Gospel Story Finder

I was the first member of my family to join the Church. As an eight-year-old, I waited to feel somehow different because of my baptism. To be honest, the only thing I felt when I was brought out of the water was … well, dripping wet. I thought something more profound would happen when I was confirmed. However, after receiving the Holy Ghost, again I felt happy but certainly no different than I had just a few minutes before.

It wasn’t until the following day at fast and testimony meeting that I experienced what I now recognize as the influence of the Holy Ghost. A brother stood to bear his testimony and tell about the blessings of his membership in the Church. I felt a flood of warmth sweep over me. Even as an eight-year-old, I recognized that this was something different. I felt a peace descend on me, and I had the distinct feeling that Heavenly Father was pleased with me.

He walked into the seminary classroom somewhat frightened, maybe a little belligerent, certainly not at ease. He came because most of the students in his grade came to seminary, but he came alone. Few spoke to him; no one walked with him. He had almost no friends.
For one so young his life had been a most difficult one. His father had been killed in a drunken brawl. His mother was not interested in sending her children to church, and she was not really interested in sending them to school. She was on state welfare, and much of that money was used to purchase liquor for herself and her boyfriends. There were two other children in the family; all three had different fathers.
Even the most basic material goods were lacking in the home, including adequate food and clothing. The boy had only a sweater to keep him warm in the cold weather. As he walked to school, he would take the sweater off as he approached the building because it had large holes in it and he didn’t want his peers to see. (I say peers because he had no friends.) He wore no socks because he had none. His hands were rough and chapped because the house had only cold water and no soap with which to wash. This boy was thin and lacked vitality. Food was not plentiful, and that available was of the junk food variety. He lived in an unkempt area on the far side of town and was uncomfortable when he visited any other section of the community.
The first day of class I invited him to sit on the front row. He did so willingly but not comfortably. I tried to make friends with him, but it was very difficult. He appeared to trust no one.
After school had been in session for several weeks, I asked if he would like to give the prayer. He quickly and emphatically refused. I later learned that he had never heard a prayer until his first day in that class. He had never been to church, he had never belonged to the Boy Scouts, he had never held the priesthood. As the days passed there was little change in his willingness to communicate, to smile, or to seek friends.
A month before the Christmas holidays, one young lady requested class time to present a matter of concern. The young man was absent that day, and as she stood before the group her message was simply, “We are not friendly with him, we do not speak with him, we do not walk with him, we do not associate with him. This seems to me to be very wrong. After all, he is important too.” Then she suggested that they could and should be friendly to him and help him to understand how important he was—his importance to them and to himself. They all agreed to respond to her recommendations. Then she suggested that they each contribute a small amount of money toward buying him a coat for Christmas. This they also willingly accepted.
One did not have to be told they were succeeding. It was in his eyes, in his walk, and in his smile. It was obvious to everyone that there was a change in his life. He walked a little taller. He was able to look others in the eye and smile as he extended a friendly greeting.
One day there was a note on the teacher’s desk which read, “If you cannot find someone to give the prayer today, I will,” and he signed his name. Strangely enough no one would give the prayer that day, so I called on him. He did not close his eyes. He did not fold his arms. He did not bow his head or do any of the things we normally do in prayer. He simply looked up to the ceiling with his hands by his side and said, “Oh, God, help us. Amen.” No one smiled. No one coughed. No one said a word. It was a wonderful prayer to him and to every member of the class.
Two or three days before the Christmas vacation, the young lady who had proposed the plan came to class with a beautifully wrapped Christmas package and again requested class time. She stood and thanked each of the students for their kindness and their willingness to respond to her earlier suggestions. Then she spoke for just a moment about the value of individuals regardless of their status in life, their home background, their scholastic abilities, or their popularity. She said that every one is very important. The young man, a bit suspicious at first, suddenly became aware the young lady was about to involve him in a new experience.
After some moments, she took him by the arm and had him stand by her side. She told him how much they appreciated him and how valuable he was to the class. She said they all appreciated him and were pleased he was their friend. By now he had tears in his eyes, but so did the teacher and most of the class. She then laid the package in his arms, and the tears increased. After a moment or two passed, another young man in the class said, “If you will open the package you can see what’s in it.”
Slowly, methodically, with great care and a desire not to tear the paper, he opened the package and held up a beautiful jacket. He continued to display his emotions, and so did the class. After some moments, the same boy said, “If you’ll unzip it you can put it on.” He opened the zipper and slowly put his arms into each sleeve, pulling the jacket around him and displaying a happy smile through the tears. He wore the coat every day until the last week in May.
Something had happened in his life that had never happened before. Someone gave him something, and in that gift was an expression of appreciation and love that he had never known. He later related to some of us that he had only had one Christmas present in 14 years, and that had been an orange.
Needless to say, the young man’s life had changed. He became happy in his school work, he participated in many activities, the other students enjoyed him, and he made many friends. If the story ended there it would be a great story, and the young lady who recognized the worth of a soul would have performed a miracle. But the miracle continued. This young man filled a mission, married in the temple, and is the father of two lovely children. One of the other children, his half sister, has also married in the temple. She and her fine husband are both active in the Church. The third child, a half brother, also filled a mission and has completed his college work. And the mother—oh, yes, the mother. She reports that each night she thanks her Heavenly Father for many things, including a young lady who knew the value of her son and was willing to make her feelings known. Secondly, she thanks her Heavenly Father for the great principle of repentance and forgiveness. Third, she thanks him for her membership in the Church, for a loving Savior who helped a family change. Then she thanks him for the privilege of being the secretary in her ward Relief Society and for the love and kindness of all her sisters there.
Yes, he was someone special, and the class was special.

I thought about the summer we took Annabelle on vacation with us because we couldn’t find anyone to take care of her. It was the time we went to California to visit my Aunt Lee and Uncle Virgil. We drove through Utah on the way. It was night when we went through Salt Lake City, so we got a motel room to stay in. Mom and Jessica stayed there while Dad and I went to get us all something to eat. The man at the motel said we could let Annabelle stay in our room with us, but I wanted to take her with us in the car. She loved seeing the city lights, and I had fun watching her eyes get big and round when she got excited.
It was hot that night, so we rolled our car windows partway down. We were looking at all the lit-up places and stuff, when Dad had to jam on his brakes because the car right in front of us had stopped suddenly. Our car kind of jumped, and it scared Annabelle so much that she leaped out the window. We could see her run across the sidewalk and through the entrance to Temple Square. Dad pulled over near the curb so that I could get out and run after her. He said he’d hurry to find a parking place, then come help me find her.
The temple grounds were really pretty. Even the shadows were pretty because they were stuffed with flowers. I had to keep thinking about finding Annabelle, because my eyes kept wanting to look at other things, like the temple walls, which seemed as tall as the night. Then I glimpsed something that I just couldn’t keep from staring at. It was a big statue of the Savior, all lighted up in the night like a happy end to a sad story. I could see it through a huge window in the Visitors’ Center. I knew a little about Jesus from the Bible stories Mom and Dad read me. And there was something about that statue that made me want to know more. A feeling. A feeling about the whole place that felt as warm as the night.
I looked up through the trees at the statue as I walked closer and closer, and when I got as close as I could get, I heard a cat meow. I looked down. Annabelle was sitting right by my feet. Then Dad appeared, out of breath from running. “All’s well that ends well, huh, Caleb?” he said. I guess I didn’t say anything, because he knelt down in front of me and asked, “Is everything all right?” When I pointed up at the big statue, he gazed at it for a long time. “It’s … beautiful … , isn’t it, son?” he said in a way I hadn’t heard since the day he told me how much he loves Mom.
“Can we come back tomorrow?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Caleb. Aunt Lee is expecting us to—”
“I like the feeling here, Dad. I’d like Mom and Jessica to feel it too. Maybe we could look around in some of these buildings. And maybe we could look at the statue close up. It’s like Annabelle ran in here so that we’d come in here and … , well, …”
Dad petted Annabelle, whose eyes were big and bright in the temple ground light. Then he smiled. “I guess we are on vacation, aren’t we?”
The next morning we left Annabelle in our motel room and went to visit Temple Square. We stayed almost the whole day. Mom and Dad asked a lot of questions and told a man in the Visitors’ Center that they’d like to know more. Then, a little while after our vacation was over, two missionaries came to our home in Springfield. And a little while after that, we were all baptized into the Church.

As Ulisses matured, he learned that if he would do more than what was expected or asked, the Lord would generously bless him. One such lesson came as he prepared for a mission. During interviews with Ulisses, his bishop emphasized the importance of obeying the commandments and living worthily. He also stressed financial preparation.

Today all missionaries from Brazil contribute to their mission costs, with many families contributing all the costs. As Ulisses approached mission age, he determined that he would earn all the money needed for his mission. Taking advantage of the strong work ethic he had learned working in his father’s small business and armed with the ability to type fast, Ulisses found a day job helping a company prepare its payroll.

After passing a difficult entry exam, he began studying accounting at a technical high school in the evening. Each month, after paying tithing, he would save money for his mission. After a year, he was transferred to his company’s accounting department.

“That’s how I saved money to pay for my mission,” Elder Soares says. “And each month during the three years before I left, I would buy something I needed—a shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, a tie, a suitcase.” He also needed, and received, strong love and support from his parents and local leaders.

A young couple lost all of their household belongings when flood waters filled their neighborhood. Volunteers dug mud and rocks out of their home. Food, clothing, and temporary shelter were provided; the Relief Society replaced many necessary household goods. Because of this service, an incredible bond of love developed between those who helped and those who received. The Relief Society president felt that one of the purposes of Relief Society—sustaining and supporting one another—had been realized.

Even over the loud cheers, Jacob could hear Coach Vance’s directions.
“Stop! Look! Go left … score!” Coach Vance yelled, guiding Jacob to score the winning shot of their final soccer game.
Jacob’s team had won the championship, and that meant only one thing: pizza party!
The whole team headed over to Coach Vance’s condo for the big celebration. Many of the boys congratulated Jacob on his winning goal. Jacob felt like the guest of honor! He didn’t have many friends in this new town, and he was eager to feel accepted.
As they waited for the pizza to arrive, some of Jacob’s teammates began looking through Coach Vance’s magazines. The boys started snickering. They called Jacob over to look too, but Jacob immediately felt uncomfortable with the pictures they showed him.
He saw pictures of adults drinking bad drinks and smoking and women dressed immodestly. Jacob was confused and disappointed. He thought Coach Vance was perfect!
Jacob knew that looking at bad pictures was wrong. He didn’t want to look, but he didn’t want the other boys to tease him. He pretended to be interested, but he felt sick inside.
Suddenly, Jacob had a strong feeling he shouldn’t look at the pictures. It was as though someone was telling him to stop.
“Stop now,” Jacob felt again.
“Stop now, Jacob!”
Suddenly Jacob recognized the feeling: it was the Holy Ghost.
As the boys continued to look through the magazines, Jacob felt the Holy Ghost tell him even more clearly to leave. The more he listened, the better he could hear the voice.
Jacob said to his teammates, “Guys, I don’t think we should be looking at these.” Then he left Coach Vance’s home.
As Jacob walked home carrying his heavy trophy in his backpack, he thought about how heavy and uncomfortable it must be to carry sins around. He decided it was definitely easier and lighter to live a clean life. He decided right then to never look at bad pictures again. Jacob knew that the Holy Ghost was the best coach he could have to help him choose the right.

Receiving my mission call was one of the most profound and glorious moments of my life. I had thought about a mission many times since gaining a testimony of the gospel at age 18. I remember when I received my call to serve in the Taiwan Taichung Mission, I knew that it was right, and I was so excited to serve.
I read my scriptures daily, attended my missionary and temple preparation classes, and even attempted to learn Mandarin Chinese on my own. As the only child in my family, I knew that my mission would bring honor not only to myself but also to my parents and my Heavenly Father. The day I entered the missionary training center (MTC), I felt as if nothing could ever go wrong during the next 18 months. I was excited about everything from seeing baptisms to trying the Taiwanese cooking I had heard so much about. Little did I know when I entered the MTC that my mission would be very different from what I had expected.
About four months into my mission, I began to experience pain—not only during physical activities like riding my bike or morning exercise but also when I was sleeping or doing personal study. I began rapidly losing weight. Even drinking water made me sick. Doctors’ tests could not determine what was wrong. I had no parasites or viruses. My mission president, my missionary companion, and I were all confused by my deteriorating health.
During the month that followed, I maintained faith that surprised even me. Although I felt frustrated, I was convinced that if I kept working harder, biking faster, and speaking my broken Chinese to everyone I saw, that God would miraculously heal me. I believed the stories of Christ’s healing the sick and raising the dead, and I believed wholeheartedly that He would do the same for me—a weak but enthusiastic missionary. Then one Sunday while my companion and I were biking to the Church meetinghouse to meet an investigator, the pain and convulsions throughout my body became unbearable. When we arrived at the meetinghouse, I asked the elders to give me a blessing, which helped. As the days passed, priesthood blessings became more frequent and so did prayers for healing.
It was the darkest day of my mission when I awoke one morning in the fiery Taiwanese heat and realized that I could not even move my body enough to get out of bed. At that moment I knew that I would not be able to be a missionary for much longer. My mission president came to visit me, and we counseled together. We talked of all the possibilities, and after much prayer and many tears, the Spirit confirmed that I needed to return home and focus on getting well.
Instead of coming home to balloons and “Welcome Home” signs, I was wheeled off the plane to my frightened parents, who immediately took me to the hospital emergency room. Months of testing began, but the doctors could not find what was wrong with me. In addition, well-intentioned people around me said things like, “When are you going back out?” “Are you going to stay home?” “Maybe you were supposed to get married.” “Maybe you were wrong to go at all.”
I felt ashamed and confused. Was I worthy of God’s love? Why was this happening when I had served so diligently? Wasn’t I a good missionary? Was God listening to me? Would my peers accept my “flawed” missionary service?
Over the next six months, I struggled with my testimony, which I felt guilty about. I wondered if I had fallen from grace and if Heavenly Father really loved me. Though I gradually began to feel a little better, I didn’t feel like I had before my mission. And I still found myself avoiding moving on with my life.
Then one evening my good friend and I were talking. He too had experienced the pain and sorrow of coming home early from his mission because of illness and was working toward returning to the mission field. I remember that night was the first time in six months I had felt true peace. The voice of the Spirit whispered to me, “You need to go back.” I was so relieved to finally know in which direction to move. I went to see my bishop the following day. Then I wrote a fervent letter to the Missionary Department asking if I could return to the mission field. My request was granted, and one month later I was again wearing my name tag.
Six months later, however, I began experiencing the same health problems over again. I remember lying in a hospital bed, delirious from hours of tests and injections. I couldn’t believe this was happening. This time I knew my mission was over. With tears of disappointment and regret streaming down my face, I listened to my wise mission president say: “Sister Romanello, you loved the Lord two times as much, because you came back.” I felt so much comfort from his words. This time as I boarded the plane home, I promised my Heavenly Father I would remain faithful even if I didn’t receive answers.
It has now been a little more than two years since I returned home. I still have lingering problems, and my stamina and energy have not been the same since before I served my mission. The doctors have never figured out what is wrong with me. It has not been easy for me to be a returned missionary who did not get to serve the full length of my mission. Nevertheless, I still love every one of my sweet converts. It has taken time for me to feel validated and know that my shortened missionary service had value just as 18- or 24-month missions have value to other missionaries.
The Lord has given me many opportunities to talk to others who have faced the trauma of returning home unexpectedly. I know Heavenly Father has led me to them to share my testimony and help them realize that returning home early because of health problems is not a flaw to be kept a secret but an experience to be discussed.
The first time I returned home, I experienced how it felt to neglect my faith, but the second time I returned, I experienced what it was like to stay true. I kept to the basics: studying the scriptures, attending institute, participating in church, and fulfilling my callings. I prayed many times to know why everything happened the way it did. I stopped blaming myself, and I stopped blaming Heavenly Father. As I look at my life since returning home and my visits with my Chinese brothers and sisters who live in my home city, I maintain the firm position that there has been an eternal purpose to it all.
I love the words in Mosiah 5:15: “Therefore, I would that ye should be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works, that Christ, the Lord God Omnipotent, may seal you his, that you may be brought to heaven, that ye may have everlasting salvation and eternal life, through the wisdom, and power, and justice, and mercy of him who created all things, in heaven and in earth, who is God above all.”
I believe that if I continue living my life in dedication to the Lord, I will be forever blessed. In that way, I know I was healed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for although my body could not be 100 percent healed physically, my heart has never been more whole or ready to serve the cause of the Master.

When I first met with the missionaries, I did not understand much of what they said, and to tell you the truth, I may not have paid much attention to them. My heart was closed to a new religion. I wanted only to prove they were wrong and to gain time to convince Renee to marry me anyway.

Today my children have served and are serving missions, and I understand the sacrifices that these young men and young women make to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now I wish I had paid more attention to Elder Richardson, Elder Farrell, and Elder Hyland, the wonderful missionaries who taught me.

When Carol Witt Christensen was called to serve as public affairs director for the Topeka Kansas Stake, she felt “fearful and inadequate” about having to interact with news reporters and editors on behalf of stake leaders.
“The thought of making cold contacts with news people was a little terrifying,” she recalls. And though she majored in English in college, she says that she “didn’t know anything about writing news releases.”
Despite her self-doubt, Sister Christensen decided to rely on her testimony, her familiarity with her community, and the belief that her calling came from inspired priesthood leaders. She says she started with training from the Public Affairs Department and began to “learn [her] duty, and to act in the office in which [she was] appointed, in all diligence” (D&C 107:99).
She began poring over the weekly religion section of her local newspaper to determine what was considered newsworthy. She called the religion writer to find out about deadlines before submitting her first news release.
“I noticed the types of small news items that were printed and began paying special attention at church to activities, interesting people, and accomplishments that seemed appropriate to announce in our newspaper,” she remembers.
Over time, Sister Christensen learned that media relations is much more than merely pitching story ideas. It’s also about knowing the media and helping reporters do their job while at the same time helping them come to understand the Church.
After a series of successes, including an article about her stake’s seminary program appearing in the local paper, she says she gained confidence and “felt on fire with a desire to bring forth the Church ‘out of obscurity’” (see D&C 1:30). Now, years later, Sister Christensen still serves as her stake public affairs director and says “that fire has continued to blaze.”

This story happened in the USA.
Joshua skipped on the sidewalk as he and his family walked home from church. “Guess what?” he said. “I’m giving a talk in Primary next Sunday!”
“Next Sunday is Pioneer Day, when we remember the pioneers who came to the Salt Lake Valley,” Mom said. “Maybe you could talk about pioneers.”
That gave Joshua an idea. When he got home, he flipped through the Friend magazine. He had seen a “Draw It” activity that showed how to draw a covered wagon and oxen, like the pioneers used when they crossed the plains.1 He wanted to draw a picture of pioneers to hold during his talk. Joshua got out his crayons and got to work.
After Joshua finished drawing, Dad helped him write his talk. “What do you want to say about pioneers?” Dad asked.
Joshua remembered a song about pioneers that they were learning in Primary. “Well, pioneers are people who walked and walked and walked,” he said.2
“You’re right! The Saints who crossed the plains walked very far,” said Dad. “But did you know that you’re a pioneer too?”
Joshua scrunched his eyebrows. “Because I walk to school sometimes?”
Dad laughed. “You’re a pioneer because you do hard things,” he said. “And you choose the right, even though it’s not always easy.”
“Cool,” said Joshua. It felt special to be a pioneer!
“A pioneer is also the first person to do something,” Dad said. “When you became part of our family, you learned about the gospel and chose to follow Jesus Christ. That makes you a pioneer too!”
Joshua was adopted. He still saw his birth family and got to do fun things with them. But when he came to live with Mom and Dad, he learned about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. He went to church with them. He even got to go to the temple to be sealed to his new family.
Joshua grinned. He had an idea of what to say in his talk.
All week, Joshua practiced what he would say.
“Do you want me to go up with you when you give your talk?” Dad asked.
“I think I can read everything I wrote by myself,” said Joshua. “But can you hold up the picture I drew?”
Dad smiled. “Of course.”
When Sunday came, Joshua was ready. He stood at the front of the Primary room. Dad stood next to him and held up the drawing.
“Today is Pioneer Day,” Joshua said. “Pioneers are people who walked really far. Like the Saints who crossed the plains.”
Joshua pointed to the picture Dad was holding.
“But a pioneer is also the first person to do something,” he said.
Joshua looked at Mom. She was smiling at him from the back of the room.
“I am a pioneer,” said Joshua. “When I get baptized, I will be the first person in my birth family to join the Church.” He grinned. “We can all be pioneers by doing hard things and choosing to follow Jesus. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Joshua felt happy as he walked back to sit with his Primary class. He was glad to be a pioneer!
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

BYU student Pam Richmond, 18, was on her way to work when a man asked her for directions. She thought he was probably a conference visitor, so when he said he’d drop her off at work if she’d point him toward the freeway, she wasn’t worried. It was only a few minutes later when he drove past her stop and pulled out a gun that she knew she was in real trouble.
“At first I couldn’t believe this was happening to me,” said Pam. “The gun really scared me, and I didn’t know if I’d get out alive. When I understood that he intended to hurt me, I said a prayer, and then I felt very calm. I knew I had to do something to get away from him.
“The car was going about 60 miles an hour, but I felt very strongly that I should jump—so I did. I remember the ground whizzing by me, I didn’t feel anything, though I got scraped up. When I stopped rolling, I just got up and ran as fast as I could, yelling at people to stop and help me. Finally someone took me to the police.”
Pam is one of the fortunate people who was able to escape without being seriously hurt. But it was a frightening experience, and she was very lucky. Afterwards she realized that it isn’t just other people who need to be cautious—that a life-threatening incident can happen to anyone.

Why is Floriano Oliveira, a member of the high council in a stake in Brazil, so successful as a missionary? Because he obeyed the Lord’s counsel to open his mouth and share the gospel. One day as he was driving through the congested traffic of São Paulo he took his eyes off the road for but a second and crashed into the car in front of him. He jumped out of the vehicle, hurried up to the car he had hit, opened the door and said, “I am so sorry I hit you. It was all my fault. I accept the full blame and will pay the total costs. I had no intention to do this, so please forgive me. Yet if I hadn’t hit you, you wouldn’t have received this message I have for you, the message that you have waited for all your life.” He then explained the restoration of the gospel to this man, who was a medical doctor, and the man joined the Church two weeks later. Why has Brother Oliveira had so much success in baptizing more than two hundred people? Obedience—obedience to the request of the Lord.

A few years ago, an impressive experience helped me realize how important this mental image is to my spiritual development.
All my life I had heard about the rewards of daily scripture study, but had never successfully formed the habit. Then one day I found myself on a committee working with five people who had each firmly established the habit of scripture study in their lives. I noticed their command of the scriptures in solving problems and teaching others. I marvelled at the way they used the scriptures to avoid personal discouragement and to receive counsel. As I watched them I began to imagine how much better my life would be if I had the scripture habit. The next thing I knew, I was studying the scriptures daily.
Forming a good mental image of who we are and what our values are can help determine who we become and how we live. Our self-image helps us define ourselves—and leads us to act accordingly. Mental pictures and ideas precede our every action. They can help or hinder our righteous progression.
Satan, for example, uses the principle to lead people to bondage. If he can lead us to imagine ourselves as innately sinful, we become uncomfortable in church or near righteous people and we withdraw from the ways of the Lord. Having defined ourselves as sinful, without hope or desire for redemption, we seek ways that are comfortable to our perception and persist in sin until we are “bound down by the chains of hell.” (Alma 13:30.)
On the other hand, if we think of ourselves as children of God, we are more likely to act accordingly. As this mental image of ourselves grows and matures, we find ourselves striving for the qualities and traits that are our inheritance from God—gentleness, love, honesty, consideration, and cheerfulness. Liberty, rather than bondage, is the result.
Alma encouraged his people to develop and maintain a righteous self-image. “Have ye received his [Christ’s] image in your countenances?” he asked them. “… Do you look forward with an eye of faith, and view this mortal body raised in immortality, and this corruption raised in incorruption, to stand before God to be judged according to the deeds which have been done in the mortal body? …
“Can you imagine to yourselves that ye hear the voice of the Lord, saying unto you, in that day: Come unto me ye blessed, for behold, your works have been the works of righteousness upon the face of the earth?” (Alma 5:14–16; italics added.)
Alma knew that an important step to helping people try the ways of the Lord is to help them form the mental picture of themselves performing the works of the Lord.
As parents, it is our responsibility to plant these mental images while our children are young, so the images can help guide their behavior.
One of the most profound means of instilling a righteous image in our children is through the use of scripture and family stories. My own image of what I wanted to be began with stories of my great-grandfather, Robert D. Young. He lived to be ninety-five years old and died when I was fourteen years old. But I love the man as much as if he had walked with me and taught me every step I was to take.
I have few recollections of my own concerning him, but I was raised on stories about him. One of my favorites told of how as a young teenager he had hired on with a group of cowboys to run a herd of cattle from Colorado to Texas. During the first few days of the journey, the owner of the herd, a very wealthy man with no family of his own, rode with the group, but then left to attend to other business. As the cowboys made their way to Texas, the other men, all older than grandfather, spent their free time in pursuits that grandfather didn’t consider worthwhile. Instead of joining them, he would find a quiet spot and study mathematics and engineering.
The night before they arrived at their destination, the other cowboys decided they wanted to go into a nearby town and celebrate their safe arrival. They tried to get grandfather to go, but grandfather insisted that he had been hired to tend the cattle, and he would do just that. Later that night, the owner returned to find grandfather alone with his cattle. He was so impressed that he offered grandfather one-half of all he owned if he would become his business partner. Grandfather would have never again wanted for anything, but he refused. He said he just didn’t feel like that was what the Lord wanted him to do.
Many times during my youth I remember thinking, “I want to be just like my grandfather!” Other times I would ask myself, “Now what would grandfather do?” and then act accordingly.
Uplifting stories from family history can help children develop the image of their divine potential. We can further guide them to identify with good examples through phrases such as, “You’re a lot like that,” or “That sounds like something you’d do.” But we must avoid the temptation to preach, or we may lose the effectiveness of the stories.
I’ve come to realize that my grandfather, being human, must have had faults and shortcomings. But no one has ever told me what they were, so I’ve been free to think only of the good. That is one of the secrets of instilling a righteous image in our children. Dwelling on the negative, unless there is an important lesson to be learned, helps no one. But relating the positive creates a mental image that the child can cling to and identify with.
In this same way, our extended family members, or neighbors, teachers, leaders, and others can serve as good examples to the children. A great deal of good is accomplished by verbally identifying the virtues of these individuals and using opportunities for these people to share their faith-promoting stories and testimonies when our children are present.
One evening I watched my daughters’ reactions as a beautiful friend visiting in our home told the story of meeting her husband. Her eyes sparkled as she explained that if she had disobeyed her father as she had been tempted to on that occasion, she would not have been present to meet the man she later married. Like thirsty sponges my daughters drank in her words. The story made a great impression on them. If I had tried to explain the same principle, they might have labeled it “preachy.” But my friend’s enthusiasm, spirit, and love made the experience memorable and helpful.
On another occasion, I shared a hospital room with a delightful woman in her eighties who had broken her hip. Despite her intense pain, she was determined to walk again and was full of faith and optimism. A few weeks after the hospital stay, I took my daughters to meet this good woman and her husband. We had a wonderful visit. They told us many stories of faith and love for the gospel. Now, four years later, the girls still retain an impression of the faith, joy, and love that comes from growing old in the gospel.
While exposing our children to as many positive role models as possible, we realized that two of their strongest examples should be us—their parents. However, like most parents, I often find myself discouraged because my children so easily pick up my faults despite my efforts to preach against them. I know that the very best way to give my children the proper image is to be what I want them to be. One of the greatest helps to doing this is for each marriage partner to use every opportunity possible to build up the other in the eyes of the children.
A wise man once told me that early in his marriage he and his wife realized that bad habits and character traits make themselves prominent because of their unpleasant consequences, while good traits go largely unnoticed, especially by a child who has had little experience with the world. To help their children identify the proper images, this couple determined to point out each other’s virtues to their children at every opportunity.
This little piece of advice is worth gold! For example, as the children and I wait in the car while my husband goes into a gas station to pay for gas, I take the opportunity to say, “Just look at that special man. He’s a man who loves God and tries so hard to keep the commandments.” Other times I am more specific. “Do you know one of the things I love about your father?” I’ll ask as I serve lunch. “I like his tenderness. Did you notice the tears in his eyes yesterday when Sister Jones bore her testimony?”
Not only does this build an image, but in effect I am also saying to the children, “This is what I value; this is what is important to me. These are traits that will make me proud of you, too.”
Another way to define a righteous image for children is to help them understand their patriarchal blessings. These blessings speak of the inheritance that can be theirs, the lineage they are a part of, and some of their promised blessings. Usually there are also phrases which tell of righteous characteristics and traits they possess. As we stress these traits and use them as living descriptions of the child, they can actually become part of the child’s self-image.
Phrases such as “Your Father in Heaven is pleased with you” help the child define himself as being good and accepted.
We needn’t wait until the child gets a patriarchal blessing to stress virtues, however. Nor do we need to limit ourselves to the particular virtues mentioned in a blessing. Parley P. Pratt has said, “An intelligent being, in the image of God, possesses every organ, attribute, sense, sympathy, affection, of will, wisdom, love, power and gift, which is possessed by God Himself.
“But these are possessed by man, in his rudimental state, in a subordinate sense of the word. Or, in other words, these attributes are in embryo; and are to be gradually developed.” (Key to the Science of Theology, 4th edition, Liverpool, England: Albert Carrington, 1877, p. 101.)
Since our children already possess virtuous character traits, our job is to help the child recognize them, allow them to grow, and keep them from being overlooked.
About the time she entered school, our daughter Anissa, who is nick-named Niss, began greeting each day with a negative attitude that affected the entire family. So I started calling her “Happy Niss.” That may seem strange, but it wasn’t a lie because I knew that happiness was and is an innate quality of her spirit.
“Good morning, Happy Niss,” I’d call in my most cheerful voice; and she’d call back, “I’m not happy. I’m just Niss.”
But I persisted in calling her Happy Niss. Things began to ease, but she still had grumpy mornings. Then one night as I tucked her into bed I said, “Do you know what I love, Happy Niss?”
“What?” she asked.
“I love to see that beautiful, bright, big smile of yours first thing in the morning. My whole day goes better when your smile is the first thing I see.”
She didn’t say a word. The next morning I was preparing breakfast when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see straggly haired, sleepy-eyed Anissa with the strangest forced grin stretched across her face.
“What is the matt—” I started, then stopped, remembering my words of the night before. “Oh, that smile!” I cried, and threw my arms around her. “I just know it’s going to be a good day now!” And it was.
The real climax to that experience came in a recent home evening when each of us was asked to describe one trait that made us unique or special. Anissa’s immediate response was, “I’m always happy.” The idea had now become part of her self-image.
Giving our children a righteous image to follow is perhaps one of the most important things we can do for them. If they can imagine themselves as righteous people, their actions commonly follow accordingly.
Ultimately, the image we use to determine our actions must be the image of Christ. As Alma said, “Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14.) Before we can lead our children to receive his image, we must adopt that image ourselves. To do this we must read and study the life and teachings of the Savior, sharing what we learn with our children. We must become so familiar with these things that they are not just words—but concepts, ideas, images in our minds of who and what we are.

At Church activities I would ask myself, “Why don’t I have friends?” I felt sad and alone and went to God in prayer. I asked my Heavenly Father to send me good friends. It hasn’t been easy, but over time I’ve made many great friends. I’m not afraid to talk anymore and to get involved with groups of girls. I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayers and that I was never alone.
Daiana I., 16, Corrientes, Argentina

Jean A. Stevens, first counselor in the Primary general presidency, told a story about a boy who had missed the last bus of the day and was walking home (page 81). With many miles left to go, he got scared and knelt to pray. Minutes later, Sister Stevens was prompted by the Spirit to stop and help him. Can you think of times when Heavenly Father answered your prayers? How have you helped answer someone else’s prayer?

I assumed our new ward in the East of England was a regular ward of the Church. It is full of good people, striving to do their best, ready to bring a casserole over when someone is sick, or lift boxes for an hour when a family needs moving. But at the same time, very busy with their lives.
So, when our family of seven unexpectedly had to move houses within the ward boundaries, I decided to do it all by myself. A few people offered to help, but I was sure that their offering was simply out of a sense of obligation, and I dislike inconveniencing people.
The moving day had nearly arrived. The moving van was booked, boxes packed, and two days off work arranged. The day before the move was a Sunday, so we thought attending sacrament meeting would be a respite before undertaking the arduous task of moving all our household belongings. The chapel was full that beautiful winter’s morning. A single row of chairs could not accommodate our entire family, so our eldest child, 14-year-old Preston, sat two rows in front of us on an aisle seat.
A few minutes into a talk by our high councillor, Preston slumped over and fell into the aisle and laid there for a few moments before the onset of a full-body seizure. The scene that followed was traumatic for all in attendance. The ensuing days and weeks in hospital, while Preston was intubated, was a time of great uncertainty.
But there was one special thing—the love and service offered by our ward members. The entire ward was mobilised to a degree I never would have imagined was possible. Sisters of the ward tended our children, not for hours but for days, to allow Preston’s mother and me to be by his side. Meals were provided; children were taken to and from school, and a kind sister with five children of her own drove five hours to pick up my mother from the airport.
And if that was not enough, other members worked until 1 a.m. to move our entire household and then clean the old home spotlessly. These and other labours of love were performed while my wife and I were far away at the regional medical facility with our son.
The hours spent in service to our family were incalculable and remarkably synchronised. How the bishopric and Relief Society presidency organised help was astounding. It took the notion of ward coordination to an entirely new level.
The spiritual encouragement of the loving bishop of the Huntingdon Ward, and the wisdom offered by the caring stake president of the Northampton Stake, were significant.
When all hope seemed lost, our children’s seminary teacher was called upon to provide a priesthood blessing of healing in an intensive care unit. That blessing appeared to shake the hospital’s foundation and replaced despair by faith in the hearts of Preston’s parents.
We learned many lessons from that harrowing experience. But chief among them is that, given the opportunity, members of the Church can marshal and serve with awe-inspiring intensity. There is no obligation, and no one waits for thanks. Members of the Church are disciples of Christ and invariably respond to the challenge, whether providing a casserole or moving an entire household.
In the end, it turns out we do belong to a regular ward of the Church. And we thank Heavenly Father every day for that fact.

Some years ago, I was called to serve as the bishop of a large ward. One evening, my telephone rang. I heard a voice say, “Bishop Monson, this is the hospital calling. Kathleen McKee, a member of your congregation, has just passed away. Your name is listed as the one to be notified of her death. Could you come to the hospital right away?”
Upon arriving there, I was presented with a key to the apartment in which Kathleen had lived. I entered her apartment, turned the light switch, and discovered a letter. It read:
“Bishop Monson,
“I think I shall not return from the hospital. In the kitchen are my three precious canaries. Two of them are beautiful, yellow-gold in color and perfectly marked. On their cages I have noted the names of friends to whom they are to be given. In the third cage is ‘Billie.’ He is my favorite. Billie looks a bit scrubby, and his yellow hue [color] is marred by gray on his wings. Will you and your family make a home for him? He isn’t the prettiest, but his song is the best.”
Kathleen McKee had befriended many neighbors in need. She had brightened each life she touched. Kathleen was much like “Billie,” her prized yellow canary with gray on its wings. She was not blessed with beauty. Yet her song helped others to more willingly bear their burdens.

A dear friend of mine sent me an old article from the Nebraska Advertiser, a Midwestern United States newspaper, dated July 9, 1857. It read: “This morning early a company of Mormons passed through on their journey to Salt Lake. Women (not very delicate to be sure) dragging hand carts like beasts, one [woman] tumbled down in this black mud which caused a slight halt in the procession, little children trudged along in their [strange] foreign dress looking as determined as their mothers.”

I’ve thought a lot about this mud-drenched woman. Why was she pulling alone? Was she a single mother? What gave her the inner strength, the grit, the perseverance to make such a wrenching journey through mud, pulling all her possessions in a handcart to an unknown desert home—at times being mocked by observers?

President Joseph F. Smith spoke of the inner strength of these pioneer women, saying: “Could you turn one of these women away from their convictions in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Could you darken their minds as to the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith? Could you blind them with reference to the divine mission of Jesus Christ, the Son of God? No, never in the world could you do it. Why? Because they knew it. God revealed it to them, and they understood it, and no power on earth could turn them from what they knew to be that truth.”

12. It’s interesting, too, how we create, cumulatively, expectations in the lives of our grandchildren even when we are not aware of it. Some years ago, when our grandson Robbie was about five, we dropped by to see his family in Orem. He was asleep upstairs, and his mother called, “Robbie, Grandpa Neal is here!” A tired little voice floated downstairs saying, “Shall I bring my scriptures?”
Of course, he was too young to read them, but he carried them, as so many do in the Church today in that fine new pattern!

These early seeds of faith sprouted still further when, as a young Aaronic Priesthood boy, I received a firsthand confirmation of the remarkable testimony of the Three Witnesses concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. My stake president was President Henry D. Moyle, and his father was James H. Moyle. In the summertime Brother James H. Moyle would visit his family, and he would worship with us in our little ward in the southeast of the Salt Lake Valley.

One Sunday, Brother James H. Moyle shared with us a singular experience. As a young man he went to the University of Michigan to study law. As he was finishing his studies, his father told him that David Whitmer, one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon, was still alive. The father suggested to his son that he stop on his way back to Salt Lake City to visit with David Whitmer face-to-face. Brother Moyle’s purpose was to ask him about his testimony concerning the golden plates and the Book of Mormon.

During that visit, Brother Moyle said to David Whitmer: “Sir, you are an old man, and I’m a young man. I have been studying about witnesses and testimonies. Please tell me the truth concerning your testimony as one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon.” David Whitmer then told this young man: “Yes, I held the golden plates in my hands, and they were shown to us by an angel. My testimony concerning the Book of Mormon is true.” David Whitmer was out of the Church, but he never denied his testimony of the angel’s visitation, of handling the golden plates, or of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Hearing with my own ears this remarkable experience directly from Brother Moyle’s lips had a powerful, confirming effect upon my growing testimony. Having heard it, I felt it was binding upon me.