Gospel Story Finder

Peter earned his bachelor’s degree and then married Frances Mary Costello in 1970. The couple moved to Auckland so Peter could gain a diploma from Ardmore Teacher’s College. Shortly after that move, he was approached by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I agreed to meet with them because they seemed like nice people,” Peter remembers, “but I wasn’t interested in their religion.” Still, when the missionaries left copies of the Book of Mormon for him and Frances, they read it. “That same Spirit came upon us as when I read the Bible,” Peter says. “We just knew that it was true.
“When the missionaries came back, we said, ‘Well, we believe the Book [of Mormon] is true. What do we do now?’ That is how we came to be baptised.”

The children sang songs, danced, and even put on a skit of “Cinderella” for the girls. Although they couldn’t understand the children, that didn’t slow things down. Seventeen-year-old Elisabeth Farnsworth says, “The language barrier didn’t matter because we were able to communicate through our spirits.”
When the children finished their program, they asked the young women to sing for them. “As we stood to sing ‘I Am a Child of God’ to these children, who didn’t understand English, tears came to my eyes,” says Elisabeth. “I received the feeling that what we sang was true and that, even though we speak a different language and come from different countries, we all are children of the same Heavenly Father who knows what each of us needs. He does love each of his children. These children were away from their families, and they needed to know that they were loved.” The Lord had provided that love through the young women.

Tracy pressed her nose against the big picture window and watched the rain. Tracy usually liked the rain, but today she felt miserable. Her two older sisters, Janet and Merry, were standing on the sidewalk in their bright pink raincoats, waving good-bye to her. They had a clear plastic umbrella to keep the rain off, and they were laughing.
Tracy waved to her sisters, then began to cry. She would have to wait another year before she could go to school too.
“It looks like it’s raining in here,” Mother said, coming into the room. She had the popcorn popper in her hand. “I thought that you might like some popcorn,” she added. “Janet and Merry will just have to miss out this time.”
“All right,” Tracy said with a sigh. She took one last look at her sisters skipping down the street, then followed Mother into the kitchen.
Tracy was a good popcorn maker. She poured in the oil, and when Mother said it was hot enough, Tracy added the popcorn and shook it just right.
Mother made caramel on the stove. She had to stand away from the stove, because her tummy was big with a new baby. She looked so funny with the apron trying to cover her big dress that Tracy couldn’t help but laugh. Mother laughed too. “I’ll be glad when this baby comes and I can stand next to the stove again!” she said.
When the caramel was ready, Mother poured it over the popcorn and shaped the sticky popcorn into round balls. Tracy put each one on a sheet of waxed paper to dry. Then they each ate a popcorn ball.
Suddenly the kitchen was very bright. “Look,” Mother said. “It’s stopped raining outside.”
“It’s not raining in here anymore, either,” Tracy said, pointing to her dry eyes. Then she thought of her two sisters and how much she would like to go to school with them. “I do hate to be here by myself, though.”
“I do, too,” Mother said.
Tracy was puzzled. “But I’m here with you, Mother. You’re not alone with me here.”
“I’m glad about that.” Mother put her arms around Tracy. “I would be lonesome without you. One reason that I wanted a new baby is that when you’re at school next year, I’ll have someone to keep me company. And this year while Janet and Merry are both in school, I can have you all to myself for a while!”
Tracy gave Mother a big hug. “And I can have you all to myself!”

One February evening in 1968, Neil Andersen found himself the center of attention. He had been selected as a high school junior to represent Idaho in the Student Burgesses, a gathering of students from 37 countries and each of the 50 states in the United States. Students came together in Williamsburg, Virginia, to discuss challenges facing democracy.
This was the first time 16-year-old Neil, raised on a small farm in Pocatello, Idaho, had ever flown on an airplane, traveled so far from home, or been among so many bright and sophisticated young people.
As evening discussions turned to subjects around the world, Neil’s membership in the Church became evident. Some of the delegates began to challenge his beliefs. Young Neil had never before been asked such pointed questions regarding his faith.
“I remember praying in my mind that I would say the words that needed to be spoken,” he recalls. “What followed was a little miracle for me. I told them more than I knew. I felt the power of the Lord as He guided me through sensitive explanations and the sharing of my deep convictions. I could feel the Spirit of the Lord as I spoke. At the conclusion they expressed their appreciation and quietly acknowledged their respect for what I believed.
“I learned that there is a power and influence in this sacred work beyond ourselves and that it is worth defending. I understood that as we are true and faithful, ‘ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh [us] a reason of the hope that is in [us]’ (1 Peter 3:15), the Lord will bless us beyond our own abilities.”

My father could remember the very day, even the very hour, that his family—father, mother, and four children—left the Church, many never to return again in this life. He was 13 years old, a deacon, and in those days families attended Sunday School in the morning and then sacrament meeting in the afternoon. On a beautiful spring day, after returning home from Sunday morning worship services and having a midday family meal together, his mother turned to his father and asked simply, “Well, dear, do you think we should go to sacrament meeting this afternoon, or should we take the family for a ride in the country?”
The idea that there was an option to sacrament meeting had never occurred to my father, but he and his three teenage siblings all sat up and paid careful attention. That Sunday afternoon ride in the country was probably an enjoyable family activity, but that small decision became the start of a new direction which ultimately led his family away from the Church with its safety, security, and blessings and onto a different path.
My father was fortunate to marry a good woman who encouraged him to come back to the church of his youth and begin again to progress along the path. Their faithful lives have blessed all of their children, the next generation of grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren.
Just as the simple decision to attend or not attend one of their Sabbath day worship meetings made a significant difference in the lives of my grandparents’ family, our everyday decisions will impact our lives in significant ways. A seemingly small decision such as whether or not to attend a sacrament meeting can have far-reaching, even eternal, consequences.

In June of the year I was 12 years old, I was injured in a horse accident while delivering newspapers in my old hometown of Randolph, Utah. I was placed in a wheelchair for six months, until I first walked on Christmas Day. I remember the members of my deacons quorum presidency coming to my home to visit me—Dale Rex, Doug McKinnon, and others who were 13-year-old leaders in the deacons quorum presidency. They seemed to understand their responsibility to me as a member of their quorum.

I recently was standing at the luggage retrieval at the Salt Lake City International Airport when a woman came to me and asked my name. I recognized her as a former South Rich High School classmate from years ago. She had changed since I had last seen her. You all know how you feel at the old dreaded high school reunion. She had added some gray hair and a few wrinkles. (Of course, I hadn’t changed.) It was obvious that she was meeting her missionary child, who was returning from a mission. It surprised me. While she was yet in school, her family, who were not members of the Church, had moved into our small community. Her name was Alice Gomez. She was about the same age as me and my friends. I remembered that she was friendly and always polite but that she never did attend any of our Church meetings.
I said to her, “Alice, tell me your story. You are obviously now an active member of the Church, but you never joined while we were going to school.”
Her answer was condemning: “No one ever asked me!” Wow! Our quorum really dropped the ball on that one.
Recently reported to me was the story of a priests quorum in Jamaica that decided to help the missionaries with their work. So this quorum of young men went knocking on doors, trying to find appointments for the missionaries. They soon found more referrals than the missionaries could handle.
Members of a priests quorum in Kaysville, Utah, decided they would not lose one member of their quorum. The whole quorum would go to a less-active member’s home and have their Sunday lesson sitting around the less-active boy’s bed. Soon that young man joined his quorum in taking the Sunday lesson to another home.
As of the year 2003, there are more than 26,000 wards and branches in the Church, with approximately 78,000 deacons, teachers, and priests quorums. Talk about an army!
The contribution the quorums of the Aaronic Priesthood could make to the work of converting, retaining, and activating other members of their quorums is enormous.
If 16-year-old Mormon could be the commanding officer of a large military army, and if Jeremiah as a child could have words put in his mouth by the Almighty God, and if Timothy could be wise as he was, then each young man within the sound of my voice can rise to the challenge of his quorum responsibilities.
The responsibilities of the Aaronic Priesthood quorums are no less important than the responsibilities of elders quorums or high priests groups. Remember, they hold “the keys of the ministering of angels.” We need young men to stand up in their calling, knowing of their ordained right to act in the office to which they are appointed.
I testify that these Aaronic Priesthood quorums hold the holy priesthood of God. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.
My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.
Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.
This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.
That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

One warm June day, a friend called and explained that her family was planning a week-long float trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho's pristine wilderness territory. In order to go on the trip, her family had applied and been selected for a permit for a group of about 25 people. A family that was scheduled to go had cancelled and, with just four weeks to prepare, my friend invited me and my family to join the group. The invitation excited me! I couldn't wait to go on such an adventure. I imagined forging large white water rapids, the sun shining on our faces as we smiled and whooped with joy. In my mind I could see my husband and daughters' delight, as we shared this incredible experience together.

That evening, I chatted with my husband about his day at work, making small talk as we prepared dinner. Just when he seemed most relaxed, I slipped in the offer to join our friend and her family in floating the Middle Fork. My husband looked shocked! He was surprised I would consider such a trip knowing I couldn't swim. And I wouldn't say we are a camping family. Our idea of camping involves indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and flattening irons. We had little time to prepare. My husband, always the cautious planner, wanted time to think about the trip before making a commitment.

Two days later I came home from work and there on our kitchen table were four new sleeping bags! Despite some reservations about my inability to swim and our overall lack of preparation, my husband agreed to the trip.

We began preparing for this unexpected adventure. My brother Marty, an experienced white water raftsman, talked to me about rafting safety. He told me that sometimes people just pop out of the boat. He explained that if I found myself in the water, I should pull my knees up close to my chest, placing my body in a sitting position, pull my elbows in close to my body, and use my hands to navigate my direction in the water. This whole idea seemed a bit preposterous to me. Why would someone just pop out of the boat? I asked. My brother carefully explained how that might happen, enjoying the naivety of the question. Our preparations continued. We purchased a tent, lanterns, clothing, and a map of the river. My family was given a large white cooler for food storage. I carefully organized our cooler, placing items that would be needed later in the week at the bottom of the cooler, with lunch and snack items that would be needed immediately on the top. The morning we were to depart, I checked the cooler one more time. It was perfect! In my mind's eye I could see my family asking for something; I would be able to find the desired item in seconds. My family would beam, knowing their wife and mom was the most efficient and organized woman on the trip!

My husband took the cooler to a central point to load on a trailer. When he returned he explained that the coolers had been reorganized. All our lunch food was placed in a cooler we would share with my friend and her family. The items that would be needed later in the week to prepare and serve dinner to the group were placed in another cooler and duct taped shut. Although this seemed like a logical decision to my husband, I felt my plan of perfection had been altered. We drove to an area near Stanley, Idaho, and spent the night. We were surrounded by majestic mountains and forests. The beauty that surrounded me filled my soul with peace. The next morning we launched our loaded boats down a long ramp. Once we were at the water's edge, we made final preparations to place our rafts in the water. My husband, youngest daughter, Ashlyn, and I were in the same boat. Our captain had floated the river several times, but had never oared a boat before. My oldest daughter, Karly, was placed in another boat with our Bishop, an experienced oarsman. We were finally ready! Everything was going just as planned. We floated through the splendors of the forest that enveloped us, cresting large whitewater rapids and enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly, our boat hit a very large boulder. The pressure of the water pushed against the raft, wrapping it around the rock. I remember seeing my daughter and husband catapulted out of the raft into the cold, rushing whitewater. And then I saw my own feet entering the same frigid water. Suddenly the current pulled me to the middle of the river. I looked back to see my husband reaching for Ashlyn and breathed a sigh of relief knowing they were safe. My journey, however, was far from over.

The current was so swift I had no control. At the mercy of the river. I was swirling around and couldn't see where I was going. Unable to control my course, I bashed into rocks. Within seconds I was thrust into whitewater. In the middle of the rapids I realized I was being pushed down into the water and my life jacket was floating up. I didn't know it at the time, but in order for a lifejacket to work correctly you must cinch it tight to your body. I prefer loose fitting clothing and so, I did not tighten my lifejacket. The end result was that the lifejacket floated and I was pushed under the water. So, I did what any reasonable woman would do in the same situation. I screamed, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" inhaling large amounts of river water in the process. At this point I realized I needed to follow the counsel I had received from my brother. I pulled my knees up to my chest and pulled my lifejacket down with my hands. With the lifejacket close to my body, I floated to the top of the water and could breathe. What a relief! That relief, however, was only momentary as I realized that holding on to the lifejacket meant I couldn't use my hands to navigate. The current continued to move me rapidly forward, throwing me against rocks as I spun, at times floating backward, with no ability to see where I was going.

As the current changed direction, I could see another section of large white water rapids looming ahead of me. I knew my only hope was to try to stop myself against one of the boulders I could see in the clear, cold water. I could see a rock ahead of me and decided to try to extend my legs in an effort to catch myself against the rock. Because the current was so strong, I was concerned I might break my leg, but knew I had to find a way to stop myself. I slowly stretched out my legs and caught myself against the rock. I used all my strength to push against the current that was relentlessly trying to force me off the rock. Exhaling with exhaustion, I examined my surroundings, noting more whitewater just downstream. I wasn't sure how long I could hold on before I would again be carried into the whitewater. I found comfort knowing my family was behind me somewhere, safe and sound.

The temporary safety of my rock shelter was shattered as I heard my youngest daughter, Ashlyn, call out, "Mom! Mom!" I turned to see Ashlyn in the middle of the current and realized she had just traversed the same frigid water and class three rapids I had. I yelled at Ashlyn to swim to the shore. As Ashlyn swam, I uttered a humble and sincere prayer, asking my Father in Heaven to protect my daughters and to keep my husband safe.

As soon as Ashlyn got to shore, she turned towards me and began to sob. She yelled, "Mom! Mom!" I could hear the terror in her voice and became frightened that she would try to swim to me. I told her to stay on the shore where she was safe. At that moment, I heard my husband's voice. I cannot begin to describe my joy when I saw my husband on a raft coming to my rescue. He was reassuring me and telling me to hang on. Inwardly I thought, "No problem! I'm not going anywhere, at least if I can help it." And then, he did what any great husband and father would do. He oared to the shore to check on Ashlyn, telling me that help was on the way.

I exhaled, looking down stream, unsure if my exhausted body could hold onto the safety of my rock much longer. As I began to mentally prepare myself to be carried away by the current, our bishop threw a line to me and pulled me into the safety of his boat. I later learned the current had pulled Ashlyn from her father's grasp, carrying her past the boat that held my oldest daughter, Karly.

In October 1879, a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red-rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”

Several readers suggested that a good way to make friends is to become involved in activities, such as seminary or institute, where you can be with other young people who share your goals and standards. By attending seminary or institute classes and activities, you put yourself in a situation where you can meet new people. But don’t just attend. Get involved. Volunteer to help with activities—especially those that focus on service. Friendships will usually develop quite naturally.

Finally, don’t give up. If someone doesn’t want to be your friend, forgive any unkindness, keep smiling, and try again. There are plenty of others—at school, at church, at seminary or institute, in your neighborhood—who would be delighted to have a friend like you.

Readers’ Answers
Pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you. Participate in your ward or branch activities. As you interact with others, soon you will see that you have left shyness behind.
Irene Marinho Mendes,Arsenal Branch, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Niterói Stake
Being timid is not a defect. You need only to be yourself and to be honest. Only in this way are others able to become aware of you and of your good example.
Francesco Pezzoli,Bergamo First Ward, Milan Italy Stake
Pray that you’ll be a better friend to others and ask Heavenly Father to help your weakness turn into a strength (see Ether 12:27). Involve yourself in Church activities. Be true to your friends; respect them for who they are, not what they have. Treat people with kindness and learn about them and their interests.
Cristina G. Dungan,Agoo Third Ward, Agoo Philippines Stake
When I joined the Church, I didn’t know anyone, and everything was new. In seminary, I was able to make true, sincere friends who helped me prepare for my mission.
Elder Eduardo Moreira,Brazil Goiânia Mission
Before going anywhere where there are lots of people, we need to offer a prayer. The Spirit can help us overcome our shyness and make it easier for other people to approach us. We’re never alone when we have the Spirit with us.
Sofía Beatriz Rioja Pantoja,Sarco Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Cobija Stake
When we try to live the principles of the gospel, it becomes easier to talk to others. After accepting the gospel, I overcame my shyness and made good friendships through reading the scriptures and attending institute. Reading good books, magazines, and especially the scriptures and the words of the living prophets makes us feel good. Attending institute gives us the opportunity to meet other wonderful people.
Darmeli Soares Rech,Fátima Ward, Joinville Brazil Stake
At first I was a bit uncomfortable and felt out of place at Church activities. But as I met other people, I started feeling more a part of things. I realized I wasn’t as shy as I thought. When I showed I was sincerely interested in others, they were interested in me, and we had lots of fun together.
Mauro Germán Soldán,Lanús Second Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Avellaneda Stake
Shyness may spring from the fear of not being accepted or from a low sense of self-worth. We need to remember that we are children of God and that He loves us—even with all our flaws. We need to pray and seek guidance in overcoming our weaknesses.
Take the first step and show a genuine interest in someone by starting a conversation. And don’t forget to learn people’s names. Help them feel important.
Rosibel Valle de Ochoa,Tegucigalpa Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
If you are shy and need good friendships, the first thing you should do is pray and fast and let God know your needs so you can be comforted. Pray that bashfulness and shyness be removed from you. Remember, Luke 1:37 says, “With God nothing shall be impossible.”
Periah Sefulu Sauvao,Lemoli First Ward, Upolu Samoa Faleasiu Stake
It was always difficult for me to interact with others. But when I returned from my mission, I was inspired by the knowledge that I am a child of God and thus can become like Him. I set the following goals: (1) I will always look people in the eye and greet them with a firm handshake, and (2) anytime I feel insecure about interacting with someone, I will stop, pray, approach that person, and strike up a conversation. I know I can overcome my shyness, because the Lord has promised He will “go before [my] face. [He] will be on [my] right hand and on [my] left” and will bear me up (D&C 84:88).
Aguinaldo Alves,Alvorada Ward, Maringá Brazil Stake
The Savior is our best example. Thinking about what He would do has really helped me make friends and has given me unforgettable memories. He was sensitive to the feelings of others and showed His love abundantly.
Carla Sofía Leal Saravia,Arturo Prat Ward, Santiago Chile Lo Prado Stake
I used to be shy, so I know how it feels when nobody talks to you. Since I’ve been a member of the Church, I’ve developed a desire to make everybody at church—member or not—feel welcome. I try to talk to anyone I see at church for the first time and help him or her feel at ease. Because of this habit, I have overcome my shyness and made a lot of friends, both young and old.
Haydee B. Sebastian,Santiago Second Ward, Santiago Philippines Stake

Logan had turned eight years old last week. Today was a special day—he was going to be baptized. He and his father dressed in white clothes and took their seats near the baptismal font.
Logan’s brother-in-law, Ryan, was asked to give a talk at the baptism. After the opening song and prayer, Ryan read the fourth article of faith: “We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Then Ryan placed a blue paper square on the floor at one side of the room and a white paper square at the other side. “Logan, come stand on this blue square,” he said. “Can you get from the blue square to the white square without stepping on the carpet?”
Logan looked across the room and shook his head. “It’s too far.”
Ryan nodded. “It’s too far for you to get there by yourself. And do you think you can return to Heavenly Father without help?”
Logan shook his head again.
Ryan placed six more squares on the floor, each square a different color. “Heavenly Father has given us steps to bring us back to Him. Do you know what they are?”
Logan thought of the article of faith Ryan had just read. “The first one is faith.” Ryan nodded as Logan stepped onto the red square. “And the second one is repentance.” Logan moved to the yellow square.
Ryan pointed to the green square. “This one represents one of the steps you’re taking today.”
Smiling, Logan stepped onto the green square. “Baptism,” he said. He was much closer to the white square now, but there were still three more in between.
“The orange square represents receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Ryan said, “another step you’ll take today.”
Logan stepped onto the orange square.
“What do you think the last two squares represent?” Ryan asked.
Logan thought for a moment. The fourth article of faith included only the first four principles and ordinances of the gospel. He had learned in Primary that baptism was the first of many covenants he would make. “Does the gray square stand for the temple?” he asked.
“Right!” Ryan beamed. “After your baptism and confirmation, you’ll prepare to receive the priesthood and temple ordinances. What do you think the last square stands for?”
Logan couldn’t remember any more steps. Then it dawned on him—it was the simple truth taught by prophets and scriptures. “Stay righteous,” he said.
“Exactly,” Ryan said. “After making all of these covenants, we must stay faithful.”
Logan sat down and Ryan finished his talk. Then Logan and his father entered the baptismal font. With the authority of the priesthood, Logan’s father baptized him. After they had changed into dry clothes, Logan was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Remember the Spirit you feel right now,” Ryan said afterward as he hugged Logan. “Try to keep it with you for the rest of your life.”
Logan knew he would never forget this special day—a day he had taken two important steps toward his heavenly home.

In high school I did my homework, I didn’t sluff class, and I was terribly constrained. A lot of kids laughed at me (and others like me) because we didn’t have any freedom. They had freedom: they sluffed class, didn’t do any homework, smoked, and drank if they felt like it. We didn’t have freedom: we only did what we were told to do—according to them.

It is interesting to look at the same issue several years later. I graduated with a good GPA, got a scholarship, and had a big choice of schools I could attend and a wide selection of majors. As time went on I worked hard and had freedom to do anything I wanted to do. I was constantly faced with a bewildering set of choices. I had more and more freedom to do more and more things. Some of those who thought I had no freedom in high school didn’t graduate from high school, couldn’t get a good job, couldn’t afford a house, and couldn’t go back to school because they were earning so little they didn’t have enough time or money. Over time they had less and less freedom. I am sure they feel trapped today.

Now I hadn’t had time to think of what to do to earn a living in a strange land with a strange language. On Friday morning, July 26, 1872, there came a man to the house of Mons Andersen who wanted a boy to help him in the field. His name was Peter Petersen. My wages were $8.00 a month. I worked with him 20 months. I must now tell a little that happened in that time. It was customary at that time that newcomers should be rebaptized. So Peter Petersen’s wife, Karen Larsen Petersen, told me, “There will be baptisms today. So you must hitch up the horses and take these people down to the mill pond to be baptized. And you must be baptized too.” I told her I would be glad to take them down, but I was not ready for baptism yet.
That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a moment wasted. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen became sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.
Now I had been studying the gospel and praying about it. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” [John 3:5] So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.

A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.

When I was a boy in Primary, I believed whatever my Primary teacher told me. One summer day she taught us about prayer: “Remember, if you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.” I skipped home thinking of nothing more than playing ball with my brothers. I didn’t know that the next day I would test my teacher’s words.
The following morning began with the sun scorching the sandstone cliffs and rocky hills that circled my town. Into the warmth of that perfect day my friend Eva and I started off on one of our adventures. Clutching a bag of small, sharp fish-hooks, two spools of thread, and our lunches, we hurried toward the fish-pond.
At last we arrived. We paused and looked at the pond and the willow trees surrounding it, feeling as though some great ocean lay before us and that we had come to bury stolen treasure.
We sat down, slipped off our shoes, and dangled our dusty feet lazily in the cool water. Tying our thread to the hooks, we dreamed of catching a big fish. Then we realized that we had brought nothing to use for bait! It was unthinkable to use any part of our lunches, so the homemade lines just hung loosely in the water, our excitement sinking as rapidly as the bare hooks.
We soon found something new to occupy the morning. Close to the pond was a sand hill. One side of the hill was a smooth slope, but the other side dropped off steeply, forming a cliff as high as a house. At the bottom of the cliff was a pile of jagged sandstone rocks. We started up the smooth side of the hill, pretending to be the world’s greatest mountain climbers, courageously tackling the tallest mountain.
As we climbed, we could see an old wooden post on top of the hill.
“I’ll race you to the post!” I shouted to Eva.
We ran up the hill, sinking at times into the soft, warm sand. Small avalanches trailed behind us and could be heard falling on the rocks beneath the cliff. Soon I was crawling, hurrying toward the post as fast as I could—but I didn’t realize that I was climbing by myself. I reached the top, pleased with my victory, and turned around with a smile to speak to Eva. But she wasn’t near me! As she had climbed, she hadn’t been watching where she was going, and she had run into deep sand. Unable to lift her feet, she had panicked and started swinging her arms wildly—sliding sideways and backward toward the edge of the cliff.
Eva was very frightened, and tears streamed down her cheeks. I shouted to her to turn around and go down the hill on the safe side. But her only answer was a sobbing, “Help me!” We both knew that if I went straight down to her, the sand moving before me would push her over the edge. Desperate, she cried out again, “Help me!”
Suddenly, I remembered my Primary teacher’s words from the day before, and I prayed with all my strength. Eva stopped sliding. Something beneath her small feet was holding firm. I carefully went down a different way to where she was, and helped her turn around. Once she was on safe ground, I reached down to where she had stopped sliding and picked up a rock no larger than the palm of my hand! Somehow that hard bit of sandstone had kept Eva from falling. I put the rock into my pocket, and we went home. We had had enough adventure for one day.
When I got home, I put the rock on a shelf in my room to remind me of my wise Primary teacher’s words: “If you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.”

I was born with Duchenne muscular dystrophy. That means my muscles will get weaker as I get older. My wheelchair comes in handy when I play soccer. I play goalie, and my chair helps me block the ball.
Even though I know that one day I won’t be able to walk anymore, I know Heavenly Father will help me have courage. And I know that because of Jesus Christ, when I am resurrected my body will be perfect and I will be able to run and move again.

Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.

When I was a senior in high school, I was on the varsity cheerleading team. Every day at practice, the girls on my cheerleading team talked about what was going on in a daytime soap opera on television. I had never watched it and knew that it was a show with low morals. However, I felt left out every day at practice as the girls excitedly talked about the show. The Spirit whispered to me not to watch it, but I desperately wanted to be included in their conversations, so I started watching.

It didn’t seem so bad to me. I rationalized that it wouldn’t affect me. I knew that I wasn’t going to do the bad things that I saw the characters do. I got hooked and watched the show every day. When I went to Brigham Young University, I arranged my class schedule so I could watch it every day. I never missed an episode.

I got married and had my first baby. I put him down for a nap every day during the show so I could watch it.

As the years passed, the Spirit whispered to me many times that I should stop watching that show. But I refused. I was so involved with the characters and their lives. It was my way to relax, so I continued watching. I was convinced that it was not hurting me.

Nineteen years after high school, I was still watching the show every day. At general conference, Sister Sheri L. Dew, then Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, was speaking about walking away from the world and things that are unholy. She then said, “I invite each of us to identify at least one thing we can do to come out of the world and come closer to Christ.”2

When she extended that invitation, I felt a tremendous outpouring of the Spirit, and I heard the words in my mind, “You have to stop watching that show now!” It was so powerful; it was like a smack to my face. I knew in that instant that I could not ignore this prompting any longer. I felt an urgency to never watch the show again. I realized that not one character was doing anything virtuous or honorable. I was inviting trash into my life every day. I committed to the Lord, right then and there, that I would never watch it again.

It was not easy! Nineteen years of habit and addiction was hard to break. Monday came and it was time for the show to start. I walked over to the TV remote. I wanted so badly to turn it on. I remembered my commitment to the Lord that I wouldn’t watch it ever again. I walked away.

Then I thought about my favorite character and wondered what might happen to her and walked back to the remote. I knew I needed God’s help, so I got down on my knees and prayed for strength to be able not to watch it. I thought of my promise to Heavenly Father, and I walked out of the room. I chose to follow the promptings I had received from the Holy Ghost and to honor my commitment.

That scenario repeated itself every day that week and into the next. Every day, I knelt and prayed and pleaded for strength to not watch, and every day I chose Jesus Christ and walked away from a television show that was immoral. I received strength to overcome from the power the Savior offers through His Atonement.

After some time of doing this, a miracle occurred. I completely lost all desire to watch the show, after watching it daily for 19 years. It was amazing! I also lost the desire to watch all the questionable shows I had been watching, so I stopped completely.

My conscience became sharpened, and I recognized evil for what it was. I honestly wanted to avoid any appearance of evil (see 1 Thessalonians 5:22). I was not desensitized to it anymore.

But the most amazing thing that happened was that I felt the influence of the Holy Ghost magnified in my life beyond anything I had experienced before. My spiritual progress accelerated tremendously! All those years I had thought I enjoyed the companionship of the Holy Ghost, but I had been experiencing only a sliver of what I might have. I realized that watching those shows all that time did affect me. I had missed so many years of having a stronger companionship with God. When I used my agency to give up unholy, worldly things, the Spirit was free to come to me in much greater measure, and what an incredible difference that has made in my life to strengthen, comfort, and guide me.

We tend to hold on so tightly to things of no worth—things that actually hold the door closed to the blessings that God wants to bring into our lives. Why do we trade the powerful, enabling influence of the Spirit for the fun or the popular? Maybe watching a television show is not a big deal or a huge sin, but it kept me from having the Holy Ghost in great abundance in my life and slowed down my spiritual progression.

I am so thankful that the Lord didn’t give up on me but patiently kept asking me to give up something unholy so He could fill my life to overflowing with His influence.

One night Ernestine had to go across the lake with her family in the middle of the night because a forest fire threatened their home. At 1:30 A.M. her mother woke her up, and they all climbed into their boat and went across the lake. She felt frightened, and she worried about their house. “We saw flames from clear across the lake!” she remembers.
She spent that night on the boat with her mother and her sisters, Loralee, age 18, and Danielle. Her father, a police officer, patrolled the lake, rescuing people. As the fire burned a black path through the area, Ernestine and her family lived out of their car the next night, then went to a friend’s house for two days. They went to the church meetinghouse to get clothes and supplies. When they were finally able to return to their house, she felt very thankful to Heavenly Father that it had not been burned and that almost all of the ward members’ houses were untouched by the fire.

Dr. Kenneth MacFarland, a great, nonpartisan, national patriot, gave a speech entitled “Selling America to Americans.” He told about a young soldier who returned from Vietnam. In a very serious talk with his parents, the young soldier asked if they loved America. He asked how they felt about this great and glorious nation. Both mother and father got a little teary-eyed and said that they loved this country dearly, that it was more precious to them than their own life. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I was growing up?” he said. “I never heard you once say that you loved America. You never taught me to love it. I can’t tell you what an ungrateful pup I have been. I had to go to Vietnam to find out what the United States of America is all about. I would gladly lay down my life for it. I would have given anything to know how you felt about it when I was growing up.”