Gospel Story Finder

Janette Kasl lost her father when she was ten. Although she is now the mother of four, she vividly remembers how she wanted people to talk to her about the experience.
“I remember that I went back to school and everybody was studying as usual and I’d just had this trauma in my life and nobody was doing anything different. I just wanted to scream. Don’t keep silent. The more it was avoided, the more I thought that it wasn’t important to anyone else, and it was really important to me, so it was very hard,” she says.

Christmas is a great time to try to help your friend, especially because it is such a family-oriented time and will probably be particularly hard. But don’t forget your friend after the New Year’s parties are over. “That time is a letdown, even for people with normal families,” says Janette. “You can ease the letdown by visiting or just being there. The week after Christmas might be a good time to get someone involved in a service activity or something.”

“Every situation is different,” says Janette. “Something that worked one time might not again. The important thing is that you keep trying to help.”

Whenever I heard the words “missionary work,” I used to think of giving away a Book of Mormon. While I had previously given away copies of the Book of Mormon, none of the people I gave them to seemed interested. But I didn’t know that for the past year and a half, I have been a missionary just by being who I am and sticking to my standards.
It began on the first day of school one year. I had arrived at my first class early, and so I sat down at a desk in the middle of the classroom. A girl named Alicia* came in and sat in the far back. Since I was alone, I invited her to sit with me. She had just moved from Mexico over the summer, so she didn’t have any friends yet. I was glad we had most of our classes together. That’s how we became friends.
But our lives were very different. Alicia wore outfits that differed from my standards and used bad language. In her old school, she talked back to her teachers, and grades weren’t important to her. She had a bad family life and would sneak out and go to parties.
As we have become good friends, I have noticed a good change in her. She no longer wears inappropriate clothing. She is careful to not use bad language. She has improved her grades, even competing for the highest scores. Her family life is getting a lot better too. She never sneaks out anymore or goes to bad parties.
We talk about her changes and improvements. Alicia told me that one night her boyfriend came over and wanted her to break the law of chastity. She was about to give in when she saw in her mind a flashback of all the improvements she’s made and how proud she is of herself. She wasn’t willing to throw it all away. So she said no and broke up with him. That was the greatest thing for me to hear from her, and I am so proud of her.
Missionary work truly can occur by example as we live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Elizabeth was always first. She was the first of four children to be born. She was the first one up in the morning, picking the warmest spot by the big stove to get dressed in and warm her cold toes. She was the first one to dinner, the first one to church. She was even the first one to bed—so she could choose the best spot in the middle of the big feather mattress. And when the old cat at the farm had kittens, Elizabeth got first pick.
Anna was only a year younger than Elizabeth, but she wasn’t nearly so quick. When Elizabeth was first to the swing or the river, Anna sometimes stayed behind and rocked little Thomas, or peeled potatoes for Mother, or darned Father’s socks. Anna liked to do quiet things. She even liked to wait for the youngest sister, Sarah, when she tagged along.
After the Mormon missionaries taught her family the gospel, Elizabeth was the first one baptized—even before Father and Mother. The elders smiled at her eagerness.
When Father gathered the family together and told them that they were going to Zion, Elizabeth was the first to cry and to refuse to leave her friends. But when the time came to board the big ship, Elizabeth was the first one up the wide gangplank. She was the first person to get sick on the ship, and the first to get well. She was the first to walk the slippery, lopsided decks and the first to make friends with the grinning sailors. They gave her treats and sang songs for her.
After the ship docked, Elizabeth was the first one to run down the long plank and step onto land, the first one to dance on American soil. Mother and Anna were last. In fact, Anna went back to the ship three times to help Father carry all the family’s belongings off.
When it was time to load the wagon for the journey west, Elizabeth was the first to find a place for her own things: the sweater that her grandmother had knitted, her best blue bonnet, and her wooden doll, Belinda. There wasn’t room for everything the family wanted to take; but Elizabeth had settled her things in the wagon first, so she wasn’t worried.
Elizabeth was the first to give names to the oxen. They were tall, long-boned beasts with beautiful horns. Elizabeth named them Peter and Paul. Anna thought Buttercup might be a good name for the honey-colored one who was so gentle. But Elizabeth had already named them.
The trip was a long one. They crossed rivers and climbed mountains. Elizabeth was always first. She walked ahead of the wagon, never behind in the dust. She found good-natured men on horseback who didn’t mind letting a little girl ride across the swollen streams with them. She found the best spot beside the campfires. She found the best buffalo chips because she was first and picked the old, dry ones, which were easier to gather.
Elizabeth loved the journey. She loved the new things to see each day. She loved the nights when the children played games and the grown-ups danced and sang songs. She loved being first.
As they drew near to the valley, Elizabeth became so excited that she couldn’t hold still. Everyone knew how she felt. And everyone knew who would be the very first to set foot in the valley. Elizabeth was always first.
Early one morning on the last week of the journey, Anna slipped on the wagon tongue. She hit her head and cut her arm and twisted her ankle. She behaved very bravely for a girl of seven. Mother made up a bed in the crowded back of the wagon and laid her there. It was hot and bumpy, but Anna didn’t complain. Elizabeth did though. She didn’t like doing Anna’s work. She didn’t like hauling water or scouring the pans. She wasn’t very good at stirring the soup or feeding the baby. And she wasn’t nearly so patient with little Sarah, who constantly wanted something. Elizabeth was cross and tired. For the first time in her life she didn’t have enough energy to worry about being first. All she could think about was curling up under her mother’s soft quilt and falling asleep.
When they reached Pratt’s Pass, Elizabeth wanted to scamper ahead to be the first to stand on the ledge and look down over layer after layer of purple-blue mountains to the wide valley below. But little Thomas woke up and needed to be fed, and Sarah tugged at her skirts and whined to be taken. By the time Elizabeth reached the ledge, half the company had already seen the valley. Elizabeth hadn’t been first.
Elizabeth felt sorry for herself. Now there were only two days left of the journey. Father had bound Anna’s foot, but she couldn’t walk without help. Anna sat and peeked out from the wagon. Elizabeth scowled and worked and watched while someone else was always first!
The morning of the last day was beautiful. Elizabeth was the first one up, the first one to get water, the first one to bathe and get dressed. She fed the baby as fast as she could and helped with breakfast. She tied Sarah’s laces and told her that if they came undone, it was just too bad. Elizabeth had to be quick. Today was the day. Today they would reach the Salt Lake Valley. Today Elizabeth had to be first!
When the wagons began to creak down the last long descent, Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and crawled back to where her favorite things were. She wanted to wear her pretty blue bonnet when she entered the valley. As she crawled, she heard a strange sound. She stopped. The sound was Anna crying!
Elizabeth froze. She had seldom heard Anna cry. Anna was always calm, always content. Now she was crying as if her heart would break. Elizabeth’s stomach felt sick. She could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat. She crawled over to the bed. "Anna, what is it?"
Anna looked up and blinked wide, wet eyes at Elizabeth. A tear ran down her nose and dropped from the very tip.
"I can’t see anything from in here," Anna sobbed. "I want to see the valley." New tears welled up in Anna’s blue eyes. "I want to wear the dress I’ve been saving and walk into the valley, Elizabeth, just like everyone else."
Something inside Elizabeth started to ache. "You shall, Anna. You shall!"
Anna stared at her. "How, Elizabeth?"
"You’ll see." Elizabeth had already turned and was searching through the neat piles of store goods.
The sun was high in the sky when the wagons pulled to a stop on the valley floor. A crowd had gathered to meet the newcomers. Some of the young people ran ahead and were waiting, dancing and clapping their hands with glee while the wagons pulled up to them. The men from the wagon train took off their hats and wiped their foreheads. The women shaded their eyes and gazed over the lovely valley—their new home at last.
"Where is Elizabeth?" someone shouted. "Wasn’t Elizabeth first?"
"Of course she was first!" another replied with a laugh.
"Then where is she?" cried one of the children.
People began to look. People began to call for Elizabeth.
"Here we are!"
Everyone turned to see.
Down the long line of wagons came the two sisters. Elizabeth wore the blue bonnet, Anna her red dress with lace at the collar. With one hand she held Grandfather’s cane. Her other hand rested on Elizabeth’s sturdy arm. Anna’s steps were slow and painful. But she was walking! With Elizabeth’s arm round her waist, she walked past the wagons and into the Salt Lake Valley. Just like all the others.
"Mother," Elizabeth cried. "I was the last one into the valley, the very last one. But I’m so happy! I never felt this happy when I was first."

On April 18, 1884, an aging woman with a careworn face stood to speak to Relief Society sisters in Utah. This was Relief Society General President Eliza R. Snow, and a newspaper would report that, although 80 years old, she “spoke with great power and earnestness, and her voice seemed strong and filled the large building.”1
When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.
An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.
To one group, Eliza explained that the President of the Church had called her to go on a mission, and she testified that it is easiest “to do at [once] what is required of us.”4 To another group, Eliza confessed that she didn’t feel competent to speak. “But with your faith and prayers and the spirit of the Lord, I may be able to say something that will comfort and bless you.”5 She learned through experience to seek the Spirit to enable her to speak with power.
Eliza encouraged women to find the courage to stand and share their testimonies: “By speaking your best thoughts they will be increased and strengthened.”6 Not only did she learn to speak with authority herself, but she taught others to face their fears and open their mouths.

In the days that followed, I thought constantly about the proclamation. When the conference magazine finally came, I read the proclamation over and over again. I pondered and prayed. I wanted to so thoroughly digest its words that they would become an indelible part of my being. That’s when I felt impressed to memorize the proclamation. It would not be easy. I was in my mid-40s, and memorizing was not nearly as easy as it once had been. But again and again I felt the prompting: “Memorize the proclamation. Memorize the proclamation! MEMORIZE THE PROCLAMATION!”
I took a copy of the proclamation with me wherever I went. I memorized while shaving. I memorized while walking to the university. I memorized while exercising. The last words on my mind before retiring and the first words in my mind upon arising were the words of the proclamation. No miracle aided my memorizing, and my progress was painstakingly slow. But after about a month I could repeat the whole proclamation.
Now that I had it, I wanted to keep it. So I would recite the proclamation several times each day during morning exercise and stretching. As I did, it seemed as if the Spirit highlighted certain words or sentences. I would linger on these passages, and they, in turn, would prompt impressions that would bless my family and me.
For example, the next summer I was concerned about the friends my teenage daughter was spending so much time with. But when I tried to talk to her about the situation, she discounted what I said and became more distant. While I was jogging and thinking about the proclamation one morning, the Spirit highlighted in my thoughts the last sentence in paragraph seven: “Extended families should lend support when needed.” I slowed the pace of my jog, and an image of my younger sister came into my mind. This sister had experienced many trials in her life and was now nearly full term with her seventh pregnancy. The impression I had was that we, as extended family, should lend her support right now. So I bought a plane ticket for my daughter and asked her to spend a week serving in my sister’s home.
In this distant place an interesting thing happened. During the day my daughter found joy serving my sister’s family. And after the children were asleep, she and my sister had many long talks. My sister was able to talk to my daughter in a way that I had been unable to. She told her how decisions she had made as a teenager had produced a lifetime of challenges. When my daughter returned home, something had changed in her. She began making choices that blessed her life. My sister, her family, my daughter, and I were all blessed by this trip, which was prompted by the words of the proclamation.
Another time the words “Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs” weighed heavily on my mind. Our family members loved and had a good time with each other, but I felt that we were far from our spiritual potential. The words of the proclamation inspired my wife, Juanita, and me to begin having a family testimony meeting on fast Sunday after church. Unfortunately, our first attempt did little to provide for our children’s spiritual needs. None of them really wanted to be there. Several children complained about how hungry they were, and our youngest asked several times, “When is this going to be over?” Still, we persevered, and after a few months the complaining stopped and we started feeling the Spirit more. This family testimony meeting became a precious time to share sacred truths and to help us “rear [our] children in love and righteousness.”
A pattern was emerging. As I frequently reviewed the words of the proclamation, they formed a conduit through which the Spirit could give my wife and me inspiration to move our family forward. True, most of the inspiration was not as grand as these examples. Most of it came as ideas like “Take Hannah on a daddy-daughter date,” or “Fix dinner for Juanita tonight,” or “Listen more to Emily,” or “Put Seth to bed more often.” But the hundreds of little bits of direction added up to a much better family life.
In 2001 Juanita was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer and was given a 50 percent chance for five-year survival. Our best option was to pursue an aggressive but very taxing course of chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. We were discouraged when after eight weeks of nauseating chemo the large tumor had not shrunk at all. During this trial I went jogging and recited the proclamation as loud as I could to relieve the stress I was feeling. It comforted me.
On one jog when I got to “Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer,” I stopped. I felt a sense of peace as an impression formed in my mind. It was the Saturday morning before fast Sunday, and I felt inspired to send an e-mail to everyone I knew, inviting them to fast and pray and exercise their faith for Juanita so that the chemotherapy would be effective. We received a great outpouring of support. Even friends of other faiths described powerful experiences with fasting and prayer. Without our asking them to do so, friends in Australia, Japan, Hawaii, Salt Lake, Boston, Belgium, and South Africa put Juanita’s name on the prayer roll in their temples. The results were miraculous. Immediately our mood and our faith improved. And during the next four weeks of treatments, the tumor almost totally disappeared. Juanita finished the treatment, and no measurable cancer remained. We were so grateful! But this wasn’t the end of our trials or of the continued comfort the proclamation brought us.
In early 2004 we were devastated to learn that Juanita’s cancer had returned, this time in her lungs. In somber tones our doctor told us he would try to keep the cancer under control as long as possible, but there was now no possible cure. At first I felt betrayed and hopeless. Juanita and I had righteous desires and plans. What about the missions we were going to serve together? What about the grandchildren we were going to strengthen spiritually? How could this happen to us?
As I went through the proclamation again, this time it was as if someone turned a flashlight on to highlight the words “Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother.” I recognized my children were entitled to be raised by a father and a mother. This statement filled me with hope that in the face of very large medical odds Juanita would be blessed with a miracle and be healed.
We lived a fairly normal and hopeful life for about six months, but then the cancer began to take its unmistakable toll. Juanita lost weight rapidly and acquired a nearly constant and uncomfortable cough. Even the smallest exertion left her struggling for breath. Things seemed always to get worse and never better. Soon it became apparent that it was not God’s will for Juanita to live very much longer. I was at a complete loss to explain why God had not stepped forward with the miracle we so badly needed and so sincerely hoped for. But then again the words of the proclamation provided inspiration and comfort: “Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.” Through many tears my understanding was enlarged to see that Juanita would indeed receive a miraculous healing. Because of the plan of salvation, Juanita would pass from this life into a beautiful place to be greeted by her father, our daughter who had passed away, and the Savior. Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, Juanita would be healed and at the Resurrection receive a perfect body, free from cancer and any other illness. I could also see that through all eternity our children would have access to her influence as their mother—another miracle.
I also felt impressed that there was much we could yet do in this life to give the children continued access to her wisdom. I received a clear impression that it was time for us to stop focusing our faith on a physical miracle that was not in keeping with God’s will and focus instead on learning as much as we could from Juanita in the short time we had left. We needed to be better prepared “to return to the presence of God and for [our family] to be united eternally.” In our family testimony meeting we expressed these feelings poignantly, and their truth washed over us all. Then we went to work.
Juanita wrote her testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and I wrote mine as well. We printed and laminated them along with our pictures in a size that would fit in the children’s scriptures. Juanita then wrote long letters in her own hand to each of the children, expressing appreciation and offering words of encouragement and advice. We recorded Juanita’s sweet voice singing hymns, Primary songs, and childhood lullabies and made CDs for each of the children and for future grandchildren. We also recorded messages to be listened to on special occasions such as going to the temple, leaving on a mission, getting married, giving birth to a child. Juanita crocheted baby blankets and bibs for future grandchildren. Our lives now became focused, full of activity, and we received great comfort from the Spirit. All this came as a result of inspiration from the proclamation.
All of our children were at Juanita’s side when she died, and each had the opportunity to share tender communication with her. She was alert and talked to us until about 10 minutes before she passed away. That’s when I told her, “I love you,” and she responded in Spanish, “Lo mismo,” which means “Same to you.” Those were her last words. Her passing was sweet.
I have marveled at the numerous specific and personal ways the proclamation has blessed me and my family since that Saturday night more than a decade ago when I first heard it. It has changed our lives forever. It is the word of God, and it can be the basis for great joy and happiness in family life, even in the midst of unfathomable trials. I know by the Spirit that “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” is an inspired document for families today, and if seriously studied, it will open the windows of divine assistance for our families.

During my sophomore year at Brigham Young University, our ward bishopric signed the ward up for a Sub-for-Santa program, through which we would provide Christmas presents for a family in need.
Our ward name, however, kept disappearing from the list of volunteers. As Christmas neared, we still had no family to help. Then one of the bishop’s counselors told us of a family that might be able to use our help instead. When we learned about this family, we all felt certain that we should focus on them.
Linda (name has been changed), who had several sons ages 9 to 15, had fought a grueling battle with breast cancer. During the stress of that illness, her husband had left her. She had just moved from another state to take a job in Provo, Utah, but the job fell through, and she was left with no income.
When we met Linda, we immediately took her into our hearts. We were blessed to see her the way the Savior did—as a great and noble spirit who had overcome many difficult challenges. She was never a project to us; rather, she was an eternal friend. Every member of the ward contributed something to help her and her boys. We were all young college students and poor in our own right, but we gladly gave because we loved her.
Linda came to our ward Christmas party, during which several ward members went to her apartment and filled her cupboards and refrigerator with food. They decorated a Christmas tree and surrounded it with presents for the whole family. They also left her four new car tires and paid her rent for several months. I’m not sure how our meager contributions managed to accomplish all that, but I knew that Heavenly Father had used our sacrifices to bless her.
A year later I was in another student ward, but I returned at Christmastime to visit my previous bishopric. I learned that Linda’s husband had returned to the family and that their finances had stabilized. But then her cancer had returned and claimed her life. I realized that we had helped give Linda her last Christmas.
In feeling “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47) so strongly through that experience, I learned that real charity is a priceless spiritual gift that propels us to act in the Savior’s place.

I have three darling little granddaughters. One is five years old, and the others are three and one. The oldest is Amy Christine, but I call her Love-Love. The second is named Melissa. Her parents call her Missy, but I call her my Dolly. The third little girl whose name is Natalie Ann is so soft and cuddly that I call her Pinky.
Nicknames are fun, but I had an experience recently that caused me to think. Minnie, my wife, held Missy in her arms, gave her a big kiss, and asked, “Who’s my love?” and Missy answered, “Amy.” When it was my turn to give her a squeeze, I held her tight and said, “Who does grandpa love?” And Missy answered, “Your Love-Love.”
“Yes,” I answered and then asked, “and who else does grandpa love?” Missy replied, “Your Love-Bird,” which is an affectionate term I use for my wife. Missy did not think we loved her because we didn’t use love in her name.
After we compared notes, we realized that we had to do something special to let Melissa know that she was loved too. Now I call her my Love-Dolly, and my wife calls her Missy-Love. In the future, as our smallest grows up, we must be also careful to let her know that she isn’t just Pinky. We’ll choose another name for her that includes love so she also will know that she is loved as much as her sisters.
May I return to my granddaughter? Instead of just saying, “How’s my Dolly?” I now say, “How is grandpa’s Love-Dolly?” To hear the cries of joy when grandpa and grandma come to see them is worth waiting and working for. Try something similar with your friends and see if I’m not telling you the truth!

In the 1960s, a professor at Stanford University began a modest experiment testing the willpower of four-year-old children. He placed before them a large marshmallow and then told them they could eat it right away or, if they waited for 15 minutes, they could have two marshmallows.
He then left the children alone and watched what happened behind a two-way mirror. Some of the children ate the marshmallow immediately; some could wait only a few minutes before giving in to temptation. Only 30 percent were able to wait.
It was a mildly interesting experiment, and the professor moved on to other areas of research, for, in his own words, “there are only so many things you can do with kids trying not to eat marshmallows.” But as time went on, he kept track of the children and began to notice an interesting correlation: the children who could not wait struggled later in life and had more behavioral problems, while those who waited tended to be more positive and better motivated, have higher grades and incomes, and have healthier relationships.
What started as a simple experiment with children and marshmallows became a landmark study suggesting that the ability to wait—to be patient—was a key character trait that might predict later success in life.1

Last year I joined my school’s musical as the lead female role. I was thrilled to get the part, but some of my scenes involved kissing. I’d decided to follow the For the Strength of Youth standards and not date until I was 16. For me, it didn’t feel right to kiss at my age either, so I didn’t feel comfortable with the scenes. I asked my director about it, and she said we’d just cut the kiss off before it happened.
I was relieved but felt bad because the lead male thought I just didn’t want to kiss him. I tried to explain my decision, but he thought I was making excuses. I didn’t know what to do to make him believe me, but then my friends assured him that I was telling the truth. Since they aren’t members of the Church, I was surprised at how much they’d noticed and supported my standards.
As we continued practicing for our show, I saw others around me standing up for my beliefs. When I wanted to find a modest dance costume, many girls helped me find one that worked; when I had to be dragged around on stage, the actor holding my feet made sure my skirt always covered my knees; and when we had to learn extra dances, we sacrificed lunch hours practicing then instead of on Sundays.
Some people still questioned my actions, but I hadn’t realized until then what an influence I’d been. By simply living the gospel, I was being an example, and others had noticed and were willing to stand by me to help me continue keeping my standards.
I know that Heavenly Father is always looking out for us and will give us ways to share the gospel in our lives every day—even by simply setting an example.

The second summer was filled with zone conferences and youth conferences. It was great fun seeing the missionaries again. The number had grown from 80 to 160, so there were many new ones to get acquainted with.
I was enrolled in a college preparatory school, Jackson Prep, which seemed to be number one in everything—academics, sports, drama, music. I was scared to death to start there. Aside from a couple of girls in the neighborhood, I didn’t know a soul.
My classes were tough and were taught like college courses. Everyone bought their own books and we were to take notes on lectures every day. Exams were held often. To add to my potpourri of confusion, I was told that I was being watched because I was a Mormon—the only one in the entire school. I felt that I was stuck in a spot, although not necessarily a bad one. I could make it good or bad depending on one thing—my attitude.
I had all kinds of good advice from the missionaries and others on just what I should say and do, but when that first dreaded day of school arrived, I forgot it all and barely made it home and through the front door before I broke down and wailed as if my heart were broken. There sat mom hurting too, but at least she was there for me. We cried together as I explained, “Mom, the kids are so different. I can’t understand the teachers.” The teachers spoke with a strong southern accent, and I found myself writing notes from their lectures that weren’t anything near what they actually said. I hadn’t quite mastered the language yet.
“Oh,” I sobbed, “besides that, today I was one minute late for my English class. When I finally found the room, my teacher made me stand up in front of everyone and explain why I was late.” At first mom looked at me, attempting to give me some motherly consolation, but then we both started to laugh. Mom and usually dad were always there to listen as I unfolded the happenings of the day, and we found that laughing was a lot more fun than crying. Things did get better.
As I started the school year, I made some promises to my Heavenly Father. The memory of a special blessing given to us by President Ezra Taft Benson just before we came into the mission field helped me to set my goals. I knew if I did all I could to be a good example and symbol of the Church for Him that He would send special opportunities to me.
I found myself, miraculously, a member of a new madrigal singing group, a member of the chamber singers, and of the acappella choir at school. I also found great friends in my choir director and drama director. I gained many new friends as I participated in two dramatic productions that year. Getting into these activities wasn’t all my idea. I had a little mother behind me all the way, encouraging me to get involved.
Slowly but surely, I gained respect from my friends and teachers, and I almost welcomed all the teasing about being a Mormon. It wasn’t unusual at all to have someone come into my first period class waving an article they had found on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or on the Church’s stand on abortion.
Everyone seemed interested in the Mormons, and even though they would kid me a lot, I think they were impressed that a group of people could stick to their guns and pass up liquor and tea and coffee, not just once in a while, but all the time. Defending the Church wasn’t hard anymore. It was kind of fun. Who would be up to bat next, and whose hits could I catch?
The best opportunity I had defending the Church was when I became involved with the Junior Miss Pageant as a contestant for Capitol City’s Junior Miss. Many of the senior girls were trying out, and I decided to go for it, too.
Once I was picked as one of the 20 contestants, there were dances to learn, a short course on modeling, a talent number to prepare, and studying to do for a personal interview with the judges. It was great. Twenty girls from different schools learning together and having fun and not a Mormon except me in the bunch. Excitement began to mount as the pageant drew near. Our interviews were scheduled the afternoon of the pageant.
Finally, it was my turn, and I nervously walked up the long flight of stairs to the room where the five judges awaited. At first they just visited with me. Then an older, quiet man began asking questions about my religion—tough questions. It took me back for a moment. Then I got hold of myself and answered the best way I knew how. The words flowed freely, and I felt as if my eyes were relaying the message as well as my words. I knew I received lots of extra help from above that day. What I said must have satisfied the judges because that night number 10 was crowned Capitol City’s Junior Miss—I was number 10!
As friends and mom and dad crowded around and hugged me, my mind reflected back to the hateful feelings I had felt at first after reading “the call.” Now in my heart I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the chance. I felt so happy—happy for wonderful friends who accepted me with all kinds of southern hospitality and for friends at home who kept reassuring and encouraging me with their love. I was happy for a wonderful family like my sisters who received calls from a bawling baby sister and always ended up making her laugh. Most of all I was happy for a dad and mom who stood by through it all and guided me with all their love.
What happened to that year I was so afraid of? I shudder to think of missing my year at Prep. There was, however, a constant concern in my heart. What more can I do to let everyone know that the Church is true? A Book of Mormon with my personal testimony written in the front to each of my teachers helped satisfy that unrest. Each one promised to read that precious book.
I am now so thankful that I listened to my wonderful family and accepted the challenge of the mission field. It means so much to me to have become a part of my dad’s special calling. I grew up a lot and learned many important lessons through my experiences in Mississippi. Things that make us grow never are easy, and now when I look back, I can’t really remember the rough times. I only remember the great ones.
All the friendships I made in Mississippi continue to grow sweeter as time passes, and maybe someday some of the seeds planted there will flourish. I guess most of all I learned how to totally rely on my Heavenly Father. This lesson will stay with me not only for today but forever.

Two years ago, in beautiful Heber Valley just east of Salt Lake City, a loving mother and devoted father returned to that personal haven called home to discover that their three eldest sons lay dead. The night was bitter cold, and the fierce wind swept the falling snow, which covered the chimney, releasing deadly carbon monoxide fumes throughout the house.
The joint funeral service for the Keller boys was one of the most touching experiences of my life. The residents of the community had placed aside their daily tasks, children were excused from school, and all thronged to the chapel to express their deep feelings of condolence. So long as time and memory endure, I shall remember the scene of three shiny caskets, followed by grief-stricken parents and grandparents making their way to the front of the building.
The first speaker was the wrestling coach of the local high school. He paid tribute to Louis, the oldest boy. With an emotion-filled voice, and choking back the tears, he told how Louis was not necessarily the most gifted wrestler on the team, but added, “No one tried harder. What he lacked in athletic skill he made up with a determined heart.”
Then a youth leader spoke of Travis. He told how Travis had excelled in Scouting, in Aaronic Priesthood work, and was such a sterling example to his friends.
Finally, a distinguished appearing and obviously competent elementary school teacher told of Jason, the youngest of the three. She described him as quiet, even shy. Then, without embarrassment, she told how Jason had, in the scrawled penmanship of a boy, sent to her the sweetest and most welcome letter she had ever received. Its message was brief—just three words: “I love you.” She could barely complete her talk, so deep-felt were her emotions.
Through the tears and the sorrow of that special day, I observed eternal lessons that had been taught by those boys whose lives were honored and whose mortal missions concluded.
A coach expressed the determination to look beyond athletic prowess and into the heart of each boy. A youth leader made a solemn vow that every boy and girl would have the benefit which the program of the Church provided. An elementary school teacher looked at the small children, classmates of Jason. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the determination of her soul. The message was unmistakably clear: “I will love each child. Each boy, each girl will be guided in the search for truth, in the development of talent, and be introduced to the wonderful world of service.”
And the audience, including Elders Marvin J. Ashton and Thomas S. Monson, will never again be the same. All will strive toward that perfection spoken of by the Master. Our inspiration? The lives of the boys who now rest from care and sorrow, and the fortitude of parents who trust in the Lord with all their hearts, who lean not to their own understanding, and who in all their ways acknowledge Him, knowing that He will direct their paths. (See Prov. 3:5–6.)
Let me share with you a portion of a letter sent to me by the noble mother of these three sons. It was written soon after their passing.
“We do have days and nights that right now seem so overwhelming. The change in our home life has been so drastic. With almost half our family gone now, the cooking, washing, and even shopping are different. We miss the noise and clutter, the teasing and playing together. Such are gone. Sunday is so quiet. We miss seeing the sacrament blessed and passed by our sons. Sunday was truly our family together day. We ponder the thought: no missions, no weddings, no grandchildren. We would not ask for their return, but we could not say we would ever have willingly given them up. We have returned to our Church duties and our family responsibilities. Our desire is to so live that the Keller family will be a forever family.”

Just for the fun of it, the youth of the Knox Ward in Melbourne decided to show their appreciation for their parents by treating them to dinner. They organized a special evening they called, “The Fabulous Fifties and the Surging Sixties.”
A youth committee selected a menu that would fit the theme; then a large group prepared and served a three-course meal. They played music from the appropriate decades, and parents and kids alike were encouraged to dance. For the adults, it brought back fond memories. For the kids, it made new ones.

I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him and was turned down. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I’ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.

Guillermo Javier Leiva remembers the pain of his divorce in 2007. He had to find his own apartment and was no longer able to return home every evening to his young son, Julian. He felt empty and alone.
“I was very unhappy,” he says, “and in moments of anguish, I looked for God.”
Guillermo began praying for answers and help. “I said, ‘Father, I’m not worthy for Thee to enter my house, but a word from Thee will be enough to heal me.’”
The answer to that prayer came a short while later when two young men in white shirts and ties stopped to talk with him while he was playing with his son outside his new apartment.
“One of them greeted me and asked if I had faith,” he recalls. “I told him yes but that I wasn’t the best Christian. He then asked if I would read a book if he left it with me. I told him yes.”
As Guillermo began reading the verses in Alma 32 that the missionaries had marked for him, he says, “I immediately felt a great joy in my soul that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The book touched my heart. I couldn’t stop reading.”
Guillermo no longer attended his previous church, but he told the missionaries that he had no intention of being baptized again. Nevertheless, he welcomed their visits and their reading assignments in the Book of Mormon.
As he read, his soul grieved with Nephi when he learned how that prophet had sorrowed “because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18). “I knew that I too had sinned,” Guillermo says, “and I felt bad about it.”
As he read, he felt that he was being rescued from darkness and despair and brought into “the light of the glory of God” (Alma 19:6).
And as he read of the baptismal covenant set forth at the Waters of Mormon, he realized the importance of baptism by proper priesthood authority. “If I recognized that the seed was good, what did I ‘have … against being baptized in the name of the Lord’?” (Mosiah 18:10), he asked himself.
“Every time I read, I felt peace and I found answers,” Guillermo says. “I realized that the Book of Mormon was the word of God I had asked for in my prayers.”
When he was baptized in March 2009, he experienced a spiritual rebirth and a renewed hope for the future. “Baptism was a chance to start over,” Guillermo says. “I have changed my life. I am very happy now. I know that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that God answers prayers because He answered the most important prayer I ever said.”

Recently, a man sent me a book. He is a doctor of philosophy in a great university. He told me that reading that book had become a significant experience in his life. I read it. It is the story of a boy in Paris who, in an accident, was blinded at the age of eight. It is an account of how when darkness surrounded him, there came a new light into his life. When he was 16 or 17, the Germans conquered France and German soldiers marched into Paris. This blind boy, a brilliant student, organized a resistance group. He and his associates ran an operation for getting information and circularizing it with a little newspaper they printed on a duplicator. The effort grew until they were distributing more than 250,000 copies an issue. Then he was betrayed by a member of the group, arrested, and sent to Buchenwald. There in filth and despair he lived with similar victims. He could not see, but there was a light within him that rose above the tragedy of his circumstances. He survived as a leader among those in that foul camp. The little newspaper he started became a great newspaper. I read that book and was lifted and strengthened by the story of that remarkable young man. If you cannot find good heroes and heroines for your children on television, help your children find them in good books.

Lafague Augustin, a friend of the Church from Haiti, took EnglishConnect 3 after losing his job because he couldn’t speak English. The service missionaries at his gathering place encouraged him to continue with BYU–Pathway, attend church, and read and listen to the Book of Mormon. In return, they promised he would feel the power of God and his English would significantly improve.
As promised, Lafague has seen the blessings. He was able to get a job as an interpreter with his new English skills. “EnglishConnect blessed my life so much. It allowed me to enroll in BYU–Pathway Worldwide, which has helped my confidence when speaking with native English speakers.”
He added, “In church, I feel peace, love, and respect. As I pray, read the scriptures, and study the gospel with the missionaries, I’m becoming closer to Jesus Christ.”

I was attending Brigham Young University in 1994 when President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) counseled members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to become “a temple-attending and a temple-loving people.” He said, “Let us hasten to the temple as frequently as time and means and personal circumstances allow.”1
At the time, I was living in an apartment that was only a 15-minute walk from the Provo Utah Temple. I didn’t have a car, but I knew that I had no excuse for not attending the temple regularly. I decided to make it a priority.
I arranged my class schedule so that I would have Fridays open. Then I committed to make that my temple day. Every Friday that semester, rain or shine, I walked to the temple at 7:30 a.m. to be baptized for the dead. If a big paper or project was due, I went to the temple first and then dedicated the rest of my day to schoolwork.
In the years since then, my time, means, and circumstances, as well as my proximity to a temple, have changed several times. But with each change, I have arranged my schedule so that I can continue to make temple attendance a priority in my life.
As I have done this, the blessings of the temple have come into my life, just as President Hunter promised.

Susan: “For a while, any contact my husband, Tim, had with the Church was very stressful for me. I was constantly praying that someone would say the thing that would open his eyes and that no one would do or say anything that would offend him.

“Five years passed before I finally realized that during my own investigation of the Church, no one had smoothed the way for me or prepared every personality for my benefit. There had been unsettling experiences for me now and again; but through it all, I had retained my agency. When I decided to be baptized, I did so because I knew through prayer and study that the Church was true.

“Now I have accepted the fact that my husband is capable of making the same mature investigation of the Church whenever he is ready.”

I recall talking to the proprietress of a nursing home. From the hallway where we stood, she pointed to several elderly women assembled in a peaceful living room. She observed, “There’s Mrs. Hansen. Her daughter visits her every week, right at 3:00 P.M. on Sunday. To her right is Mrs. Peek. Each Wednesday there is a letter in her hands from her son in New York. It is read, then reread, then saved as a precious piece of treasure. But see Mrs. Carroll: her family never telephones, never writes, never visits. Patiently she justifies this neglect with words that are heard but do not convince or excuse: ‘They are all so busy.’”

My sister Rylee is allergic to nuts. If she eats any, they can make her stop breathing. One night we ate some salt water taffy, not knowing that some of the pieces had nuts in them. Rylee’s mouth started burning. Mom gave her some medicine, but it didn’t help. Next, Rylee’s throat started to burn, and she couldn’t swallow. Then her chest started to burn. It soon became hard for her to breathe.
Dad was out of town, so he wasn’t around to give her a blessing. Mom decided to call 911. The operator told her to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
My sisters Kelsey and Haley and I were really worried about Rylee. We knelt on the kitchen floor and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father not to let Rylee die. Soon the paramedics arrived, but Rylee was already doing better. Mom was really surprised at her recovery.
Later, after everyone had left, we told Mom about our prayer and asked if she thought it had helped. She told us that it was probably the reason why Rylee was all right. I am grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Mason Cate, age 4, with help from his familyLayton, Utah