Gospel Story Finder

Growing up in Brazil, my father always told me stories about my grandfather—how he immigrated from Germany to Brazil at a very early age and did not have the opportunity to study. My grandfather worked as a painter in the local community. He took a lot of pride in his work and would always do his best to exceed his customers’ expectations. As a result, he always had a lot of work available to him. Through his work, he was able to provide a good living for his wife and their five children. They were not rich. Life was still challenging, but they had their own house and covered the basic needs of life. They were happy.

One of the songs that has disappeared was number 163, “Don’t Kill the Little Birds,” and I remember many times singing with a loud voice:
Don’t kill the little birds,
That sing on bush and tree,
All thro’ the summer days,
Their sweetest melody.
Don’t shoot the little birds!
The earth is God’s estate,
And he provideth food
For small as well as great.
(Deseret Songs, 1909, no. 163.)
I had a sling and I had a flipper. I made them myself, and they worked very well. It was my duty to walk the cows to the pasture a mile away from home. There were large cottonwood trees lining the road, and I remember that it was quite a temptation to shoot the little birds “that sing on bush and tree,” because I was a pretty good shot and I could hit a post at fifty yards’ distance or I could hit the trunk of a tree. But I think perhaps because I sang nearly every Sunday, “Don’t Kill the Little Birds,” I was restrained. The second verse goes:
Don’t kill the little birds
Their plumage wings the air,
Their trill at early morn
Makes music ev’ry-where.
What tho’ the cherries fall
Half eaten from the stem?
And berries disappear,
In garden, field, and glen?
This made a real impression on me, so I could see no great fun in having a beautiful little bird fall at my feet.

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” in two different languages—Malay and Chinese.
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t really feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“That should be fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. They gave her a small picture of Jesus to help her think about Him. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge. “Will you try to pray during the week?” they asked.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she’d practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She wanted to keep praying every day.

Some years back, one of my daughters experienced a setback in her life that had her seeking guidance. She and a wonderful young man had decided after dating for some time that they would part ways. It wasn't easy for her. She worried, at the ripe old age of 25, that she had missed the most important time in her life to get married and that another young man would never come along. She wondered if she was living in the right place, attending the right ward, and working in the right company to meet the man that would eventually take her to the temple of God.

She was living in Manhattan, and at that time, we lived in Connecticut. She asked me if she could come out to our home and receive a father's blessing. I jumped at the chance to do it. Her blessing turned out to be quite interesting and taught me some things. While giving her the blessing, the words of a hymn came to my mind as I counsel to her. I quote, "Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom. Lead thou me on! The night is dark and I am far from home. Lead thou me on! Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene - one step enough for me."

What interesting counsel, what important advice! I do not ask to see the distant scene; I don't have to know the end from the beginning; but I only need the light, the Holy Ghost, to guide me step by step. As I move forward in faith, the light will move with me, just enough to illuminate my path, and from there, I can see to take just one more step forward, all the time exercising my faith and paying close attention to the light that I have.

Within a few days, my daughter called me on the phone very excited, “Dad, I have decided that I need to move to Austin, Texas.” "Good heavens," I said, "that was quite a step!" We had no relatives there and few friends. I recall saying to her on the phone, "I am not even sure that I know where Texas is!"

To make a long story short, within a few weeks, she had found a job in Austin. A few weeks after that, we moved her and a few of her belongings, into a small apartment. In time, she met friends in her ward. With the passage of a little more time, she met just the right man who likewise had serendipitously ended up in Austin. They are now the proud parents of the three of the eleven cutest and most intelligent grandkids on the planet! All as a result of exercising a little faith in the guidance she received.

I remember some years ago an experience I had while directing one of the religious education programs of the Church in Southern California.
One of my responsibilities as a coordinator was to secure property, eventually erect an institute building, and then provide a religious program for our college youth. We had secured a wonderful institute site adjacent to the Los Angeles State College. Shortly after the transaction was consummated, the State of California indicated to me that they wanted to take the property by right of eminent domain, which was their prerogative. I checked with my superiors and they said, “Look into the legal side and see if we still don’t have a chance.” I did. We went into court for a hearing. The judge was impressed with the program of the Church and what we do for youth and people. We were sent back to do some additional homework and gather added information.
The day came for the final hearing, and I had about eight hours of work to do in four when at that very moment about ten o’clock one morning a knock came at the door, and because of my frustration I almost said (but I didn’t), “COME IN!” Instead I said, “Come in.” And in the framework of that door stood a 19-year-old USC freshman student who had refused our offers to come and join our group on four previous occasions. His head bowed, hands in his pockets, he said, “Brother Dunn, I have got to see you, now.” And I almost said (but I didn’t), “Can’t you see I am busy?” Because I was. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to invite him in; and as he took a chair, several questions went through my mind.
Question number 1, “What are you going to court for this morning, Paul?” “Well, to try to save a piece of property.” “What do you want the piece of property for, Paul?” “Well, to erect a building.” “Well, what do you want a building for?” “Well, to teach some students.” “What just knocked on your door?” “Oh, a student.” And wouldn’t you know, he took the whole four hours.
The time came for legal counsel to arrive, and we went to court. I don’t know all of the ramifications. We lost the hearing and eventually the piece of property, and it took us two years to secure another site. You would be happy with what the Church has done at Los Angeles State College, but more important, we saved the boy. Had it been your son, I think you would agree that we made the right decision.

Philippe and Chantal had the best grandmère (grandmother) and grandpère (grandfather) in the whole world. Why, what other grandmère and grandpère lived in a magical house—a house with a small cement pool outside where they could go wading and sail toy boats and play pirates? Who else had a house with a secret room halfway up the stairs and halfway down, with shelves full of storybooks, magazines, and old toys?
Philippe and Chantal loved to visit Grandmère and Grandpère. They loved to play in the pool and in the secret room. They helped Grandmère cook, and she took them to the library and to the park, and she taught them how to crochet. They helped Grandpère fix the car, weed the garden, and put puzzles together. Both Grandmère and Grandpère played tennis with Philippe and Chantal and read them stories. Philippe and Chantal had so much fun at their grandparents’ house that they always hated to leave.
One day when Philippe and Chantal arrived for a visit, Grandmère and Grandpère were especially excited to see them. “Guess what!” Grandmère exclaimed, taking their jackets. “Guess what Grandpère and I are going to do!”
“Are you going to travel around the world?” Philippe asked.
“No, but that’s close.”
“Are you going to take a class to learn something new?” Chantal asked.
“No, no, but that’s close too.” Grandpère’s eyes twinkled.
Philippe and Chantal frowned at each other. “We give up.”
“We’re going to be missionaries for the Church!” Grandmère exclaimed proudly.
“Oh, but that means that you’ll go away, and we won’t be able to visit you!” Philippe said sadly.
“I’m glad that you’re going on a mission, but what will happen to your house?” Chantal wiped a tear from her eye.
Grandmère put her arm around Philippe. “We’ll miss both of you very much. But we’ll think about you, and pray for you, and write you letters too. Think of all the mail that you’ll get! Won’t that be fun?”
Grandpère pulled Chantal onto his lap and held her as he rocked back and forth. “And we’ll miss this house and having you come to visit. We’ll have to rent it to someone while we’re gone. But,” he added, “we won’t tell them about the room that’s halfway up the stairs and halfway down. It will be our secret! How about that?”
Philippe and Chantal laughed.
“But, Grandmère, how can you and Grandpère go on a mission if you’ll miss us and the house so much?” Philippe asked, looking puzzled.
“A mission is a special way to serve Heavenly Father,” Grandmère replied. “Not everyone is as blessed as we are to have the gospel. We are such a happy family that we want to show other families how to be happy too.”
“We’ll teach families about Jesus and His gospel,” Grandpère added, “and we’ll share our testimonies and our love with others, just as we have with you.”
“It will be hard to leave you, but we’ve fasted and prayed, and we know that it’s right for us to be missionaries now,” Grandmère explained.
“Oh, Grandmère,” Philippe said, giving her a hug, “I love you. And I guess I can share you and Grandpère with other people who need you.”
Chantal kissed Grandpère on the cheek. “And when we grow up, we want to be missionaries just like you because you’re the best grandpère and grandmère in the whole world!”

The first came one afternoon in one of those rare days when I was in my office. I had been interviewing missionaries -- and the Elder serving as my secretary came to my door just as I was concluding an interview with a missionary and said "President Christensen, there is a General Authority on the line who would like to talk to you." Most of the time, when a General Authority calls a mission president, it is NOT good! In fact most often it is to discuss a problem. So, I closed my office door and picked up the telephone. "Hello, this is President Christensen" I said. The General Authority identified himself and began to ask me several pointed and detailed questions about one of our missionaries who had completed his mission some months before. His line of questioning went something like this in a very NON-SMILING VOICE (Do you know what a NON SMILING VOICE sounds like?) "President, did you have Elder _____ in your mission?" "Yes I did I responded courteously. "Well I need to know about him!" "OH NO" I thought. Was there a problem? Had he made a mistake? He was a great missionary. To my knowledge he was one of the best. I gave several positive answers to his every inquiry. Then he coaxed a second time, "President, I need to know what kind of missionary he was!" With confidence I replied "one of the best missionaries in our mission". How did he get along with his companions? Came a second round of the same questions. "Did you interview him often and can you vouch for his worthiness?" he asked. "Yes, I interviewed him often. In fact I have taught him along with all our other missionaries to live their lives according to their temple covenants and the 15 critical questions (the temple recommend questions) which they must answer in order to maintain their recommend."

With each question I remembered this wonderful missionary -- his good nature and worthiness. Then I questioned him, "Elder So and So, is there a problem with our former missionary?" There was silence on his end of the line.. for just a moment and then he asked one more time "are you sure he was an extraordinary missionary and worthy priesthood man?" "Yes" I answered again without hesitation. Then the tone of his voice changed from the NON SMILING VOICE to a CHEERFUL and almost chuckling voice (I believe he felt my anxiety and felt the need to break the tension). "Well good, I am glad you feel that way about him, because he is dating my secretary and I will not allow her to continue down the road to marriage if he isn't the best there is." I first felt a relief that there was nothing wrong and then I felt a special warmth and gratitude and love for this former missionary and his soon to be fiancé that I had not yet met. We visited for a few minutes longer about other things and then concluded the conversation. As I hung up the telephone I leaned back in my chair and felt a rush of JOY and a HAPPINESS for this young man who had become a part of my life. I felt so happy for him, that as a friend and priesthood leader. I could answer each question the way I did. He is here in the devotional today. And so is his wife! They have been blessed with their first child.

My patriarchal blessing tells me that I will find enjoyment in completing family history work. As a 16-year-old receiving this blessing, I didn’t think too much of this. I knew that my mum and grandmother had done a lot of work and much of my family tree had already been completed. They also attended the temple often to process their findings, so it was not something I thought I needed to think about.
It wasn’t until I went to university that I set myself up properly with an account on FamilySearch, and even then, it was a couple of years later and after getting married that I realised I could link my account to the work my family had already done, so that I wouldn’t have to manually type my family tree.
In recent years I’ve been trying to do as much as I can to get to grips with FamilySearch and understand its crucial role in doing work for others in the temple. As names have become unreserved, I’ve been trying to save them for my family so when we can go back to the temple, we can continue to do the work.

When John Rainer was a young boy in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, one of his favorite parts of the day was dusk. Like most young Indian children, John would run and play and do chores all day long, with an exuberance typical of those who grow up with space to roam and air to breathe. But at the end of the day, when golden fire filled the horizon, John would pause and listen. He would always hear the song of the flute.
“It was a peaceful, relaxed melody,” John recalls. “The old man would sit near the river half a mile from town and play his tunes. He believed the music would travel with the water. You couldn’t see him, but you could always hear his tunes.” It was a time for rest from the day’s labor, a time of repose and contemplation, a time during which a love for music was born in John’s heart.
John grew up and moved to the city. He lived in a comfortable brick home in a suburb of Orem, Utah, with his wife and children. And every evening, just at dusk, he would take his flute—one he made himself—and play a melody—one he wrote himself—to his family. His neighbors didn’t always see John, but they could usually hear his songs. When they did, the whole world seemed to pause, breathe deeply, then sigh in contentment.
“Playing the flute is my way of sharing something my ancestors shared with me,” John said.

Her marriage to John Mavimbela was happy and provided both with opportunities for personal growth. “We felt that if we could work together, there would be progress,” she says. “So I gave up my teaching and went to help my husband run a little butcher and grocery shop. My husband was a very special man, one out of one hundred. He gave me a salary, and the money was my own. When I was with my friends, he would go to the kitchen and wash up the dishes. When there was a baby, he would help me wash the diapers.” The two were very much in love.

John had two children from a previous marriage, so Julia built a loving relationship with her husband’s former wife and raised the two children as her own. Her first child died at birth. She later had six children.

In 1955, when Julia was two months pregnant with her last child, her husband was tragically killed in a head-on automobile collision. He was on a business trip, with a large amount of cash, when a drunken white driver crashed into his car. After the police investigated the accident, she asked for her husband’s belongings. They gave her only a small portion of the money she knew he had been carrying and ruled that her husband was at fault for the accident, even though the other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Julia became very bitter.

Some time later, Julia found enlightenment in the scriptures. “I was touched by what the Lord said: ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ I began to feel that I should never throw a stone at other people and that I should have forgiveness. But I was not yet in a church that could really help me forgive.”

As early as 1945 Julia had become involved in community service. Long before she heard of the Church’s homemaking meetings, she started a women’s club called Homemakers that encouraged women to teach each other different homemaking skills. She later started another club to encourage thrift. After John’s death, she began focusing even more of her energy into helping others.

Some of her greatest contributions to her community began in 1976, when riots erupted in Soweto. It was a dangerous time to be out and about in the community, but Julia was concerned about the hatred expressed by the youth. “I knew what it was like to feel isolated because of your own confusion. So I started a project in Soweto to bring young people into doing things, trying to find a message in what they did.”

Her project was to involve the youth in organic gardening—a passion she had developed a decade earlier while using natural foods to help her daughter heal from a congenital heart defect. As most families did not have enough ground for even a tiny garden, she arranged to clean up a rodent-infested plot of land. “As others watched us struggle with the overgrowth of stubborn weeds,” Julia recalls, “they too became involved, and we moved from corner to corner of Soweto replacing the useless and the ugly with the beneficial and beautiful.”

Part of the beauty Julia planted was in the hearts of the young. “When I was planting with them, I would say, ‘Now look, boys and girls, as we see this soil down here, it is solid and hard; but if we push down a spade or a fork, we will crack it and come out with lumps. And then if we break those lumps and throw in a seed, the seed will grow.
“This message is my message to young people. They should have it in their hearts. Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits it can give. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there has been a blood stain, a beautiful flower must grow.” Her efforts helped repair not only the physical damage but also the moral damage caused by the riots.

In the same year as these terrible riots, Julia began working with women’s groups. Feeling an urgent need for all races to unite in solving the present and future problems, she helped found Women for Peace, an organization devoted to protecting her people and helping her nation avoid civil war. She currently serves on the organization’s national executive committee. She has also repeatedly been elected the president of the National Council of African Women.

Julia has often served as a liaison between her community and the South African government in safeguarding her neighbors’ rights. Recently, she became concerned about pensioners who failed to receive their pension checks, sometimes for many months. Taking the subject on the air during a radio talk show she was invited to, Julia rallied community support and brought the issue to the attention of the new government.

Another work that she loves is literacy. For more than a decade, Julia, who is fluent in seven languages, has worked to establish more than 780 branches of an organization committed to eliminating illiteracy among the women of South Africa.

Julia is an eloquent exponent of the causes she champions. But with all of her achievements and associations, none has meant as much to her as meeting two missionaries in October 1981.

One day Julia was asked to help lead a project to repair a library destroyed in one of the Soweto riots. Her first reaction was to refuse. What? she asked herself. Do they think I’m Cinderella? If we rebuild that building, they’ll just burn it down again. But as she thought about the request, her heart softened. She went down to the site to see what she could do to help. There, she was shocked to see two young white men working in the dust and heat. Seeing white men in Soweto was rare, but seeing them do manual labor for blacks was sheer fantasy. Curious, Julia approached them. They identified themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and invited her to hear their message.

Accepting their invitation was not easy. Her home was in disarray—but more important, it would be very dangerous to have white people in her home. It could mean trouble for them as well as for the family hosting them. “But something bent in me,” Julia says, “and I couldn’t turn them away. I asked them to give me three days to clean up my cobwebs.”

At their first meeting, she was polite but not impressed. On their second visit, however, they saw a picture of Julia’s wedding and asked about her husband. When she told them he was dead, they explained that baptism could be performed for him. At that moment, “Something opened in my mind,” Julia recalls. “‘Take baptism for him?’ I asked. ‘In what way?’” They explained how.

“I said to them, ‘Look here, elders. You have shocked me. I am a black, and we are not allowed to speak about the dead in other churches. Now you come and tell me about my dead. You’ve got a different message. Come again.’ Their words had touched a very delicate place in my heart.
“So they returned, and I listened to them. I said to myself that there could be no better, truer church, for I had always had much love for my parents. I could never understand why I was taught to forget about them and not mention them. I guess there was a fear that people would go back to ancestor worship.
“I was also deeply impressed by the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith—how he talked directly with God. Reading the Book of Mormon changed my whole life. That was what really brought me to my knees. I started to realize that we are but one family.”

Julia was baptized on 28 November 1981, less than two months after meeting the missionaries. Of her baptism, she says: “When the door opened and I walked into the waters of baptism, I could really feel the cleansing power. I felt real joy.”

Ever since her conversion, she has been an active member missionary, encouraging neighbors to attend church with her and handing out copies of the Book of Mormon to government leaders. Two of Julia’s daughters and several of her grandchildren have joined the Church.

One of Julia’s favorite missionary tools is gardening. She uses her love of the earth to expose her neighbors to the Lord’s love. Recently, she helped a grandmother with no pension who was trying to rear her grandchildren. One of the boys had finished school and, failing to find employment, was bored and getting into mischief. Julia donated some vegetable seeds to the family and taught them how to plant, weed, and tend a garden. As the garden grew stronger, so did the family relationships. And now one of the girls is attending sacrament meeting, where she is discovering the abundant fruits of the gospel.

Julia has been both branch and stake Relief Society president, has taught the Gospel Doctrine class, and now serves as the Church public affairs director in Soweto. She is also active in the youth programs in her branch. But the most satisfying moments of her life come every Saturday morning as she serves in the house of the Lord.

In September 1985, Julia received her endowment in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. “When I first came into the temple,” she remembers, “I felt that I belonged. Before I joined the Church, when I would read the word Israel, I would throw the book aside and say, ‘It is for the whites. It is not for us. We are not chosen.’ Today, I know I belong to a royal family if I live righteously. I am an Israelite. When I was doing my ordinances in the temple, I captured the feeling that we are all on earth as one.

“Being sealed to my husband and my parents was one of the most touching experiences of my life. I feel that my parents are grateful that I have done their temple work for them. The Holy Spirit witnessed this to me.”

Julia continues to serve in the temple as often as she can. Within those walls she finds in joyful abundance the peace and love, the beauty and oneness of spirit she has cultivated in one corner or another of the Lord’s vineyard all of her life.*

The Holy Ghost also confirms the truthfulness of the scriptures and prophets. When Sister Flori Cobo de Lumbreras of Cádiz, Spain, read the Book of Mormon, she “had strong desires to ask God if this book was true, if Joseph Smith was truly a prophet, and if God wanted me to join the Church.
“I tossed and turned in bed, disturbed for four or five hours, and finally knelt at the side of my bed and began to raise my voice to my Father. The answer came with great strength to my heart. What joy! What peace! A warm feeling covered me.”

Children have the capacity for compassion. They have no fear to express their genuine feelings. In the popular movie entitled Home Alone, a scene near the end grips the viewer’s emotions and causes that familiar lump to fill the throat. The scene takes place in a chapel; the time is Christmas; the two lonely characters are seated next to one another on a church bench. The older man, who lives by himself, is estranged from family and bereft of friends. His next-door neighbor, played by McCaulay Culkin, is the lad left “home alone” by his family, which had departed for a European vacation, inadvertently forgetting this one small family member.
The boy asks the lonely man if he has any family. The gentleman explains quietly that he and his son and his son’s family have parted ways and no longer communicate. In the innocence of youth, the boy blurts out the plea, “Why don’t you just call your son and tell him you are sorry and invite him home for Christmas!”
The old man sighs and responds, “I’m too afraid he would say no.” The fear of failure had blocked the ability to express love and to voice an apology.
The viewer is left to wonder concerning the outcome of the conversation, but not for too long. Christmas comes; the boy’s family returns. He is pictured at an upstairs bedroom window looking in the direction of the old man’s sidewalk. Suddenly he views a tender scene as the neighbor welcomes his returning son, his daughter-in-law, and their children. Son embraces father, and the old man buries his head against the shoulder of his precious son. As they turn to walk on, the old neighbor looks upward to the bedroom window of the house next door and sees his small friend observing the private miracle of forgiveness. Their eyes meet, their hands express a gentle greeting of gratitude. “Welcome home” replaces “Home alone.”

I was reminded of this last summer, when I was invited to speak about the family to a gathering of United Nations diplomats. I agonized over what to say to such a diverse group. In the end, I simply explained that my parents had taught me as a child that personal virtue was essential for a happy marriage and family, and that in my youth I had promised God that I would live a chaste life.

I then acknowledged that, though I had not yet had the chance to marry, I had kept my promise. “It hasn’t always been easy to stay morally clean,” I admitted. “It has required some self-discipline. But on balance, it has been far easier than the alternative. I have never spent one second worrying about an unwanted pregnancy or disease. I have never had a moment’s anguish because a man used and then discarded me. And when I do marry, I will do so without regret. So you see,” I concluded, “I believe a moral life is actually an easier and a happier life.”

I worried about how such a sophisticated audience would respond to a message about virtue and abstinence, but to my surprise they leaped to their feet in applause–not because of me, but because the Spirit had borne witness of the truth of that message. The happiest people I know are those who have the integrity to stand up for what they believe.

The sign at the entrance to Manzanilla High School near Sangre Grande, Trinidad, is clear. “No” it says in big red letters, and it itemizes what is forbidden by the dress code: Absolutely no short pants, skirts, or tops; and absolutely no thin straps, halter backs, strapless vests, or bare backs.
Some students balk at the restrictions, but for 17-year-old Michelle Ramnauth they’re no problem at all. “There’s nothing in the school dress code that isn’t already clear in For the Strength of Youth,” she says. And many people at the school know what For the Strength of Youth is, thanks to Michelle.
She explains: “After lunch every day we have 20 minutes for silent reading, and we can read any book we would like. So I would bring For the Strength of Youth and read it. One day I left it sitting out and some of the more mischievous boys took it.” But then they actually read it. “And that turned out to be good because they used to curse a lot, but now when they are around me they respect my standards and don’t do that anymore.”
In fact, word spread through the school that Michelle followed the “rules” in her church book, and that meant she had high standards. “If the way I conduct myself in school agrees with For the Strength of Youth, that’s exactly how I want it to be,” she says. “Some people think that means I’m too proud to talk to them, but that’s not it. When they’re telling dirty stories or using bad language, I just don’t want to be around that influence. They’re being disrespectful, I would say. But I have two or three genuine friends who are now trying to change their ways because they respect me and appreciate me for who I am. So I would call them my true friends, and I’m happy if I can be a good example for them.”

When I went on a mission to the British Isles, that testimony quickened. Each morning, my companion and I read the Gospel of John together, commenting on each verse. It was a wonderful, illuminating experience. That marvelous testament opens with a declaration of the divinity of the Son of God. It states:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
“The same was in the beginning with God.
“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. …
“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth” (John 1:1–3, 14).
I thought of that declaration much then, and I have thought of it much since. It leaves no doubt concerning the individuality of the Father and the Son. To the Son the Father gave the great responsibility of creating the earth, “and without him was not any thing made that was made.”

That testimony grew in my heart as a missionary when I read the New Testament and the Book of Mormon, which further bore witness of Him. That knowledge became the foundation of my life, standing on the footings of the answered prayers of my childhood.

As prepared as we may be, there will still be challenging times in every marriage and every home when you simply will not know how to proceed. At those times, you need to be able to live by the Spirit. If we are worthy and prepared, those are the moments when the Holy Ghost "will show unto [us] all things what [we] should do." In the past twenty years, I have benefited from the Spirit's guidance over and over again. When my worry over a child is so great that all I can do is fall to my knees and beg for the Lord's help, more often than not I receive an answer before I even finish asking the question. On one of these occasions, the answer I clearly received was that we needed to give our son a dog! This was not the answer I wanted. I am not really a dog person, but it was a wise answer, and it made a meaningful difference at a critical time.

It was an ill-fated, watermelon-selling trip to Alaska that exhausted all my hard-saved college fund, so I got a job as a graveyard-shift fry cook at a Provo diner. That was my first year at BYU.
I had taken a room, and the rent came due at the beginning of the month. But I didn’t make enough money to pay both my tithing and my rent. This caused me great concern. I desperately wanted to continue my education, yet I knew I should pay my tithing. Knowing I would receive greater assistance from my Father in heaven if I were faithful, I paid my tithing and awaited the day my rent would come due.
The day prior to the rent due date, my landlady, Sister Knight, asked me if my cousin and I would be willing to trim a large tree in her backyard in return for a month’s rent. Gratefully, I accepted.
The following month, I again paid my tithing immediately after receiving my check. I paid for my food and other school expenses, but found I was without sufficient funds to pay my rent. Once again, the day before the rent was due, Sister Knight asked me if we would be willing to chop the large tree in her backyard into firewood in return for another month’s rent.
For the next couple of months I was able to pay all of my expenses after paying my tithing. Then came another month when there was again not enough money to cover both rent and tithing. I paid my tithing. I knew that Sister Knight did not have any more trees to be cut, and I was concerned that I should pay the rent promptly. On the Friday evening before the rent was required, a local radio station in Provo announced a program called “Movie Merry-Go-Round” in which a prize would be offered to anyone who could answer questions regarding one of the movies then playing in Provo. I listened to the program and thought I might try to win the prize. That evening, the radio announcer offered $18 and two free movie tickets to the first person who could give the license number of a car that had been used in a brief scene in a recent movie. Miraculously, or at least so it seemed to me, I saw clearly in my mind’s eye the scene that the radio announcer referred to. I saw it with such clarity that I could read the license number. Once again I had sufficient funds to pay my rent.
As that first school year drew to a close, I again found myself without enough money to pay my tithing and my last month’s rent. I paid the tithing, hoping to find some extra work I could do somewhere to earn money. I was concerned because my already busy schedule did not provide much in the way of extra time, and I did not want to be late in paying Sister Knight. The day that my rent was due, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door, Don Wood, a member of the BYU football team, was standing in the doorway. He handed me an envelope that he told me he had received earlier that evening from his father, President Charles W. Wood, then first counselor in the Union Oregon Stake presidency. President Wood had asked Don to deliver the envelope to me. Don had said he would be seeing me at school the following Monday or Tuesday, but President Wood had replied, “No, you take it to him tonight. As my plane was landing in Boise, I was impressed that Jim needed some help. I think he needs it now, and I want you to deliver this envelope to him tonight.”
I had never spoken to President Wood nor, to the best of my memory, to Sister Knight or any other person concerning my lack of funds. As the oldest of seven children from a very poor family, I had always been aware I could not expect any financial assistance from my family. The experiences I had already had my first year at BYU had greatly solidified my testimony of tithing.
Recalling all this in my mind, I thanked Don for delivering the message and envelope. Slowly I opened it; inside was $20.

This is the story of Patrick and Elizabeth Appianti:
Brother Appianti: “After three years in senior high school, I noticed a construction project taking place in my neighborhood where a hospital once stood. Upon enquiring from the workers, I learned they were building a church. A few friends and I decided to attend that church once the project was over. I walked into the premises on a Sunday a few months after the project was finished and met with the missionaries who began teaching the lessons. I was impressed by the power of the Spirit that attended the missionaries and how I felt anytime they visited. After reading the Book of Mormon through to Alma and praying about it, I felt answers to many of the questions I had about religion and decided to be baptized.”

For the last few years, I knew that God was prompting me to step away from social media. I knew that breaks from social media were great for me, but I also knew that I enjoyed the community that I found there. I didn’t know how to reconcile these two things; I just knew that something had to change.
I read a book that caused me to ponder the question, “How much time on social media is the right amount to provide the benefit of the community, without all the negative influences?” For me, the answer to this question was about 20 minutes … a month. I set a goal to make this happen, and with the help of the Lord, it was easier than I thought. The thing I didn’t expect was how much this change would strengthen my relationship with my Savior. I came to better feel the love that the Savior has for me; I have come to understand more clearly the plan He has for me; and I have come to see the needs of the people around me more clearly.
I have always known that I am a child of God and that He loves me. I have felt the love of my Savior during difficult times in my life. But too often I was letting social media dictate how I saw and thought of myself. As much as I tried to convince myself that the idealistic images on social media didn’t affect me, it turns out they did. Decreasing my time on social media allowed me the mental peace and quiet that I needed to hear the Savior telling me how He felt about me. I didn’t realize how much I had missed hearing His voice until I created more space for Him to be there.
I have always believed in the plan of salvation. I know that Jesus Christ is central to that plan. But I also believe that Heavenly Father has a plan for each of us individually. Larry M. Gibson, former First Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, taught, “I know that Heavenly Father is concerned about each of us individually and has a personal plan for us to achieve our eternal destiny.”1
I spent a lot of time scrolling to try and figure out what my purpose was. Being on social media gave me a front row seat to all the creative, wonderful things people were doing. I learned a lot from these people, but I spent a lot more time seeking than doing. Since stepping away from social media, I have felt guided to know specifically what Heavenly Father would have me do. Many of these things have been surprising and different from what I thought they would be, but they have made my life richer and more abundant.
The Savior came so that we might have life and that we might have it more abundantly (see John 10:10). I’m grateful for the nudges that the Holy Ghost gives to us to help us have a more abundant life.
The Savior saw those who escaped others’ notice. I love reading stories about Him ministering to such people and teaching them their worth. Spending too much time on social media hindered me from really seeing people in my own life, including my family. I realized that if my children weren’t feeling seen by me, then they would soon be looking to outside sources to validate their worth.
I have been amazed at the love that I have for my children as I have been more present with them. I have loved my role as a mother more this last year than ever before. I have gotten to know neighbors and have been more active in my community. My opportunities for service have increased. I thought that social media was helping me to be more aware, but in reality I wasn’t living in the moment enough to really see the needs of those around me.
Decreasing my social media use seemed like a small and simple thing, but it has allowed me to greatly increase my faith and improve my relationship with my Savior. I know that Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and has children who need to feel seen by us too.
The author lives in New York, USA.

In Cali, Colombia, a few days ago, the mission president visited one of our Church meetings. At the start of the meeting a seven-year-old boy came up on the stand and sat next to him. He was not on the program; he just wanted to be there. When the meeting was nearly over he strode to the pulpit and bore his testimony.

When he finished, he went back and sat next to the president. The two exchanged glances. The mission president smiled approval. The young boy smiled back. In those dark eyes was a message of love and security. Here was someone who knew he belonged.

Later it was learned the boy had spent his earlier life as an orphan. A couple in the ward had taken him in and were raising him as their own. The whole ward was his home, and he was blossoming in this atmosphere of acceptance.

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)