Gospel Story Finder

In just a few years, the efforts of the Simarrón family bore great fruit. May 30, 1999, became a day of celebration in Guayacana when a large baptismal service was held. President Intriago recalls, “We arrived with Roberto Garcia, the mission president, and both participated in that glorious day, where on the beaches of the Canandé River, two missionaries baptized 60 people. Then, President Garcia on one side and I on another confirmed as members of the Church all who were baptized. It was a privilege that will never be erased from my life.”

Haroon sat under the lone acacia tree that spread out like a huge umbrella shielding him from the hot sun. He looked across the dreary Somali nomad settlement that was now his home.
Those round huts look a lot like the piles of grass I used to see donkeys bringing to market in Mogadishu, Somalia, he thought. His eyes held a faraway look. What’s Dad doing? he wondered. I wish I could be sitting with him at home, enjoying the sea breezes and eating Mom’s tasty bariis iyo maraq (rice with meat stew). Our house is big enough to live in. Here I must stoop to enter the aqal (huts). They’re just big enough for several of us to sleep in.
The land reaching to the horizon in every direction was as flat as the shallow winnowing basket he had watched Amina weave with strips of bark. Nearby there were a few low bushes around which the goats gathered like baby chicks around a mother hen. Farther away he could see the large herd of camels belonging to the settlement.
Everything was quite still as Haroon continued to think of home 800 kilometers to the south. Then he recalled the words of President Mohammed Siyad Barre. He had told the students before they were sent out to participate in this campaign to teach the people to read and write, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn).”
Haroon had been sure he had much to teach the nomads. He was eager to take the skills of reading and writing the Somali language to the nomads who made up over 70 percent of the Somali people.
In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.
Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.
“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is used as box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. Llaah ha ku barakadeya (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”
Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.
Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignore him.
Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And do you know what?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”
After they parted, Haroon thought about Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aquoon baro.” (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.)
That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.
Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”
But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.
Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.
Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.
One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.
Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”
Chief Abdi became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.
Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.
The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.
Six months later Haroon was walking home from school one day through the noisy city streets when he suddenly caught the strong, unmistakable scent of a herd of camels. Memories rushed into his mind. Then he saw the herd come around the corner at the end of the block. They jostled each other as cars and taxis honked their horns. A bushman was bringing a herd to the slaughterhouse. Haroon went to talk to the nomad and found he knew Chief Abdi’s clan very well.
The man handed Haroon a letter showing signs of being carried many days in the folds of the man’s skirt. Haroon opened it and read greetings from many in the clan. It was written by the hand of Chief Abdi himself. He thanked Haroon for teaching him and his people.
Haroon was happy to know that Abdi was also following the president’s words: “If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.”

As a new General Authority, Elder Marion G. Romney (1897–1988) felt inadequate in fulfilling his important calling, so he sought advice from his friend Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The counsel offered that day both surprised and motivated Elder Romney. Elder Lee said: “If you are to be successful as a General Authority, you will need to be inspired. You will need to receive revelation. I will give you one piece of advice: Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested and then in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
Years later, reflecting back on that experience, then-President Romney said: “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”1
When I first read this account, I too was surprised by the advice Elder Lee gave. I would never have connected an early daily schedule with revelation. However, I now know that there is a direct correlation. I have also learned that actions traditionally associated with receiving revelation like prayer, scripture study, fasting, temple attendance, and service are greatly enhanced when I go to bed early and get up early.

When I was a mission president, a fine elder came to me. I asked, “How can I help you?”
“President,” he said, “I think I’m losing my testimony.”
I asked him how that could be possible.
“For the first time I have read some anti-Mormon literature,” he said. “I have some questions, and nobody will answer them for me. I am confused, and I think I am losing my testimony.”
I asked him what his questions were, and he told me. They were the standard anti-Church issues, but I wanted a little time to gather materials so I could provide meaningful answers. So we set up an appointment ten days later, at which time I told him I would answer every one of his questions. As he started to leave, I stopped him. “Elder, you’ve asked me several questions here today,” I said. “Now I have one for you.”
“Yes, President?”
“How long has it been since you’ve read from the Book of Mormon?” I asked.
His eyes dropped. He looked at the floor for a while. Then he looked at me. “It’s been a long time, President,” he confessed.
“All right,” I said. “You have given me my assignment. It’s only fair that I give you yours. I want you to promise me that you will read in the Book of Mormon for at least one hour every day between now and our next appointment.” He agreed that he would do that.
Ten days later he returned to my office, and I was ready. I pulled out my papers to start answering his questions. But he stopped me.
“President,” he said, “that isn’t going to be necessary.” Then he explained, “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. I know Joseph Smith is a prophet of God.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “But you’re going to get answers to your questions anyway. I worked a long time on this, so you just sit there and listen.”
And so I answered all of those questions, and then asked, “Elder, what have you learned from this?” And he said, “Give the Lord equal time.”

My wife likes to tell the story of a friend of hers who, when she was a little girl, was left an orphan. She scarcely knew her mother. As she grew, she wondered about her mother: what kind of a girl, what kind of a woman was she?

One day she came across her mother’s old report card. The teacher had noted on that card, “This student is excellent in every way.”

When she read that, her entire life changed. She recognized that her mother was a woman of excellence. Her whole attitude changed. She took on the aura of excellence herself and became a remarkable woman in her own right. She married a man who is recognized in many communities, and their children have distinguished themselves for their excellence.

Countless are the acts of service provided by the vast army of Relief Society visiting teachers. A few years ago I heard of two of them who aided a grieving widow, Angela, the granddaughter of a cousin of mine. Angela’s husband and a friend of his had gone snowmobiling and had become victims of suffocation through a snowslide. Each of them left a pregnant wife—in Angela’s case, their first child, and in the other case, a wife not only expecting a child but also the mother of a toddler. In the funeral held for Angela’s husband, the bishop reported that upon hearing of the tragic accident, he had gone immediately to Angela’s home. Almost as soon as he arrived, the doorbell sounded. The door was opened, and there stood Angela’s two visiting teachers. The bishop said he watched as they so sincerely expressed to Angela their love and compassion. The three women cried together, and it was apparent that these two fine visiting teachers cared deeply about Angela. As perhaps only women can, they gently indicated—without being asked—exactly what help they would be providing. That they would be close by as long as Angela needed them was obvious. The bishop expressed his deep gratitude in knowing they would be a real source of comfort to her in the days ahead.

Elder Michael A. Dunn’s parents divorced when he was a small child, but as his mother raised him, she instilled in him strong faith and values. After attending a private Episcopal school in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, he transferred to a public high school, where he met members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As his new friends and their parents welcomed him with open arms, Michael desired to learn about the Church. Eventually he decided to meet with the missionaries. Their teachings about the Godhead and Joseph Smith’s First Vision “landed in me with real power,” he said.
Through prayer he knew the gospel was true and was baptized during his senior year of high school. Since then, Elder Dunn has been “nurtured by a string of incredible leaders.”

The pioneer experience provides Latter-day Saints with a unique historical tradition and a powerful collective spiritual legacy. For some, the migration had been years in the making after being forcefully driven from both Missouri and Nauvoo. For others, it began after President Brigham Young announced the handcart plan, which was intended to make emigration more affordable. The handcarts cost much less than wagons and oxen.

A missionary in England, Millen Atwood, said that when the handcart plan was announced, “it ran like fire in dry stubble, and the hearts of the poor Saints leapt with joy and gladness.” Many had “prayed and fasted day after day, and night after night, that they might have the privilege of uniting with their brethren and sisters in [the] mountains.”

Most of the handcart Saints experienced hardship but avoided major adverse events. But two handcart companies, the Willie company and the Martin company, experienced starvation, exposure to freezing weather, and many deaths.

Most of these travelers sailed from Liverpool, England, in May of 1856 aboard two ships. They arrived at the handcart outfitting site in Iowa City in June and July. Despite warnings, both companies departed for the Salt Lake Valley too late in the season.

President Brigham Young first became aware of the perilous situation of these companies on October 4, 1856. The next day he stood before the Saints in Salt Lake City and said, “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, … and they must be brought here; we must send assistance to them … before the winter sets in.”

He asked the bishops to provide 60 mule teams, 12 or more wagons, and 12 tons (10,886 kg) of flour and proclaimed, “Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”

The combined number of pioneers in the Willie and Martin handcart companies was approximately 1,100. Some 200 of these precious Saints died along the trail. Without the timely rescue, many more would have perished.

The winter storms began nearly two weeks after the first rescuers left Salt Lake City. The accounts of members of the Willie and Martin companies describe devastating challenges after the storms began. These accounts also depict the great joy when the rescuers arrived.

Describing the arrival scene, Mary Hurren said: “Tears streamed down the cheeks of the men, and the children danced for joy. As soon as the people could control their feelings, they all knelt down in the snow and gave thanks to God.”

Two days later, the Willie company had to travel the most difficult part of the trail, going over Rocky Ridge, in a freezing storm. The last of them didn’t reach camp until 5:00 the next morning. Thirteen people died and were buried in a common grave.

On November 7, the Willie company was nearing the Salt Lake Valley, but that morning there were still three deaths. Two days later, the Willie company finally reached Salt Lake, where they had a marvelous greeting and were welcomed into the homes of the Saints.

That same day, the Martin company was still 325 miles (523 km) back on the trail, continuing to suffer from cold and inadequate food. A few days earlier, they had crossed the Sweetwater River to reach what is now called Martin’s Cove, where they hoped to find protection from the elements. One of the pioneers said, “It was the worst river crossing of the expedition.” Some of the rescuers—like my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who was just 17 years old, along with his young friends “George W. Grant, Allen Huntington, Stephen Taylor, and Ira Nebeker—spent hours in the frigid water,” heroically helping the company make the Sweetwater crossing.

While this event has received much attention, as I learned more about the rescuers, I realized that all of them were following the prophet and played critical roles in saving the stranded Saints. All the rescuers were heroic, as were the emigrants.

Studying their story, I appreciated the precious relationships and the long-term eternal vision among the emigrants. John and Maria Linford and their three sons were members of the Willie company. John died hours before the first rescuers arrived. He had told Maria that he was glad they had made the journey. “I shall not live to reach Salt Lake,” he said, “but you and the boys will, and I do not regret all we have gone through if our boys can grow up and raise their families in Zion.”

It is important to remember that results like this were not confined to ancient times and are not limited to the children of prophets. As I visited with the father who sought me out, I told him of a boy I knew who had slipped into his own abyss and then found the way out through repentance.
This boy had been sent, at great sacrifice by his parents, to a university to acquire an education. He went with little aspiration or desire to succeed, seeking instead to “have a good time.” Shortly after he arrived, he became involved in a case of petty theft, “just for the excitement,” he said later. He was caught and put on probation. But when his search for good times exhausted the limited resources provided by his parents, he tried in desperation to steal a large sum of money—and was caught again. This time he went to the state penitentiary.
His bishop, knowing that I would be traveling in the vicinity of the prison, asked if I would visit the young man. I took a member of the stake high council with me. The large gate swung shut behind us, a guard searched us carefully, and then we were ushered into a small concrete building where those from the outside were allowed to spend time visiting with inmates.
I had in my mind a picture of a hardened criminal—mean, surly, dangerous, someone to be feared. Then the door opened, and one of the most handsome young men I had ever seen stepped into the room—neat, clean-shaven, hair nicely combed. He smiled at me in recognition and offered his hand in greeting. “President, what are you doing here? You have probably never seen me, but I heard you speak once at a stake conference,” he explained. Then he asked earnestly, “How is my family?”
After I reassured him about his parents, we talked about him: how soon he would be released and how he was being treated. He seemed in good spirits and cheerful despite the bleak surroundings. As we visited, I asked him if he had really done all the things he was accused of. His reply was prompt and direct: “Yes, and more. I deserve all of this.” The motion of his hand took in the confining room and its surroundings. “I have lost nearly everything—my self-respect, my friends, the confidence of my family—almost everything.” His chin quivered, and his face became anguished. He broke down crying. Sobs shook his body, and I held him in my arms just as I would have my own son.
When he regained his composure, we continued our visit. It proved to be a marvelous moment to teach him; he was humble and eager to learn. We talked about faith, repentance, and the divine mission of our Savior, Jesus Christ. I reminded the young man that Christ gave his own sweet life in holy sacrifice as payment for the sins of those who repent and obey. The Spirit touched each of us during those moments together. My young friend was contrite, filled with hope and a greater understanding of God’s love.
On the morning of his release from prison, a loving father and mother embraced their son and welcomed him to a new life. They visited at our home. The son was repentant and eager to start anew. He expressed his great love for the Savior and his gratitude for the opportunity to progress through blessings offered in the Church. I assured him of my respect, my confidence, and my love for him.
Over a period of several years, I received occasional telephone calls from him advising me of his progress. He was doing well; there were still difficulties and obstacles to overcome, but his progress was steady. The call that touched me most was the one in which he told me that he would be taking a young woman to the house of the Lord to be married. He had come full circle, from wickedness and despair to righteousness and joy. The Spirit of the Lord had led him to the Living Waters, and he had drunk deeply.

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, “Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm.”

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

President George Albert Smith was a man of love, a man without guile. He stated that as a young boy, when he was attending the Brigham Young Academy in Provo, he heard the principal of the school, Karl G. Maeser, make a statement to the effect that not only will we be required to give an accounting for our deeds done in the flesh, but for our very thoughts. This gave him some concern because he realized that sometimes his thoughts were not entirely what they should be. However, in thinking of the matter in depth, the thought came to him, “Of course we must give an accounting for our thoughts, because our thoughts lead to actions.” In other words, “As [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7). I think these thoughts that came to President Smith at that time influenced his entire life; and he conducted his actions in accordance with his thoughts, which thoughts were clean and pure. His life was devoted to helping his fellowmen.

A sense of humor also works well for Loraine Taylor of Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
“Everybody’s not a jokester,” says Loraine, “but for me that usually works.”
“I was invited to a graduation party, and I knew that joking wouldn’t do it. I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to leave early because I had a date. So I prayed really hard before the party that I would be able to resist.
“People kept offering me drinks all night, but I had a prayer in my heart the whole time, so I made it through the evening.
“At first, it wasn’t easy. It took time and a lot of refusals before my friends finally knew me well enough to know that I was still their friend—even when I said no. But later they wouldn’t smoke or drink around me.”

More than a hundred years ago in a small remote place in Arizona lived a family sent there by President Brigham Young to make peace with the Indians.

The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He responded to this feeling by heading there at once. He arrived at about four o’clock in the morning. His wife had cuddled in her arms their little baby daughter who had fallen into an open fireplace. She was severely burned. The mother, in grief, said, “Let her die. She will be so disfigured.”

The father took this little infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent of the earth.

This baby girl did live, she matured in life, was not disfigured, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life to that tiny child. That sweet baby girl, in maturity, gave me life. She was my mother.

I owe my very existence to the power of prayer.

My brother gave me his old cell phone. It was red and shiny. A few days later my mom said that my sister who was going to college had just called. She had forgotten to take her cell phone out of her pocket and ran it through the wash. It wasn’t working, and she couldn’t afford a new one. I wrapped up my cell phone and we went to see her. I will never forget her face when she opened it. I know Heavenly Father was happy with me because of the good feeling I had inside.

Kamla Persand was from the Mauritius island, attending medical school in Bordeaux, France, when we met her in February of 1991. We had prayed as a family to be able to share the gospel with someone who was seeking the truth, and we taught her in our home. I was privileged to perform her baptism, but we were not the most significant influences in Kamla joining the Church. Friends, missionaries, and even family members had been “witnesses of God” in her home country, and one day in France, when the time was right for Kamla, she made the decision to be baptized. Now, 25 years later, the blessings of that decision are all around her, and her son is a missionary in Madagascar.

I remember an experience President Kimball had with the navy chief of chaplains a few years ago. We invite military chiefs of chaplains to visit Church headquarters so we can continue our wonderful relationship with them and maintain our chaplaincies throughout the services. It was this chaplain’s first trip to the Church. He came, and Elder Hanks was with him. They saw the various leaders, they came to BYU, they went to Temple Square. They saw what we were doing with the chaplaincy, and finally they were to meet with the prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. At that time we were trying desperately to get more navy chaplains. President Kimball had been trying for years, and so had the other Brethren, without success. The two of them had a wonderful talk; it went on for about an hour. Four or five times during the conversation this navy chief of chaplains said, “President, is there anything we can do for you?”

President Kimball said, “No, I don’t think so. We just love our servicemen and women so much we want to do everything we can for them.”

The chaplain went on talking and then asked again, “Well, isn’t there something I can do?”

Finally, the chief of chaplains said, “Well, would it be of any help if we let you have more chaplains in the United States Navy?”

President Kimball replied, “I think that would be just wonderful if that is what you would like to do.”

A perfect example of never demanding, but inviting. And when he walked out of that building with Elder Hanks that day and stopped on the front steps of the Church Office Building, this man, who would be a counterpart to an archbishop in his Catholic church, looked at Elder Hanks and said, “There is a holy man of God.”

Elder Hanks said, “He is a wonderful man.”

And he replied, “Elder Hanks, that is not what I said. He is a holy man of God.”

A few months after I received my endowment, I was driving in a blazing hot car with a friend when he pointed out that the shorts I was wearing were really long.
“Aren’t you hot?” he asked.
“I sure am,” I answered cheerfully.
We both laughed.
“But knowing you, you wouldn’t wear shorter shorts even if you weren’t wearing garments now. You’ve always been super modest,” he said teasingly.
I considered that statement.
“You’re correct,” I said, laughing.
But truthfully, I found his statement a bit unsettling. What did he mean by “super” modest? Had I been taking modesty to an extreme? Did he think I was weird?
And beneath that question were more questions that I had been considering for a while but had been too afraid to ask: Why was I so committed to dressing modestly? Did it really help me become a better disciple of Christ? Did it even matter?
Some of us may have questions about modesty, especially about what it has to do with our discipleship. But as we seek guidance through the Spirit, we can begin to understand the why behind this commandment.
When I had questions about modesty and was feeling pressure from the world to lower my standards, I took my questions to Heavenly Father. Little by little, I remembered many instances where choosing to be modest—in both appearance and behavior—blessed my life immensely.
Here are just a few of the blessings that I have experienced from embracing the principle of modesty.
Our bodies are sacred vessels for our spiritual selves and serve as tangible reminders of how perfectly we are loved by our Heavenly Father. It is a true privilege to have a body, as it allows us to become like Him. When we consider that miraculous and incomprehensible truth, why wouldn’t we be confident in who we are?
If you take a moment to look around, you’ll notice that, because of the adversary, the world showcases bodies differently than Heavenly Father intended. They are criticized and compared, and immodesty is often glorified. The world wants to convince us that behaving and dressing a certain way will help us fit in and feel more self-assured than ever before. But the confidence that stems from this is fleeting.
Lasting confidence comes from understanding our divine identities—realizing that our bodies are sacred instruments through which we get to experience life, not ornaments to be adorned by the world.1
In Doctrine and Covenants 121:45, the Lord teaches, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God.”
And it’s true! When we have modest, virtuous thoughts, they are reflected in our behavior, language, and appearance, and we can experience true self-assurance.
At times, my temporal desires have been at odds with modesty, like wanting to wear certain clothes to feel attractive or longing to fit in by acting a certain way. But as I came to truly comprehend my divine identity, I wanted to represent that truth, and behaving and dressing modestly eventually became second nature to me. And my self-confidence grew as well—after all, true confidence has little to do with our appearance and more to do with living in a way that reflects our divine identity.
When seen as rules, the commandments of the gospel can seem restricting. But when we focus on Heavenly Father’s eternal perspective and love for us, we can build our testimony on the truth that His commandments are meant to protect and bless us. They stem from His perfect love.2
In pondering how modesty had blessed my life, I once considered the question President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, asked regarding our love for God versus the things of the world. He said, “How would we answer the question ‘Lovest thou me more than these?’”3
I realized that the world may be filled with temptations, but when I consider what Heavenly Father and the Savior have done for me out of love, choosing to be modest is one thing I can do to show Them love in return. Modesty is a reflection of my inner commitment to Them, and as I continue to show my devotion, I feel myself deepening my relationship with Them, which is a blessing on its own.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “His commandments are not grievous—just the opposite. They mark the path of healing, happiness, peace, and joy. … And in obeying Their commandments, we feel Their perfect love more fully and more profoundly.”4
And we read in 1 Nephi that God’s love is “most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:23; see also verse 22). When we choose to follow the commandments, including modesty, we are able to feel His love and partake of the fruits of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is the source of true joy.
Dressing or behaving like the majority of the world might allow me to feel happiness for a moment, and I’ve felt that temptation at times. But I am most joyful when I strive to keep the commandments and my covenants, because doing so allows me to feel Heavenly Father’s perfect love.
During that conversation with my friend, I assumed he thought I was a bit of a prude. But several years later, this friend actually became my husband, and he explained that he always appreciated how my commitment to Christ was reflected in my appearance, language, and actions.
Choosing modesty won’t always be easy, because “the voices and pressures of the world are engaging and numerous.”5 But I know the blessings and joy I receive when I embrace modesty are worth so much more than anything the world can offer me.
If you have questions about modesty, I invite you to seek personal revelation and consider how it has blessed your life. And remember, let’s not judge others’ worthiness according to their choices regarding modesty. As we choose to embrace modesty, let’s offer compassion to others—the same compassion the Savior offers us.
Modesty is one of the greatest ways we can learn to treasure our true identities, come closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and feel joy in our lives. It has been for me, and I know it can be for you too.

As persecution increased in Nauvoo, Bathsheba and George helped finish building the Nauvoo Temple and were among the first to receive their temple ordinances. Bathsheba was present on that sorrowful day when the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum Smith were brought back to Nauvoo from Carthage Jail, and she, George, and their two children were among the hundreds of Saints who walked across the frozen Mississippi River to Winter Quarters.

When I told my parents I wanted to serve a mission, they were not happy. My older brother, Ivan, and I were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. I had joined when I was 18, and now, one year later, I had decided to serve full-time. Although my parents ultimately agreed to let me go, my dad warned that when I returned, he could not guarantee he would keep paying my college tuition.
However, I knew that if I served, the Lord would help me.
Throughout my mission, I rejoiced as I saw people embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and progress toward salvation. When I returned home, I started my studies again. But soon my father said, as he had warned, “I cannot pay anymore.”
“How is this possible?” I thought. “I served a mission. I did what the Lord wanted me to do. Why is this happening to me?”
Then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon. Nephi, who had kept all the commandments, was commanded to build a ship, something he had never done before (see 1 Nephi 17:8, 49–51). I felt like I had a “ship” to build. It was a huge problem that I didn’t know how to solve, so I prayed for inspiration.
Soon Ivan talked to me. “Juan Pablo, I heard our father is not going to pay your tuition,” he said.
“That’s true,” I replied. “I think everything is finished for me!”
Ivan’s response was simple, but it inspired me. “Do you know that you can both study and work?” he said. “That way, you’ll be able to pay for your tuition.” It was the first time I realized I could do both! Soon I found a part-time job that enabled me to continue my studies.
I thought again about Nephi and the boat: “Now I, Nephi, did not … build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me” (1 Nephi 18:2).
If I had listened to myself, I would have given up on my education. But the Lord inspired me, through the words of my brother, to continue. Sometimes when we have challenges in our lives, we think the Lord is not blessing us. But I can now clearly see how He blessed me with an opportunity to develop and grow.

It was a special mission conference: our president was being released, and he was sharing his testimony with us for the last time.
We felt a little sad in bidding this man good-bye. He had worked arduously to do the will of the Lord, and the years weighed upon him; but in spite of his weariness, he spoke with great assurance and enthusiasm.
In his talk, he shared a story with us that has since caused me to reflect many times on my service in the Church. He said that while returning from a conference in the city of Salto, Uruguay, he began wondering whether he had done all that the Lord had desired of him.
As he was meditating, he suddenly felt as if the Lord had placed a hand upon his shoulder and said to him: “My son, you have done all that I have commanded you to do. Return to your home in peace; you have been faithful, and I am pleased with your labors.” This brought him great relief and joy, for he had worried about his standing before God.
After a pause, he said, “The best missionaries are not the ones who have had the greatest number of baptisms, or who have given the most discussions, or who know the most doctrine; the best missionaries are those who, when they have finished their missions, feel as though the Lord could put his hand on their shoulders and say, ‘My son, you have done all that I have commanded you. I am pleased with your labors.’”