s looking forward to earning some of his own. Let’s go take a look in the cave and see what we can find.”
“I already did, Brother Maxwell,” Lance said. “I looked everywhere, including in Cooper’s stuff. He’s probably taking that walk so he can hide the badges until we’re ready to leave.” Lance suddenly saw Cooper step out of the trees, carrying a camera. “There he is,” he said. “Let’s go ask him.”
“Not yet, Lance,” Brother Maxwell said. “First we’re going to have a look in that cave.”
Inside the cave, Brother Maxwell examined Lance’s sash and studied the area around Lance’s backpack and sleeping bag. “Well,” he finally said, “you’re right about there having been a cave bandit here last night, Lance. But I think you’re wrong about who it was.”
“What do you mean?” Lance asked.
“Judging from the tiny paw prints in the dirt, those merit badges were probably chewed off your sash by a pack rat.”
Lance’s mouth dropped open. “A pack rat?”
Brother Maxwell nodded. “They like to collect objects such as watches, buttons, or, in this case, merit badges.”
“But I’ve got to find those badges!”
The Scout leader smiled. “If we can find the rat’s nest, we’ll most likely find your missing badges.”
After breakfast, everyone searched the area. Before long the bandit’s nest and Lance’s badges were found.
Lance apologized to Brother Maxwell. “I was wrong to accuse Cooper, and to judge him. It must be hard to be the new kid in the group.”
When Lance went back to the cave, Cooper was inside. Once again, he eyed the badges as Lance tucked them inside his bag.
Lance straightened up and turned to Cooper. “I’m going to try to earn my Canoeing badge today. Want to come?”
Cooper looked at the ground, but there was a shy smile on his face. “Sure. I’d like to try too,” he said.
Lance grinned as he and Cooper ran out of the cave into the bright summer afternoon.

A few years ago I received the assignment to reorganize the Carey Idaho Stake. The plane landed at Twin Falls, and President Roy Hubert, who had served so well, met me there and drove me to his home. While we were driving, I asked him, “Is there anything I can do for you and your Saints?”
He said: “Oh, we have had a terrible drought for the last few years. This year it is particularly severe, and many farmers have left town to find employment elsewhere.”
I was so disturbed for our faithful members who love the Lord and the Church yet were losing their farms.
A young bishop, R. Spence Ellsworth, was called to serve as the new stake president. During the Sunday general session, results of the drought weighed heavily on my mind. As I was speaking, a strong prompting came. I asked them to do the following:
Faithfully pay an honest tithe, both young and old.
Humbly hold regular individual and family prayers.
Devotedly have daily personal and family scripture study.
Thankfully keep the Sabbath day holy.
Gratefully go to the temple often, there offering thanksgiving.
Willingly sustain and follow the new leaders.
Hold a stakewide fast, including everyone in the affected communities who would like to participate.
For the next couple of days following the stake conference, many members planted their crops with complete faith, even though there was no forecast of rain.
On Wednesday, under the direction of President Ellsworth, the whole stake fasted. That same week many members, the leaders, and their spouses went to the Boise Idaho Temple and offered their thanksgiving. While these faithful Saints were in the temple, rain began to fall on the entire community, though the weather forecast indicated no moisture for the next few weeks. The following Saturday, good rain fell again and continued for a few days. This happened late in the month of April. Significant snow fell in the mountains, providing enough moisture. In the Dietrich and Richfield communities, their reservoir had been under 30 percent, but after the people fasted, the reservoir was nearly full. The Carey water supply increased from about 44 percent to more than 100 percent of normal. Through the rest of the growing season, as members of the Carey Stake increased their faith by fasting a few more times, paying honest tithes, and attending the temple more frequently, the Lord heard and answered their prayers. Frost came late that year, so the farmers were able to harvest grain, sugar beets, alfalfa, potatoes, and other crops. From that day, and each year since, they have offered their thanksgiving prayers, and “because of … his tender mercies,”7 the Lord continues to bless them.

Things had not gone smoothly that morning. Getting my fifteen-month-old and my new baby ready to go anywhere was still an adjustment for me. I was relieved to see a parking space right across the street from the medical clinic. With a little luck I would still be on time for the baby’s first check-up.
It wasn’t easy to climb out of our small car and cross the street with a diaper bag, a baby in an infant seat, and a toddler who was just taking her first steps alone. As we prepared to cross the street I noticed our car was very close to the driveway of the house we had parked in front of. I saw a curtain move and a face peering out, but I quickly turned away. “It’s not fair,” I reasoned; “I’ve had to rush around all morning and all she’s had to do is look out the window daring someone to park too close to her driveway.”
The long wait in the waiting room, my fussy baby, and my restless toddler all made me feel even more frustrated when I emerged from the clinic an hour later. Just as I was about to cross the street, the woman, about seventy years old, came rushing out of her house. All my morning’s frustration came to the surface; expecting harsh words from her, I felt I would either burst into tears or explode in anger.
Then it happened. Her words astonished me. “You poor little dear,” she said. “I’ve been watching for you. I was mad at myself for not coming out to help you when you drove up. Let me help you to your car. You’ve really got your hands full.”
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how quickly and how wrongly I had judged her. I had let my unhappy attitude determine the way I viewed her.
Since then, when tempted to judge someone’s motives, I remember that woman’s actions and try to expect the best.

In any event, the charge came to my mind recently as I listened to the report of a returned missionary.
He told us that the wife in the family in whose home he and his companion were living was interested in the gospel; her husband was not interested, however. But finally he warmed up a little and said that when the missionaries had nothing else to do he would listen to them. Sometime thereafter when a wet and windy storm drove them in from tracting, finding him alone, they gave him the first missionary lesson. He didn’t exhibit much interest at first, but when they had concluded, he stood up and said, in effect:
“Do you know what you have just told me?”
They thought they did.
“Do you believe it?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “we believe it.”
“Well then,” he declared, “you don’t understand what you’re saying. If you really believed that God and His resurrected Son, Jesus Christ, actually came to this earth in 1820 and personally appeared to a boy and gave him the message you say they gave him, no storm could drive you in from doing your work. With a message like that you would have to stay out there knocking on doors and delivering your message.”

Not long ago, as I sat waiting for the opening exercises of priesthood meeting, my home teaching companion mentioned that my scriptures were in the ward lost and found.
When I looked to my side, however, I saw that I still had my new set of scriptures, which my wife had given me. As for my old set, they were sitting in a basket next to a chair in our front room. I was puzzled.
“What’s your middle initial?” my companion asked.
“R,” I said.
“That’s what the name said,” he replied. “I’ll go get them for you.”
He returned a moment later and handed me a Bible with my name in faded gold letters on the front. I recognized it immediately. I struggled to unzip the old black cover. The book fell open to the first page, which bore a note in my father’s handwriting. I was holding the Bible that my parents had given me for my 12th birthday.
I was now living in Arizona, and the last time I had seen this Bible, I was living in Utah, preparing for a mission. I took my seminary set of scriptures with me to the mission field and left this Bible home. I found the odds staggering that my old Bible could have somehow made its way, over the course of 30 years, from my parents’ home in Utah to my ward building in Arizona.
My father, a student of the scriptures, instilled in me at an early age a desire to read and study the word of God. A portion of the note he wrote in my Bible gave me counsel as a preface to my receiving the Aaronic Priesthood:
“David, on this, your 12th birthday, you will receive the priesthood of Aaron as a deacon and become a servant of the Lord, even as your namesake, David the king. As he behaved himself wisely, the Lord blessed him.
“So shall it be with you. If you will behave yourself wisely and follow the Lord, He will bless you and call you to serve Him.
“Be strong and faithful, Son. Study this book diligently, and it will give you strength.”
My father’s words are as meaningful to me now as they were 30 years ago, perhaps even more so. How grateful I am to have again received the gift of my first Bible with the timeless counsel of my father.

Last year, students from Mesa Skyline Seminary in Arizona agreed to work together in creating a habit of daily scripture reading. They accepted the challenge to read the scriptures each day for at least 15 minutes. For every three days a student did this, he or she could write his or her name on a new wooden block.
As the blocks were earned and marked, they were glued together, eventually forming a replica of an ancient American city the students affectionately called “Zarahemla.” After seven weeks of reading and learning, a total of 1,750 blocks were cut, earned, and labeled with a name. The replica city was 12 feet in length, 8 feet wide, with a city wall, four corner towers, a large temple at the center, and hundreds of smaller buildings and shops within.
Building the city of Zarahemla “got me into the habit of reading my scriptures longer,” says Marissa Madsen, 16. “I really appreciated seeing something physically being built as a reminder of my testimony growing as I continued to read the scriptures.”
Randy Chavez, 17, agreed that the project was a big success. “It was nice to be unified as an entire seminary to achieve one large goal, and I felt excited to do my part. Because of the project, I read more frequently and longer.”

President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
“Music has always been an important part of our family activities, especially at Christmastime. One night preceding each Christmas, our extended family—brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins (and our parents before they passed away)—crowd into our living room for the children to stage their annual Christmas pageant. We read the scriptural accounts of the Lord’s birth from the second chapter of Luke and from the Book of Mormon. Then we sing carols, accompanied by pianists and other instrumentalists. Of course, we sing the whimsical ditties about Santa and many more. We get warmed up on those numbers. Then we sing our favorites about the Savior. By the time we sing our closing song, “Silent Night,” we truly feel the real spirit of Christmas.
“Just as the Savior’s mother pondered sacred things in her heart, so some of our deepest feelings of reverence and gratitude are unspoken and unsung. Some are felt only deeply within. They are so sacred that speaking openly of them would seem in some way to desecrate them. I’m sure we all feel that way when we sing and ponder the birth, the mission, and the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ.”3

I love to play soccer, but because I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I didn’t want to play on Sundays. It was hard for me to tell my coach that I wouldn’t be able to practice on Sunday, but when I explained that I attend church, he still let me join the team.
Since I missed Sunday practices, my teammates wouldn’t always trust my skill level. I prayed that I would be focused and play well during practice, since I didn’t have as much practice time as the rest of the team. When the final tournament came around, I was invited to participate in the game. I know God helped me to achieve that goal.

Dan’s missions fulfilled Joseph Smith’s last recorded prophecy. The night before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he heard gunfire outside the window of Carthage Jail, so he chose to sleep on the floor. Near him was Dan Jones. The Prophet asked Dan if he was afraid to die. He replied, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.” Then Joseph prophesied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.”2
The Prophet’s promise was fulfilled in 1845, when Dan and his wife, Jane, were called to serve in Wales. Dan used his talent for speaking to teach the gospel with great conviction. He was fluent in Welsh and English, and witnesses recorded that he spoke so captivatingly that he could hold his audience’s attention in either language for hours.
While in Wales, Dan published Latter-day Saint periodicals, tracts, and books in Welsh. Under Dan Jones’s direction, missionaries in Wales established 29 branches and baptized nearly 1,000 people each year of his first mission. He was called on a second mission to Wales in 1852, and despite growing persecution of the Church, some 2,000 people were baptized in four years.
Upon his return to Utah, Dan helped bring many Welsh converts to Utah. When he died at age 51, he had helped bring an estimated 5,000 people to the western United States.

In August of 1959, a groundbreaking ceremony was held at the site of what was to become Hyde Park Chapel in London. One worker on the site was struck by the peculiarities of the chapel that he was helping to build. Walter Frederick Kew would return home to his wife, Mary, and tell her about the lack of crucifixes and stained-glass windows. This was unlike any chapel either of them had seen.
On 26 February 1961, the Hyde Park Chapel was dedicated by President David O McKay (1873–1970). But to Walter Kew and his young family, this was just the end of a job. It would be a long time before the Latter-day Saints would again enter his mind.
Eleven years later, Mary received a knock at the door of their Hayes, West London home. It was two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Trying to put them off gently, she said they could return when Walter was home. Unexpectedly, that is exactly what they did! After a few more attempted visits, they knocked on the door during a downpour of rain. Feeling sorry for these young men, one of whom was limping, she immediately invited them inside.
The family was baptised in July 1972, in the very chapel that Walter had helped build all those years earlier.
Walter passed away peacefully in 2010, a member of the Milford Haven Branch, Merthyr Tydfil Stake.
50 years on, Walter and Mary’s family has grown to include grandchildren and great children, the majority of whom get to enjoy the blessings of the gospel and the promise of eternity together.

While my older children were at school and the little ones napped, I spread the household bills across the kitchen table. I began this dreaded monthly task by praying for wisdom and ability to stretch our meager income. The tithing check, as always, would be the first one written.
When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a young wife and mother, I had committed to pay tithing. I had never wavered from that promise. I was deeply distressed, however, by inadequate funds to cover yet another month of utility, mortgage, and insurance bills.
Now I was a single mother of six young children. I frequently felt overwhelmed by the constant workload, financial worries, and endless decisions involved in my efforts to be both mother and father with no extended family to give me relief or support.
As I sat at the table pleading with the Lord for His help and mercy, the Holy Ghost opened to my view a beautiful and comforting manifestation of the Savior’s love. I was able to see the money owed for household expenses with a new perspective as the sacred priorities of life were brought to my remembrance. I knew that our Heavenly Father wanted me to have the blessings promised to those who faithfully paid tithes and offerings. I also knew that tithe paying should be a joyful act of love, devoid of fear and worry.
As the Spirit of the Lord filled me, I found myself bearing testimony of convictions I had long held firm and sacred. My voice broke the silence of the kitchen as I declared that I would rather lose the water source to my house than lose the living water offered by the Savior. I would rather have no food on our table than be without the Bread of Life. I would prefer to endure the darkness and discomfort of no electricity than to forfeit the Light of Christ in my life. I would rather abide with my children in a tent than relinquish my privilege of entering the house of the Lord.
The burden of worry immediately lifted. My love for the Lord overcame the weakness generated by my fears. Our Heavenly Father is our deliverer, our benefactor, and our protector. He truly does supply all our needs. His promises are sure and unfailing. He commands us to pay tithing on our increase so that He may shower down blessings from heaven—including peace of mind, freedom from worldly and material worry, and confidence in His holy name.
From that day forward I have counted it a joy to pay my tithing, without reservation or fear, to Him and for Him who first loved me.

You can also talk with your parents. They may be able to help you decide if the best approach is to discuss this as a family, talk with your brothers and sister by yourself (either as a group or one-on-one), or perhaps to start by writing a note. In one family, sisters kept teasing a brother who was overweight. Finally he turned to his parents. “After that,” he recalls, “whenever we were together and my sisters would say something mean to me, my dad would help by changing the subject.” Eventually, the jokes stopped.

The summer was almost over when one Saturday morning Dad said, “I know a fishing hole I think I’ll visit this afternoon. Do you boys have anything special planned for today?”
The boys’ eyes lighted up in happy anticipation, and right after lunch they all started for Willow Creek. When they reached the stream, Dad turned off the main gravel road onto a steep dirt one.
The road was narrow and full of curves but finally widened out along the creek bank. After Dad helped the boys untangle their lines and bait their fishhooks, he went a short distance downstream to find a good fishing hole.
James and Joseph didn’t notice the sun clouded over until a loud clap of thunder startled them. With a sudden wild gust of wind, heavy rain began to fall. They hurried back to the car, wet and frightened.
Dad opened the door, climbed inside, and said cheerfully, “Guess we better be starting for home.”
The downpour of rain had turned the dirt road into a sea of mud. Dad tried to plow through it but the wheels began to spin out of control. Each spin edged the car closer to the embankment.
The anxious moments ticked slowly by while they all thought of their comfortable home. Father suggested that the boys kneel on the seats of the car while they all prayed for help.
The rain continued to splatter the windows of the car until it seemed as if the car were on an isolated island. But soon above the noise of the pelting storm, they heard the roar of a motor and saw a four-wheel-drive jeep come into view.
The jeep pulled up alongside the stalled car, and a man jumped out. It was an answer to prayer when he called, “We knew someone needed help in this storm!”
He fastened a chain to the front of their car, and with the help of the jeep pulled them safely back to the main road.

Soon after I was baptized in 1974, I attended my first general conference in Salt Lake City with my brother, John. I was surprised when Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had met my aunt in New York City three weeks before that conference, referred to John and me during his Sunday morning talk.
Quoting my aunt, Elder Packer said: “Two of my nephews have joined your Church. I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.”
Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.
Because of the profound change that followed his conversion, “a fire burned inside” Randy that he wanted to share as a full-time missionary.
Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.
On February 17, 2018, two weeks before the Washington D.C. Temple closed for renovation, I was sealed to my father and mother, 42 years after they had passed through the veil into eternity. My oldest son, Randall, acted as proxy for my father, and Lisa acted as proxy for my mother. I felt that my parents, who had been sealed to each other earlier, were both there in spirit.
In the temple we find cords that bind us forever to our loved ones. I am certain of that.
When I was young, I didn’t want to get married or have children. But today my wife, children, and grandchildren are my greatest treasures. The Church is a miracle, and my life in the Church has been miraculous. With Joseph Smith, I say, “If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself.”
Fifty years ago, I was a construction worker on the Washington D.C. Temple. I was convinced that my life had no happy future. Today I am an ordinance worker in that same temple, having accepted the Lord’s invitation to follow Him, receive His healing, embrace His ordinances, and strive to become like Him.
Randy and his wife, Lisa, serve in the Washington D.C. Temple, which he helped build 50 years ago.
Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
The restored Church is not a theory, a philosophy, or merely a community or culture. It is the true Church of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I thought I would find what I was looking for in San Francisco. I didn’t. I found it in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in the house of the Lord, “the crowning jewel of the Restoration.”

For you to feel that urgency, I first share the story of Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. In Noelle’s event, the skeleton, athletes build momentum as they sprint and then plunge headfirst on a small sled. With their faces inches above the ground, they race down a winding, icy track at speeds that top 90 miles (145 km) an hour.
Remarkably, years of preparation would be considered either a success or a disappointment based on what happened in the space of four intense 60-second runs.
Noelle’s previous 2006 Olympic dreams were dashed when a terrible accident left her with a broken leg. In the 2010 Olympics her dreams fell short again when just over one-tenth of a second kept her from the medal stand.
Can you imagine the anxiety she felt as she waited to begin her first run in the 2014 Olympics? Years of preparation would culminate in only a sliver of time. Four minutes total. She spent years preparing for those four minutes and would spend a lifetime afterward reflecting on them.
Noelle’s final runs were virtually flawless! We will never forget her leap into the stands to embrace her family after crossing the finish line, exclaiming, “We did it!” Years of preparation had paid off. We saw her Young Women medallion around her neck as the silver medal was placed there beside it.
It may seem unfair that Noelle’s entire Olympic dreams hinged on what she did during just four brief minutes. But she knew it, and that is why she prepared so diligently. She sensed the magnitude, the urgency of her four minutes, and what they would mean for the rest of her life.