Gospel Story Finder

I had an experience like yours. I wanted so much to be able to tell the bishop, but I thought he would have little respect for me as a member of his ward. I prayed about it for a long time. I was finally comforted enough by the Spirit to be able to tell the bishop about my problem. After I told him what I had done, he let me know that what I had done was wrong but that he still loved me and so does my Heavenly Father. He let me know that there is a way back and that is by repentance. Repentance is such a wonderful process. I beg you to give it a try. The Lord is waiting for you!

Name withheld

Some time ago, Sister Haycock and I accompanied President and Sister Kimball, President and Sister Tanner, and others on a visit to the Holy Land for the dedication of the Orson Hyde Memorial Gardens. While there, we visited a number of places held sacred in the memory of Christians, and particularly Latter-day Saints, because we were walking where Jesus walked.
We visited the Garden Tomb, and after sitting with President and Sister Kimball inside the tomb, we came out into the sunshine and beauty of the garden. The cameramen who recorded the trip were anxious to get pictures of President Kimball walking in the garden, but I was concerned because the path was paved with flagstones, making it rough and uneven underfoot. I cautioned President Kimball to be careful and not fall. He responded quietly and with dignity: “Don’t worry, Arthur. I am used to walking on holy ground.”

In the village where my wife grew up, her parents, who were good churchgoing people, embraced the gospel as a young married couple with my wife as their two-year-old daughter and only child at that time. Their decision to become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had a great impact on their lives as they were shunned by the villagers and by their family. It took many years, loving notes to family members, and service to the community before they were finally accepted.
On one occasion when my wife’s father was serving as a bishop, he was falsely accused of something and was immediately released. My mother-in-law was so hurt that she asked her husband if they should continue to go to church. He answered that they of course would continue to go to church since this is not the church of men, but this is the Church of Jesus Christ.
It took some time before the truth came to light and apologies were made. What could have been their breaking point just added to their strength and conviction.

One thing I have learned is that motherhood entails difficult decisions. When our first child was born, I had been working for about twelve years, first as a teacher and later as a lawyer. I wondered whether to continue working. My husband’s income was sufficient to meet our needs, but we were about twenty years older than most new parents. I wondered whether we would both survive to raise our children and, if I were widowed, how I would provide for them. I wondered how difficult it would be to find a job at the age of sixty should a need arise as our children entered college or received mission calls.
President Kimball, who was then the prophet, had counseled the sisters of the Church: “Some women, because of circumstances beyond their control, must work. We understand that. … Do not, however, make the mistake of being drawn off into secondary tasks which will cause the neglect of your eternal assignments such as giving birth to and rearing the spirit children of our Father in Heaven. Pray carefully over all your decisions” (Spencer W. Kimball, Ensign, Nov. 1979, p. 103; see also My Beloved Sisters, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1979, p. 41).
I took this counsel seriously. I knew that I had to decide whether I was among those who must work. After praying earnestly about the matter, I sought a priesthood blessing from my husband. The blessing promised that I would be able to make a decision that would be good for our family but did not indicate what the decision should be. I tried to foresee the effect my decision would have on my husband, my children, and me and to listen for inspiration. My choice was to become a full-time homemaker.
I have not regretted that decision. I have loved being home with the children, watching them grow, and helping them learn. But I remain aware that a time may come when I must provide for my family. Having tried to make a wise decision and to do those things I can to maintain employable skills, I feel I must and can trust the Lord to help me should such a need arise.

illustration by Thomas Girard
Junior high was not an easy experience, and I wasn’t expecting my first day of high school to be any better. All through junior high I was painfully shy. Terribly, awfully shy. I didn’t feel comfortable talking to new people, because I didn’t feel confident in who I was. In between classes I mostly kept to myself, walking quickly to and from my locker with my head down, trying to look busy. Most of my weekends were spent by myself, either reading books, doing homework, or re-watching beloved TV shows.
I wanted my experience that year to be different, but I wasn’t sure how it was going to be. As I went to my first class, I looked around at the other students and felt a surge of terror. “I don’t want to talk to any of these people,” I thought. I didn’t want to go through painful introductions and awkward silences. So instead I spent the hour staring firmly at my desk, not looking at or talking to anybody.
By the time homeroom came along, I was convinced that my freshman year was going to be just as lonely as junior high. Fighting back tears, I silently slid into my seat, once again determined not to look away from my desk.
“Hello,” said a voice beside me. “My name is Taylor. What’s yours?” I looked up and saw a nervous-but-sincere-looking girl sitting across from me.
“Oh,” I said, “hello. My name is Rachel.”
After that Taylor mentioned that she had just moved into the area a couple weeks ago. She knew even fewer people than I did, and she was hoping to make new friends. Then we talked about the normal things—school, classes, and our hopes for high school. Our conversation was a little awkward, but overall, talking to Taylor was really nice. The next day in homeroom when I ran into her again, she invited me to sit by her and we talked more. The more I saw her and the more she casually said hello to me, the more comfortable I felt responding back. In the following weeks, Taylor became the one person I felt OK stopping to talk with between classes.
A few months later, I was feeling particularly down. I didn’t feel confident in myself and found it hard to believe that anyone would want to be friends with me. This feeling lasted day after day, until one evening, after a week or so of this, my phone started to ring. I answered it.
“Hey,” said the other person on the line. “This is Taylor. How’s it going, Rachel? I just wanted to call and say hi.”
Taylor and I talked for a while, and this time our conversation was a lot smoother. I really enjoyed talking with her—she showed genuine interest in getting to know me, and that helped me feel like I was worth being friends with. Later when our conversation ended, I began to realize something important. I felt as if Heavenly Father was trying to help me realize that I could be happy about who I am and what He has given me. Taylor’s phone call and her continual invitations over time helped me realize that who I am is great and that I can make feel comfortable being my reserved self.
After that phone call, Taylor and I started spending a lot of time together as friends. She accepted me as I was, and we had many great adventures in high school.
I knew Taylor was a true friend because she was friendly in a way that was not superficial. She was genuinely interested in getting to know me and was consistent in her interest. When it comes to making friends with others, behaving as Christ would—with charity, understanding, and sincerity—makes all the difference. Taylor did that for me through her warm attitude and honest interest in me as a person.
I’m still a shy person, but now I know that even shy people like me can have great friends.

Young manhood came to Boyd Packer about the time World War II began. After graduation from high school, he worked for a time on construction of an army hospital in his hometown. Like many young LDS men of his generation, he was unable to serve a full-time mission because of the war. In the spring of 1943, he enlisted in the Army Air Force, graduating as a pilot the following year, a few days before his twentieth birthday. He was ordered to the Pacific, and was stationed in Japan for nearly a year after the end of the war.

While in the military, he found plenty of time to study the scriptures. He read the Book of Mormon several times; today he refers to the book as “the single most powerful influence in my life.” In the spirit of the book, he also found motivation to preach the gospel of peace to the Japanese. Among those who learned of the gospel from servicemen were Tatsui Sato and his wife Chio. When the time came for their baptism, it was Boyd Packer’s privilege to perform the ordinance for Sister Sato. C. Elliot Richards, now a physician in Salt Lake City baptized Brother Sato. Later, Brother Sato’s translation work would make it possible for many Japanese to enjoy the scriptures and the temple ceremonies in their own language.

You know, conference is a great time for spiritual uplift, for association, and for wise counsel. With all the counsel I’ve been hearing, I couldn’t help but reminisce a little bit about the young athlete who attempted most all sports but had never tried skydiving. And so he took several theoretical courses in how to jump.
When the day came for the solo flight, he became a little fearful, so he approached his instructor and said, “I’m not sure I want to go through with this.”
The instructor said, “Don’t worry. We’ll protect you by putting two added parachutes on you.”
The plane took off and arrived at the three thousand foot level. With some fear and trepidation he was pushed out.
On the way down, at about two thousand feet, he remembered that that’s when you pull the rip cord. He did so, and the chute didn’t open. He pulled the second, and it didn’t open. He pulled the third, and it didn’t open.
To his amazement, at about that time he met in the air, coming up from the ground, another man. They passed on the way. The young parachutist shouted to his new friend, “Pardon me,” he said, “do you know anything about parachutes?”
“No,” his friend shouted back, “what do you know about Coleman lanterns?”
I suppose it seems all of us are in need of good counsel.

When the time came, I shared some of my history and what I had learned: I was born in Monrovia, Liberia, in 1996, during the civil war. My father was a soldier, steadfast and determined, navigating a world torn by the Monrovian conflict. He was deeply cherished as the only son of his mother. Tragically, both of my parents passed away two weeks after my birth; they were victims of the brutal conflict that engulfed our country. With their loss, I was taken back to my mother’s roots in Guinea, where I spent my childhood alternating between Guinea and Ivory Coast. I grew up hearing stories about our family’s origins and the incredible legacy left by our ancestors. I learned that our great-grandparents began their journey in Sudan over 200 years ago.
One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.
Beyond my family story, I want to share my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A pivotal moment in my spiritual journey came when I received the Book of Mormon in French from a friend while working as a hotel security supervisor. Reading its pages filled me with hope and a sense of belonging I had never known. Its introduction, which humbly acknowledges human imperfections, inspired a profound exploration of its truths. Life’s trials have tested my faith and resilience. Loneliness, loss, and the struggle to find a place to call home have been persistent challenges. Yet these very hardships have refined me, teaching me to lean on the Lord and trust His timing. Quiet moments of reflection have brought clarity and strength, allowing me to feel the guiding influence of the Holy Ghost. Each trial reminds me that God’s hand is always at work, shaping me for a greater purpose.
Following those promptings, I eventually found my way to Tema, Ghana. It was here that I began committed lessons with the missionaries. I owe a heartfelt thank you to them, especially Elder Young, whose dedication and spirit inspired me to grow closer to the Savior.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, December 22, 2024, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the moment I joined, I have felt the love and care among the members. The Church has brought light and joy into my life, and I am forever grateful for the blessings it has provided.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to my best friend, Sister Betsy Thornton, who has been a pillar of support and encouragement in my journey. Her kindness, wisdom, and love have left a lasting impact on my heart.
Each step of this journey has deepened my appreciation for family history and the Church. Family history has shown me the power of connection, the importance of understanding where we come from, and the joy of sharing these stories with others.
Wherever you are, if you are reading this, consider this as your personal invitation. Embrace FamilySearch and begin preserving your legacy for generations to come. How will your descendants learn about you 100 years from now?
I, Alias, am calling. And the Lord is also calling for the betterment of our shared tomorrow. Do not let history fade away with us—let it be recorded in FamilySearch. Wherever you are from, but especially to my beloved brothers and sisters from Africa, hear this call.
I am grateful for the opportunity to tell this story and to inspire others to embark on their own family history journeys. The past is not just history: it is the foundation upon which we build our present and future.

Many years later this boy again visited the Islands in the company of a member of the Presiding Bishopric, Bishop Charles W. Nibley, who later became a member of the First Presidency. As they landed in the harbor at Honolulu, many native Saints greeted them. They brought lots of leis and all kinds of beautiful native flowers. Both of them were loaded with leis upon leis. The young man, who was now an old man, had more than anyone else. A great Hawaiian band was playing a welcome to them and even played Mormon music.
Then Bishop Nibley explained in his journal one touching little incident:
“It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor, old blind woman tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, ‘Iosepa, Iosepa!’ [means ‘Joseph, Joseph!’] Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her over and over again, patting her on the head saying, ‘Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama!’ And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, ‘Charley, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me!’”
Bishop Nibley continued:
“O, it was touching—it was pathetic. It was beautiful to see the great, noble soul in loving, tender remembrance of kindness extended to him, more than fifty years before; and the poor old soul who had brought her loving offering—a few bananas—it was all she had—to put into the hand of her loved Iosepa” (Life of Joseph F. Smith, pp. 185–86).

While I was growing up, our family lived across the street from the ninth green of a public golf course. We spent hours sitting on the slope of our front lawn watching golfers complete their rounds. Once in a while a golfer would hit a poorly directed shot, and the ball would find its way into our yard. I would immediately try to find the errant ball and, if successful, carefully cross the busy street and stand at the golf course fence ready to return it for a small fee, usually a nickel and on occasion a whole dime. With my newfound wealth, I was then off to the corner grocery store to invest in the confectionery rage of the day, Double Bubble bubble gum. The comics, which were part of the gum’s wrapping, were the best.
By the time of my baptism I wanted to hit and putt golf balls rather than find them for others. The Scottish-born golf professional at the course was kind enough to allow some of us to play a few holes late in the evening after the paying customers stopped coming. In exchange for the privilege, we were expected to perform some chore like picking up papers around the clubhouse, bagging tees, or pulling a few weeds from the flower garden. Many times we played until it was so dark we could not see where we had hit our balls.
Over the next few years, golf became one of the great passions of my young life. I well remember the day my uncle gave me my first matched set of clubs. It didn’t matter that the shafts of each club bore the inscription “Property of the United States Government.” My uncle had purchased the clubs while he was in the military during World War II. I endured a lot of good-natured kidding about my military clubs, but I really appreciated the wonderful gift.

I used to be guilty of judging by appearance back in the days when I could see, before I lost my sight because of diabetes. I remember in particular my girls’ chorus teacher in junior high school. She was about as plain as a person could be, and she wore drab clothing. Even in conducting the choir she seemed to be a shy, backward person with about as much personality as a soda cracker. I am ashamed to admit that we girls made many rude remarks and cruel jokes about her behind her back.
One day at the end of the school year, some friends of mine thought it would be funny to leave an anonymous note on her desk telling her what we really thought of her. I was elected to do the dirty work. But as I went into the empty room to leave the note, I couldn’t do it. Instead, overcome by what I now suspect was the Spirit, I quickly wrote a note thanking her for her efforts in leading the chorus and telling her I had enjoyed singing.
As I was leaving the note on her desk, she entered the room. I was frozen to the spot as she walked to the desk, picked up the note, and read it. As I watched, I was astonished to see tears come to her eyes and flood down her cheeks. She clutched the note to her heart and in her mild way said, “Thank you.”
As I looked into her eyes at that moment, I believe I saw her clearly for the first time. I felt like I saw straight into her soul and sensed at once her loneliness, her pain, and her gentle goodness. At that moment, I loved her with a love that was far more powerful than anything I had ever felt for my favorite teachers. The Lord permitted me to see her heart as he sees it.

“One of our most memorable prenuptial events was a family home evening given by my bride’s family,” said Heber Jacobsen of Salt Lake City. It began with a dinner for both families and ended with the group kneeling in prayer. Following dinner the respective grandfathers explained the family lineage, tradition, and heritage that years of Church service have provided. Each family knew what the other family was bringing to the union. The bride’s father wrote a letter to the groom explaining the poignant feelings in a father’s heart as he turns his beloved daughter over to another patriarchal line. The groom’s mother wrote a letter to the bride sharing some of the things only a mother knows about her son. It was a sacred, sweet, motivating evening, and the bridal couple’s gift of a new book of remembrance filled with family group sheets and pedigree charts prepared by a brother was perfect for the occasion. “Marriage is a family affair. Couples ought to remember this,” said the Jacobsens.

Illustration by Dan Burr
Two weeks before my junior year of high school, my entire life was going to be uprooted. My family had always lived in North Carolina, USA, but had recently decided that my dad should take a job on the other side of the country, in Utah. I prayed about this decision, and I knew that this was going to be the best thing for my family, but I was still nervous.
Because of the timing of the move and the school schedule in my new town, I had to move one week before the rest of my family left North Carolina, and I would be starting school a week late. I was terrified. I was going to a brand new high school, I was starting after everyone else, and I had no friends.
On my first day at school, I was incredibly nervous and felt like no one wanted to talk to me. While I was waiting for all the other students to find their seats in French class so that I could take an empty one, a young woman invited me to sit next to her and began asking me questions about myself—why I was starting school a week late and where I was from. She helped me through the class, and then she asked me if I had anyone to sit with at lunch. I timidly replied that I didn’t, and she asked if I would sit with her and her friends. I gladly accepted.
Later that day, she invited me to a pool party that one of the school clubs was hosting and then to the football game. Both were very enjoyable, and I felt like I’d really made a friend. That night, I thanked my Father in Heaven for all the blessings I was receiving. I didn’t really know this young woman all that well, but I felt the love of Christ through her actions.
One day after school, my new friend asked me if I would be interested in coming with her and another friend to the temple to do baptisms for the dead before school the next day. I was excited about the invitation and said that I would go.
The next morning, I dressed in my Sunday best and went to the temple. After coming out of the temple, we took some time to walk around the grounds. I still wasn’t exactly sure how my new life in Utah would turn out, but as I looked over the valley, I knew that this is where my Father in Heaven wanted me to be.

Samuel especially found it difficult to understand the condition and all that it entailed. Looking back, he says, “I wished that there had been a book I could have read that let me know everything was going to be okay! As a type-1 diabetic, my life was very different and explaining that to my friends was like talking to an alien. They just didn’t understand.”
Instead of feeling sorry for himself, Sam felt inspired to help others in a similar situation. He explains, “It was hard after I was diagnosed, but I felt that I wanted to help others to have hope as they experienced the same feelings that I had at that time. It was then that I first thought of writing a children’s book about an alien called Zegg. I wanted to give hope to children who were newly diagnosed. One of my favourite authors is Dr. Seuss, so I tried to write it in his style.”
Samuel then had to work hard to make his book a reality, which happened early in 2021. He has already gifted 50 copies of the book to the hospital that helped him and plans to donate books to other health trusts for children who are beginning their own type-1 journey.
Sam, who is now 13, will always require insulin, and still experiences highs and lows, but his life is full of adventure, joy, and hope.
He has been raising funds in lots of imaginative ways to get copies of his book printed. Anyone can help by donating money for copies of the book (see https://samuel-grant.co.uk). He eventually hopes to gift the book to NHS trusts across the whole of the UK, so they can distribute copies to as many diagnosed Type-1 children as possible. Samuel adds, “Every year, an average of 5,000 children’s lives are changed forever by a Type-1 diagnosis. I hope that this book will help teach and educate people about the disease—being aware of it and understanding it, may help families live and cope with it better. This is one way I have been able to kind of minister to other people during hard and dark times.”

Every four years my stake has a trek. We dress up in pioneer clothing and are only allowed to bring certain items with us. The whole experience is fun. When we did it this last July, the weather was great. Once we hiked to the valley, we had pioneer games and a hoedown with pioneer music and modern music. There was also a testimony meeting. People felt the Spirit, and their testimonies were strengthened. Bonds were forged with new people, and new friends were made. I’m glad we could celebrate Pioneer Day through trek.
Emily H., Washington

Blair: I grew up in the Church and have a testimony. However, there is a part of my life that few people know. At age seven I often saw a pornographic poster on a teenage neighbor’s wall. It left an impression in my mind that I could not forget. Unworthy thoughts led me to develop an unworthy habit I felt I couldn’t break.

Blair: My self-confidence dwindled in church, school, and everywhere. Many times I felt very alone, awkward, and unworthy. If a girl liked me, I would think, “She wouldn’t like me if she really knew me.” I would shy away from being social.

Blair: I prayed for strength to leave these temptations alone. I made a list of things such as prayer, scriptures, and clean thoughts that would help me draw close to God. But although I worked hard, it didn’t solve my problems.
The thought of confessing to the bishop made me cringe. I felt it would be better to tell the bishop about the problem when it was in the past. But I finally realized it wasn’t ever going to be in the past if I did not confess. If God already knew my struggles and I felt comfortable talking about them in prayer, why not talk face to face with God’s servant? Once I finally decided to confess, I felt a reassuring peace that it was the right thing to do.
If you are using pornography, you are not morally clean, even if you haven’t done anything else immoral. Rob talks about realizing he wasn’t worthy to go to the temple or on a mission.
Rob: I humbly bowed before the Lord in tears and pleaded for strength beyond my own. Night after night I prayed, and finally I knew I had to talk to my bishop about it. That was the hardest part—admitting to someone else that I had a problem. I kept thinking I could handle it myself and no one would ever have to know. I wanted it to be something just between God and me. But I finally matured to a point where I realized that was impossible. I approached my bishop and began a long and difficult repentance process.
Repentance may be difficult, but it is also comforting and filled with hope.
Speaking of those who struggle with pornography, one bishop says: “Help is available. The repentance process is just that—a process. It takes time to break negative patterns, and each small victory must be acknowledged, reinforced, and celebrated along the way. Sometimes those I have worked with still struggle, but at least they are not hiding anymore. They have begun to build a support system. They have realized they don’t have to face this challenge alone.”
A former bishop explains: “Besides my own family, I don’t think I loved anyone in my ward quite as much as I loved those who came to me with broken hearts, seeking forgiveness and peace. They cared more about what the Lord thought of them than what any person thought. I respected their courage and desire to make things right. I shed tears over them. I rejoiced when they were clean and whole again. And afterward I never looked at them as former sinners—only as beloved brothers and sisters.”
“Trust in the Lord,” counseled Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “He knows what He is doing. He already knows of your problems. And He is waiting for you to ask for help” (“Trust in the Lord,” Ensign, May 1989, 36).
I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and to understand the Atonement. The Savior gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.
It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.
The best way to avoid a problem with pornography is to stay as far away from it as possible. But if you are struggling with pornography or any unworthy habit, please talk to your bishop or branch president. He loves you, he will be discreet, and he can help you put the power of the Atonement to work in your life. With the help of the Savior and His servants, you can gain the strength you need. You can become clean and confident and worthy in every respect.
It is both dangerous and wrong to deliberately view things that stimulate sexual thoughts. Our environment is full of such things. And because they are often legal and common, it is sometimes impossible to avoid seeing them.
But you don’t have to let them trap you. If you put on the full armor of God every day by praying, studying the scriptures, and doing your best to keep the commandments, you will develop the strength to withstand this and any temptation.
Here are some other ways you can stay far from the lethal spiritual crevice called pornography.
Know it when you see it. A simple definition is this: Pornography is any entertainment that uses immodest or indecent images to stimulate sexual feelings. So even a mainstream television program or advertisement can be pornographic. If images trigger sexual feelings in you, you should avoid them.
Break the emotional connection. There is a connection between any addictive behavior and emotions such as stress, anxiety, and depression. If you are feeling stressed or anxious, try to deal with those feelings directly—rather than using pornography or any other destructive means to cover them up. Prayer, scripture study, exercise, positive friends, and regular Church attendance can all help. A parent, a Church leader, or another trusted adult can be a lifeline if problems seem too big to resolve alone.
Surf smart. If you have access to the Internet at home, ask your parents to install an Internet filtering service. But don’t rely on the filter alone; it may fail you. The only real control is self-control. Keep your computer out of your bedroom; keep it where others will be around.
Be a modern-day Joseph. Remember what Joseph did when Potiphar’s wife tried to trap him in an immoral situation? Joseph “fled, and got him out” (Gen. 39:12). In other words, he ran. When you are exposed to pornography, leave immediately—whether by a mouse click, a channel change, or a quick exit from a friend’s house.
Get the most powerful help of all. Don’t let your spirit grow weak from lack of spiritual food. A steady diet of righteous influences—such as prayer, scripture study, Mutual, seminary, and a careful study of For the Strength of Youth—can give you the strength you need to navigate through a world that has spiritual crevices at every turn.
“I plead with you boys … to keep yourselves free from the stains of the world. You must not indulge in sleazy talk at school. You must not tell sultry jokes. You must not fool around with the Internet to find pornographic material. You must not dial a long-distance telephone number to listen to filth. You must not rent videos with pornography of any kind. This salacious stuff simply is not for you. Stay away from pornography as you would avoid a serious disease. It is as destructive. It can become habitual, and those who indulge in it get so they cannot leave it alone. It is addictive.

“It is a five-billion-dollar business for those who produce it. They make it as … attractive as they know how. It seduces and destroys its victims. It is everywhere. It is all about us. I plead with you young men not to get involved in its use. You simply cannot afford to.”—President Gordon B. Hinckley (“Living Worthy of the Girl You Will Someday Marry,” Ensign, May 1998, 49)
Pornography can be powerfully addicting. Scientific research—including new brain-scan technology—is beginning to show that pornography may cause physical and chemical changes in the brain similar to those caused by drugs. The only sure way to avoid the danger is to stay away from pornography in the first place.
If you have become addicted, you must seek help. The first person to see is your bishop or branch president. He can help you bring the Savior’s redeeming and healing power into your life. He can also help you obtain professional help as necessary. Please don’t try to go it alone.
Pornography isn’t just available, it is being pushed and marketed. Nobody—no adult, no returned missionary, no one—is so mature or so strong that he or she can risk deliberate exposure. Plan to be on guard your entire life. And that is even more true for those who have had a previous problem with pornography. It’s like being recovered from a drug or alcohol addiction. You must not return for even a taste because you can be overwhelmed in a moment.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

Earlier this year widespread flooding hit Washington state. “West Ellensburg was hit especially hard and about 200 residents, including my family, were evacuated the first night as up to four feet of water went into our homes,” says Krista Lindsay, a Laurel in the Ellensburg First Ward. “My family stayed with our bishop for a couple of nights since we had lost electricity and heat in our house. The next couple of days, after the flood had receded, were a whirlwind of cleaning up. The American Red Cross had contacted local churches to help with the flood relief. The Church recruited 445 volunteers who donned yellow shirts and invaded West Ellensburg with squeegees and lots of compassion. They cleaned up our yard and helped put our basement back together again. In other homes, they dragged out soggy carpet, moved furniture, and cleaned debris from yards. The flood damage was cleaned up and life does go on, but the helping people in yellow shirts remain a happy memory for all the victims.”

While serving as Secretary of Agriculture of the United States in the Cabinet of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, I was invited to give the keynote address at the annual convention of the World Food and Agriculture Organization at Rome, Italy. Between sixty and seventy nations were represented at the great international conference.
Following the morning session, which included the address, an impressive luncheon was given in my honor in the International Banquet Hall, which was decorated with flags of many nations.
The customary cocktail hour preceded the luncheon. I noticed as the men held glasses in their hands that there was apparently no liquor being served but only soft drinks and fruit juices. I mentioned this to my host, Dr. Sen of India, and said, “Surely many of these men are used to their liquor, which is customary during the cocktail hour.” He said, “No, Mr. Secretary, today we honor you and respect your standards.”
Following the period of fellowship, we took our places at the banquet table. Here I was even more surprised to find that there was no coffee being served but again only soft drinks and fruit juices. I said to Dr. Sen, “Surely the men attending the luncheon expect to have their usual coffee.” He smiled very graciously and said, “No. Mr. Secretary, I am the host. You are the honored guest, and at this luncheon we honor you and respect your standards.”
And so it was at a luncheon attended by distinguished leaders from many nations. No member of the Church will ever have cause to be embarrassed by real men or women because of his or her standards. Again, it is rewarding to maintain the standards of the Church.

When I was a young girl, my family had a huge furnace in the living room, which made heat by burning coal. Every day one of us had the responsibility of going out to the coal shed behind our house and bringing back a bucket of coal. Then the small bits of coal were poured into one end of the furnace. Throughout the day the bits of coal slowly fed the fire.
Our coal shed held about five tons of coal, and, depending on how cold the weather was, we’d use a ton or a ton and a half every month in the winter. Anytime our coal shed became low, we knew that it was time to call the coal man to deliver more.
One year, however, we did not have enough money to pay for coal, so we didn’t order any. The weather had not yet gotten very cold, and we decided that we could keep warm by wearing our coats around the house during the day and by sleeping under a lot of blankets at night. I still remember how odd it seemed to be able to see our breath inside the house as we talked to one another.
Wearing our coats in the house worked well until the weather suddenly turned really cold. One morning, when we were wondering what we should do, we heard a familiar sound. The coal truck was coming down our street. Everyone looked out the window as it pulled into our yard and began filling up our shed with rich, dark coal.
My mother quickly ran outside to explain that she had not ordered any coal and could not afford the fuel that the man was shoveling into our little shed.
The man just smiled and said, “I know,” and continued to fill our shed with five tons of coal—enough to last the rest of the winter. Then he drove away without saying another word.
Fast offerings had paid for the coal that day. Even now, whenever I see a bit of coal, I remember that others had fasted so that we might be warm that winter.