Gospel Story Finder

Going to high school for the first time was so intimidating. No one else in my school was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and a lot of my classmates’ standards were different from mine. I wanted to make friends without having to lower my own standards, but that can be hard when you’re living in a country where it’s uncommon to have faith.
I stood out in my school. I didn’t drink alcohol or coffee and didn’t join the smokers during lunch breaks. I was bullied by a lot of my classmates. Sometimes my personal items like my phone or bike keys would be stolen and thrown in the trash or hidden somewhere in the school. I didn’t know what to do. I felt beaten, broken, and worthless.
But things began to change when I decided I would always pray on my knees before going to sleep and pour my heart out to Heavenly Father. I did this for many, many nights. The answer to my prayer didn’t come immediately, but over time I became stronger mentally.
The bullying never really stopped, but it didn’t affect me the same way as before. I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me and knew that He was listening to my prayers. I could feel His arms around me, protecting me.
Rosa-Lynn R., Netherlands

Cara put down her pencil and stared at the piece of paper on her desk. It was blank except for her name and a big eraser smudge. “What should I write?” she thought.
Across the aisle, her friend Lily was writing busily. Cara put her head down and rested it on her arm.
Cara really liked her new school. It was in a church building of another religion, and her new class was small enough that her teacher, Mrs. Schmidt, had time to help her with math. Every day after math, Mrs. Schmidt taught a lesson from the Bible. Usually the Bible lessons were a lot like what Cara had learned at home and in Primary.
But a few weeks ago during a lesson about baptism, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that babies who died before they were baptized couldn’t go to heaven. Then she said that one of her own children died right after he was born. When she said that, Mrs. Schmidt looked like she was going to cry.
“But babies who die do go to heaven,” Cara wanted to say. If only Mrs. Schmidt knew that, maybe she wouldn’t be so sad anymore. But Cara felt too shy to say anything.
After school, Cara told Mom about what Mrs. Schmidt said. “Knowing that babies go to heaven is one of the blessings we have because of the Book of Mormon,” Mom said. Cara hoped that Mrs. Schmidt would read the Book of Mormon someday. She wished she had the courage to tell her about it.
Now in today’s lesson, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all one person. Cara thought about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. She knew that They were two separate people and that each had a body. She was glad she knew that for sure, even before talking to Mom or Dad about it.
But then Mrs. Schmidt had said, “Class, please take out a piece of paper and write about what we have been talking about.”
That’s when Cara got a worried feeling in her stomach. She wanted to do the assignment the way her teacher wanted her to. Could she be brave enough to write what she knew was true?
With her head down on her desk, Cara began to say a silent prayer. “Please, dear Heavenly Father, what should I do?”
Almost at once, Cara began to feel calm and peaceful inside. The Holy Ghost whispered that if she wrote what was in her heart, everything would be OK.
Cara lifted her head, picked up her pencil, and began to write.
Heavenly Father and Jesus are two separate people. They have bodies of flesh and bone like we do. The Holy Ghost is a Spirit who can speak to us in our hearts.
After writing a few more sentences, Cara put her pencil down. She didn’t know what Mrs. Schmidt would think of what she had written, but she felt happy that she had been able to tell her teacher something important and true.

Now I’d like to share with you a lesson that a young man has taught. This, to me, is one of the most touching lessons of integrity I have ever read. This is the true story of Elam Hill, director of physical education at Sequoia Junior High:
Today I saw truth. For a moment I lived and breathed in the great presence of truth and felt its sweetness plunge deep into my soul. I am a coach in a junior high school. I work with five hundred boys each day. This has been my occupation for over twenty years. I enjoy it. Traditionally, I am supposed to be rugged, tough, crusty—yes, even a little severe at times. And yet underneath this exterior, feeling and understanding must exist if the job is to be done.
Today was test day in climbing the rope. We climb from a standing start to a point fifteen feet high. One of my tasks these past few weeks has been to train and teach the boys to negotiate this distance in as few seconds as possible. The school record for the event is 2.1 seconds. It has stood for three years. Today this record was broken. But this is not my story. How this record was broken is the important thing here, as it is so often in many an endeavor in life.
For three years Bobby Palacio, a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old ninth-grade Mexican boy, has trained and pointed and, I suspect, dreamed of breaking this record. It had been his consuming passion. It seemed his whole life depended upon owning this record. In his first of three attempts, Bobby climbed the rope in 2.1 seconds, tying the record. On the second try, the watch stopped at 2.0 seconds flat, a record. But as he descended the rope and the entire class gathered around to check the watch I knew I must ask Bobby a question. There was a slight doubt in my mind whether or not the board at the fifteen-foot height had been touched. If he missed, it was so very, very close, not more than a fraction of an inch, and only Bobby knew the answer.
As he walked toward me, expressionless, I said, “Bobby, did you touch?” If he had said yes, the record he had dreamed of since he was a skinny seventh grader and had worked for almost daily would be his, and he knew I would trust his word. With the class already cheering him for his performance, the slim, brown skinned boy shook his head negatively. And in this simple gesture, I witnessed a moment of greatness.
Coaches do not cry. Only babies cry, they say. But as I reached out to pat this boy on the shoulder, there was a small drop of water in each eye. And it was with effort through a tight throat that I told the class: “This boy has not set a record in the rope climb. No, he has set a much finer record for you and everyone to strive for. He has told the simple truth.” I turned to Bobby and said, “Bobby, I’m proud of you. You have just set a record many athletes never attain. Now, on your last try, I want you to jump a few inches higher on the takeoff. You’re going to break the record.”
After the other boys had finished their next turns and Bobby came up to the rope for his try, a strange stillness came over the gymnasium. Fifty boys and one coach were breathlessly set to help boost Bobby Palacio to a new record. He climbed the rope in 1.9 seconds—a school record, a city record, and perhaps close to a national record for a junior high school boy.
When the bell rang and I walked away, now misty-eyed, from this group of boys, I was thinking, “Bobby, little brown skin with your clear, bright, dark eyes and your straight, trim, lithe body—Bobby, at fourteen you are a better man than I. Thank you for climbing so very, very high today.” [Quoted from the California Teacher’s Journal]

When I was 20 years old and investigating the Church in Ulan-Ude, Russia, my brother and I sang in a music competition. I prayed that our music would touch the judges’ hearts. My prayer was answered when two of the judges were touched in such a way that they cried during our performance. And I was thrilled when we won second place and received a cash prize.
After my brother and I had divided the prize money, I remembered what I had learned about tithing—that the Lord’s 10 percent should be paid to the branch president. My family was having financial problems, and they argued that I shouldn’t pay 10 percent to God.
But one of the branch members showed me how to put my money in a tithing envelope. And I felt happy when I gave my first tithing to the branch president, believing that Heavenly Father would not let my family die for lack of money to buy food.
That evening, a friend of my mother’s came to our home. She wanted to help us and gave us more money than I had paid. That experience helped me very much. I was baptized six weeks later and am now serving a full-time mission.
I know that our happiness and well-being are influenced by how honest we are in paying our tithing. And my family now has the same opinion too!
Sister Marita Ivanova, Russia Samara Mission

In October of 2000 I experienced something I had never undergone before I went into a deep depression for several months. Oh, I had had a bad day here and there, had known frustration and disillusionment like everyone else, but I had never been trapped by the tentacles of clinical depression so severely that I simply could not be comforted and could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. For days at a time I only wanted to sleep or gaze at the walls or be alone. For weeks I felt as though I was in a closed casket, a prison cell that allowed no light or sound whatever. I prayed. Oh, how I prayed for deliverance. I sought for and received priesthood blessings. I counseled with others of my friends who had known this kind of pain and alienation from firsthand experience.

During those weeks of suffering, for some reason I had great difficulty feeling the Spirit. In my head I knew that I was "worthy," in the sense that I was striving to live in harmony with the teachings of the Savior, but I simply did not feel the peace and joy and divine approbation that I had come to expect and cherish. I knew in my mind, in my heart of hearts that the Lord was pleased with my life, but I did not feel close to God as I had felt only days and weeks before. This experience, which, by the way, passed within a short period of months, taught me something that was and is extremely valuable, namely, it is one thing to have the Spirit of the Lord with us, even the "constant companionship of that member of the Godhead" and another to always feel that influence. Many if not most times that the Spirit is enlightening us, we feel it. Many if not most times that we are being divinely led, we are very much aware of it. But there are occasions when the Holy Ghost empowers our words or directs our paths and we, like the Lamanites who had been taught by Helaman's sons (Nephi and Lehi), enjoy a mighty spiritual experience and know it not (3 Nephi 9:20). That is to say, there is a mental or intellectual component to spiritual living that is in many ways just as important as the emotional component. Sometimes God tells us in our minds, sometimes in our hearts, and sometimes both (see D&C 8:2-3; 128:1).

What a state championship game this has been! Hillside and Boxer hammering each other all night, and now it’s down to this—four seconds left, Boxer leads by two, 77–75, but Hillside has the ball. Can they go anywhere but to Ryan Wilson? He’s having the game of his life. Thirty-two points, four steals, 12 assists. He’s been hot all night. But does he take the final shot? Everyone knows he’s the go-to guy, and you can bet that Boxer’s defense will be all over him.
Hillside needs to inbound quickly and get off the shot. Okay, here they go. Boxer has two men on Wilson. Whoah! How’d he get free? He’s got the ball, he starts a drive … No, he pulls back. Did you see that fake? Unbelievable! Is he behind the line? Yes, it’s from three-point land, and it’s … GOOD! Hillside wins! Ryan Wilson gives Hillside its fourth consecutive state championship!
Boy, he’s done everything right tonight. Everything. Defense, passing, scoring. Now he wins it all with a trey from downtown! Two men on him. He fires off a prayer. But for Ryan Wilson, once again the prayer has been answered …

Soon after her family moved to Florida, someone invited them to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Kavira’s sister had been learning some sign language, so she interpreted for her. Kavira says learning about Jesus Christ and His gospel “saved my life.” Before that, she felt like her life had a lot of problems. “I was kind of depressed, and I was cruel and mean to other people.”
But after learning more about God, “I wanted to be a good person,” she says. “I cared about my family. I didn’t want to be mean to people. I wanted to change my life. It wasn’t an easy choice to make, but as I learned more about God, I felt different. I want to be like Him.”

Brigham Young was in Peterborough, New Hampshire, when he received news that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been killed. He immediately left New England and returned to Nauvoo. Within two years, he would start leading groups of Mormon pioneers to the West.
Not far from Peterborough—in an area that today is in the Nashua New Hampshire Stake—Latter-day Saint youth had their own pioneer trek in 2009. But the journey began long before anyone started pulling a handcart.
To gain spiritual strength, many of the pioneers sought temple blessings before leaving Nauvoo. Like those early Saints, members of the Nashua stake took the opportunity to participate in temple work and other activities that would strengthen them. They focused on preparing for two journeys: the 17-mile handcart trek they were about to make and the spiritual journey they would undertake.
They did this through the “Trail of Faith Award,” which stake leaders invited all members of the stake—not just the youth—to participate in. Many of the goals of the program, which began in January, overlapped with requirements from Duty to God, Personal Progress, and the Brand New Year fireside. Other challenges were specific to the stake. All of them helped participants draw closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“Trail of Faith helped me realize that we weren’t just going on a 17-mile hike or having another youth conference,” says Alexander Petrie, 16. “This was something a little bit different.”
One of the things that made it different for Alexander was memorizing several hymns, including “Press Forward, Saints” (Hymns, no. 81). “Later, when I was on trek and it was getting a little bit tough, the words of that hymn kept going over and over in my mind,” he says. “I really felt strength from its words. I’ve realized that hymns are a good thing to memorize and to have in our mind anytime we encounter something difficult. I’m so grateful that the Trail of Faith Award helped me prepare.”
Alden Durham, 12, was not yet old enough to participate in the trek, but, along with his family, he completed the Trail of Faith Award. Two of his most memorable goals involved daily scripture study and journal writing. “When I do these things, I feel the Spirit more, and I definitely act different when I feel the Spirit. I try to be a better brother to my four sisters.”
Alexander Jeffrey, also 12, said his favorite goal was performing baptisms for the dead at the Boston Temple, something he had done only once before. “Doing the Trail of Faith gave me a new understanding and got me better prepared for doing some of these goals and habits on my own,” he says.
Participating in temple work was meaningful for Julia Parker, 16, as well. “It was really neat to take names of people who were related to us—our own ancestors,” she recalls. “When I went to the temple, I thought about them as individual people with individual lives and individual interests. I thought about their testimonies and their experiences and their trials. It was really cool to feel connected with them.”
Upon completing the Trail of Faith Award requirements, stake members were given a small medallion so they could remember things they had experienced and felt. “I came out with a medallion at the end,” says Emily Durham, 17, “but I also came out with a stronger testimony.”
After months of preparation through the Trail of Faith Award, firesides, and other stake-wide activities, the group was ready to embark on its three-day, two-night, 17-mile journey.
The area they live in is rich in American history, so in many ways, the trek experience wasn’t much different from things that youth in the Nashua Stake participate in regularly at school. After all, Emily points out, “Those of us who grew up here have gone on walks at Walden Pond and taken field trips to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,” she says. But remembering pioneer heritage at youth conference was somehow different.
Elizabeth Jeffrey, 15, agrees. “You dress up, pull handcarts, and have a fun, spiritual experience with your friends,” she says. “I expected that. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be—the actual, physical pulling over hills and rocks and things.
“We were only walking 17 miles; the pioneers walked over a thousand miles to Utah,” she continues. “I think about them differently now. Instead of a Sunday School story on a page, I believe I can now feel a little bit of their struggles and their pains and their great joy. It all became more real when I went on trek.”
As the youth and their leaders completed the trek, other stake members gathered at a local park for a “Welcome to the Valley” celebration. McKenna Gustafson, 14, remembers feeling “so happy” when she was greeted by the cheering of more than 900 people.
“I saw my younger brothers and sisters running toward us, and I started crying,” she remembers. “I thought about what it will be like in heaven when we see our family and friends who have gone before us and what an awesome reunion that will be.”
As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.
Other youth shared the gospel by telling their friends how they were spending three days of their summer vacation. Others got to know people in the community who had made the trek possible. Youth and adults became friends with kind community members who agreed to let the 150 youth and adults camp on their private property; one of the couples who did so came to a testimony meeting, shared their own feelings, and invited the youth to return.
“In planning trek, we wanted the youth of the stake to recognize that they can do hard things,” says President Mark Durham of the stake presidency. “Trail of Faith and trek were both part of that.
“What the pioneers did is just unbelievable, but they took it a little bit at a time, and they had their testimony and their faith as a foundation. We can also move one foot in front of the other foot, just like they did.”
James Parker, 18, says that his experiences last summer have helped him to be more diligent in living the gospel and to have a better attitude about the things he is asked to do as a Church member today.
“The pioneers had to get up every day and make a conscious decision to pull their handcarts miles and miles. Trek was a good reminder of the sacrifices they made for the gospel,” he says.
“We’re not asked to do anything as dramatic as that, but I can get up every day and consciously decide to pray and read my scriptures and be reminded of what the gospel is worth to me. Because of trek, I know how much the gospel of Jesus Christ was worth to the pioneers, and their sacrifice makes it more valuable to me.”

If you’ve ever felt lonely because Latter-day Saint youth are in the minority at your school, imagine how Santosh Ramish, age 14, of Hyderabad, India, must feel. After all, he’s one of a handful of Saints in a country whose population is 750 million.
Almost one out of every seven people in the world lives in India, the world’s second most populous country after China. Eighty-three percent are Hindu, 11 percent are Muslim, and the remaining 6 percent are divided between Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains, in that order.
But does Santosh feel alone or discriminated against?
Not at all. “There is freedom of religion,” he says. “Although my school friends do tease me for not drinking coffee. It is a land of many languages, cultures, and traditions.”
That probably sums up Santosh’s homeland. India features 14 major native languages and more than 1,000 minor ones. He speaks two of his country’s 14 major languages, and is fluent in English as well.
When it comes to culture, many teenagers around the world would find the world of Santosh very foreign. People do not date in India. Youth socialize only with members of the same sex. Parties and dances for youth are unheard of, and husbands or wives are usually selected by agreements between parents.
But what if you fall in love with someone else?
“In India, you can’t leave parents or disobey them,” says Santosh. Even after marriage, a young couple often lives with the parents of the groom. These days, however, more and more couples are getting out on their own.
There are some things that form a common bond between Santosh and other teenagers all over the world. One of those things is the gospel. Santosh was introduced to the gospel through his uncle, Dr. Edwin Dharma Raju, who joined the Church in Samoa when he was on assignment from the government of India.
When Dr. Raju returned to India, he wanted his family to hear the gospel message, and he wrote to Church headquarters for missionaries to be sent to his family. Instead, Dr. Raju and his wife were sent on a short-term mission to teach the family themselves.
Santosh was eight years old when he and several family members accepted the gospel. The water storage tank on the roof of his uncle Henry’s building was scrubbed and painted to serve as a baptismal font. The men and boys who attended the baptism were dressed in traditional white, loose-fitting Indian jackets and trousers. The women were dressed in white saris, the standard dress of Indian women, consisting of a long piece of cloth draped over the shoulder and wrapped around the body. The newly baptized family was to form the beginnings of the branch in Hyderabad.
Santosh is now a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood in that branch. He and his brother Sanjay, 12, and sister Sunitha, 16, are the only youth there, but they take a very active part. Santosh arrives at the mission home, where church services are held, a half hour early each Sunday to prepare the sacrament. He is always ready to give a talk or teach a lesson to any age group. Sunitha is the branch chorister and teaches a Primary class, and Sanjay takes on various assignments and is often the first one to bear his testimony on fast Sunday.
Santosh is also preparing for a mission. “I have thought a lot about a mission,” he says. “I used to dream of going to a very remote island or a place where I could convert and baptize everyone. Now that they are calling Indian youth to serve in India, I would like to serve a mission here.”
His dreams also include medical school, which is extremely difficult to get into in his country. Of the 50,000 students who take examinations each year to apply, only 2,000 will be accepted. Only those with the highest grades can enter medical school.
Santosh, like many Indian children, has been going to school since he was three. He will graduate at 17. In the meantime, he carries a heavy academic load.
His day starts before 6 A.M., when he hurries off for an hour session with a tutor. Since his classes at the private Christian school contain anywhere from 40 to 70 students, the time he spends with his tutor and four or five other students is essential.
He then comes home, prepares for school, reads the newspaper to keep up with current affairs, and then takes the bus to school. Once there, he attends eight classes, among them mathematics, physics, biology, and three different language classes.
Santosh is in the 10th class, where it is crucial to be one of the best students. He has even had to give up most of the sports he likes so well, like cricket and badminton, in order to excel. He has to take major tests every month and exams every three months to determine his position in college.
After school, Santosh does homework and a little recreational reading until it’s time for the evening meal at 8:00 P.M. At 9:00 he meets with his tutor for another hour and a half.
Although school takes up a major portion of his day, he still finds time for the Church and for scripture study. “I have a very strong testimony,” he says. “I thank my Heavenly Father for it. I know that the Book of Mormon, the Holy Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price are companion scriptures and the word of God.”
That knowledge, plus the support of his family, are enough to sustain him in his minority religious status. “I hope I will have the strength to resist temptations,” he says. “I love this church, and don’t ever want to go away from it.”

It was Christmas Eve. Alone in his car, Dan Lytle had driven four and a half hours through the thick California fog. For the same four and a half hours he had followed the same white car with the same green and white license plates through the same unending fog.
Dan hadn’t been this tired since his mission. But he had a diamond ring in his pocket, and there was a girl in San Leandro waiting up for him. Dan reckoned there would be at least another three hours of driving before he could put the ring on Callie’s finger.
Looks like a long night, he said to himself as he and a thousand other drivers rushed through the fog.
Dan turned the car’s radio dial, looking for Christmas music to help pass the hours. Isn’t it unusual, he thought, how sometimes at night the car radio can bring in radio stations from across the country—and how at other times the same radio brings in only static. He turned the radio off.
For perhaps another hour Dan passed through a foggy world where literally all he could see was the back end of a white car with green and white license plates. It was tense, tedious driving, requiring full attention. And then into his mind came a still, small, prompting thought: “Dan, pull over into the far right lane and slow down.”
Slow down? Why? Weren’t all the other cars and trucks doing just fine hurtling through the thick mist as if there were no such thing as three-meter visibility? Besides—it was late. Even if he kept to his present speed, Dan couldn’t hope to open the ring box until well after this foggy Christmas Eve had turned into a foggy Christmas day.
Dan wondered. Had the Spirit really warned him? Or had it been just the normal workings of a cautious mind? Couldn’t he just continue at the same speed as everyone else? Was it really important that he pull over to the right and slow down?
Again came the prompting: “Dan, if there were a wreck on the freeway, there is no way you could stop in time: You’d slam right into the wreckage. You really should pull over to the right and slow down.”
Dan Lytle had been taught that he should never ignore the promptings of the Spirit. Reluctantly, he signaled, then pulled his car over and cut his speed. The white car with the green and white license plates sped on, and instantly was swallowed up in the impenetrable fog.
Better late than not at all, I guess, he thought ruefully. He calculated that at his new speed, he likely would be on the road for quite some time.
Dan Lytle peered intently through the fog.
And then, suddenly, out of the fog came the red glare of tail lights. Flares appeared on the roadway, along with police cars with flashing lights. A policeman, walking between lanes of now halted cars, passed the word: “Terrible accident up ahead—lots of cars and trucks in a big accident. Be patient, folks—we’re trying to clear out one lane so you can get by.”
It took a long time for the four lanes of northbound cars to merge into one lane. Dan’s concern for the accident victims grew to disbelief and then near nausea as he was waved past the massive crash.
He saw crumpled cars, jack-knifed trucks, ambulances, patrol cars, paramedics—and motionless human forms under blankets at the side of the road.
As his car crept past the wreckage, Dan counted the demolished vehicles—10 … 20 … 30. How many more people on Christmas Eve, delayed at best, dead on the highway at worst?
And there: number 41. A horrified Dan Lytle recognized what had been a white car with green and white license plates—now jammed between the wreckage of number 40 and number 42.
For hours and hours I followed that car, thought Dan. For hours and hours—until the Spirit told me to move over and slow down.
What if I hadn’t been in tune to receive the warning? Or, what if I had received the warning and then had ignored it? He shuddered at the thought. Dan understood now as never before the principle his bishop had learned those many years ago.
With the massive accident scene finally behind him, Dan resumed his previous slow speed. He turned on the car radio, and from a station many kilometers away came Christmas music, clear and sweet and reassuring.
There was not the slightest trace of static.

On one occasion while serving in the temple I observed a 12-year-old boy, dressed in white, who had come to perform proxy baptisms and confirmations. He was in a wheelchair, for he had been born without arms or legs. His spirit was whole and his small body was only temporarily deprived. He had come to the temple intending only to do confirmations, which at first appearance seemed quite convenient as he remained in his wheelchair. But, with encouragement from ordinance workers, he was taken into the font and there immersed as proxy for others who, if permitted to witness, must have wept at the honor of having such a special son of God baptized for them.

I imagined that this young man, in far greater proportion than myself and others, understood the great miracle of a body, complete and whole. He did not feel sorry for himself. His spirit soared and he bore a fervent testimony. He had learned to swim like a dolphin. He could write with a pencil in his mouth. He could attend to many of his own needs. He undoubtedly was also grateful for the heavenly assurance that someday his tabernacle would be added upon and perfected, in the image of his God. The boy's name is Gabriel. For a brief moment we were blessed by the presence of our own angel Gabriel in the Bountiful Temple. He came without wings, or even arms or legs.

At Sunday meetings in the Kirtland Temple, many people were criticizing the Prophet when he wasn’t there. Although a visitor and a new member, John Taylor asked for permission to speak at the meeting.
May I say a few words, Brother?
John was given permission to speak, and he bore testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
If the spirit which the Prophet is showing us does not bring blessings, I am very much afraid that the spirit shown by those who have spoken against him will not be very likely to bring them.

I grew up in the village of Fitiuta, Manu’a in American Samoa. Fitiuta is one of the 3 villages on the island of Ta’u, Manu’a. It is 70 miles east of the main island of Tutuila, American Samoa. In the 1960s, I lived in the village of Fitiuta with my family until I was 12 years old when we moved here to Hawaii. The only form of transportation between the main island of Tutuila and the Manu’a islands is a small steam ship that travels there once a week. There is no wharf so the ship would dock out in the blue ocean and the villagers would row a longboat out to meet the ship and pick up the supplies and the passengers. It is very dangerous and wet especially when the tide is high. I remembered one of those trips our family were told to wait for two missionaries that will be coming from Tutuila to Fitiuta. So, our family went to the shore to wait for the ship to arrive. I was watching from the shore as the men of the village rowed the longboat out to meet the ship, and for some reason my Dad wasn’t on the longboat. I saw two missionaries with white shirts standing on the edge of the ship getting ready to jump on to the longboat but they were stopped by some of the men indicating that they are not to board the longboat.

However, the men reached out for the missionaries’ suitcases. When they got the suitcases from the missionaries, they threw them in the blue ocean and I can see the suitcases floating away. My father saw what was happening to our palagi (Caucasian) missionaries so he waited until the longboat returned to shore. When they returned my Dad jumped in the longboat and told the men of the village that the two missionaries are ministers of his church and they are supposed to respect and honor them just like how they respect the minister of their LMS church. So, the men and along with my Dad went back to the ship and picked up our two missionaries. I’m not sure about their suitcases though. They were shocked and probably wished that they could go back to Tutuila on the steam ship right then and there but they stayed. It was this experience that was the beginning of the missionaries’ journey of finding their voice in the village of Fitiuta and find ways to continue to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ.

It was Christmas Eve. Alone in his car, Dan Lytle had driven four and a half hours through the thick California fog. For the same four and a half hours he had followed the same white Volkswagen bug with the same green and white Washington plates through the same unending fog.
Dan hadn’t been this tired since his mission. But he had a diamond ring in his pocket, and there was a girl in San Leandro waiting up for him. Dan reckoned there would be at least another three hours of driving before he could put the ring on Callie’s finger.
Looks like a long night, he said to himself as he and a thousand other drivers rushed through the fog.
Dan turned the car’s radio dial, looking for Christmas music to help pass the hours. Funny, he thought, how sometimes at night your car radio can bring in Los Angeles or Salt Lake or Omaha—and how at other times the same radio brings in only static. He turned the radio off.
For perhaps another hour Dan passed through a foggy world where literally all he could see was the back end of a white Volkswagen bug with green and white license plates. It was tense, tedious driving, requiring full attention.
And then into his mind came a still, small, prompting thought: “Dan, pull over into the far right lane and slow down.”
Slow down? Why? Weren’t all the other cars and trucks doing just fine hurtling through the thick mist as if there were no such thing as ten-foot visibility?
Besides—it was late. Even if he kept to his present speed, Dan couldn’t hope to open the ring box until well after this foggy Christmas Eve had turned into a foggy Christmas day.
Dan wondered. Had the Spirit really warned him? Or had it been just the normal workings of a cautious mind? Couldn’t he just continue at the same speed as everyone else? Was it really important that he pull over to the right and slow down?
Again came the prompting: “Dan, if there were a wreck on the freeway, there is no way you could stop in time: You’d slam right into the wreckage. You really should pull over to the right and slow down.”
Dan Lytle had been taught that he should never ignore the promptings of the Spirit. Reluctantly, he signaled, then pulled his car over and cut his speed. The white Volkswagen bug with Washington plates sped on, and instantly was swallowed up in the impenetrable fog.
Better late than not at all, I guess, he thought ruefully. He calculated that at his new speed, he likely would be on the road for quite some time.
What if Bishop Clark had not been in tune with the Spirit that Christmas Eve so long ago? thought Dan Lytle. Or what if he had ignored the prompting?
Dan Lytle peered intently through the fog. “Modesto, 12 miles,” he read. Got to be careful I don’t miss the Oakland turnoff. A fellow could drive right past it in this fog.
And then, suddenly, out of the fog came the red glare of tail lights. Flares appeared on the roadway, along with highway patrol cars with flashing lights. A trooper, walking between lanes of now halted cars, passed the word: “Terrible accident up ahead—dozens of cars and trucks in a big pileup. Be patient, folks—we’re trying to clear out one lane so you can get by.”
It took a long time for the four lanes of northbound cars to merge into one lane. Dan’s concern for the accident victims grew to disbelief and then near nausea as he was waved past the massive jam-up.
He saw crumpled cars, jack-knifed trucks, ambulances, patrol cars, paramedics—and motionless human forms under blankets at the side of the road.
As his car crept past the wreckage, Dan counted the demolished vehicles—10 … 20 … 30. How many more people on Christmas Eve, delayed at best, dead on the highway at worst?
And there: number 41. A horrified Dan Lytle recognized what had been a white Volkswagen bug with Washington license plates—now jammed into an accordion between the wreckage of number 40 and number 42.
For hours and hours I followed that car, thought Dan. For hours and hours—until the Spirit told me to move over and slow down.
What if I hadn’t been in tune to receive the warning? Or, what if I had received the warning and then had ignored it? He shuddered at the thought. Dan understood now as never before the principle his bishop had learned those many years ago.
With the massive accident scene finally behind him, Dan resumed his previous slow speed. He turned on the car radio, and from a station a thousand miles away came Christmas music, clear and sweet and reassuring.
There was not the slightest trace of static.

Robbie wiped the sweat from his face. The sun beat down on him as he played ball with other fourth-grade boys.
Seth threw the ball to Robbie. A boy on the other team lunged for it, but missed. Robbie dove for the ball and caught it before it hit the ground. The other boy called Robbie a mean name.
“Don’t let him get away with saying that, Robbie,” Seth said.
Robbie ignored the mean name and took his position. Some of the boys snickered.
Robbie couldn’t get the word out of his mind. When his team won the game, he didn’t feel like celebrating with his teammates.
That evening, Robbie told Dad what happened. “Why did he call me that word?” Robbie asked.
“Not everyone believes what we do,” Dad said. “Some people think using words like that makes them seem cool. Words have a lot of power. They can build people up or tear them down.”
“Seth told me not to let the boy get away with saying what he did,” Robbie said.
“What did you do?” Dad asked.
Robbie looked down. “I ignored him and kept playing,” Robbie said.
Dad hugged Robbie. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
Robbie was happy to hear Dad say that. “I guess you’re right,” Robbie said, smiling. “Words do have a lot of power.”

The third key relationship we have is with our fellowman. We build this relationship one person at a time—by being sensitive to the needs of others, serving them, and giving of our time and talents. I was deeply impressed by one sister who was burdened with the challenges of age and illness but decided that although she couldn’t do much, she could listen. And so each week she watched for people who looked troubled or discouraged, and she spent time with them, listening. What a blessing she was in the lives of so many people.

One evening when my son Peter was only seven weeks old, I sat rocking him in our living room. I was telling him what a beautiful and precious little boy he was when a question came to my mind: “Who would you want to raise this child if you couldn’t do it yourself?”
I thought “I would choose a loving family who had peace and harmony in their home. They would love and encourage him and help him to know he is a child of God. Even when annoyed, they would speak in quiet tones. They would also be honest in both word and deed. I would want Peter to feel comfortable and secure with them.”
“Yes,” I thought, “I would want such a family to love him and to help and encourage him as they raised him in the gospel.”
Then a second thought came clearly to my mind, almost as if Heavenly Father had spoken to me: That’s how I felt as I passed this little spirit into your care.
I knew then how our loving heavenly parents must feel as they give their children to us to rear in mortality. I realized, too, how precious each child is to them just as my children are to me.
As I thought about the parenting characteristics the Lord would want me to have, I felt humbled, for I knew that I would often fail. But I also felt a sense of great joy as I promised my Heavenly Father that I would try hard to be the kind of mother he would have me be.

Lorraine and Janet Fisher of the Worcester Ward explained how they handle going to parties. “We go to our friends’ parties, but it’s never been a problem. One friend brings his instant chocolate and another brings the milk. Never once have I ever been pressured into doing anything I didn’t believe I should. And they admire us. Our friends used to drink at parties, but now they don’t. They stopped drinking because they saw we had a better time. They found out you don’t need to drink to have a good time.”

In conclusion, I would like to leave you with an illustration that I hope will summarize what I have attempted to share with you today. It was 17 years ago this month that I graduated from Brigham Young University with a doctorate in counseling psychology. I value the many things I learned in my philosophical and clinical training, and I’m grateful for the experiences I had with fellow students, faculty, staff, and others, but the one academic experience I treasure the most occurred during the very last hour of my graduate school experience.

In my particular discipline we were required to conduct original research in an area of our choice, formally write up the study in a doctoral dissertation, and then defend our work before an examination committee. The results of this exam determined whether we would pass or fail. I looked forward to defending my dissertation. I had worked hard and had been greatly blessed by studying my particular topic. I had also received tremendous help from the professors on my committee and felt confidant that I could adequately defend my work.

The first 15 minutes of the examination went quite smoothly. The questions were straightforward, and I felt I answered them well. I began to feel the excitement of having achieved a goal I had been working toward for several years. The next set of questions were more difficult, as we began to discuss some of the debatable parts of my work. I still felt fairly confident in my answers. Even though I realized that I would probably need to make some revisions, I felt I would pass. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. One of the professors on the examination committee voiced his feelings that he wasn’t happy with the overall scope of my study. He didn’t know if he could give me a passing vote. After several more attempts to defend my work, I realized that this professor would not be convinced—and what he was saying appeared to be influencing the others. I began to lose hope.

At that critical moment, another member of my committee, Professor Richard N. Williams, asked the examination committee if he could make a few comments. For the next several minutes Professor Williams defended my work and he defended me. The spirit in the room changed dramatically. Differences were reconciled, a vote was taken, and I passed the examination and graduated—fulfilling the dream of a lifetime.

I hope each of you at some time in your life can have someone stand up for you, plead your cause, and rescue you as Professor Williams did. This experience helped me understand in a very meaningful way what is meant in scripture when the Savior is referred to as our “advocate with the Father” (D&C 110:4; JST, 1 John 2:1).

On my mission, I heard phrases like these from missionaries and members:
“You can’t be as spiritual after your mission as you were on the mission.”
“Take advantage of this time, because you’ll never get spiritual experiences like this ever again.”
“This is the one time in your life where you can truly consecrate your life to the Lord.”
With only a transfer left of my mission, I was afraid to come home after hearing messages like these. I was scared of who I would be after my mission. Could I have the same wonderful experiences I’d had as a missionary? What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t fully consecrate my life to Heavenly Father anymore?
I used to believe that I couldn’t be as spiritual after my mission—until I learned what it actually means to consecrate your life.
One day, after I returned home from my mission, I was sitting in an endowment session and listening to the covenants I was making. As I listened, the truth finally sank in that one of the covenants we make in the temple is, in fact, to keep the law of consecration.
I was stunned. Why would one of our covenants with Heavenly Father be to keep the law of consecration if, like I’d worried when I was ending my missionary service, it wasn’t something we could live up to?
It was then that I realized I’d misunderstood—we are all, as disciples of Jesus Christ, striving to live the law of consecration. The law of consecration is part of our covenants because God intended for us to live a consecrated life!
“The law of consecration is a principle the Lord gives to His covenant people. To live this principle, men and women dedicate themselves completely to building up God’s kingdom and ensuring there are ‘no poor among them’ (Moses 7:18). They give their time, talents, and material resources to serve the Lord, His Church, and His children.”
This simple explanation helped me realize what it means to live a consecrated life after my mission and for the rest of my life.
Consecration, I’ve realized, doesn’t mean sitting and reading my scriptures all day. Consecration means following God’s commandments and using my time and talents to create a life that glorifies Him.
Even though I wasn’t a full-time missionary anymore, I was living a dedicated and consecrated life—I was doing it by making God part of my personal decisions. Whether it was about work, school, or developing my personal talents, involving Heavenly Father in my choices brought joy into my life. As I continued to involve Him in my life, I realized that His plan for me didn’t mean having me be a full-time missionary for the rest of my life. Instead, He needed me to build His kingdom in other ways. And these ways are just as important to Him as full-time missionary service.
As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught:
“When we look at our lives and see a hundred things to do, we feel overwhelmed. When we see one thing—loving and serving God and His children, in a hundred different ways—then we can work on those things with joy.
“This is how we offer our whole souls—by sacrificing anything that’s holding us back and consecrating the rest to the Lord and His purposes.”
I didn’t lose value as a daughter of God when I was no longer a full-time missionary. God valued me the same before, during, and after my mission. But now, because of my mission experiences, I have the spiritual maturity I need to continue my life in the direction God wants me to. Now I can confidently share my spiritual experiences with others.
Keeping your testimony strong after the mission can be tough work. But I truly believe that as I have put in the effort to continue to read my scriptures every day, attend the temple frequently, stay engaged in my ward, and keep Heavenly Father close to me through my decisions, I have been just as blessed with miracles and spiritual experiences as I was as a missionary.
I loved my mission, but I have found even greater joy being home and being part of God’s work in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I feel like I am a better disciple of Christ than I’ve ever been as I have made God my priority. And this goal is possible for everyone!
That has been the true miracle—that there is growth and a wonderful future for all of God’s missionaries when they come home. God blesses our work as missionaries and returned missionaries as we put in the work to stay on His covenant path.