Gospel Story Finder

I have personally witnessed the miracle of Christ healing my warring heart. With permission of my father, I share that I grew up in a home where I didn’t always feel safe because of emotional and verbal mistreatment. In my youth and young adult years, I resented my father and had anger in my heart from that hurt.

Over the years and in my efforts to find peace and healing on the path of forgiveness, I came to realize in a profound way that the same Son of God who atoned for my sins is the same Redeemer who will also save those who have deeply hurt me. I could not truly believe the first truth without believing the second.

As my love for the Savior has grown, so has my desire to replace hurt and anger with His healing balm. It has been a process of many years, requiring courage, vulnerability, perseverance, and learning to trust in the Savior’s divine power to save and heal. I still have work to do, but my heart is no longer on a warpath. I have been given “a new heart”—one that has felt the deep and abiding love of a personal Savior, who stayed beside me, who gently and patiently led me to a better place, who wept with me, who knew my sorrow.

The Lord has sent me compensatory blessings just as Abigail brought what David needed. He has sent mentors into my life. And sweetest and most transformative of all has been my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Through Him, I’ve gratefully known the gentle, protective, and guiding love of a perfect Father.

My earthly father has also had a miraculous change of heart in recent years and has turned to the Lord—something I wouldn’t have anticipated in this life. Another testimony to me of the complete and transformative power of Jesus Christ.

Defeated. Again. I slumped against my chair with my head hung low. I was just an observer, but still I had no energy to stand. Our team had tried so hard. Some were bruised. Some were limping off the field. After our high school soccer team’s consecutive losses, we weren’t just beaten—our hearts were broken.
Just as my disappointment seemed to overcome me, one of the youngest girls on the team strode past. I was drawn instantly to the sense of purpose I saw in her face.
I watched as every few steps she reached out a hand to each girl, but not in acknowledgment of defeat. Instead, she was giving individualized praise, comfort, and compassion. “I’ve never seen you run so hard to get there for every pass. That was your best game.” And to another, “Wow, amazing game. Seriously, you were on it today!”
With each high five, her one hand lingered in theirs, while her other hand held on to a shoulder or gently patted a leg bruised and grass-stained. I could feel that she carried something within her, a power that somehow transferred from her to the heart of each team member. Smiles started to break through the painful winces and disappointment. Slowly, one by one, each player stood with a new feeling vibrating through the air.
Who cared about the bruises and pain? Who cared about the anger and frustration? Not one. But how could a mere hand lift someone from a place of suffering to a place of purpose and strength?
How could a mere hand lift someone from a place of suffering to a place of purpose and strength?
I saw that in our light-giving soccer player. She was sharing the light of Christ on a soccer field and allowing Him to perform His healing. By holding up His light, she was helping to gather Israel.
Each of us will need saving by someone other than ourselves. However vulnerable that may seem to leave us, we can trust that Heavenly Father provided a Savior who can help raise us from despair. And we can participate with Him, just as my soccer hero did.

Recently, while touring a mission, I met with missionaries which demonstrated many examples of faithfulness and all that the word implies. One of the missionaries is Elder Brad Bagan. He is a quadriplegic. He was injured playing in a neighborhood football game. He has very limited use of his hands. With great determination and persistence he has developed the ability to stand with a walker and pull himself along for short distances. He is a successful and happy missionary and an example of faithfulness to all the missionaries and members in that mission, and to all others who know him. He speaks with boldness and love. The companions who serve with him come to realize that if he, with all of his personal challenges, can successfully and cheerfully do missionary work they have no reason or excuse to keep from laboring themselves with all their heart, might, mind and strength. Through his demonstration of faithfulness he has shown many the way to victory on the path of happiness.

While this young elder was at the Missionary Training Center in Provo he had the opportunity to go the Provo Temple which is only a few blocks from the Missionary Training Center. Because of his severely debilitating physical condition it took him about two hours to make his arduous journey up the gently sloping hill to the temple on a very cold and windy day. When the MTC president learned about Elder Bagan's experience he felt very sad and told the Elder he would have been happy to provide transportation for him. Elder Bagan's response was impressive. He told the President not to worry or be concerned about what had happened. "It was worth it." The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that the pursuit of Holiness also keeps us on the pathway to happiness. The temple is a place of holiness and being worthy to enter there is essential to our eternal happiness. Whatever effort is required of us to go there will indeed be "worth it."

This light will keep the kittens warm tonight. It’s bedtime for everyone!
You can play with the kittens tomorrow.
Go check the kittens.
Where did that thought come from?
Go check the kittens!
Oh no!
Daddy, the kittens’ box almost caught on fire!
How did you know to check on the kittens?
I kept having a thought, kind of like a voice. I think it was the Holy Ghost.
I think you’re right. I’m glad you listened.
Me too! I’m glad the Holy Ghost helped us.
See Come, Follow Me for Enos–Words of Mormon.

Sixta María Martínez of the Aeropuerto Ward, Mérida México Centro Stake, was already 62 when she was baptized in 1974. She quickly learned to love temple work and made several long trips on temple excursions from southern Mexico to Mesa, Arizona, in the United States. She delighted in a later opportunity to visit the temple in Salt Lake City. Over the years Sister Martínez has completed temple ordinances for her own family back five generations. She has lived to see a temple built just a few kilometers away in Mérida. At 92, she tries to go there once a week. “It is my joy. It is my life,” she says.

But it saddened Margarette that the Prophet and his wife, Emma, had lost so many children of their own. Their young child had died shortly after Margarette’s mother had given birth to twin baby girls not long ago. The Prophet and his wife were so kind to children, Margarette was sure they missed their own sweet baby.
One day, Margarette heard the Prophet talking to her mother in the kitchen. He asked if she would let him borrow one of the twin girls to help comfort Emma.
“You may take one home with you, as long as you bring her back each night,” Margarette’s mother said. She handed him little Mary. Margarette watched as he gently wrapped a quilt around the baby and, cooing to her, opened the door and left.
True to his word, the Prophet returned little Mary every night, except for one. Margarette’s mother was nervous when he didn’t come at his usual time. She decided to go check on the babe, and hurried away to the Prophet’s home, the Mansion House. Soon afterward, Mother and the Prophet returned with little Mary. Margarette heard him explaining again that Mary had been cranky. He had been trying to calm her down before he returned her.
The next morning, the Prophet arrived as usual. Margarette’s mother handed him Sarah instead of Mary, thinking he would not know which baby he was holding. Sarah and Mary were identical—even some family members couldn’t tell them apart. After gently cuddling the child, the Prophet looked down at her face and then slowly shook his head. “This is not my little Mary,” he said.
Margarette’s mother nodded and took Sarah back to the cradle.
After the Prophet left with Mary, Margarette said, “He must really study Mary’s face in order to tell the difference between her and little Sarah.” As Margarette left the kitchen, she noticed her mother blotting her eyes with the hem of her apron.
Soon afterwards, the Prophet stopped taking Mary to his home, but he often came to visit her. Sadly, a short time later, Mary was called to return home to her Heavenly Father. Just after Mary died, Margarette was sitting at the kitchen table when the Prophet arrived. Little Mary’s body lay quiet and still in her cradle. The Prophet rushed to pick her cold form up in his arms. He cried as if he had lost one of his own little children. Again and again he whispered, “Mary, oh my dear little Mary!”
Margarette went to where her mother stood sobbing and softly said, “See how much he loved her, Mother—just as he loves all children. It is right that he is often called ‘the loving friend of children.’”

My parents have always taught me how truly important paying tithing is and the blessings that come from doing so. I knew it was what I should do, but every time I got money, it seemed so much easier to just keep it all, spend it all, and not pay my tithing. As I got older, I became better at paying tithing but would occasionally forget to pay it here and there. I honestly couldn’t see how it could be such a blessing!
This last year, I was earning money just about every week doing odd jobs, and since I didn’t have a full-time job, it really was a blessing to have money when I needed things. When I was paid, though, it was always in checks or larger bills. I’d say to myself, “Oh, I’ll pay my tithing later when I get some smaller bills.” But as time kept ticking away, I fell into a bad routine. Once I got smaller bills, I’d decide that I needed a drink or something out of a vending machine at school, and I’d spend the smaller bills. Every time I’d get paid, the same thing happened, and I wouldn’t pay my tithing. I would just spend it.
Then my best friend left on his mission, and I started sending him different things. But for a month, I didn’t have any babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, or anything. One day I went to go get money to send a package to him, but there was no money to be found in my wallet. I was so confused! Where had all my money gone? I thought about all those times I bought drinks, treats, even clothes, and all those things started to add up in my head. I put sending the package on hold.
The next day, I did end up babysitting for one of my neighbors and decided that I would pay my tithing right then and there because I knew I was very behind. I paid it all, the full amount. The next day I went to church, gave that little envelope with my tithing in it to a member of the bishopric, and had this really warm feeling inside. I wasn’t sure why; I had even less money than I had before.
That night I had three people call me to help them that week, whether it was cleaning, babysitting, or little jobs like that. I agreed to them all, and by the end of the week, I had more money than I’d hoped for. I sent the package and still had money to spare.
I realized something that week. Just paying the 10 percent that our Father in Heaven has asked for opened up a door for me to receive blessings. Since then, I’m in the habit of paying my tithing as soon as I get home and putting it in an envelope. As the week goes by, I add to it so that by the time Sunday comes, I count it, pay my tithing, and it’s no longer in my hands.
I can’t even begin to explain the wonderful feeling of knowing you’ve paid a full tithe. I will never go without paying my tithing again now that I know and have gained a true testimony of how important it is to pay not just part of it, but all of it.

I played baseball, which I liked very much, and I played every day. Because I was very small, the mitts were too large. At that time in Mexico, we didn’t have small gloves, only big ones, so I used a big one. My middle finger is short now because I broke it many times playing baseball. I would just put a bandage around it and keep playing. My coach said, “When Horacio catches that ball, it never falls. It may be that the ball will knock Horacio down, but Horacio never drops the ball.” I played shortstop, catcher, and pitcher. I think that I was a good pitcher, because I had one game with no runs and no hits. I also played American football, but I had problems because I was so thin. I was hit very hard many times.
Even so, I realized then that nothing was impossible to do, if I wanted to do it. I think that I learned that lesson from my mother. She was a very special person. She worked in advertising in Mexico when only a few women worked for companies.
My grandfather was a military general during the Mexican Revolution. He was a very, very hard man, but he loved me. He taught me love for my country and for my flag. Every September we celebrated Mexican Independence Day at my grandparents’ home. We had a big dinner on September 15, then went to the parade on September 16.
I remember staying at my grandparents’ big house. They ate five meals a day. For breakfast, they had only hot chocolate and bread. Lunch was about eleven o’clock, and it included bread, meat, and beans. Dinner was at two or three o’clock in the afternoon. Supper was not until eleven at night. Children did not stay up for it.
Children in Mexico were taught to be respectful toward adults. I remember that at a reunion, children could attend only if they were invited. If a child wanted to talk, he had to ask permission.
The Lord preserved me in my years on the earth. When I was two, I had amoebas in my stomach. These microscopic animals in my stomach made holes in my intestines. The doctors said that I didn’t have a chance to live, but I got well and was all right.
Another time, my uncle, who was only three years older than I was, put me in a baby carriage and took me for a walk around the house. In front of the house was a road, and on the other side of the road was an irrigation canal. When he took me across the road, the carriage slid into the canal. It was empty at that time, but my uncle couldn’t get us out. My mother felt concern for me and began to call me. Then she looked for me in the house but couldn’t find me. She felt prompted to look on the road and in the canal. She found us and got us out of the canal just before the water started to come through the canal. Had she not listened to the Spirit, my uncle and I would have drowned.
We must realize that God lives and, as our Father, loves us. He doesn’t want us to suffer any harm. I testify that our Teacher, our Shepherd, is Christ, our best Friend, who clears up all our doubts. He heals our wounds and turns our pain into sweet experiences.

Thanking God that there is rain reminds me of a friend who personifies ThanksLiving. Here’s one last story.

This is my friend Grif the Great.

Grif is amazing. He was a few months old when he was diagnosed with a disease that affects how his blood carries oxygen. When he was four years old, he suffered a massive five-day long stroke that affected the entire left side of his body. He lost his hearing, sight, speech, and the control of his limbs.

Grif the Great is a fighter. He worked hard the next two years to relearn how to use his body. He had some long-term effects, and he couldn’t communicate verbally very much. But he didn’t need words. Grif the Great has an innate ability to tell who is having a bad day. Seeing someone who was sad, he’d cradle their face in his hands, curl up in their lap, or put his arm around them. His smile is 1000 watts of love.

He endured many more physical trials over the next few years, including regular blood transfusions, bouts of epilepsy, and frequent hospital visits. The doctors would constantly tell the family he only had six more months to live, and they’d repeat that every six months. Through it all, Grif the Great spread love and happiness wherever he went.

This picture—one of my favorite pictures ever, which I often look at when I’m having a metaphorical rainy day—says it all. Instead of complaining about the rain, Grif the Great embraces it. He is thankful for the smell and taste of raindrops. Who cares about the rain ruining a school assembly? Rain is a good thing. Be thankful for rain. That’s Grif in a nutshell.

In March last year, a few months after his baptism, on a beautiful Spring day full of his usual happiness and love, Grif the Great suddenly fell unconscious, and never woke up again. Grif the Great’s 1000-watt smile is now lighting up heaven.

I want to live in Thanksgiving like Grif the Great.

I recall a very disturbing conversation I had years ago with a young man in a South American airport, where we were both delayed by late airplanes.
His hair was long and his face bearded, his glasses large and round. Sandals were on his feet, and his clothing gave the appearance of total indifference to any generally accepted standard of style.
But he was earnest and evidently sincere. He was educated and thoughtful, a graduate of a great North American university. Without employment and financially supported by his father, he was traveling through South America.
What was he after in life? I asked. “Peace and freedom” was his immediate response. Did he use drugs? Yes, they were one of his means to obtain the peace and freedom he sought. Discussion of drugs led to discussion of morals. He talked about the new morality that gave so much more freedom than any previous generation had ever known.
He had learned in our opening introductions that I was a churchman; and he let me know, in something of a condescending way, that the morality of my generation was something to be laughed at. Then with earnestness he asked how I could honestly defend personal virtue and moral chastity. I shocked him a little when I declared that his freedom was a delusion, that his peace was a fraud, and that I would tell him why.
I have thought much of that discussion and others like it that I have held over the years. Today there are persons numbered in the millions who, in a search for freedom from moral restraint, have opened the way to practices that enslave and corrupt. These practices, if left unchecked, will not only destroy these individuals but also the nations of which they are a part.
I remember thinking of this freedom and this peace when I faced a young man and a young woman across the desk of my office. He was handsome, tall, and manly. She was a beautiful girl, an excellent student, sensitive and perceptive.
The girl sobbed, and tears fell from the eyes of the young man. Both were university students. They were to be married the next week, but not in the kind of wedding of which they had dreamed. They had planned that to come three years in the future, following college graduation.
Now they found themselves in a situation that both regretted and for which neither was prepared. She was pregnant. Shattered were their dreams of schooling, the years of preparation they knew each needed for the competitive world that lay ahead. Rather, they would now have to establish a home, and he would have to support his family with whatever work he could find.
The young man looked up through his tears. “We allowed ourselves to be led astray,” he said.
“We’ve cheated one another,” she responded. “We’ve cheated one another and the parents who love us—and we’ve cheated ourselves. We were betrayed. We believed those who told us that virtue is hypocrisy; and we’ve found that the new morality, the idea that sin is only in one’s mind, is a trap that’s destroyed us.”
They spoke of a thousand thoughts that had crossed their minds in the fearful days and the anxious nights of the past few weeks. Should she seek an abortion? The temptation to do so was there. No, never, she had concluded. Life is sacred under any circumstance. How could she ever live with herself is she took measures to destroy the gift of life even under these conditions?
The child could be placed for adoption. There were excellent organizations that could assist in such a program, and there were good families anxious for children. But they had dismissed that thought. Whatever happened, he would never leave her to face the burden alone. He was responsible, and he would meet that responsibility even though it would ruin the future of which he had dreamed.
I admired his courage, his determination to make the best of a difficult situation; but my heart ached as I watched them, distressed and sobbing. Here was tragedy. Here was heartbreak. Here was entrapment. Here was bondage.
They had been told of freedom, that evil was only a thing of the mind. But they found they had lost their freedom. Nor had they known peace. They had exchanged their peace and their freedom—the freedom to marry when they chose to marry, the freedom to secure the education of which they had dreamed, and, more important, the peace of self-respect.
The young man I met at the airport might have challenged my story by saying that this couple was not smart. If they had used birth control devices available to them, they would not have found themselves in this sorry situation.
I would have replied that their situation is far from unique and that it is daily growing more critical.
Can there be peace in the heart of any person, can there be freedom in the life of one who has been left only misery as the bitter fruit of indulgence?
Can anything be more false or dishonest than gratification of passion without acceptance of responsibility?
I remember seeing in Korea the tragic aftermath of war in the thousands of orphans born of Korean mothers and soldier fathers. These abandoned children became creatures of sorrow, unwanted, the result of a miserable tide of immorality.
This also happened in Vietnam where tens of thousands of fatherless children were abandoned. Peace and freedom? There can be neither for anyone who has wantonly indulged nor for those left as the innocent and tragic victims of lust.
Certain kinds of men are prone to gloat over their immoral conquests. What a cheap and tarnished victory. There is no conquest in gloating, only self-deception and a miserable fraud. The only conquest that brings satisfaction is the conquest of self. It was said of old that he who governs himself is greater than he who takes a city. (See Prov. 16:32.)
Self-discipline was never easy. I do not doubt that it is more difficult today. We live in a sex-saturated world. I am convinced that many of our youth, and many older but no less gullible adults, are victims of the persuasive elements which surround them—the pornographic literature which has become a multi-million-dollar-a-year business, seductive movies and television shows that excite and give approval to promiscuity, dress standards that invite familiarity, governmental decisions that destroy legal restraint, parents who often unwittingly push the children they love toward situations they later regret.
A wise writer has observed that “a new religion is emerging throughout the world, a religion in which the body is the supreme object of worship to the exclusion of all other aspects of existence.
“We have bartered holiness for convenience, … wisdom for information, joy for pleasure, tradition for fashion” (Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Insecurity of Freedom, New York: Schocken Books, 1966, page 200).
Nakedness or near nakedness has become the hallmark of much public entertainment. It reaches beyond this into the realm of sadistic perversion.
Can there be any reasonable doubt that in sowing the wind of a sex-saturated world, we are reaping the whirlwind of decay?
We need to read more history. Nations and civilizations have developed, then died, poisoned by their own moral sickness.
As the bud develops and grows, so does the blossom. Youth is the time to plant for the future flowering of family life. No nation, no civilization can long endure without strength in the homes and lives of its people. That strength comes from the integrity of those who live in those homes.
No family can have peace, no life can be free from the storms of adversity unless that family and that home are built on foundations of morality, fidelity, and mutual respect. There cannot be peace where there is not trust; there cannot be freedom where there is not loyalty.
To hope for peace and love and gladness out of promiscuity is to hope for that which will never come. To wish for freedom out of immorality is to wish for something that cannot be. Said the Savior, “Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin” (John 8:34).
The prophet of the Lord, President Ezra Taft Benson, has clearly spoken on these matters:
“The Book of Mormon warns us of the tactics of the adversary in the last day: ‘And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well—and thus the devil cheateth their souls, and leadeth them away carefully down to hell’ (2 Ne. 28:21).
“There are many ‘awake’ passages in the Book of Mormon, such as: ‘O that ye would awake; awake from a deep sleep, yea, even from the sleep of hell …
“‘Awake [and] put on the armor of righteousness. Shake off the chains with which ye are bound, and come forth out of obscurity, and arise from the dust’ (2 Ne. 1:13, 23).
“The plaguing sin of this generation is sexual immorality. This, the Prophet Joseph Smith said, would be the source of more temptations, more buffetings, and more difficulties for the elders of Israel than any other. (See Journal of Discourses, 8:55.)
“President Joseph F. Smith said that sexual impurity would be one of the three dangers that would threaten the Church within—and so it does. (See Gospel Doctrine, pages 312–13.) It permeates our society” (General Conference, April 1986).
Is there a valid case for virtue in our world? It is the only way to freedom from regret. The peace of conscience which comes is the only personal peace that is not counterfeit.
And beyond all of this is the unfailing promise of God to those who walk in virtue. Declared Jesus of Nazareth, speaking on the mountain, “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God” (Matt. 5:8). That is a covenant, made by him who has the power to fulfill.
And again, the voice of modern revelation speaks a promise—an unmatched promise that follows a simple commandment:
“Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly.” And here is the promise: “Then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God … The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, … and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever” (D&C 121:45–46).
I know of no greater promise made by God to man than this promise made to those who let virtue garnish their thoughts unceasingly.
I assure you that this can be a world of freedom in which the spirit of mankind might grow to undreamed-of glory, a world of peace—the peace of clear conscience, of pure love, of fidelity, of unfailing trust and loyalty.
This may appear an unattainable dream for the world. But for each member of this church it can be a reality, and the world will become so much the richer and the stronger for the virtue of our individual lives.
God bless each of us to realize this freedom, to know this peace, to gain this blessing. As a servant of the Lord, I promise you that if you will sow in virtue, you will reap in gladness now and in all years yet to come.
Many people mistakenly search for freedom and peace by abandoning moral restraints, says President Hinckley. But their thought and actions only enslave them in sorrow.
Peace of conscience is the only personal peace that is not counterfeit.
Virtue and mutual respect pave the way to freedom from regret.

Since accepting this calling, I have come to understand other blessings from “always remembering him.” I thought of a family in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I met years ago: a father, mother, and two teenage daughters who belonged to no church but read the Bible together every day. They pondered the Savior’s life and his words. When we found them they had decided that Christ would have a church and that they should find it. They knew that it would have prophets and Apostles at its foundation because that is what Christ had left in his church in the meridian of time. They knew that the resurrected Lord had appeared to his Apostles.
And so when we testified that God, the Father, and his Son, the Savior of the world, came to a boy prophet, Joseph Smith, that seemed right to them. When they heard us testify that Peter, James, and John appeared and restored priesthood, they knew that would have to have happened. And the Holy Spirit, which they also recognized, told them it was true. I realized that they recognized the truth, that this is the Church of Jesus Christ, in large part because they had always remembered him. Every day they had gathered to read about him and his words, and so they remembered him. And after they were baptized they were ready to follow the living prophet because they knew the Savior always speaks to his prophets to bless his people.

Hey, wanna buy a cool pen? It has four different colors.
Where’d you get it? How much do you want for it?
My dad gave it to me. You can have it for a dollar.
Dad did say I could spend part of my birthday money any way I wanted.
Do you know where he got that pen? He saw some kid drop it and grabbed it before the kid turned around. He bragged about it to me.
Later, at afternoon recess …
I don’t want anything that was stolen. Just give me my money back.
Too bad. I already spent the money on nachos for lunch.
What am I going to do with this?
… and it has four colors, and it was a birthday present …
Are you looking for this?
Maybe I lost a dollar, but I get to keep my self-respect.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.”4 And this young woman was teachable.

After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.

With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.

During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.

She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.

Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.

“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”

In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”

About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”

Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”5

My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

Compromising on differences will reduce some of the sibling strife. God creates only unique individuals—no two alike. Differences are not always respected. For example, Cathy was very much involved in student government and scholastic endeavors. Her sister, Barbara, was a cheerleader and a member of her high school’s volleyball and track teams. A barrier built up between the sisters as each looked upon their own activities as being most important. Each downgraded the activities the other enjoyed. Barbara loved to dance; Cathy thought a movie was better. Barbara loved loud, upbeat music; Cathy was more into relaxing tunes.

Instead of comparing themselves to each other and thinking the other’s interests weren’t worthwhile, they eventually began to search for the less obvious things they had in common. Both enjoyed stake dances. Both liked jogging. Both hated washing the car. They learned to accept and respect their differences and to encourage each other to excel in their individual pursuits.

Years ago, I received a blue book with gold lettering on the cover from missionaries serving on the military base where I was receiving training for my job in the United States Navy.
As I started to read the book, someone told me that it was false because it was copied from the Bible. This caused me to doubt the book’s authenticity, but I held onto it. I read a little of it, put it in the bottom of my seabag, and then forgot about it.
Over a year later, I decided to clean out my seabag. I found the book but no longer had any interest in it, so I threw it away. But sometime later, I grew curious about what was in that blue book with gold lettering. I now believe that this feeling came from the Spirit, “which leadeth to do good” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:12).
In 2005 a newfound friend invited me to listen to the missionaries. At first, I had questions and doubts about what they taught, but the missionaries were confident and gave answers that made sense to me.
When I realized that these missionaries were like the ones I had met years before, I anxiously asked them, “Do you guys have a blue book with gold lettering?”
“Yes, we do!” one of them replied. “It’s called the Book of Mormon!”
I was excited to have the Book of Mormon again. In fact, I was so excited that I read it more than once in less than two weeks! As I read and prayed, I came to know that it is the word of God.

President Harold B. Lee relates this incident from Church history:
“The story is told in the early days of the Church—particularly, I think, at Kirtland, Ohio—where some of the leading brethren in the presiding councils of the Church met secretly and tried to scheme as to how they could get rid of the Prophet Joseph’s leadership. They made the mistake of inviting Brigham Young to one of these secret meetings. He rebuked them, after he had heard the purpose of their meeting. This is part of what he said: ‘You cannot destroy the appointment of a prophet of God, but you can cut the thread that binds you to the prophet of God, and sink yourselves to hell.’” (Conference Report, April 1963, p. 81.)

While living in Salt Lake City in 1978, my wife, Linda, and I attended a reunion of returned missionaries. At one point, one of the former missionaries enthusiastically reported that his family had been rising early each morning to read the scriptures.
I had heard about people like that. It was all I could do to read the scriptures myself on a regular basis, let alone get the entire family our of bed early each day to read a few verses.
However, Linda and I knew it was something we should do. We realized that such a habit, formed when our family was young, could provide a great foundation for our children.
A few mornings later and a few minutes earlier than usual, we gathered the family to begin reading the Book of Mormon.
We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.
Along the way there were many triumphs. Whenever a child was able to read a whole verse without assistance, the family rewarded the effort with a spontaneous cheer. When we read 3 Nephi, we all sensed a special spirit. The children felt the importance of the verses. We read some of the passages more than once, pausing for discussion. As we read of the Lord’s love for the children and how he blessed them, our children felt that the Book of Mormon was written just for them.
We also had our setbacks. Summer was a hard time for our reading program. While the children had their school holiday, they had no need to get up as early as I did, and we missed many days during these summer months. Still, we had no trouble starting again once school started.
The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.
About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.
We are convinced that the Lord provided a special blessing for our children. They have all learned to be fine readers. The have also learned to love the Book of Mormon. Above all, we are bound together by the knowledge that we have obey the prophet, by the strength we gained from the counsel in the Book of Mormon, and by the love we developed during those minutes every day when each child was the focus of attention and nothing else really mattered.

When I was eight, I was getting ready for school one day and I couldn’t find my shoes. My mom was out of town, so my dad and I looked and looked, but we couldn’t find them. My dad suggested that we say a prayer. A few minutes after our prayer, we found my shoes behind the kitchen door. My dad and I said another prayer to thank Heavenly Father for helping us find the shoes so I could get to school on time.Cameron Smith, age 11,Tempe, Arizona

Fortunately, just weeks before the lockdown was announced, the Africa West Area had begun working with Church headquarters to authorize delivery of cleaning supplies for all 7,800 Latter-day Saint families in Sierra Leone and to provide a 110-pound (50 kg) bag of rice and several liters of cooking oil to more than 2,500 LDS families on an as-needed basis. Unaware of the impending lockdown, local Church leaders still raced to deliver these supplies.

"It is hard to explain the urgency that we felt at the time," recalled Sahr Doe, a special assistant to the mission president. "The weekend when distribution of the supplies was approved, we learned that a particular area might be quarantined. That would make it very difficult to deliver supplies, so we worked around the clock to load trucks and get them on their way to branches throughout the country. In one city, supplies arrived only hours before access restrictions were imposed. Throughout the country, we were able to deliver supplies just prior to the lockdown. It was a blessing to all of us and a modern-day miracle."

When Elder David A. Bednar was growing up, his father was not a member of the Church. His dad was a good man. He went to church with his family and helped them with their activities and goals.
Even though his family did not have family home evening or family prayer together, Elder Bednar prayed and read scriptures with his mother.
Elder Bednar loved his dad and consistently tried to be a good boy and a good example to him. Many years later, his father decided to become a member of the Church, and Elder Bednar was able to baptize him!