Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in a small village on the island of Anglesey in north Wales. As a teenager I faced a problem that affects most LDS young people in Britain. Almost all social life revolves around the pubs.
There is no straightforward solution to whether LDS youth should go to pubs. A pub, unlike the bars of most other countries, attracts people of all ages and all walks of life. It is a social gathering place. I remember feeling torn when close friends would invite me to parties at the local pub. I wanted them to know that I valued their friendship and appreciated them for wanting to involve me in their plans. However, the fact remained that I didn’t feel comfortable in pubs. On the few occasions that I went I always had the scriptures about shunning the appearance of evil or standing in holy places spinning around in my head. At the risk of ostracising my friends, I usually stayed at home.
This issue came to a head when my best friend, Elizabeth, turned 18 and invited me to her birthday party. It was to be held at a nearby pub. My friends were anxious that I go, although they knew that I would not join them in drinking alcohol. I decided that the only way that I could know what I should do was through prayer. It took me some time on my knees before I received a positive confirmation. I told Elizabeth that I would go for a short while and arranged with my father to take me and to pick me up half an hour later. That way I could show Elizabeth that her friendship and her birthday were important to me, but then I would not feel obliged to stay long in an environment where I felt so out of place.
Once the decision was made, the week sped by and before I knew it my father was dropping me off outside the heavy doors of “The Gazelle.” The lights glowed and reflected off the sparkling glasses along the length of the bar. A fire roared in the large grate, and scattered around the room were small round tables with their accompanying chairs. Paintings of fox hunts hung on the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol.
As I hesitated in the doorway, I heard a familiar voice. “Sian, you came!”
I turned to see my friends Nia and David. “Come on,” Nia encouraged me, “Elizabeth is over here. I know she’ll want to see you.” She led the way across the room towards a small group of people.
I was made to feel welcome. I gave my gift to Elizabeth, and I knew she realized that I was there because I cared about her. I spoke to most of the people there before finding a quiet chair in the corner where I sat with a glass of orange juice on the table in front of me. I watched those around me. It saddened me to see some of my friends already showing signs of having drunk too much. It seemed so pointless and such an artificial way to have a “good” time.
I was so consumed with my own thoughts, I was not aware of Andrew’s approach until he spoke. “Are you glad you came, Sian?” he asked as he sat beside me.
I hesitated for a second before answering.
“If by coming I have shown my friends that I value their friendship, then yes, I’m glad I came.”
“But you’re not very comfortable here, are you?”
I knew Andrew well enough to be honest with him. “No,” I said, “I guess it’s always hard to be in a situation where you are different from everyone else.”
“But it’s not so hard that you would change your stand on drinking and join us all?” There was sadness in his voice as he spoke.
I felt my heart begin to burn. “No, Andrew, deep down I know that there is a God who loves me and doesn’t want me hurt. Alcohol can hurt.”
“You’re so lucky,” Andrew sighed.
I looked at him, startled and said, “You don’t have to drink either.”
“That’s easy to say,” he replied, “but I don’t have a good excuse not to. It may be hard for you to understand.” He continued to gaze into the frothy pint of beer in his hand. “If I refuse to drink the others will give me a hard time. They’ll heckle me about being chicken or not man enough. I don’t have any excuse to give them other than the fact that I don’t feel like drinking—and that’s not good enough for them. Everyone knows that you don’t drink because you’re a Mormon. They don’t understand it, but they accept it as something you live by. Most people admire you for taking a stand. I don’t have any religious reasons not to drink, so everyone expects me to.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. A mask of nonchalance quickly covered the inner feelings he had briefly exposed.
“Maybe I just lack your strength of character,” he teased. Then he stood, raised his glass to me in salute and turned to walk away. Feeling hopeless, I watched him go.
I glanced at my watch and saw that my designated half hour was over. I gathered my coat, signaled my goodbye to Elizabeth who stood a few yards off. I looked for Andrew, but he was lost in the crowd, so I left quietly.
As I opened the pub door, a wave of cold, fresh air swept over me. I breathed deeply, then glanced around. Sure enough, parked not more than ten yards away was my father. I ran to the car and jumped in.
I leaned over and gave my dad a hug. He asked me how the evening had gone. I sat back in my seat and recounted my experience. A heavenly spirit filled the car as I told him what I had learned.
My conversation with Andrew had helped me to see that commandments are blessings, not obstacles. I knew that the Word of Wisdom was given for our own good, but when I went to Elizabeth’s party that night, I was struggling with the idea that it was a barrier between me and my friends. Then I talked to Andrew and discovered that there are others, perhaps many others, who wish they had such commandments to guide them.
Now I know that if I ever struggle to see the reasons for a specific commandment, I will use it as a good excuse to do what is right until my faith and understanding increase.

We heard of the passing away of sister Rebecca’s father at their native place, Tiruchi. Members of the ward visited to offer their condolences to them and to their extended family.
As ministering brethren, Brother Raja Ganapathy and I were able to offer a small prayer of comfort and safe travel for their family who were traveling to Trichy. During the same day, Brother Karthikeyan, and Brother Raja Ganapathi, and I decided to travel to Trichy to represent our ward and offer our silent comfort to the family. This sudden travel arrangement had to be made without any bus or train reservations. We made our way to reach Trichy by travelling in various trains and buses. After many hours of travel, we joined their family around midnight.
This travel was purely to give moral support to their family members at their time of need. The next day in the early morning, even much before their family made their traditional funeral service at an Roman Catholic Church, we members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints gathered together and were able to comfort Sister Rebecca’s family by singing our Church hymns, and a wonderful prayer was offered in Tamil by Brother Raja Ganapathy.
“Ministering is always needed. We may not know when, but we must always be prepared to minister to others.”

I would like to use a short version, as I remember it, of the famous Hugh B. Brown parable to illustrate submission. When he was young, President Brown had a nice yard in front of his home with a lawn, flowers, shrubs, fruit trees, and shade trees. There was a currant bush he had carefully trimmed to be in an attractive shape and to produce the best fruit. Noticing that it had started to branch out again, he went for the pruning shears. As he approached the currant bush, he seemed to hear it say, “Oh please, Mr. Gardener, don’t cut me back, I’m just getting started and I want to be big like the shade trees.”
President Brown responded, “No, my little bush. I am the gardener here and I have planted thee to be a source of fruit and an adornment in this part of my garden, and I am going to prune thee back to size.”
Many years later President Brown was a full colonel in the Canadian forces in France in World War I. He could see the possibility of an illustrious military career. He wanted to become the first LDS general since Book of Mormon times. He was competent and well prepared. The next vacancy as a general should have been his, but when the vacancy occurred, he was called in by his superiors and told, “We are promoting someone else over you.” In effect they were saying, “There has never been a Mormon general in his Majesty’s Royal Forces and there probably never will be.”
He retired to his quarters, crushed with disappointment, and knelt in prayer asking fervently, “Heavenly Father, why couldn’t my prayers have been answered? Haven’t I lived up to my covenants? Haven’t I done everything I was supposed to do? Why? Why?”
And then he heard a voice, an echo from the past, saying, “I am the gardener here. You were not intended for what you sought to be.” Humbled, President Brown then prayed for humility and patience to endure the pruning and to grow as the Lord would have him grow.
I translated that story for him on a tour of South America. He told me afterwards, “Bob, I know if I had continued in that direction I would never have developed the way the Lord wanted me to so I could eventually serve him as an apostle and in the First Presidency.”

The youth of the Southglenn Second Ward, Littleton Colorado Stake, took a personal interest in helping furnish the nursery for the Denver Temple. After all, the temple was literally next door.
The youth chose to build and furnish a dollhouse. They planned the project carefully and, with the help of a ward member, built a sturdy wooden dollhouse. Each class and quorum was assigned certain rooms to decorate and furnish.
The Laurels and priests were assigned to put wooden siding and shake shingles on the outside. It was a challenge to cut and fit each piece properly, and it became a weekly activity.
As each group took a special interest in doing their best on the dollhouse, they had a little side benefit. They learned some points about coordinating colors, arranging furniture, and cooperation. After a thousand hours of labor, the dollhouse was put on display at the ward before it was presented to the temple presidency.

I love the story I have heard Ann Madsen tell of her husband, Truman G. Madsen. While studying philosophy at Harvard University as a PhD student, he would spend his days deep in the arcane philosophic discourses of the world’s great minds, coming to understand their attempts to describe the way things are. From the field of ethics—what is right and wrong, all the way to epistemology—how, and even whether we can actually come to know things, the “philosophies of man” would swirl in his head. Then, she said, he would come home in the late afternoon, absorbed in thought about an issue of the day and take a book to the front porch and ask the question aloud, “Well, let’s see what Brother Joseph had to say about this.” He sensed that he could not fully come to understand the ideas of men without exposing them to the light of the gospel.

“Am I too young to have a testimony?” Jamie asked her mother.
“Why do you think you are too young?”
“Because today in Primary, Sister Johnson told us to tell our testimonies to someone who will write them down for us. We’re going to put all our testimonies into a Book of Mormon and send it to a missionary. Then the missionary can give it to someone. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t think of what to say. Maybe I’m just not old enough to have a testimony yet.”
“Five years old is old enough for a testimony to start growing inside you,” said Mother. “You just haven’t found the way to tell it yet. Think of what you know about the Church and how you feel about it. Try to say what your heart tells you is true,” she said, giving Jamie a little hug. “Let’s ask Dad to talk about testimonies in family home evening tomorrow night.”
Jamie thought about what she could say for the rest of the day. She was supposed to have her testimony ready to give to Sister Johnson the next Sunday. But how can I have it ready if I don’t know what to say? she wondered.
It was Jamie and her sister Susan’s turn to fix the refreshments for family home evening, so on Monday afternoon they made cookies. That evening Father did give a lesson about testimonies. “A testimony is kind of like the bright, sparkling light that shines through the crystals on our chandelier,” he said pointing to the ceiling fixture above them. “It shines and sparkles inside of you. To have a testimony each of us needs to do certain things. We need to pray to Heavenly Father, and we need to study the scriptures. Obeying Heavenly Father’s commandments, attending our meetings, and partaking of the sacrament will also help our testimonies to grow. It’s important to share our testimony with others too.”
After her father shared his testimony with the family, Jamie knew that what her father had said was true. And she knew that she had been doing the right things to gain a testimony.
I want to share my testimony, Jamie thought, but how can I find the words? That night when she said her prayers, she asked, “Heavenly Father, please help me find the right words to say for my testimony.”
The rest of the week, while Jamie was busy playing and helping Mother, she kept thinking about her testimony. But when Sunday morning came, she still didn’t have anything ready to be written down. She gave a big sigh as she got ready for church. “What will I tell Sister Johnson?” she asked Mother.
“Maybe you’ll have to tell her that you’re still trying,” answered Mother. Then she asked, “Would you like to use the testimony that your sister wrote in her Book of Mormon?”
“No,” replied Jamie. “I want it to be my very own.”
Since she was the first one ready for church, Jamie decided to listen to her tape of Primary songs while she waited for the rest of the family. Jamie loved to sing along with the tape. The first song started, and she joined in: “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here …” It was her favorite song, and as she sang it, her heart told her that the words were true. Suddenly she jumped up. “Mother, Mother,” she called, grabbing some paper and a pen and running to her mother. “I know what to say now! Will you write it for me?”
“Of course,” said Mother.
Jamie spoke very clearly. “I am a child of God. So are you. He will help you know what’s true.” She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Does that sound like a testimony?”
Mother put her arms around Jamie and held her close. “That is a very beautiful testimony,” she told her. “There are so many people in this world who don’t know that they are children of God. They need someone like you to tell them and to help them find the truth.”
At church Jamie hurried to her Primary classroom and was the first one to hand her testimony to Sister Johnson. “Thank you very much,” Sister Johnson said. Then she added, “You look so pretty and full of sunshine today!”
“It’s because of my testimony,” Jamie said excitedly, “shining like a bright crystal!”

They became involved in this work in an unusual way.
“My friend and I were assigned to perform some vicarious ordinances in the Brisbane Australia Temple,” Michael said. “I had driven to the temple in my business van, and when I was returning to it after the completion of my assignment, a fellow approached me in the car park and said he was the facilities manager for the Church in the area.
“He asked if I would be interested in doing some work for the Church.”
Michael says, “We were asked if we would be willing to do some gilding (painting with special gold paint) on a statue of the angel Moroni. We told him that we were willing, submitted a bid, and we did that very interesting work and have since been fortunate enough to work on many other projects.”

3. Concentrate on your children’s individual strengths, avoiding negative comparisons with brothers and sisters. Judy hasn’t caused her parents a moment’s trouble. She attends her Church meetings regularly, has positive things to say about her seminary class, and has lots of good, active friends. But her younger sister, Patti, presents a puzzling contrast for her parents. She resists going to Church and is constantly in trouble with her teachers. She enrolled in seminary only at her parents’ insistence, but she misses class much of the time. She is attracted to friends who are inactive in the Church and disparaging of its values.
Patti sees little chance of outshining her sister for good attention, so unconsciously she seeks attention in other ways. Unfortunately the parents are compounding the problem by constantly holding her older sister up as an example. Patti rebels because of her strong need to “be her own person,” yet she feels guilty about her behavior and her self-esteem is low.
It’s not uncommon for parents to compare a child unfavorably with another child in the family. It may be done openly and consciously with statements such as, “Why can’t you be like John?” or “Sandra would never have done that!” Or it may be done in very subtle ways without the parents even being aware that such a comparison has been made. But in either case the message is often understood to be: “You are not as lovable or as capable as your brother or sister.” Usually, a parent uses comparisons to set up a positive example for the child to follow. But such comparisons are generally destructive to the self-esteem of children.

After I graduated high school, I moved out to Utah, USA. Nicole was already there, and she was anxiously waiting for me to get there so I could start taking the missionary lessons. I had a plan to be baptized on my 19th birthday—just six weeks away—and Nicole assured me she would be right there with me the whole time.
When the missionaries began to teach me, I soon realized how little I really knew about the Church. I had read and loved the Book of Mormon, but suddenly they were telling me about the gift of the Holy Ghost, the plan of salvation, becoming like God, and so many other new things. It was too much to digest all at once.
But Nicole knew me well. She would help explain what the elders were teaching in a way she knew I’d understand. In those first lessons, her patient explanations were the reason I stayed.
Nicole spiritually supported me like that until the day I was baptized—and after. She helped the ward members and missionaries plan so I could be baptized on my 19th birthday. When I came out of the water and saw dozens of people beaming at me, I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I will never forget that feeling of finally belonging to the Lord and His Church.

“Wow, the dirt is orange!” My sister pointed to the crusty ground by the boardwalk we were standing on. A few feet away, an oval pool seemed to glow yellow and blue.
“Where do the colors come from?” I asked Dad as he stopped to take a picture. He handed me a pamphlet from the ranger station. “I think it talks about it in there.”
The pamphlet told about the history of Yellowstone National Park. It also had a map of where we were. Then I saw a section about geothermal pools.
“Whoa! The colors are caused by bacteria!” I told Dad. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I started imagining what the bacteria looked like. I wished I could take some water to look at under a microscope, or at least touch it to see if it felt weird. I guess my sister had a similar idea, because pretty soon she tugged on Mom’s shirt.
“Mama, I want to touch it! Pleeeeeease?”
Mom and Dad gave each other a look—one of those “talk without saying anything” looks—and pulled my sisters and me to the side of the boardwalk.
“Remember what we talked about before we got out of the car?” Mom said. She didn’t even wait for us to answer. “Don’t touch anything off the boardwalk.”
“But why?” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Instead of just saying “Because I said so” like he sometimes does, Dad paused for a second and pointed to a sign nearby. It said, “Dangerous Ground.”
“The water might look nice and cool. But it’s actually very, very hot. If you touched it, you’d get badly burned. There’s even super-hot water just under the orange dirt there. But we can enjoy it all safely from the path.”
Dad pointed out that the sign was written in lots of different languages. “The warning is so important that they wanted to make sure everyone could understand it. They want everyone to stay on safe ground.”
I nodded, and even my little sisters seemed to understand. We kept walking along the boardwalk, listening to the steam hiss around us. Before, I had mostly been thinking about how awesome the scenery was. Now I was also watching my sisters and making sure they were safe.
After a while, we saw a geyser shoot into the air! I loved watching the wind blow the water droplets across the colorful ground.
Finally it was time to head back to the car. Mom walked up beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. “You know, the boardwalk is kind of like the commandments.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” said Mom, “Heavenly Father gave us a beautiful world to live in. And He gave us commandments to help us make safe and happy choices. He really loves us, and He wants us to have a wonderful experience here on earth.”
I thought about that for a bit as we passed the blue-and-yellow pool of water again.
“So I guess wanting to touch the water is kind of like temptation?”
Following the prophet helps us stay on a good path. Read a message from him here!
Mom nodded. “I think so. It’s easy to think that the pools of water won’t hurt us—that we’ll have more fun if we leave the gospel path—but that’s just not true. Listening to the prophets and following the commandments is like staying on the boardwalk. It helps us make good choices and enjoy our lives.”
Before I climbed into our van, I took one last look back at the boardwalk and made myself a promise: I was going to stay on safe ground, no matter what!

The day the bad people flew airplanes into buildings and killed lots of people, I said in my bedtime prayer, “Bless all the good people, but don’t bless the bad people.” After I finished my prayer, my mom explained that we need to pray for bad people to help them choose the right. In my next prayer, I said, “Bless all the bad people so they will turn into good people.” I am glad I can pray to help people be good and choose the right.

I recently encountered a situation that challenged the way I thought about agency and personal revelation. As I was nearing the end of graduate school, I had a few different job offers in different cities and could not decide which one to take. Like the brother of Jared, I had experienced many moments where I had prayed about a major decision and God answered with a pretty definitive response. Relying on those prior experiences, I began to pray and ask God to help me decide which job I should take. I was also doing my part by learning about each job opportunity and counseling with many people. But no matter how much I prayed or fasted, the heavens stayed silent, and I received no answer.

The deadline to make a decision was approaching, and I began to panic. Surely this was the kind of decision the Lord must care about, so why wasn’t He answering? Maybe He didn’t care about which job I chose, but He must care about which city I moved to since it would undoubtedly have an impact on my life. The Lord had always cared about my decisions in the past, so why would He not care about this one too?

Yet no matter how hard I tried, no answer came. I started to wonder if I had drifted far enough away from God that I could not hear His answer. I also wondered if I could not hear because I subconsciously did not want to hear the answer. Finally, the day before the deadline, I knew I had to make a choice, so I used my judgment and made a decision. That night I simply prayed, asking if He would tell me if my answer was wrong. Still no response came, so I went ahead and took the job.

Several months later, I was still questioning my decision, so I asked for a priesthood blessing to receive reassurance. In the blessing I was told that I didn’t get an answer to my prayer because the Lord was happy with any decision I made. This blessing reinforced advice previously given to me by my mission president, who told me that oftentimes it doesn’t really matter what decision we make. God wants us to learn how to stand on our own two feet and decide how to live our lives. My mission president also reminded me that God, as our Heavenly Father, won’t punish us and take away promised opportunities if we are sincerely trying to figure out what to do.

We were on a humanitarian missionary assignment to Romania right after the fall of the Berlin wall. By invitation, I taught classes to medical and helping professionals at the neuropsychiatric hospital in Bucharest. The lecture room was cold in the winter but they came in large numbers to learn. Most had not been taught helping theories and skills for forty years. One day hospital administrators came to say they needed our room. I said, "That is fine. We will continue next week." But the class said, "No. No, we will find another place." And they did.
It was an unused building at the other end of the large complex. I believe it had not been heated all winter. As my husband Harold helped me fill the van with our audio/visual equipment, I said, " It is too far and too cold--the class will not walk all that way." But as we drove along the main road, we looked over and saw them--trudging along in the snow through the campus. Soon they were seated in the cold and vacant building, wearing coats, hats, boots, scarves and some with mittens, pencils in hand. They were waiting to be taught. As we were setting up our equipment, we noticed the leader of the group was also searching for an electrical outlet that worked. She had an old, small, hotplate in her hand, the kind with the little wire coil as the element. And I thought, "These people are so innovative." She is going to keep warm with that hot plate. As I was beginning to teach, I noticed her coming toward me. She put the hot plate down by my feet. "There," she said, "It is not much, but I hope it will keep you a little warm while you teach us." And I was the one who was taught--the great blessing of selfless service, given with a willing heart, no matter the sacrifice of the contribution.

While my daughter was serving her mission, she continued to endure trials and challenges with her health. Each time my phone rang with a Massachusetts phone number, my heart would sink, and a deep sense of concern would wash over me. Jenise had been in the mission field for almost a year when she suffered her most challenging health issue. She visited the emergency room three times in two weeks, each time with a new diagnosis and medication to help ease her pain. I prayed intensely for the doctors to figure out what was going on and help her feel better. After a month of not feeling well, Jenise’s condition started to decline quickly. With permission from the mission doctor, Jenise and her companion visited the emergency room again. While in the emergency room, her temperature spiked to more than 101 degrees. She was chilled, nauseous, and in a lot of pain. Jenise had experienced a kidney stone six months earlier on her mission. She would suggest to the doctors that this was another kidney stone, but they did not listen. This time, the attentive emergency room doctor listened and confirmed it was a kidney stone; it had been lodged for a while and had caused a serious infection. The doctor called me and explained that she had sepsis, her condition was serious, and if not treated immediately, she could die. They rushed her into surgery to drain her kidney, and she spent a few days alone in the hospital. I was ready to fly to Jenise’s side in Boston, I thought she needed her mom, but I was wrong. After expressing a heartfelt prayer, I set off for work. The sun radiated brightly as I reached the crest of the hill by the Rexburg temple, and then I heard a voice: “You do not need to go. I hold Jenise in my hands, and I am watching over her.” Instantly, I felt enveloped by love of my Savior. He cherished my daughter, and He was all she needed. The time spent alone in the hospital allowed Jenise to recognize Jesus Christ’s influence in her life during the good and bad times. She knew that Jesus Christ gave her the strength to endure her challenges.

In her email that week, Jenise shared,
I have been pondering why so many health problems have come on my mission. I am still praying about it, but one thing I have learned is that Heavenly Father never abandons you. He has never abandoned me. He doesn't turn His back and mumble, “Oh that Sister Taylor is back in the hospital again. She's not a good missionary.” Our Heavenly Father loves us so much!
He is so proud of the efforts we make! Sometimes our best efforts are teaching the Restoration at 2:30 a.m. in a hospital hallway, and sometimes they are amazing lessons about the power of priesthood blessings. But God is aware of us at all times. Everything happens for a reason, and I testify that God is so good.

Distractions can sometimes prevent us from experiencing God’s love in our family relationships and activities. A mother, feeling that gadgets were taking over her family relationships, came up with a solution. At the dinner table and at other family times, she just calls out, “Phones on the deck; let us have face time.” She says that this is the new norm for their family and that it strengthens their relationship as a family when they have real face time. They now enjoy quality Come, Follow Me discussions together as a family.

Sixteen-year-old Dieke Mphuti of Welkom, South Africa, lost her parents years ago, leaving her to care for three younger siblings on her own. It was always daunting for her to find enough food, but COVID supply shortages and quarantines made it almost impossible. They were often hungry, scraping by only with the generosity of neighbors.
On a sunny day in August 2020, Dieke was surprised by a knock at her door. She opened it to find two strangers—one a Church representative from the area office in Johannesburg and the other an official from South Africa’s Department of Social Development.
The two organizations had teamed up to bring food to at-risk households. Relief washed over Dieke as she glimpsed the pile of cornmeal and other food staples, purchased with Church humanitarian funds. These would help her to sustain her family for several weeks until a government aid package could begin to take effect for her.
Dieke’s story is one of thousands of such experiences taking place across the world during the COVID pandemic thanks to your consecrated contributions.

On the way home from submitting my bus pass application, I thought to myself: “I should stop and say hello to Jan and Steve.” I hadn’t seen these friends for about two years because they had moved to a new house. Once I found the house, I knocked on the door and Jan opened it. She was in the middle of vacuuming and cleaning when I arrived unannounced and she was standing beside an ottoman in the kitchen. As we talked she said, “We have been in a big mess for a year, but we are finally getting things the way we want them now. I’m getting rid of this ottoman, would you like it?”
"Yes please," I replied.
What Jan didn’t know, was that I had been looking for an ottoman like this for about six months. I had even gone into three charity shops that day, looking for such an item, but I couldn’t find one. But the Holy Ghost knew exactly where a used ottoman was, and he prompted me to go to Jan’s new house, because that was the day that she was throwing one away.
Isn’t Heavenly Father kind to us? On the day that I wrote out a cheque for extra tithing, I found money and was given furniture equal to the exact amount that I had written out my tithing cheque for. I had read about these types of stories in the Ensign before, but it had never happened to me, until that day.

One day, Justina met two young missionaries in crisp white shirts and ties. Intrigued by their appearance and message, she invited them into her home and listened to their teachings. The message resonated with her, and in 2006, she was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly afterward, her husband and daughters followed her example, embracing the gospel with open hearts.

I never appreciated the New Era before my mission, but now I have a living testimony of its usefulness as a missionary tool. We had an investigator who was really great but just needed a little push. One morning while studying I came across a great New Era article on testimonies. It was just what our investigator needed. We rushed the article right over to her. Two days later she called us up and told us she had decided to be baptized.
Elder William PrattCanada Montreal Mission

“David! Boyd! Come home! It’s time to eat!”

No response. My wife asked me to help her find them.

“David! Boyd! Answer me! Stop teasing! Where are you?”

The anxiety in our voices grew with each unanswered call. David and Boyd, three and four years old, had been playing in the yard at our home on Sixth Avenue next to the Manister River in Manister, Michigan. They had only been out of my sight ten minutes when they disappeared. We searched for an hour with no success. Then we began to panic. We decided we had better telephone the police.

Within 30 minutes a group of policemen, firemen, Boy Scouts, and friends were searching the area. About 4:00 in the afternoon, an officer reported, “Better call the state police and have them bring Saber, the German shepherd.”

Saber arrived, pulling hard on his leash. He bounded up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom and jumped on their beds. The trainer rubbed Saber’s head and nose with the boys’ clothes.

“Off with the leash!” commanded the dog trainer, and the big dog scrambled headlong down the stairs. “Go find them, Saber!” he called, as the dog bounded out the door.

Saber sniffed the house and yard before running across the street to a small wooded area, then made a sharp turn to the south.

“Oh, no! Not the river!” I cried, as I ran after the barking dog. He didn’t stop until he was right on the riverbank where we both identified four little foot prints walking out about 30 meters onto the ice. The silent evidence was there. A big hole was broken in the ice and cold, black, water swirled below it.

Drowned? Dead? My two little innocent boys? These thoughts filled my mind and stopped my speech. I turned away to avoid the awful scene and I ran right into my brother and father. “Oh, how I hate God!” I cried out as I ran from the horrible scene.

How long I ran I don’t know. I do know that when I finally fell down from exhaustion, I had covered a 20-mile distance and was at the home of an old friend who had been kind to me years ago. But I found no comfort there that day.

The next morning I went back to the river. State police skin divers were doing their sad work. Each minute was more painful than the last, as I watched men in wet suits search the cold dark waters.

After three hours of searching, one finally shouted, “Score one!”

Not a little boy, not a child, but a number. Not my own flesh and blood, soft and warm, with a question on his lips, but a hard, stiff little body was lifted into the waiting boat. A frozen statue, with right hand outstretched and fingers clenched. It was David, and his frozen body told the tragedy. Boyd, the more adventuresome of the two, had gone first and broken through the ice. David had followed and tried to reach out to save him. Both went under, and death was quick in the freezing waters.

A few agonizing minutes later came the second call, “Score two!”

Grief overcame me. The days that followed were like a blur. I moved in and out of reality as funeral arrangements were made. I remember little of what was said during the service, except the minister’s parting words, “This is God’s will. We are not to understand.”

I had to understand! These were no words of comfort. A God who would kill innocent children was no friend of mine now or ever, and I told the minister so.