Gospel Story Finder

I am embarrassed to think of the times I hesitated to spend extra time and effort with the seventeen teachers of the Provo Thirteenth Ward while I was their advisor. It is true. I had a growing family, a new job and home, and other responsibilities, but I needed to be reminded of my obligation to these young men. As I came to know and love them, their challenges and problems became my own. Gradually I found myself serving not out of a sense of responsibility but in a spirit of love and concern.

When I was fifteen years old, my mother suggested that I get a patriarchal blessing. Although I hadn’t thought of doing so, her suggestion felt right, and preparations were made. I don’t remember the interview with my bishop or making the appointment, but I do remember an increasing sense of reluctance as the day approached.

My anxiety was all about my future. I had heard story after story of remarkable blessings with unusual promises. Some days I felt extraordinary—as if there were special things ahead for me. But usually I felt ordinary—even invisible some days. What if I didn’t have anything in my future? Better not to know. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything for the patriarch to say, and the blessing would only be one or two sentences long. I wondered if I would go on a mission—would I marry—would there be children—how many?

As you can see, I didn’t really understand the difference between a patriarchal blessing and a Chinese fortune cookie. But I did understand one important difference: I didn’t believe in messages in cookies, but I did believe in patriarchal blessings.

I was prepared to believe anything that was said, or not said.

The anticipated day arrived. I went with my parents to the patriarch’s cozy little study. As he placed his hands on my head, there was a steadiness that vaporized all uncertainty. I remember the surprise and wonder of that day, but also of every other time I have read that blessing—the startling news: He knows me. Heavenly Father knows me! And he has a plan for my future. I don’t need to know all the details, but if I do my part, it will turn out wonderfully well.

Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live, and they are in charge of this world.
They know me.
They love me.
They have a plan for my future.
I will obey the commandments, work hard, and trust in that plan. Sooner or later, everything will be okay.

Juanito tried to brush the dirt off his torn shirt. “Why did I have to lose my temper again?” he muttered to himself.
As he made his way down the path, he could see his mother and sister gathering vegetables from the family garden behind the house. Nearby, his grandmother was sitting on a bench under an orange tree working busily on her nanduti (lace).
“Hola, Juanito!” his mother said as she walked toward the house with a basket full of vegetables. “Why are you so late today?”
“I’m sorry, Mama, I’ll try not to be late again,” replied Juanito. He turned away quickly and hurried into the house to change his clothes before she noticed his torn and dirty shirt.
“Oh, Juanito, you’ve been fighting again!” his mother said crossly when she saw his swollen cheek. “When will you learn that fighting is not the way to settle your problems? Come into the house and let me put some salve on your face while you tell me what happened this time.”
“We were playing soccer after school,” Juanito began, “when some older boys came along and started pushing everyone out of the game. Carlos and Pablo left, but I decided I would not be a coward. So each time they knocked me down I got up again. Then one time when the ball was not even near me, Roberto tripped me and I fell into a puddle of mud.”
“Oh, Juanito, I’m sorry,” sighed his mother.
“Roberto just stood there laughing at me and calling me names, and before I knew it I hit him. Then all the others were after me,” Juanito explained.
Mama only frowned as she applied salve to Juanito’s face. “There,” she said at last. “I’m finished. Now Juanito, I want you to promise me that you will not fight again. Fighting is not the way to settle a problem.”
“I’ll try, Mama, but it won’t be easy,” Juanito replied softly.
Soon after the family turned their attention to preparing the vegetables to be taken to market the next morning. As he worked, Juanito thought about Señor Benet, the village baker, who had asked Juanito to sell his bread in the market for him.
Early the next morning Juanito dressed in clean white clothes. He combed his hair carefully and hurried to Señor Benet’s shop. The basket of round flat bread was still fragrant and warm.
“I know you will do well, Juanito,” said Señor Benet.
“Thank you,” Juanito answered. “I’ll see you this evening with an empty basket,” he called as he hurried to catch up with his family.
When they reached the plaza, everyone was setting out their wares, but Juanito decided that he would make better sales if he moved through the crowd.
“Pan del dia (fresh bread)! Pan del dia!” he called as he walked along. By the time the sun had risen high in the sky, he had sold nearly half of the loaves.
It is hot, thought Juanito, wiping his forehead. I think I’ll rest in the shade for a few minutes.
“Hola, Juanito!” came a voice from the crowd. “What are you doing and what have you got there in your basket?”
Juanito looked up into the face of Roberto.
“I’m selling this bread for Señor Benet,” Juanito replied.
“Bread! Is that bread?” asked Roberto, picking up a round flat loaf. “It does not look like bread. See how it flies through the air like a bird!”
With a quick twist of his wrist, Roberto tossed the bread so that it floated down the street.
“Stop!” cried Juanito. “You must not do that!”
Roberto was laughing so hard he could not hear. He reached for another loaf and sent it sailing.
Clenching his fists, Juanito stepped toward him. Then he seemed to hear again his mother’s words, “Fighting is not the way to settle a problem.”
When Roberto reached for another loaf, Juanito paused a moment and then stepped back and began to laugh. His laugh was soft at first and then it grew louder and louder, until all those nearby began to stop to see what was happening.
Looking toward the crowd, Juanito said in a loud voice, “See this Roberto! He buys bread to throw away. Watch how he does it.”
Juanito picked up a loaf and handed it to Roberto. “Go ahead! Throw as many as you like. I will keep count, and you may pay me when you have finished.”
“Pay you?” muttered Roberto. “I’ll not pay …” he began. Then he noticed all the people who had gathered around them. “Oh, yes, of course,” he stammered. “Let me see—I owe you for three loaves.”
Roberto reached into his pocket and opened his wallet.
“Here is your money,” he said gruffly. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Pan del dia! Pan del dia!” Juanito began to call again. Soon all the bread was gone, and he made his way to where his mother and father were waiting to go home.
“Such a fine salesman,” said Señor Benet when Juanito handed him the money. “From now on you will take all my bread to market.”
Juanito whistled as he hurried down the trail, listening to the coins he had earned jingle in his pocket. “Mama was right,” he said to himself. “Fighting is not the way to settle a problem—especially if I can let my head work instead of my fists!”

“I started ballet at age seven because I wanted to be a princess,” says Bianca Carnovale, from Sydney, Australia. Soon after she began training, she learned that the dance world does not stop to remember the Sabbath day. She had to decide where she stood.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Bianca strives to keep Sundays free from work and other activities that take her away from worship. Whether it’s sports or performing arts, the decision for Latter-day Saints to set these activities aside on the Sabbath can sometimes be emotionally challenging.
Not wanting to let anyone down, knowing that Sunday pieces would have to be choreographed without her, Bianca also struggled. Her teachers would say, “No company will want you; why would they choose you over someone who will dance on Sunday?”
But Bianca remembers, from as young as seven, talking with her mother about dancing on Sundays. When she had to miss out on exams and performances, those talks helped Bianca understand that pleasing God was more important.
She studied at Marni’s School of Performing Arts until the age of 14, then won a spot in the pre-professional program at the National College of Dance in Newcastle, which was two hours away from home. For the next three years, Bianca lived in Newcastle five days a week, an experience that prepared her to move to New York City, USA on her own.
Although she still never danced on a Sunday, at age 17, Bianca was accepted into New York’s prestigious Ballet Academy East, where she had the exciting opportunity to study the Balanchine ballet method.
It wasn’t always fun. “There were times in New York, away from all my friends and family, I felt I had no one,” Bianca remembers. “Crying one night . . . I remember praying to my Heavenly Father and asking Him for [a hug]. I will never forget the warmth that flooded my chest. Although it made me cry more, they were definitely happy tears, and I did not feel alone anymore.”
After almost two years, the COVID-19 pandemic shut down New York and sent Bianca home, where she had to find a job, but kept up her ballet training. Later, she prayerfully considered a full-time mission, but was prompted to move to Melbourne where she hoped to get into the Australian Ballet Company.
Then the lockdowns started again, and Bianca soon missed performing. She began dancing in the park, just to get outdoors, but then her mother suggested she try ballet busking when the lockdowns ended. At first, Bianca thought the idea was crazy, but when her friends from Church also encouraged it, she gave it a go.
Bianca choreographed dances in her flat, then ventured into the city streets to perform them. “At first, I only had headphones, but started dancing anyway. Then I got speakers. From there, I learned all the tips and tricks of busking: using cones and roping off a stage area . . . perfecting choreography . . . [managing] a crowd. Busking was a whole new world.”
Bianca still dreamed of getting into a ballet company. While busking, she kept training and auditioning. One company that seemed interested in her asked, “Why don’t you . . . perform on Sunday, and then go to church?” With Bianca’s insistence that Sabbath observance was more than just going to church, that opportunity fell through.
“I wanted so much to dance professionally,” Bianca reflects. In her prayers she even told Heavenly Father how inspiring it would be to all the little dancers if I got into a ballet company without working on Sundays. “Looking back, I now laugh at trying to tell Heavenly Father what was best.”
Bianca ponders a lesson taught by Elder D. Todd Christofferson: “We ought not to think of God’s plan as a cosmic vending machine where we (1) select a desired blessing, (2) insert the required sum of good works, and (3) the order is promptly delivered.”1
“I knew Heavenly Father wanted me to dance,” she says. “I knew He wanted me to strive towards getting into a ballet company, but as the years went by it became very apparent that He never promised me I would actually get into one.”
Pursuing her dream to work for a company has made Bianca an exceptionally skilled performer, but as of March 2022, she has supported herself completely on busking—a path that has had unexpected outcomes.
While she was dancing one day, she recalls, “I happened to see the glowing face of a 13-year-old girl . . . I’ve been that girl before, and I know that feeling. I can make people smile and cry; I wouldn’t change that for anything . . . I always wanted to serve others . . . now Heavenly Father has provided me with the opportunity to serve in the most unique way!”
“Getting into a company would be inspiring,” she continues, “but I think it is so much more inspiring that I would keep His commandment.”
President Russell M. Nelson once said, “Obedience brings success; exact obedience brings miracles.”2
Echoing his words, Bianca proclaims: “Heavenly Father has told me, ‘If you keep my commandments, I will show you miracles’.
“Do I trust Him? Yes!”

Robert L. Marchant told the story about when he was a young missionary in the Mexican Mission. He and his companion were new in the mission field and were not known by all of the missionaries. One day they were in their missionary quarters when sister missionaries came by tracting. The young elders, without disclosing their identity, invited the sister missionaries in and began a gospel conversation with them. The sisters did not recognize the elders. The sisters were not well versed in the doctrine, and the two elders who were hiding their identity soon had them tied in doctrinal knots. With a feeling of frustration, one of the sister missionaries began to cry, and as she did, she bore her testimony simply, powerfully, and beautifully. Elder Marchant and his companion were stricken in their hearts and were ashamed of themselves because the simple testimony of these sister missionaries came through and penetrated their hearts.

Walk around the ashes and rubble where Rachel used to live, and of course you notice all that’s gone. But even after the fire that destroyed Paradise, California, you’ll notice Rachel’s faith as she speaks of how she has seen God’s hand in her life.
Richard M. Romney, photographer
We’re used to having fires in this area, so when I saw the sky looking really smoky that morning, I wasn’t too worried. I was somewhat new to the area, but those who’ve lived in Paradise for a long time—especially those who live by the canyons—have been evacuated before.
This time, however, high winds carried the fire so fast that officials completely underestimated how long it would take to reach us. Most of us had no idea what was going on until the town was burning everywhere. Our situation went from “slightly concerned” to “emergency! Get out!” within one hour.
The evacuation was chaotic—and fast. Most people had to drive through fire to get out of town. As I drove out with my kids, smoke was everywhere. Embers had blown all over town and fires erupted everywhere. A lot of people left with their homes on fire or their neighbor’s home on fire. I didn’t know if our home would be destroyed or not.
As we drove, I had a conversation with God. I prayed that we would get out safely and that our home would be spared. We had only been in our house about two years. As a family, we worked together on improvements. My husband and children helped me redo the countertops and the floors. We called it our “cabin in the woods.” I loved my home, but I tried to be strong enough to submit my will to God’s will.
A few days later, we found out our home was gone. We had made it beautiful, and now it had burned down. But looking back, the time we spent in our house was such a wonderful time. I’m so grateful that God gave our family that time in that house.
One of the most beautiful things I’ve seen and heard as a result of this fire is the testimonies of people with what I call “big faith.” These people saw how God was in the details of their lives. “Big faith” like this is not something you can get overnight. It takes a long time to build.
It reminds me of the parable of the ten virgins. If you don’t have your lamp full, the time to turn to God is before the crisis. When disasters like this fire happen, that’s not the time to start filling your lamp. It’s like when you get in the car and ask your kids to put their seat belts on. Imagine them saying, “I don’t need a seatbelt. When I hear you screaming, then I’ll buckle up!” In a crisis they’d never have time.
After the fire, I’ve noticed that people here with “oil in their lamps” have not suffered as much. They’ve still been mourning, they still have challenges, but they still believe that God cares about them and is in the details of their lives. They know that God is powerful enough that He could have spared their homes from the fire, but they also don’t get mad when things aren’t fair. They accept His will. That’s what I call “big faith.”
Everyone who believes in God has seen His hand in this fire. You probably couldn’t prove to somebody that there’s a God because of one huge miracle, but God has brought about a million small miracles here in Paradise. If you believe in God, you can see His hand everywhere. Even though it’s been challenging, it has also been miraculous. God has helped us learn exactly what we need to learn.
Having “big faith” didn’t spare anyone from mourning their losses. One of the hardest parts about this whole experience is watching the mourning of those I love. I’ve probably done more mourning with them than I’ve done on my own account. Yes, it’s been challenging for my family, and we lost a lot. But we also gained a lot.
Members of the Chico California Stake did so much to serve those affected by the fire. Every person who came to the stake center on evacuation day was housed within hours by other members of the stake. They brought us into their homes and helped us get the things that we needed. I was also amazed by the donations of every kind that we received from Saints all over the world. We’ve been blessed and supported, and we can feel their love. It’s so great to be a Latter-day Saint. I will shout that at the top of my lungs!
When the fire happened, I prayed a lot because I needed to be able to mourn and I needed to teach my children how to mourn. God had some beautiful things to teach me. I learned the importance of “clean mourning.” What this means to me is that you don’t go to dark places with your mourning or go to a place of fear. You don’t let your thoughts go to a place of anger or shame. You mourn the way God would mourn. In this way, mourning is beautiful and healing. It feels more like love.
In this situation, the biggest challenge is the unknown. There are more questions than answers for everyone. We don’t know how fast Paradise can be rebuilt, or if it can be rebuilt because the amount of destruction and loss is incredible.
God has worked with me for years to prepare me for this situation. I’ve had other “disasters” in my life that have helped me know that God is beautifully guiding my life.
There’s nothing hard I go through that doesn’t have perfect and beautiful purpose and meaning. I’ve noticed that when I’ve allowed God to teach me, I’ve always learned from my challenges. God allows us to go through these challenges so we can come to trust Him and love Him. I know that when things get hard, He’s always there.
Rachel looks over the remnants of what was once her home. “The time we spent in our house was such a wonderful time,” she says. “I’m so grateful God gave our family that time in that house.”
The Paradise First Ward building, once a place of worship, gospel study, and activities, is now a pile of rubble. However, members have felt support from Saints all over the world. “We can feel their love,” Rachel says. “It’s so great to be a Latter-day Saint. I will shout that at the top of my lungs!”
“Everyone who believes in God has seen His hand in this fire,” Rachel says. “Even though it has been challenging, it has also been miraculous. God has helped us learn exactly what we need to learn.”
Members of the Lighthall family each hold up an item recovered from the ashes of their home. These serve as a reminder of God’s blessings. Speaking of the fire, Rachel says, “Yes, it’s been challenging, and we lost a lot. But we also gained a lot.”

One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.

Sometimes when I am afraid at night, I pray. But I never prayed as hard as when Hurricane Fran passed through Wendell, North Carolina, where my family was living.
On Thursday, September 5, 1996, I was at school. A voice on the loud speaker said we should all go home and stay inside because there was going to be a hurricane.
When I got home, we gathered some food and water, and that night we brought blankets into the hall. At about nine o’clock the wind started blowing hard. I could hear the rain really loud. There was a whistling sound going up the chimney. The storm was pounding on our house. I was really scared.
I was in the hall bathroom. Everyone else was in the hall. I decided to pray. I said, “Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, please help us. Please help us. I’m so scared.”
The next morning we went outside. There were tree branches in our yard. There were shingles that had come off the roof. We had no power. We went around the neighborhood. Many trees had fallen. But our house was OK, and everyone was safe. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
Jessica Lynn Bernard, age 12Wendell, North Carolina

A certain man, desiring to enjoy the beauties of nature, went for a woodland stroll by the side of a clear, flowing river. Deep in thought about the magnificence of God’s handiwork, he didn’t see the tree roots jutting out near the water’s edge. He stumbled and fell headlong into the river. The water was deep, and the man couldn’t swim! He cried out. But who will hear me? he wondered as the water engulfed him in darkness. He surfaced and shouted again, but his hopes dimmed as he sank for the second time. His call was much weaker as he rose one more time, and he thought, No one can hear me now!
But someone did hear his cries, dived into the water, and brought him safely to the bank.
When the drowning man recovered, he looked up into the face of his rescuer and said, “Oh, thank you! Thank you for saving me. What can I do to show my love and appreciation?”
His rescuer smiled and said: “There are some things that you can do for me,” and he taught him lovingly and carefully.
Then a sad thing happened. Although the man who had been saved lived, his rescuer died as a result of his exertion during the rescue. Despite his sorrow, the survivor had a contented feeling, for he knew what to do to show his love and gratitude for his savior.
So it is with us. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, died that we might live. We know what we should do, for He has told us: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
There is nothing more precious to me than my testimony of Jesus Christ. I have a witness that He is my Savior and Redeemer, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father. I know that Heavenly Father so loved us, “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).

Having fled Vietnam just three days before the takeover of Saigon in 1975, five members of my large family and I found ourselves living in a small trailer home in Provo, Utah. We had been allowed to bring only a small bag in our flight, and as refugees we were just learning English. Some of my sisters had joined the Church in Vietnam, and I was a recent convert. Now ward members saw to many of our needs, and a close-knit community pooled its resources to make life comfortable for us newcomers.
As a member of the priests quorum, I was assigned to home teach with Brother Johnson, who lived nearby with his large family. One day Brother Johnson noticed that our family had no kitchen table. He appeared the next day with an odd-looking but very functional table that fit nicely against the trailer wall across from the kitchen sink and counters. I say odd-looking because two of the table legs matched the tabletop and two did not. Also, several small wooden pegs stuck out along one edge of the worn surface.
Soon we used this unique table daily for food preparation and for eating some quick meals. We still ate our family meals while we sat on the floor—with food, bowls, and chopsticks spread on a cloth in true Vietnamese fashion.
One evening I stood inside Brother Johnson’s front door as I waited for him before a home teaching appointment. There in the nearby kitchen—I was surprised to see it—was a table practically identical to the one they had given to my family. The only difference was that where our table had pegs, the Johnsons’ table had holes! I then realized that, seeing our need, this charitable man had cut his kitchen table in half and had built two new legs for each half.
It was obvious that the Johnson family could not fit around this small piece of furniture—they probably didn’t fit comfortably around it when it was whole. I like to imagine that the Johnsons learned to eat their family meals on the floor, just as we did, in true Vietnamese fashion.
Throughout my life this kind act has been a powerful reminder of true giving.

When the bell rang at the end of class, Brian turned around in his desk. “Hey, Chris, have you seen the ads for the latest video game?”
Chris grinned. “Yes, it looks awesome!”
“Do you have it?” Brian asked.
Chris shook his head. “It’ll take me forever to save enough money. But I wish I could play it right now!”
Chris really wanted the new video game. His mom had seen the game and said it was OK for him to get, but he had to buy it himself. But he knew it would be months before he could afford it.
“Guess what?” Brian said. “I got it yesterday!”
Chris’s jaw dropped. “No way!”
Brian nodded. “Do you want to come over tomorrow and play it?”
Chris nearly jumped out of his chair. “Sure I do! That’d be great!”
As soon as Chris got to Brian’s house the next day, they settled in front of the TV. Chris couldn’t stop smiling as he earned points and advanced level after level.
But after a while, Brian put down his controls. “Let’s go outside,” he said.
Chris reluctantly put down his own controls and followed Brian out the back door. They played tag and then hide-and-seek. Chris was hiding behind some bushes when he realized that Brian was taking a long time to find him.
“Where is he?” Chris thought.
Chris left his hiding place. After a minute, he smelled smoke. Was something burning? He followed the smell around the corner of the house and stopped in his tracks. Brian stood in front of him, smoking a cigarette.
Brian smiled and held out a cigarette toward Chris. “Here. It’s fun,” Brian said.
Chris stared at the cigarette. “No,” he said.
Brian puffed on his cigarette. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you smoke with me, we’ll go back in and play the game some more.”
Chris felt like time had slowed down. He thought about how much he wanted to play the game and then he thought about the long months it would take him to save his money for his own copy.
But then Chris thought about the cigarette and what it would mean to smoke it. He thought about the promise he had made to the Lord to never smoke.
Chris stood up straight. “No. I won’t do it for anything.”
Brian looked stunned. But Chris turned away and walked home. When he got there, he sat down on the sidewalk in front of his house. He felt a little sad, but he was proud that he had the strength to make the right choice.

In this process of my preparation, I faced so many challenges—difficulties on documentation, in setting a date to go, and so on. During this time, the scriptures were a great source of comfort and assurance to me. Ether 12:6 says, “And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
This verse gave me the courage and confidence needed for my family to look forward to being sealed together in the Lord’s house. Adding on to our courage, prayer with fasting gave us even more strength to calm all our storms and turbulences. Finally, we made it to the Taiwan Taipei Temple on the 5th of December 2017. That day was a day of joy and happiness to me, to witness our sealing as a family for time and all eternity.

Gray shadows of disappointment nagged at Karl as he walked home in the dark between the two elders who had just baptized and then confirmed him a member of the Church. He had prayed that he might know whether the Church had been dreamed up by man or whether it had truly been established by the Lord, and he had fully expected the horizon to lighten when he came up out of the Elbe River. But the night was still dark and the sky was still black. No sign had been given.
As the three returned home through the dark together, their discussion centered on the authority of the priesthood. One of the elders spoke German and interpreted for Karl, who spoke only German, and then interpreted for the other elder, who spoke only English. Suddenly there was no need for an interpreter! For a short time both elders understood Karl’s questions and comments, and Karl understood their answers whether spoken in German or English.
Karl now felt that his prayer at the time of his baptism had been answered. The elders knew this strange experience was a special blessing for all of them, but they did not know then that Karl’s baptism would prove to be a great blessing to all of the Church.

I guess I always knew that Mom, Dad, and Grandma were Mormons. Sometimes Grandma took me and my brother to her church, but my family didn’t go to Sunday meetings. I wasn’t a member of any church.
I never really talked about religion with my friends. I had seen my friend Lynsi at Grandma’s church, but other than that, religion didn’t come up much.
Then one day at school, Lynsi said, “Karisa, I’m getting baptized this weekend. Would you like to come?”
I couldn’t go, but I started wondering what baptism was. How did Lynsi decide to be baptized? Did she have to take a test? Why did she have to be baptized at all?
A long time passed, and I couldn’t hold all these questions inside anymore. I decided to ask my mom about baptism and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Well, Dad and I were baptized in that church when we were kids, but we haven’t gone to church in a long time,” Mom said.
“What does a person do to be baptized?” I asked.
“Usually people who want to know more about the Church talk to missionaries. They teach people about what they believe,” Mom explained.
“Can I talk to the missionaries then?” I asked.
Mom looked uncertain. “I’m not sure, Karisa,” she said. “Asking the missionaries to teach you is a big commitment. You have to be willing to attend church regularly and live what they teach you. Are you ready to do that?”
“Yes, I promise, Mom!” I didn’t know why I said that. The missionaries hadn’t even taught me anything yet.
“We’ll talk about it again later,” Mom said.
The next day I couldn’t tell if Mom was willing to invite the missionaries over, so I started on my homework. But all I could think about was asking the missionaries about baptism and what they believe.
A little while later there was a knock on the door. My brother Kaleb answered and called for my parents.
I was surprised when Mom, Dad, and Kaleb entered the family room with two strangers.
Mom looked at me and said, “Karisa, these are the missionaries. Did you ask someone to send them here?”
My eyes widened as I looked at the two young men wearing dark pants, white shirts, and ties. One held a blue book with gold words on the cover. Their name tags said Elder Kamalu and Elder Hengen.
“No,” I said. “But I really hoped they would visit soon.”
Elder Kamalu smiled. “May we share a message with your family?” he asked my dad.
Dad nodded his head and even smiled a little. The missionaries didn’t stay for very long, but they left the blue book for us to read. It’s called the Book of Mormon. They asked if I would read the first page of it. I promised I would, but I still had so many questions. I couldn’t wait to get more answers!

John Newton was six years old when his mother passed away. She had raised him a believer, teaching and reading scripture with him. At age 11, his father, a sailor, took him to sea. Surrounded by profanity, blasphemy, and promiscuity, it did not take John long to drift from his faith. He would say, “I sinned with a high hand and made it my study to tempt and seduce others on every occasion.”
On one trip a storm suddenly came upon them. His crew began calling out to God to save them. At first, he mocked and scolded them, but when it became clear that their fate was inevitable, John cried out to the God his mother had taught him about.
He prayed something like, “God, if You are there, please save us. And if You do, I will dedicate the rest of my life to serving You.” The storm ceased, the waves calmed, and their lives were saved. True to his word, John dedicated the rest of his life to serving the Lord. He became a preacher, and as part of his ministry, he wrote poems. Many of these poems would be turned into hymns, such as his most famous one:
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
This hymn is John Newton’s story, but it is also our story, and it is likely your story. Each of us, in our own way and in our own moments of struggle, is seen by an omniscient Lord who, at just the right time, intervenes. He chastens us. He rescues us. He transforms us. And He creates in us an insatiable desire to live what Nephi once called “that life which is in Christ” (2 Nephi 25:27).

One of the greatest lessons in devotion came when George T. Benson received a mission call. “I was about 13 years of age when father received a call to go on a mission. He went, leaving mother at home with seven children. The eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field.

“Mother was a stalwart. Never did we hear a murmur from her lips. The letters we received from Father were indeed a blessing. They seemed to us children to come halfway around the world, but they were only from Cedar Rapids, Marshall Town, Iowa; Chicago, Springfield, Illinois; etc. There came into our home, as a result, a spirit of missionary work that has never left it.

“Father returned home and while we were sitting in the yard on one-legged milking stools, milking cows the ‘armstrong method,’ he would sing over and over again, ‘Ye Elders of Israel,’ ‘Israel, Israel, God Is Calling,’ ‘Come All Ye Sons of God,’ ‘Ye Who Are Called to Labor,’ until I learned every word of these great missionary songs. Today I don’t need a songbook when we sing these great songs that Father sang to us morning and evening.”

A Journey of Hope and Healing
A husband and wife share how pornography affected them and how they are addressing it:
Peace Will Come
After years of fighting a pornography addiction, I learned that repentance isn’t an event but a process. Looking back, I see God’s hand in my life, leading me along. The faith, prayers, and support of my wife and family helped me more than they will ever know. With God’s help, I hope to become the husband and father they have always deserved.
Through my struggles, Heavenly Father was preparing me and my family to receive greater joy and healing. I learned that the Savior alone is the source of strength and refuge that will provide healing and recovery. It was only when I turned to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ with full purpose of heart that I was strengthened to overcome my addiction. It’s a daily exercise to put on the full armor of God and to fill my life with things that invite the Holy Ghost, but doing so has brought me peace and joy.

I walked into the backyard and climbed a tall, strong tree. I didn’t get very high. Being six feet tall, I figured I was already too far from the ground. I sat in my perch and pondered my fate. I wore glasses, had grown much too tall, and weighed more than necessary.
My roommate, Sally, had just left on her third date with a returned missionary. Tonight was supposed to be the start of a three-day camping trip that Sally and I had been planning for more than two months. I guess you know what happens to camping trips with roommates when a gorgeous, broad-shouldered, car-owning, worthy priesthood holder asks you out.
It wasn’t that I was jealous. I didn’t want to take from Sally; I just wanted with all my heart to know what it felt like.
I looked up into that clear night sky, stars thick and bright, and a prayer left my heart and burst from my lips. “Heavenly Father, please, oh please, I need to make friends with a boy.”
I’m not sure how long I spent praying. I do know it was one of the most heartfelt prayers I had ever offered. When I stepped down from that tree, I felt so good. It was more than just a peaceful feeling. I was excited. I almost expected my new friend to be waiting for me in the backyard!
At first I grinned at each male I met, sure he was going to grab my hand and say, “I’m here!” I got some funny looks and a few smiles, but none of the grocery clerks, paper boys, or mailmen I saw claimed me.
Gradually I simmered down. The excitement left, but the peace stayed. I finished school, got a job I liked, and found myself actively involved with the Young Adults in our stake. I was happy.
One Saturday a few of us went out into the desert to practice target shooting. Jimmy, a country cowboy at heart, took us. I rode in the back seat of his very old, very large car. Jimmy spent time with each of us setting up targets, helping us load, then teaching us to hold the guns properly. I was more awkward than the others, who had been shooting before, but the extra attention I needed paid off. On the way home, I sat in the front seat.
My three roommates were often visited by three boys from our ward, and with Jimmy, now there were four. Jimmy had become a regular. The eight of us had so much fun. We went four-wheeling in Jimmy’s new Jeep. We played football and baseball. We swam. When we went hiking, Jimmy stayed behind me all the way even though I was slower than the others. We had a great summer.
When the weather cooled and the nights lengthened, we spent more time inside. Jimmy and I had long talks. He went with me to visit my grandpa, helped me run errands, came to sacrament meeting with me, even took me to the hospital the day I broke my finger.
He held my hand after the first snowstorm so I wouldn’t fall. He put his arm around me in the movies to keep me warm. One night he wore his best clothes, bought me flowers, and took me to a dance. He held me in his arms when the music slowed, and as we walked home he kissed me.
Eight months later, sitting in our new apartment decorated with our families’ old furniture, I looked up from my book, put my cold feet in my new husband’s lap to get warm and asked, “Jimmy, what first attracted you to me?”
He looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Something told me that I should be your friend.”
My heart jumped. Tears filled my eyes. A smile started on my face and spread clear down to my toes. I put my arms around his neck and held on tight. I was holding in my arms the answer to the help I prayed for that lonely night in an old tree.

NARRATOR: At the age of 12, Evan Stephens crossed the ocean with his parents, walked across the plains, and settled with them in Willard, Utah, where his desire to become a musician took root. While he was still 12, Evan attended his first choir rehearsal. Though he loved music and intended to become a musician, he had not learned to play or read music. The choir sang from some expensive anthem books, and young Evan dared to ask to take one home. At first he was most emphatically refused, but after much pleading from Evan the choir leader relented and young Evan had the book for a night. And it was an eventful night. From that one book he learned the meaning of key signatures, time signatures, note values, the staves, and marks of expression. Rising rapidly in the world of music, Brother Stephens eventually became an outstanding conductor of the Tabernacle Choir. He was a prolific composer and author, publishing several songbooks. Twenty-six of his compositions appear in our hymnbook. (Personal reminiscence of J. Spencer Cornwall.)

Mariah (as she preferred to be called) is one of the reasons my family is even in the Church. She was baptized in 1840 in England, was endowed in Nauvoo, Illinois, was sealed to her husband in Winter Quarters, Nebraska, and died in Utah. My thoughts about her while I was in the temple were not about her need to have ordinances performed but about how those ordinances bound her and me together across time and space.

When others see the only known photograph of my grandmother Mariah, they often comment on how grim or unpleasant she appears to them. I immediately defend her because I know her. I know the person that walked along the River Severn as a young girl and as a mother with small children. I know the person who sailed across an ocean, giving birth to her fourth child during the journey. I know the person who sent a husband to war and lost an infant child during his absence. I know the person who walked 1,000 miles (1,609 km) to a new home in the western American desert. I know the person who worked and covenanted and farmed and loved. And in knowing her, I get a taste of our heavenly parents’ love for her and for each of their children.