Gospel Story Finder

More than a year after Nancy and I were baptized, she began dating a young man named Luke. He had a bubbly personality and seemed to radiate love and excitement. At the time Nancy met him, he was looking for direction in his life. When Nancy told him about the gospel, he was eager to take the missionary discussions. His sister, Leonarda, also was interested in being taught.
Although Luke and Leonarda agreed with most of what the missionaries taught them, they had trouble accepting that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The missionaries told them that once they gained a testimony of Joseph Smith, then everything else—the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, and the gospel principles taught by the prophets—would fall into place.
When Luke and Leonarda met with the elders again, the discussion centered on Joseph Smith. One of the elders suggested that we should each take a turn asking Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet and then listen silently for a minute for the answer.
I won’t forget the feeling of peace that came into that room and touched each of our hearts as the Spirit bore witness to each of us that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. Luke accepted baptism, and Leonarda was baptized a few years later with her parents’ approval.

I have read some of the histories of the disaster which we commemorate this day. Of particular note is the account of the near spontaneous collection of flowers throughout Salt Lake City by young and old to be sent to Scofield to somehow alleviate the terrible suffering and grief. I was moved to tears as I read from the account.
“In Salt Lake words cannot describe the scenes that took place. Every one was anxious to do their part, and the school children, … hastened from house to house gathering flowers from all the gardens in the city until almost three carloads were furnished” (History of the Scofield Mine Disaster, 57).
The flowers were placed in the baggage compartment of a special train bound for Scofield. I quote now from the account.
The flowers “were spread out on the seats two and three feet high throughout the rest of the car. …
“Everything seemed to be there that might help to cheer those who have lived out in the hills, far away from the flowers and who are now experiencing the most dreadful calamity that has ever occurred in the western country. …
“The … car, with the lilacs and cut flowers, was switched into a sidetrack near the cemetery early in the morning. The car was next to the roadway over which the long train of wagons passed as they bore the bodies to their last resting place. The doors of the car were thrown open, and as each wagon came by, it halted while Captain Barrett and his aids, … buried the coffins under lilacs and handed each driver a bunch of cut flowers for the widows and children who accompanied the coffins. At the forward end of the car, the boys in charge were almost overwhelmed by requests for flowers. Work as fast as they could, the mournful little groups of women and children, in significant black, were still there awaiting their turn for the blossoms. If the donors of the flowers and the people who helped collect them could have seen the gratitude and appreciation of Scofield they would have been repaid an hundred fold for their work. …
“Just before noon came a plea from the Finns. Their spokesman came aboard the car and said they had sixty-one dead, none of whom had a friend in the country, aside from the people of their nationality. He asked as a favor that flowers be reserved for them until their train came down the canyon. There was an abundance for all, and the man’s face lighted with evident pleasure when he was assured that all the coffins would be decorated and the graves covered with flowers. The distribution alone took nearly all the time from nine o’clock in the morning until the heavy rain late in the afternoon stopped the melancholy procession” (57–61). To these flowers were added additional bouquets from towns along the route of the train.

I was baptized almost two years ago. At first the scriptures seemed boring to me, and I didn’t understand them. To remedy this situation, I did a number of things.
I organized and managed my time; I chose a certain time each day during which I would spend the entire time reading the scriptures. I set a goal to read the Book of Mormon within a certain time. I used my imagination to become a participant in the events recorded in the scriptures. I always asked my Heavenly Father for help in understanding what I was reading. Sometimes I would discuss a certain passage with my bishop or someone else to help with that understanding.
The scriptures have become my best friends, and I know that they are of God.
Yngrid M. Heining, 17San Lorenzo Ward, Fernando de la Mora StakeParaguay

One afternoon during my internship as an air traffic controller at the airport in Tijuana, Mexico, my instructor and I noticed that a fogbank from the ocean had covered the airport and a large part of the city. Visibility, however, was within the limits allowed for aircraft to land and take off.
Soon, we detected on radar a Cessna 172 coming from the south along the coast, flying via visual flight rules (VFR). Under VFR, pilots locate themselves visually with reference points on the ground to reach their destination.
Unfortunately, the pilot had gotten lost in the fog. Flying in circles around the coastal area, he tried to locate himself in relation to the airport, but the poor visibility restricted his vision. I asked my instructor what we could do to help him.
“He needs to tune in to the tower’s airband frequency and communicate with us,” he replied. “Otherwise, we can’t do anything for him.”
I didn’t understand why the lost pilot didn’t communicate with us. Did he have a problem with his radio? Did he feel that he could get out of danger by himself?
Minutes passed. Finally, the pilot tuned in to the tower frequency. With a worried tone, he asked for help. Immediately we gave him directions to lead him safely to the airport runway. He just had to trust our instructions and his flight instruments.
Seeing the plane emerge from the fog a few minutes later and then land safely gave us indescribable joy.
On the way home, I pondered what the pilot had experienced. Calling us on the right airband frequency made the difference between receiving help or flying in circles—or worse.

I was raised in a family of 11, including my mom and dad. We were well disciplined and religious, but we often fell short of praying as a family.
When I was seven years old, my aunt took me into her home. There I was taught the gospel because she and her husband were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One night I was invited to pray with them before we went to bed. At first, I was a bit offended because prayer was not part of my life, but I found it easy to pray with them. After the prayer, my uncle taught me how to pray and helped me to understand the importance of praying. He explained that prayer is communication with God and that a relationship with God is impossible without prayer. He taught me that God knows our needs, but we need to ask first.
Talking to my uncle really gave me the desire to learn how to pray. The first time I prayed, I learned that I am a child of God and that He cares about me and wants me to talk to Him always. After that, I knew that when I am looking for God, I must keep calling on Him, even if I am not sure how He will answer.
I know that when we pray to God, He will make Himself known to us. If He answered me, He can likewise answer you.

“Aren’t you the ones who were singing the other night? Come in!”

That’s the reaction some of the elders and sisters of the Wellington Zone, New Zealand Wellington Mission, are receiving when they’re tracting because of a musical approach to missionary work.

It started when the Wellington Zone decided to share their talents by preaching the gospel by singing. “I Am a Child of God” was their theme song, and it was enthusiastically sung along with other Church songs at a mall in the city of Wellington. Other missionaries were standing off to the side of the singers, talking to people who were curious about why the group was singing and what the Church is about.

“It was a successful way to contact people and tell them about the gospel,” said Elder Scott Latimer of the New Zealand Wellington Mission. “It also helped create fine public relations.”

Just the other night we had the opportunity to attend a baptismal service in the ward meetinghouse where Rachel, a great-granddaughter, was baptized. A few nights before that, Richard, a great-grandson, had been baptized. I had the opportunity to look at them and talk to them and squeeze them and see that sparkle in their eye and of the light of the gospel that seemed to fill their heart and soul. They were so excited about the idea of being baptized to become official members of the Church. Their families had taught them true gospel principles. I remember when I said, “Richard,” as we shook hands, “give me a real missionary handshake.” And with that little eight-year-old hand he almost squeezed my fingers off. As he did it, I said, “Richard, you’ll be a great missionary, just as little Rachel will be a great member of the Church in her right.”
On that same occasion we had an opportunity to stand in the circle and to have young Peter Jr. receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to hear his father give him the blessings of the priesthood. And those of us who were older had the chance to stand in the circle and to sense the meaning of the occasion and to feel of it and to know that all present were part of our family.

Illustration by Kathleen Petersen
My mother and I had just finished our nightly prayer. We hugged each other and said, “I love you.” Then I walked to my bedroom. As I reached for my door handle, a strong impression came into my mind that the next day my mom would die.
My brain and heart tried to fight the thought. There was no way that something was going to happen to my mom. Everything would be fine with her.
Once in my room, I knelt in prayer and told Heavenly Father that the impression about my mom could not be true. I asked Him to please take the thought away, but it didn’t leave. I returned to my parents’ room and told my mom I wanted one more hug and kiss before I went to bed. We again said, “I love you,” and I returned to my room. It took me a while to fall asleep that night.
When I woke up the next morning, I was nervous. Thankfully, there was my mom, happy and well. But in the back of my mind, I still had that nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. At fast and testimony meeting that day, Mom stood up and bore a beautiful testimony.
After sacrament meeting she went to teach her Primary class, and I went to Sunday School. I had another distinct impression, this time to get up and leave Sunday School. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but something pulled me out of my seat and out of the door. Within a few minutes, I found myself sitting in my mom’s Primary class listening to her teach. I didn’t know why I was there, but I knew that was where I needed to be.
Later that afternoon at my brother’s house, my mom stared straight into my eyes for the last time as she collapsed and passed away from a pulmonary embolism. For His reasons and in His mercy, Heavenly Father had sent the Holy Ghost to prepare me. Those promptings gave me extra time with my mom that I wouldn’t have enjoyed had I ignored the still, small voice.
The love of my Heavenly Father had never been so evident to me until the events that took place around my mom’s passing. How blessed we are to have a Father in Heaven who loves us enough to give us the special gift of the Holy Ghost.

As a new twelve-year-old Scout, I attended a court of honor in the Richards Ward in Salt Lake City. Near the end of the evening an older fellow in the troop, Jim Rasband, was awarded a beautiful, red, heart-shaped medal. It was called the Life Scout award. I remembered how impressed we as troop members were when it was pinned on his Scout shirt. That one experience of seeing an unusual Scout lift his head above the average boy and walk in high places probably contributed to my attainment of the Eagle rank.

Shortly after graduating high school, Enoch discovered the power of music. Passing by a classroom in church one day, he saw the missionaries teaching members to play the piano, and he was captivated by it. He sat in and listened as they taught what musical notes look like on a page, and how they relate to the piano keys. Curiously enough, it all made perfect sense to him. The 30 minutes of instruction ended, and the missionaries eventually left, but his interest remained, so he learned to play on his own, note upon note, stanza on stanza, playing just the melody first with one finger, then with two, then playing with both hands, and by perserving through the struggles, he learned to play beautifully.

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

The first is illustrated by an experience of several months ago. A stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman in her home near Atlanta, Georgia. She was twenty-nine years old; her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in a modest apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged at having received a “bump” not of her own making. On the contrary, she was cheerful; she was calm; she was very gracious. She thanked us for coming and then said, as nearly as I can recall: “Brethren, I want you to know I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for His redeeming sacrifice.” Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, “Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through.”

We came expecting to comfort and strengthen, and we left humbled, buoyed, and blessed by her wonderful expression of faith.

I was reminded of this when my wife and I visited the Frederiksborg castle in the town of Hillerød north of Copenhagen, Denmark, together with some fellow members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints visiting from abroad.
We started our tour of the castle with our friends by first going to the prayer room to see the original Carl Bloch paintings. After pointing out the paintings, I went on to the neighbouring rooms to continue the tour of the castle. However, nobody followed me, so I went back to find the others.
When I came back to the prayer room, I found our friends still looking at the paintings, being deeply moved by what they saw. I realised to my own embarrassment that I had come to show our friends some beautiful paintings almost like a tourist guide, but they had stopped and taken the time and effort to see beyond what Carl Bloch had painted so beautifully on copper. Thus, they saw the life and teachings of Jesus Christ and they were moved by the messages of our Saviour.
After joining our friends again, we had a memorable time together looking at each of the 23 paintings separately, and talking about each event in His life and the messages we can learn. We started with the painting depicting the visit of the angel to Mary, telling her “Fear not Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David”.
After some time, we ended with the last painting depicting the resurrected Jesus Christ. This picture is a reminder for me of what Jesus Christ accomplished for all of us. This is summarised so well by Nephi in his joyous message: “I glory in plainness; I glory in truth; I glory in my Jesus, for he hath redeemed my soul from hell”.
The experience in the Frederiksborg castle in front of the Carl Bloch paintings, which I have seen many times, was an important reminder to me. We can look at paintings of Jesus Christ, or we can read stories of Jesus Christ, but we need to take the time and effort to contemplate the messages of His teachings and relate them to our life. This way we will better be able to “learn more about His Atonement, His love, His mercy, His doctrine, and His restored gospel of healing and progression” and find the answers to our questions and problems.

Four years ago I spoke in this setting about couples serving full-time missions. My prayer was that “the Holy Ghost [would] touch hearts, and somewhere a spouse … [would] quietly nudge his or her companion, and a moment of truth [—a moment of decision—would] occur.” One sister later wrote me about that experience. She said, “We were sitting in the comfort of our family room enjoying conference on television. … As you spoke, my heart was touched so deeply. I looked over at my husband and he looked at me. That moment changed my life forever.”

“Mike,” Dad called. “Time for school.” Walking slowly down the stairs, Mike found Dad waiting for him at the bottom.
“Do I have to go?” Mike asked. “Can’t I wait until tomorrow?”
Dad shook his head. “There have been too many tomorrows. I understand how you feel, but you need to get caught up.”
“Mrs. Peters sent home some of my work,” Mike said.
Dad sighed and handed Mike a sweater. “Today I go back to work—and you go back to school.”
Mike felt tears welling up. Surely he wasn’t going to cry again! “It’s so hard without Mom.”
Dad knelt and hugged Mike. “I know.” Mike could see the pain in Dad’s eyes.
As Mike walked out the door, he looked at Mom’s beautiful rose garden. But it wasn’t beautiful anymore. Weeds were popping up everywhere. He sighed. Would anything ever be the same again?
School was the same—noisy children running and talking. Mike dragged himself into his third-grade classroom.
Sam, his best friend, waved. Mike tried to smile, but his smile wouldn’t work. He kept taking deep breaths and trying not to cry.
Mrs. Peters began class. Mike heard her talking, but his gaze wandered outside. It was sunny. “How can the world look bright when Mom has died?” he wondered. A tear slid down his nose.
“Look, Mike’s crying!” shouted Bill, who sat across the aisle.
Without thinking, Mike got up and ran out the door and down the hall. He would never go back to school again! He pushed open the big school doors and ran the five blocks home. It was cold without a sweater.
He went to his room to get a jacket, then sat on his swing in the backyard. He swung back and forth, staring at the ground.
He thought of going to Grandma’s house, but she was sad now too. She used to laugh a lot and go bowling and bake cookies. He wondered if she had gone back to work too.
Mike made the swing go higher. Maybe, he thought, he would fall off and die. Then he could go to heaven and see Mom.
He heard words like the wind in the trees—“Then Dad and Grandma wouldn’t have you. Would you want Dad to leave?”
He stopped the swing, his feet skidding in the dirt. Who had said that? Was it Mom, speaking to him from heaven? He looked around, but there was only the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.
Mike looked at the patch of blue sky through the trees. “I miss my mom! Please, Heavenly Father, help me!” His tears started again.
Suddenly he had the urge to go to Mom’s rose garden. He stood looking at the poor rosebushes, without water and with lots of weeds. Mom sure wouldn’t like that! He knelt and began pulling and yanking at the weeds. Then he grabbed the garden hose and watered the bushes he had weeded. Soon it would be spring, and the roses would bloom bright red and yellow and pink. He wondered if Mom would see them from heaven. Somehow he felt closer to her as he worked in her garden.
Dad’s car came roaring up the driveway. He jumped out, ran to Mike, and hugged him. “They called me from school.”
“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Mike promised. “Dad, look at the rosebushes.”
“Mom would be proud,” Dad said. “I’ll change clothes, and we can work on it together.”
As Mike weeded alongside Dad, he thought of the roses that would bloom. He could almost smell their fragrance. After they bloomed, he decided, he would pick some of them for Grandma.
Mike looked up to see Sam and Bill. The two boys looked at the weeds.
“Can we help?” Sam asked.
Mike nodded. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face.

As the Maid of Iowa docked in Nauvoo to unload its passengers—more than three hundred British converts—Captain Dan Jones, also a new convert, anxiously searched the crowd of greeters for the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Captain Jones had never seen Joseph Smith, so he was startled when a “large, comely man” approached him and shook his hand, saying “God bless you, brother.” When the man returned a little later, Dan Jones realized that this was the very person for whom he was looking.

As the youngest in a family of eleven, one of my responsibilities as a boy was to herd cows. I not only took care of my family’s cows, but I would gather all the cows in the neighborhood and take them to graze up in the hills or along the dirt roads nearby.
Sometimes the cows would disappear from where they were supposed to graze. If I did not watch them carefully, they would follow a forbidden path and get into trouble. They might even stray into some farmer’s field. If they ate too much lucerne, they would bloat or become terribly sick and need immediate care.
On one occasion while I was working in the garden, the cows disappeared. When I walked up the road to look for them, I discovered that the entire herd was gone. I came back and got Jimmy, my pony, and rode all over the valley trying to find the cows. But there was no sign of them!
It seemed only a few minutes since they were grazing contentedly by the side of the road, and I could not understand how they could disappear in such a short time. I was really worried.
In my distress I got off my pony and onto my knees to pray. I asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cows. Then as I was about to climb back onto Jimmy, I noticed some faint cow tracks in the sand. I decided to follow them.
The tracks led me for several miles along a side road that crossed some high hills. As I approached the hills, I saw the cows hidden in a small enclosed area a short distance from the road. Not one of the cows was missing, and I happily drove them back home. Someone must have driven a large herd of cows along the road. Our cows joined with the others and then somehow became separated from the large herd.
I knew the Lord had heard and answered my prayer because I went directly to the place where the cows were.
From this and many similar experiences, I learned as a young boy that Heavenly Father loves me and that He hears and answers my prayers. This knowledge has been a guiding star to me, not only through childhood and young manhood, but throughout my life.
That star has become brighter and brighter until it has become a beacon of light to guide me along the strait and narrow way. I know this path will bring peace and happiness in this life and lead us to our goal of eternal life.

Raegan and Rylyn began painting “Be Kind” on waterproof signs. They went to shops and farmer’s markets to sell them, and they gave the money they raised to local charities, including Blessings in a Backpack, the Humane Society, the American Red Cross, Down Syndrome of Louisville, and local programs assisting those with distinct abilities, or special needs.
Three years later, Raegan and Rylyn are still painting. They have made over 5,400 Be Kind signs and raised over $50,000 for charity. “Sometimes we have church groups, friends, or the missionaries come over to paint like 100 signs at once,” Raegan says. Once, a Baptist church requested 40 signs for their lawn. Raegan and Rylyn see the signs in people’s yards, and some signs even ended up in other countries! The girls also speak about kindness at schools and community events.
Reagan and Rylyn make and sell “Be Kind” signs in an effort to increase kindness in their community and to raise money for charity.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.
This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.

Christopher filled his plate with food in the kitchen and retreated to his room. His sister Kaitlyn, a freshman in high school, was having a party for her friends before the stake dance began.
Christopher, two years older, had decided not to go to the stake dance. Instead, he would stay in his room and play video games or go online.
His parents would be attending the dance as chaperones, so he would be alone. He could hardly wait for everyone to leave. Even so, he had a strange feeling. It was the feeling you’d have walking along the top of a steep, ice-covered roof, knowing that, if you start to slip, it would be very difficult to keep from sliding off the roof.
“Not this time,” he said to himself.
He turned on his computer and checked his e-mail. He had two messages from friends he’d found on a chat line. He read each one and sent a reply. He had more online friends now than from school or church.
There was a knock at the door, and then Kaitlyn threw open the door and stuck her head in the room. Standing next to her was one of her friends. She was a good six inches shorter than Christopher, with a long narrow face and dark brown hair.
“Mom and Dad are about to leave. You coming with us?” Kaitlyn asked.
“I don’t think so.”
The phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Kaitlyn shouted, running down the hall.
Christopher stepped out of the room. He was relieved he hadn’t been looking at anything inappropriate, but at the same time, he was embarrassed that he could have been.
“Why is your face so red?” Kaitlyn’s friend asked.
“No reason.”
“You should come to the dance,” she said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Hannah Banana Happy Piana.”
“That’s your name?”
“Not the Banana Happy Piana part, but my first name is Hannah.”
“Well, it’s always nice to meet one of Kaitlyn’s little friends,” he said sarcastically.
“How come you don’t want to come to the dance?”
“I don’t like to dance, and none of my friends will be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“So?”
“You could dance with me.”
“No offense, but I’d rather stay home.”
“Stay home and what? Watch a computer screen? Do you know what computer images are? I just learned about it. They’re just a series of 1’s and 0’s. Would you rather spend time with 1’s and 0’s than talking to me?”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
She playfully slugged him on the arm. “Can a bunch of 1’s and 0’s do that?”
“Go away. You’re bothering me.”
“Come to the dance with us. I’ll teach you not to be so boring all the time.”
“Who says I’m boring?”
“Kaitlyn says you scare girls away because you don’t know how to talk to them.”
“That’s not true.” But even as he said it, he realized it had been a long time since he had spent much time with girls.
“I say it is. I say you’re totally hopeless. Anyone can see that.”
“Look, I doubt if you could teach me anything.”
“I could teach you that staying in your room playing with your computer when you could go to a dance is lame. All I’m saying is think about it, okay? We won’t be going for a few more minutes, so you can still change your mind.” And with that, she was gone.
He was glad to get rid of her and could hardly wait for everyone to leave. But at the same time, he felt some dread at what might happen after everyone left—what had happened at other times when he’d been alone.
It was hard for him now to stay away from some Web sites. He had been introduced to pornography at a friend’s house two years earlier. What he saw there was both disgusting and degrading. When he finally got a computer in his room, he had gone to a pornographic Web site just out of curiosity. And now he found himself returning again and again, until it was as if he had no ability to stop himself.
More than once he had promised himself he would never look at those things again. Sometimes he went a day or two, but eventually he found himself returning.
One Sunday, after his bishop had talked to the Aaronic Priesthood about the evils of pornography, he’d gone to his room and prayed. He had poured out his heart to God for help, but nothing seemed to change. And now everyone was about to leave for the dance, and he’d be alone again.
He closed his eyes. “Father in Heaven, please help me. I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.”
There was a loud pounding on the door.
“What?”
Hannah threw open the door. “It’s me again! Kaitlyn sent me here to get you for the dance. We worked it all out. You’ll dance every dance with one of us, except for Kaitlyn. She doesn’t want to dance with you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Suddenly he was looking at her in a new light, wondering if she could possibly be an answer to his prayers. One thing was for sure, he knew what would happen if he stayed at home.
He stood up. “Give me a minute. I need to change.”
Hannah called out into the hall. “He’s going! I won the bet, Kaitlyn!”
A few minutes later, he went into the living room, where six girls were waiting for him. They all ended up riding in the family van with Christopher’s parents. He sat in the middle with Kaitlyn on his right and Hannah on his left.
“What’s your favorite color?” Hannah asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, you’ve got to pick one.”
“Why?”
“It’s one of the first things I learn when I meet somebody. You can learn a lot about people if you know their favorite color.”
“What can you learn?”
“Well, for one thing, you’ll know their favorite color!” She started laughing hysterically.
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“It was plenty funny. My favorite color is orange. My bedroom is painted orange. Sometimes I wake up and pretend I’m living inside a pumpkin, like I’m one of the seeds.”
“You are a very strange girl.”
“I like to think of colors as if they had a personality. Like serene green, or true blue, or cheery red. Do you ever do that?”
“No, I never do.”
The dance seemed to have been frozen in time until Hannah showed up with her friends, with Christopher in the middle of them all.
“We’re here, everybody!” Hannah called out. She grabbed Christopher’s hand. “I get the first dance because I got you to come.”
They went out on the dance floor and waited for the next dance to start. The music began. Christopher shuffled his feet.
“Okay, Christopher, start dancing,” Hannah said.
“I am dancing.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s a start. Let me give you some pointers. Watch carefully.”
He watched her dance. It was totally unpredictable.
“You got it?” she asked.
“Got what?”
“Look, just do what I do, okay?”
A few minutes later they returned to the other girls. “Okay,” Hannah said, “now dance with Melissa. You’ve got 10 minutes, and then it’s Sarah’s turn.”
Melissa wasn’t as spontaneous as Hannah, so within a few minutes neither she nor Christopher was saying anything.
He realized he used to be better at talking with girls, but not anymore. Just after an episode with pornography, he felt such guilt that he avoided any wholesome interaction with a girl. But then as time went on and he became tempted again, he couldn’t look at a girl without thinking of her in ways he knew he shouldn’t. It was a vicious cycle that kept repeating over and over again with the net result being that he pulled into himself. Hannah was able to draw him out—but Melissa was a little shy, and he couldn’t seem to make the personal contact by himself.
“Time out!” Hannah shouted. She came out to them. “Melissa, I need to talk to Christopher for a minute, but I’ll get him back to you soon.”
Melissa returned to her friends.
“What’s the deal? You didn’t even talk to Melissa. Okay, we’ll practice. I’ll be Melissa, and you be you. Talk to me.”
“Don’t you think that Hannah is the strangest person in the whole world?” he asked.
Hannah wasn’t amused. “Very funny! Okay, you be Melissa, and I’ll be you.”
“It’s easy to be Melissa,” he said. “All I need to do is stare at the floor and not say anything.”
“Melissa, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” she asked, trying to mimic his voice.
“Four brothers, two sisters,” Christopher said in his highest voice.
“And what are their names?”
“Winken, Blinken, and Nod, Donner, Comet, and Blitzen.”
“Do you have any hobbies, Melissa?” Hannah asked Christopher.
“Yes,” he said in his high voice. “I collect boilers from condemned schools.”
Hannah tried her best not to laugh. “How interesting.”
“I have them in my room.”
“Big room, huh?”
“Yes, and it’s always warm.” They both laughed.
Hannah said, “Do you see how easy it is to carry on a conversation with a girl? You just keep asking questions about her life. But you need to be interested in the answers she gives. Okay, let’s go back in there and see how you do.”
For the rest of the evening, Hannah let him practice what she’d taught him. He danced with Hannah, Kaitlyn, and all their friends. Two hours later the dance was over.
On the way home Kaitlyn turned to Christopher.
“Thanks for being so good with my friends,” she said.
“I had fun,” Christopher responded.
At home they had family prayer and hugged each other, and then everyone separated to get ready for bed. A few minutes later, Christopher entered his room. The first thing he noticed was the computer on his desk. It seemed more like an enemy than a tool.
“Maybe I should check to see if I have any e-mails,” he thought. He sat on his bed and tried to decide what to do. In the past, something as innocent as checking his e-mails late at night had led to him ending up on pornographic Web sites.
“How am I going to make it through the night?” he thought. “And what about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that?”
Out of nowhere, in his mind, he heard Hannah, in her upbeat, cheerful way: “What’s your favorite color?” The thought of asking one of the women on a pornographic site a question like that seemed ridiculous. They wouldn’t answer such a question, and he wouldn’t ask it. They existed in a one-dimensional world where only one thing mattered. And that one thing promised a thrill but gave nothing back but guilt and remorse.
He went to his desk and began to write in his journal:
“From now on I will spend my time with real girls, not with virtual images on a monitor. I’ll ask them what their favorite color is. I’ll ask how many brothers and sisters they have. I’ll ask them what their hobbies are. I’ll dance with them, joke with them, tease and get teased by them, and I’ll laugh with them. I will stay away from virtual girls for the rest of my life.”
He signed it, looked up, and glared at his computer on the desk. He quickly began disconnecting all the cables. A few minutes later, he had set up his computer in the kitchen where anybody coming into the room could see what was on the monitor.
His dad heard him moving about and came into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Dad, do you have a few minutes? There’s something I need to tell you, something I need help with.”
“What is it?”
Christopher lowered his head. He wasn’t even sure he could say the word to his father. He fought to stay in control.
“I need to know so I can help,” his dad said.
Christopher sighed. “It’s pornography, Dad. That’s my problem. I’ve been looking at it in my room, but I want to quit. It’s tearing me apart.”
“Is that why you brought your computer in here?”
“Yes. At first I thought I could just tell myself I wasn’t going to look at it anymore. But that hasn’t worked. The truth is I can’t seem to stop.”
His dad put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you for telling me this.”
“No, Dad. There’s nothing to be proud of when it comes to me.”
“I disagree. You could have gone your whole life trying to hide this from the rest of the world, but you knew you couldn’t live a lie. To me that shows character.”
“I’m out of control. I need help.”
“I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’ll need to work with the bishop, too. Because of his calling, he can help you in ways I can’t.”
“He’ll be really disappointed in me.”
“I think he’ll be pleased you want to get rid of this evil in your life.”
They talked until two in the morning. They made a list of actions they could take. Christopher’s dad made it clear that there were some things he would need to keep doing. Things like praying and reading the scriptures, filling his time with positive activities and positive thoughts. An addiction like his isn’t overcome easily, and not without help.
Christopher asked, “Dad, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or if I’m too unworthy, but could you give me a priesthood blessing?”
“I would very much like to do that.”
“I didn’t know if I should even ask. I haven’t felt much like praying either.”
“Heavenly Father will never turn away from us, no matter what we’ve done.”
After the blessing, they hugged each other and said good night. Christopher returned to his room. It seemed a much safer place without the computer. He knelt once again in prayer and then, a few minutes later, slipped into bed.
He remembered Hannah’s question, “What’s your favorite color?” He smiled. “I know the answer to that question now. My favorite color is true blue.” He felt better at that moment than he’d felt in a long time.