Gospel Story Finder

“I had a friend who began to encourage me to disregard my standards, and for a while I listened. I finally decided that enough was enough and I wasn’t going to let her influence me anymore. I prayed for strength and guidance, and because I was again living the way I know I should, I received the guidance I asked for. I eventually stopped hanging out with her, and in the months that have passed, my testimony has grown so much. Who you are friends with definitely makes a difference in your ability to live the way the gospel teaches.”
Margaret Denise K., 17, Utah, USA

Some time back, I was in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Debbie, a beautiful teenage girl, spoke at stake conference. Among other things she said, “I want to tell you about a friend I had when I went through high school.” She said she felt homely but her friend told her she was beautiful. When there were dances, he would dance with her. He built her up. She said: “He was my very best friend. He was handsome and popular, and he lived his religion. I never heard him swear, he never violated the Word of Wisdom, and he faithfully went to church.

“It was a good thing that he was a strong member of the Church,” she said, “because I tailed him everywhere he went. I did what he did, and I would have followed him anywhere. I cannot express the love and respect I have for him. I was not his girlfriend, but I sure loved him. He is on a mission now, and we write regularly. He still loves me and is still my best friend. He is my older brother.”

What a blessing it is to the Church when brothers and sisters are filled with that kind of love and respect for each other!

May I just share with you a personal disappointment we’ve had in our home recently. A few months ago our daughter, Mary, decided to run for president of her seventh-grade class. She was encouraged by a teacher who felt she could win, and so she began to campaign with lots of enthusiasm and a great deal of confidence. Both her parents and her brothers rallied behind and gave her all the support and help we could.

Well, she lost. Now I was told this earlier in the day before Mary got home from school, and you know mothers. I was totally devastated for her, and I just churned with emotions all day and most of the day hoped for something that I could say that might comfort her. When I heard her footsteps at the door, my heart and my feet leaped to the rescue, and all the words of comfort I could think of came tumbling out.

And you know, she just looked at me for a few minutes and then with sad little brown eyes she said, “Mother, will you just pray with me?”

As we knelt in prayer, she said, “Heavenly Father, I promised you I’d do anything if I could win, and now I know I must show how to be a good loser.” And then she said, “I don’t want you to be my servant anymore. I just want to be yours.”

You see, it was because of her pain and disappointment that she was given to say in a twelve-year-old way, “Maybe what I wanted would not be the best thing to serve you at all.”

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

In Salamanca, Hermana Arriaga and I quickly found families to teach. After several weeks, one was on the verge of committing to baptism. They were at that point where it feels as though the adversary is going to pounce at any moment. One evening, we had an appointment to teach them. We arrived a few minutes before the scheduled hour and found no one home. We waited, patiently, until half-past. Then we decided, sadly, that we should start walking to our next appointment. We wrote the family a note, tucked it in the crack of the door, and stepped into the elevator to descend the six floors to street level. When the doors closed, I pushed the big black button for the ground floor.
We went, oh, maybe a floor or two, and the elevator stopped--so did our hearts! My companion and I suspected the Lord was trying to get our attention. We decided to wait just a little longer, so we returned to the sixth floor. In less than five minutes, the family came bustling out of the elevator, thrilled that we had waited because they really needed to see us.

The youth of the Charleston, Fairmont, and Huntington stakes in West Virginia wanted service to be a part of their youth conference. In preparation for the conference, local governments and organizations were contacted and asked in what areas the youth might be of service.
Faced with funding problems, the public library asked the youth to help with a pledge drive. The librarians had not had the manpower to stage the campaign themselves. The head librarian said, “We were excited when the Church came to us and said they would like to help. I’m impressed with the Church and with their willingness to help. If every church made these kinds of efforts for the things they believed in, it would be exciting to see what would happen in the world.”
In addition, the youth helped with heavy yard work and cleaning for several widows in town. They also painted and cleaned the Head Start building. The youth presented a musical program at a local nursing home and spent time talking individually with the residents.
The youth also helped clean up along the roadways leading into town; cleaned, raked, and helped prepare a new soccer field; and painted park restrooms and a gazebo.
The group participated in a Book of Mormon marking project as well. They underlined specific scriptures in 120 copies of the Book of Mormon to be used by the missionaries in the Charleston West Virginia Mission.
At the testimony meeting at the conclusion of the youth conference, those involved left feeling better about themselves because they had helped someone else.

As a young man, I served in the U.S. Air Force as a jet-fighter pilot. We spent hours in a training device that simulated real flight. There, an instructor taught us about emergencies that could occur when flying at the speed of sound and about what we must do to avoid disaster.
One young man in my flight-training unit refused to listen to those with more knowledge and experience. When it was time for him to go to the trainer and learn emergency procedures, he went to the swimming pool, pistol range, or golf course, instead.
A few months later, fire erupted in the quiet sky over Texas, and my friend’s plane went down in flames. The young pilot who was with him bailed out and survived. My friend did not. He had not learned the lessons that could have saved his life.

The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.

In order to field test the program, the New Era asked the students at the Highland High School Seminary in Pocatello, Idaho, to give gift subscriptions to their friends and see what happened. At the beginning of the program the seminary student council gave each student a marble to put in his or her back pocket, coin purse, or some other place where it would be hard to ignore. When the student gave a gift subscription, he was allowed to return the marble to a special thermometer board that would measure the program’s progress. Some students had more names than money, and some had more money than names, so both kinds gave what they had the most of. As a result, over 200 marbles found their way out of pockets and purses and onto the thermometer board, and about 180 New Eras found their way to brand-new mailboxes.
Unfortunately, the program is only about three months old as this article is being written, so no one knows what the final results will be, but a few things are clear already. Within a week or so of the day the student council first shared the idea with the students, an unexpected result developed across the street at the high school. It was clearly becoming a mark of status among the non-Mormon half of the studentbody to be given a New Era subscription. Even the rare students who didn’t want the magazine went around with wrinkled brows if they weren’t at least given a chance to turn it down.
Most of the seminary students found it easier to give a New Era than to bring up the gospel in any other way, and yet some of them still approached giving the gift with some fear and a little trembling. What if the gift were rejected? What if a friend were offended? They were amazed at the overwhelmingly positive reaction. Their friends were not only willing but eager to receive the New Era. There were exceptions of course. A few students wanted nothing to do with anything Mormon. A few parents objected, but those cases were a small handful, and it was never hard to find another friend who would say yes. Having given one subscription, students found themselves wanting to give another. One girl gave five. Another said, “Whenever I see someone now, I think, ‘I wonder if I ought to give him the New Era and the Book of Mormon and then maybe see if he wants the missionary discussions.’”
Captain M was starting to stir in Pocatello, Idaho. Improvising on the program, one girl sought out the most anti-Mormon teacher in the school and informed him she was giving him a subscription to the Ensign. Astonished, he accepted.
Robin Oakey caught the spirit of the program and gave a subscription to his friend Tony Collings. Robin probably won’t hesitate to do it again sometime because Tony was recently baptized. The New Era didn’t do it alone, of course, but it certainly didn’t seem to hurt any.
Susie Finlayson had been trying for some time to get a friend to have the missionary discussions, but he “kept not being too excited.” She gave him a subscription to the New Era, and while he was waiting for the first issue to arrive, someone gave him a couple of old copies so that he would know what he was getting. A day or two later he stopped Susie in the hall. “I’ve got a poem for you,” he said. He then quoted from memory a poem he had read in the New Era. A few weeks later he asked if he could start taking the missionary discussions. That success reminded Susie of another friend she had given the New Era to a year earlier. She checked with him and found that he was feeling bad because the subscription had ended. He is now receiving the New Era again.
The students found that even those who weren’t too excited about the gift at first usually warmed up after the first New Era came. One day at a debate tournament, Cherie Allen and some friends worked up enough courage to ask a non-Mormon debater if he would accept a New Era subscription.
“Do you take the New Era?”
“That Mormon magazine? Of course not.”
“Well, we’d like to send you one, then.”
“Fine! With the energy shortage I can use it for firewood.”
Cherie and her friends were a little crestfallen at the flippant response, but they gave the young man the magazine anyway. A few weeks later he sought Cherie out and said warmly, “Cherie, thanks for sending the New Era to me. I really like it.”

Brother Truman Madsen, in a devotional address here on the campus, told of three young men with the pioneers in their trek west who had the same faith as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—
Brother Huntington, Brother Grant, Brother Kimball—all only eighteen years of age, who went with the relief party the second thousand miles to help with the Martin company. On this trip they faced a stream that was swollen with ice and snow. . . . The pioneers almost hopelessly stood back, unable to go through in their weakened and emaciated condition. Those three boys carried every one of the company across and then crossed back, sometimes in water up to their waists. All three later died from exposure. When Brother Brigham heard this, he wept and then rose in the majesty of his spirit and said, “God will exalt those three young men in the celestial kingdom of God.” [Truman G. Madsen, “Power from Abrahamic Tests,” October 12, 1971, p. 4]

I was a typical high school football player with a typical football vocabulary. I was one of the captains of the football team at El Segundo High School and didn’t have the best reputation. Glenda’s locker was a couple of lockers from mine, and whenever she walked by I suddenly improved my language. I worried that if I offended her she would avoid me.
As the semester progressed so did our mutual respect and friendship. She was unique, but I did not understand why. One thing I knew for sure, though, was that she never attended the parties I went to.
So, when she invited me to a Christmas party at her home, I didn’t know what to expect. Although I enjoyed my friends, I had seriously considered changing my bad habits. I was searching for something different. I was interested to see what kind of a party she would throw. I put on my best clothes, poured on the cologne, and off I went.
Was I surprised! I was shocked to see everyone having fun, dancing, playing games, and drinking—soft drinks! After a while, I couldn’t believe that I was having fun too. I was surprised to meet Glenda’s parents at the party, since all the parties I ever attended occurred while the parents were away. Most everyone was a bit surprised to see me. Still, they were all smiles and treated me with kindness.
As the evening ended I offered to provide rides home to anyone who needed one. Fortunately, one particular girl I had my eye on during most of the party needed a ride. I drove all around town dropping people off until we were alone. I drove her home very slowly.
I asked her what she was doing for Christmas, and she told me her family was leaving for Argentina the next day. What a small world, I thought. I briefly explained to her that my family had immigrated from Argentina 11 years ago. She said her father had served a mission there, and they were going to visit some of her father’s old friends. Soon we were at her home, and I didn’t get a chance to ask her what a mission was, but the seeds of curiosity were sown and so was my interest in her.

A number of years ago I had a chance to represent the state of Utah at a nationwide convention in Ohio attended by high school swimmers.
Our stay included parties for the athletes. When I went to a party the first night, I thought it was going to be like the fun parties we held back home—drinking root beer and playing games. But as soon as I walked into the room, I got a reality check.
Immediately, I understood what the articles in the Church magazines were talking about when they said, “You will stand out when you are the only member of the Church.” Somehow my fellow athletes had already figured out that I was a Latter-day Saint. The room grew quiet, and everyone seemed to be staring at me as I dug into the chip bowl.
“Hey,” someone said, “you’re a Mormon, aren’t you?”
I smiled proudly and said, “I sure am, and I’m happy to be one.”
The party then resumed, but I felt many eyes on me, watching my every move. After a while, the party began to get wild. I wasn’t sure how wild it would become, but I didn’t want to be part of it. If I stayed, I feared I would give people the wrong impression about my standards. Besides, the Spirit prompted me to leave. When I grabbed my swim bag and headed for the door, one of the boys yelled, “Hey, are you wimping out on us?”
I just smiled and said, “See you guys tomorrow.” I then walked out, feeling good that I had made my presence known while defending the Lord’s standards.
The next day during a house of delegates meeting, one of the delegates rose and sternly said, “Something happened last night that I don’t ever want to happen again. You’re here to represent your state, so do it well and act appropriately!”
Then he added, “Some of you left and didn’t take part in what happened. Thank you.”
For the rest of the week, I received more respect and friendly expressions than I had ever received before. Many coaches from across the United States urged me to run for an athlete-representative position for the western states because I had represented Utah well.
I never found out what happened at the party, but I’m grateful that the Spirit prompted me to leave.

Sarah Thompson was hurrying to gather the laundry so she could get everything finished before her husband, Ted, got home from work. She opened Melissa’s bedroom door and hurried toward her closet to retrieve the multitude of shirts, blue jeans, and socks for the washer. When she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Why, Melissa, I thought you were outside playing with the rest of the children. What’s the matter, dear?”
Melissa had obviously been crying, and it took a while for her to choke out the words: “I—I don’t want to get baptized on Saturday.”
Sister Thompson quickly joined her daughter on the bed and took her in her arms. “Melissa, dear, it’s all right. But you’ve been talking about your baptism for months, and you could hardly wait for your eighth birthday. Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’m scared.”
Sister Thomspon smiled. “Melissa, you’ve been to baptisms before. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, your friends Ann and Sarah will be baptized on Saturday too. Won’t they help to give you courage?”
“But they’re different from me,” Melissa said in a soft, unsteady voice. “They’ll have their dads there to baptize them.”
Sister Thompson knew that Melissa’s nonmember father couldn’t baptize their daughter, but she had thought that Melissa was pleased that their home teacher had promised to do it. “I thought you liked Brother Adamson, dear,” she said. “He’s such a special man.”
“I love Brother Adamson,” Melissa sobbed, “but it’s not the same. He’s not Dad.”
“Sweetheart …” Sister Thompson tried to comfort her daughter. She loved her husband very much, but at the same time her own heart was breaking. She thought of all the times she had wanted to share special spiritual experiences with her husband but had been unable to. Now it was hurting their child. Maybe she had made the wrong decision when she had listened to the missionaries and had decided to be baptized. Yet she had received a strong testimony, and she had been sure that Ted would soon realize how true and good the gospel was. But that had been three years ago, and he still showed no sign of ever wanting to become a member of the Church.
“Melissa,” Sister Thompson began again gently, “do you enjoy going to Primary?”
“Oh, yes! I love the stories, and my teacher, Sister Westover, is so nice.” Melissa had stopped crying.
“Do you believe those stories?” Sister Thompson continued.
“Yes, of course I do,” Melissa answered confidently. “I know that the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“How can you show that you know it is true?” her mother urged.
Melissa realized what her mother was trying to tell her, and she knew that she would be baptized on Saturday. But without her dad to share it with—it just seemed kind of scary. Melissa smiled at her mother and said, “Maybe Dad will come to see me get baptized on Saturday. I’m going to ask him just as soon as he gets home.” Melissa went outside to wait for her dad.
Sister Thompson remained sitting on the bed, deep in thought. Ted hasn’t attended a Church meeting yet. He has gone with us to several church socials, but nothing about the gospel has really interested him. She hoped that Melissa wasn’t in for another disappointment.
Melissa saw their car turn into the driveway, and she ran across the lawn to meet her father. Ted Thompson got out of his car, took his daughter in his arms, and gave her a big hug. “What’s my little one so excited about today?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, Daddy! I’m getting baptized on Saturday, don’t you remember?”
Mr. Thompson suddenly grew serious, “Yes, your mother told me about it.”
Melissa hurried on, not noticing her father’s concerned look. “Dad will you come and see me—will you, please? Everybody else’s father will be there. You’ll come, won’t you?” Melissa pleaded.
Mr. Thompson was caught off guard, and he didn’t know what to say. Finally he mumbled, “We’ll see. We’ll see. It’s still a long time until Saturday.”
Melissa was disappointed, but she decided that a “we’ll see” was better than a “no.” She gave her dad a final squeeze and ran next door to play with her friends.
Saturday was a beautiful, clear day, and Melissa thought that it was a perfect day for her baptism. She hadn’t talked to her father about coming with her since that day in the front yard. But he hadn’t said anything, so she assumed he would be there.
That afternoon Melissa took a long, hot bath, and her mother helped her get dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress. Hanging in the hallway waiting to be put into the car was the lovely white baptismal dress Sister Thompson had made for Melissa. When they were ready to go, Sister Thompson said, “We’d better hurry, dear, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll get Dad,” Melissa replied. But when she entered the living room, Melissa saw that her father was still in his work clothes, reading the newspaper. “Dad, aren’t you ready for the baptism? We’ll be late!”
Mr. Thompson looked at his daughter’s anxious face and said, “Melissa, dear, I can’t go to your baptism. I’d feel out of place. I just don’t belong there. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Melissa was out of the room and running for the car before he had even finished. Sister Thompson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, and for the second time that week she wondered if she had made a mistake in joining the Church.
There was great excitement in the girls’ dressing room as Ann, Sarah, and Melissa changed clothes for their baptism.
“I’m so excited!” Sarah exclaimed. “Dad gave me my very own Book of Mormon. It has a leather cover, and it has my name on it and everything!”
“That’s really neat,” said Ann. “My whole family’s going over to my grandma and grandpa’s after the baptism. Grandma promised to help me start on my Book of Remembrance.”
Sarah and Ann noticed that Melissa was very quiet. “What are you going to do afterward, Melissa?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.” Melissa knew that they would just be going home, but she added, “Mom and Dad are probably going to surprise me.”
Melissa slipped her white dress off its hanger, and as she began to pull it over her head, she noticed a piece of paper pinned inside. She unpinned it and saw that it was in her father’s handwriting! “My dear Melissa,” she read, “I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you today. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have made a very important decision in your life. I only hope that I can have enough courage to make that same decision some day. Please remember that I love you very much. Daddy.”
Melissa wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished dressing. When Brother Adamson helped her down the steps of the baptismal font, Melissa had the most radiant smile that her mother had ever seen. Sister Thompson knew then that she hadn’t made a mistake three years before when she, too, had entered that same baptismal font.

Recently I was in a department store trying on shoes. Four young men were looking at what they labeled missionary shoes. It was evident at least two of the young men had received mission calls and were there to find shoes suitable for missionary service. I was surprised by a barrage of crude terms with a few profanities which seemed to routinely roll off their tongues. When they noticed there was someone else nearby, I heard one say, “Hey, guys, we better clean up our language,” as he motioned with his head in my direction.

President Hinckley has said: “Conversation is the substance of friendly social activity. It can be happy. It can be light. It can be earnest. It can be funny. But it must not be salty, or uncouth, or foul if one is in sincerity a believer in Christ” (Teachings of Gordon B. Hinckley [1997], 494). Profanity and priesthood are not compatible. Neither is profanity compatible with missionary service. Profane and crude terms, if part of our conversation, need to be eliminated from our vocabularies. Conversation is one of the windows to our souls.

In the hospital one day I was wheeled out of the operating room by an attendant who stumbled, and there issued from his angry lips vicious cursing with a combination of the names of the Savior. Even half-conscious, I recoiled and implored: “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.”
There was a deathly silence; then a subdued voice whispered, “I am sorry.” He had forgotten for the moment that the Lord had forcefully commanded all his people, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain” (Ex. 20:7).

I would like to offer a short story—a parable if you will.
The Caterpillar and the Butterfly
Here is my version of the parable of the caterpillar and the butterfly:
There were once two caterpillars, one brown and one green, who lived in the same tree and became extremely close friends. Each morning they would find each other and then settle down on a large leaf where they could eat and talk throughout the day. Munching on leaves in the cool shade of the tree, they were as happy as two friends could possibly be.
Then one morning the brown caterpillar awoke to find his friend missing. He crawled frantically from one branch to another looking for the green caterpillar, but his friend was simply nowhere to be found. Sad and lonely, the brown caterpillar finally gave up his search and selected a leaf to eat for breakfast. The next day and the day following that, the brown caterpillar spent each morning looking for his friend but with no success. Gradually he forgot about the green caterpillar altogether.
Then, one late afternoon just as the sun was setting, a beautiful butterfly landed on the same leaf where the caterpillar was resting. The caterpillar had, of course, seen butterflies before, but he had never been so close to one of these beautiful creatures. He couldn’t help but contrast the delicate body and wings of the butterfly with his own thick and clumsy appearance. To his surprise, the butterfly spoke to him.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you again, old friend!” said the butterfly.
“What?” responded the caterpillar in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”
“Well, of course I am,” responded the butterfly. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The caterpillar, puzzled and embarrassed, said: “I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember having met you before. Perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else.”
“No, there is no mistake,” said the butterfly, “but I suppose that I have changed a lot and so I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t recognize me anymore. I was once a green caterpillar, and you and I spent many days together in this very tree.”
Looking at the beautiful butterfly, the caterpillar was astonished and asked, “You were once my friend the green caterpillar? But how could that be? How could a caterpillar become a butterfly? That seems impossible.”
“Well, it wasn’t easy,” admitted the butterfly, “but when I was a caterpillar I always believed that I had the power to change if I really wanted to. And to tell you the truth, changing into a butterfly wasn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part was giving up being a caterpillar.”

In preparation for my first trip to the temple, my mother and experienced Relief Society sisters helped me select the items I would need, including beautiful ceremonial clothing. But the most important preparation came even before knowing what to wear. After interviewing me to determine if I was worthy, my bishop explained the covenants I would make. His careful explanation gave me the chance to think about and be prepared to make those covenants.

When the day came, I participated with a feeling of gratitude and peace. Even though I did not understand the full significance of the covenants I made, I did know that I was bound to God through those covenants and was promised blessings I could scarcely comprehend if I kept them. Since that first experience, I have been continually assured that keeping the covenants we make with God allows us to draw upon the Savior’s power, which strengthens us in our inevitable trials, provides protection from the adversary’s influence, and prepares us for eternal glory.

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the United States should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s Articles of Faith.”
On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could say, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war.” Either way, the answer could result in serious misunderstandings both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’” (John 16:33). President Lee then explained, “The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits” (see Ensign, November 1982, page 70).

Illustration by Joshua Dennis
I had always thought of myself as a healthy person. So I was shocked when I woke up one morning feeling like my chest was being squeezed so hard it was about to explode. I was rushed to the hospital, but after hours of testing, doctors couldn’t find the problem. They sent me home, even though I still suffered excruciating pain. Thus began a seven-month-long ordeal of doctor’s appointments, hospital stays, and the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.
I started to become depressed. I had to drop my college classes and move back in with my parents. I couldn’t go out with friends. I hurt too much to do any of my hobbies. I felt that everything I cared about—my aspirations, my relationships, my talents—had been shattered, and now the pieces of my former self seemed impossible to put back together. And I started to wonder: How could Heavenly Father let this happen to me? Didn’t He love me?
After yet another disappointing and painful doctor’s appointment, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. But as I arrived home, I saw something strange on the porch: an old, tattered shoebox covered in tape and addressed to me.
A letter on the box revealed that the package came from one of my friends. She had heard that I was sick and wanted to cheer me up. When I opened the shoebox, I found that it was full of little pieces of Styrofoam. It was a homemade puzzle made especially for me.
As I put the puzzle together, I began to cry. The puzzle formed my name, surrounded by sweet messages of love and encouragement. I felt that the shattered pieces of myself were now being put back together as I assembled my friend’s gift.
A short time later, I started taking a medication that reduced my symptoms and helped the doctors make a diagnosis. I had a rare but treatable condition, and with the proper medicine, I could return to normal life.
Even as my body healed, I knew I would never forget what I had learned. Because of my friend’s sweet gift, I knew that I was loved and that Heavenly Father had not forgotten me. After months of feeling shattered, thanks to the kindness of a friend and the love of my Father in Heaven, I became whole again.

The experience of the converting power of the Book of Mormon did not end after my mission. In 2016, I was called to teach institute classes for adults. That year, we were studying the Book of Mormon. One day, as we studied King Benjamin’s powerful and inspired discourse in the book of Mosiah, two brothers in my class, carrying a secret burden of deep family problems, were moved to tears. Without saying a word, they left the classroom, and instinctively, I followed them. In the church courtyard, I found them talking, crying, and supporting each other. Respecting their privacy, I returned to the classroom, but concern tinged with hope accompanied me. At the end of the lesson, the two brothers returned, but this time, their presence was marked by peace. One of them spoke, sharing the miracle that had just occurred. He explained that thanks to the teachings of the Book of Mormon and the words of King Benjamin, they had found the strength to confront their family difficulties. In that testifying moment, I was reminded of Alma’s words, “The preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them.” (Alma 31:5).
That day, those brothers experienced the testimony of more than one in its fulness through the power of divine words, confirming the universal truth that the word of God can breathe life into the most wounded hearts.