Gospel Story Finder

I was preparing to serve a mission while many things were shut down due to COVID-19. I needed to travel to the capital city of Uganda—Kampala—to get my passport but couldn’t take a taxi because of the pandemic. I knew I needed my passport to go on my mission, so I decided to walk four hours into the city.
When I finally got my passport, I was exhausted and my feet were swollen, but I knew it would be worth it.
And I was right!
The Lord promises that when we bring others to Him, we will experience joy (see Doctrine and Covenants 18:15).
As I shared the joyful message of the gospel of Jesus Christ while on my mission, I became more like the Savior and felt God’s love more deeply.
Now that I’m home, I can continue feeling that love and joy by sharing the gospel with friends and family.

When I began preparing this talk, I did all the things I knew I should do: I went to the temple, I fasted, I read the scriptures, I prayed. And I wrote a talk. But, sisters, when you choose to write about charity, you need to feel charitable. And I didn’t. And so, after many prayers and tears, there came a realization to my mind that I had to ask forgiveness of those who, unbeknownst to them, were the cause of my uncharitable thoughts. It was hard. But it was healing. And I testify to you that the Lord’s Spirit returned.

Illustration by Laura Proietti
On Christmas Eve when I was 14, my extended family gathered at my grandma’s house to have a Christmas program and do a small gift exchange, just like we did every year. It was fun to be with my cousins and the rest of the family, but I couldn’t help but think about all the gifts that were waiting for me back at home. During all the festivities, I was anxious for Christmas Day to come—Christmas, after all, was about opening presents.
But before we could leave, we had one more tradition to take care of: “adopting” a family for Christmas. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the adults found a family in the area that was in need of help, got gifts for the kids, and then someone in our family would go out and deliver everything to the family on Christmas Eve. I never participated much in this activity—sure, it seemed like a nice idea, but I never even knew the people we were delivering to.
After the festivities ended, we gathered the gifts and put them in my dad’s pickup. My dad even put on a Santa suit before leaving. There were a lot of gifts to take, so I got nominated to go with him. I was given an elf hat and became Santa’s not-so-eager helper.
But my attitude started to change on the drive over as my dad told me about the family. Their situation was heart-wrenching. Just a few weeks before, the dad had left them, so now the mom had to take care of the four kids on her own. As we drove up to the house, it was all dark. It was almost like I could feel the family’s hopelessness coming from the house.
We knocked on the door. That sad feeling went away as soon as the door opened and the kids saw who had come to visit. They shouted, “Santa’s here!”
I stepped into the house with the gifts and felt the Spirit so strongly that I almost started to cry. When I looked over at Dad, I could see he was holding back tears too. The kids were all running around saying things like, “This one has my name on it!” or “This one is for you, Mom!” As we passed out the gifts, I saw that the mom was crying tears of relieved joy. I got the sense she had told her kids that Santa wouldn’t be coming that year.
The kids and mom all hugged us and thanked us as we left. My dad and I rode back to my grandma’s house in complete silence, neither of us able to express with words what we had just felt and seen. It had been such a rare and beautiful experience, and we were both trying to savor the feeling.
On the drive home, I wasn’t worried about my own gifts anymore. I realized that what I had felt was just a small portion of the love Jesus Christ feels for us and that as we serve others, we can help them feel this love too.

This story took place in England.
Jonah ate his last bite of food and smiled. Dinner was always more fun when the missionaries came over.
“We want to share a message with you about service,” said Sister Kearl. “Why is serving others important?”
“Because it makes Jesus happy!” said Eliza, Jonah’s little sister.
“You’re right! It makes Him very happy. And when we help others, it makes us happy too,” said Sister Christensen. “Do you know anyone who needs help?”
Jonah thought for a minute. “I can’t think of a person, but our garden at school could use some help.”
“Good idea,” said Mum.
Jonah’s school had a garden where they could do outdoor activities. But no one had taken care of the garden for a long time. The bushes were overgrown. There were lots of weeds too.
“We’d love to help you with that!” said Sister Kearl. “Who can we invite to help clean it with us?”
“Our cousins!” said Jacob, Jonah’s brother.
“And our Primary class,” said Jonah.
The next day, Mum talked to someone at the school to get permission. They picked a day to clean the garden. Then Mum helped Jonah and his siblings call their cousins and Primary class.
A few weeks later, Jonah and his family met the missionaries at the school. Their cousins and Primary friends were there too. It was time to get to work!
Jonah put on a pair of big rubber garden gloves. “Look, Mum. My hands are huge!”
Mum laughed. “You can use those huge hands to help trim these bushes.”
She handed Jonah some clippers that looked like giant scissors. Then she helped him cut away the dead branches.
“This is fun,” Jonah said.
While Jonah trimmed, Eliza helped dig around the garden. Jacob helped Daddy build a new bird house. The others pulled weeds and gathered sticks. They put them in big blue plastic bags. Even Jonah’s youngest brother, Ezra, helped by picking up rocks.
Soon the garden was clean. Jonah counted the bags they had filled. “There are 13 bags!” he said. “We cleaned up so much rubbish.”
Sister Christensen smiled. “Now we need everyone’s big muscles to help us carry these to the car.”
Jonah, Jacob, and Eliza each grabbed a bag. Jonah felt happy as he lifted the last one into the car. Helping the missionaries had been fun. He wanted to be a missionary someday too. Until then, there were lots of ways he could serve. He could hardly wait to think of his next project!

Rachel challenged me to bear my testimony. I said that I would if she did. Dad bore his testimony, and so did Mom and Natalie. But Rachel didn’t. I almost stood up. I got excited, and I wanted to say how happy I was to be baptized and to be a member. I wanted to say how happy I am that Heavenly Father and Jesus love us and how much I love my family. I wanted to say that I am proud of my brother on a mission. But the meeting was over before I got up. Then I was sad. Next time, I’m going to be the first one up, and I’ll say all those things.

When I was eleven years old, I worked all summer herding cows along a ditch bank. At the end of the summer, my employer gave me a choice of receiving either twenty dollars or a calf for my work. I chose the calf because I thought it would contribute to the family’s food supply.
On the day of the first frost of that year, I came home from school and saw my summer’s work flat on its back with its four legs sticking up—dead. I learned that the first frost tends to cause bloating in animals. It was a great personal sadness to me, and I was discouraged for a time, but I took it as a lesson of life—that I needed to be more careful.

At 12:15 A.M. I left the police station and climbed into the blue Alfa Romeo of the Italian carabinieri. I was putting in my obligatory year of service required of all Italian young men. I had been assigned to the police. My duty for that day was patrolling the cities of Jesolo and Cavallino, just northeast of Venice, from midnight to 6:00 A.M.
Suddenly the familiar sound of the radio caught my attention. “Avanti dalla trentuno,” I answered. My heart accelerated, anticipating the potential danger. Headquarters informed us that a bank robbery had just taken place in a rural town north of Venice. The officer stated that a policeman had been shot during the robbery. Four men were responsible and were supposedly armed with Kalashinikovs, a Soviet-made automatic weapon. They were apparently heading at high speed toward Jesolo in a white Lancia.
“Ricevuto,” I signed off, automatically reaching for the Beretta M12 under my seat. I turned to my partner and asked, “What are we going to do if we run into them?” His answer was cold and direct, “Shoot.”
My partner quickly shifted gears. My mind started reviewing all the different circumstances in which I could find myself in the next minutes. I was aware that our lives were in danger and realized that if we confronted four armed men, our chances were not good of staying alive. My partner was showing little emotion, and since his answer to my last question, he had not said a word.
Am I willing to die for this job and my country? was the question that arose in my mind. It was quickly answered by the words of the oath I had taken at the beginning of my service. I had promised to serve the country and the people of Italy and to protect them from any criminal acts or injustice, even by offering my life.
As our car turned into the main street of Jesolo, my right hand tightened on the grip of the M12. Am I ready to die? Am I ready to go back to meet my Heavenly Father? were the questions in my mind. I started thinking about my family, my life, and my testimony of the gospel. I pondered my weaknesses and almost instantly realized that my conscience was clean. I had no major regrets in my life and felt that I had apologized to all the people I had been unkind to. That thought gave me an incredible feeling of peace.
We did not confront the robbers that night. I concluded my one year of service in the police a few months later, never having to fire my gun. But I will never forget that winter night. It helped me realize how our Heavenly Father can call us back home at any time. I realized I wanted to be ready to leave this earth with the peace of a repentant and clean soul.

When Ruby and I left for California in 1930 in our little Model T Ford, we crossed Nevada going a hundred miles an hour on those gravel, washboardy roads—thirty miles straight ahead and seventy miles up and down. We’d never been to California before, so when we finally made it to Lake Tahoe, that large lake looked warm and beautiful. I didn’t know that it was icy cold under the first inch of water. We found a little motel and went in and put on our swimsuits. I wanted to demonstrate to her that she had married a real “he-man.” We went on the pier out in the lake, and I thought it looked so wonderful. The sun was just going down. I dove straight down, to demonstrate to Ruby what a “find” she had made. As I dove through the icy water farther down, I thought I was a goner. I clamored to get out.

After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8).
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness (see Leaves from My Journal, pp. 16–18).
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

Ryan: When I was about 12 years old I went to a friend’s house and found him and a bunch of neighborhood boys gathered around the computer. I joked, “Hey, are you guys looking at pornography?”
They said, “How did you guess? Come check this out.”
That was the beginning of a problem in my life. I soon began using our family computer to find more and more images.

I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and the Atonement with much deeper and more personal meaning. The Atonement gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow step by step each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me about the Internet sites I was visiting, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.

When I married, I never thought that the word divorce would ever become part of my personal history. But despite my pleas and best efforts to save our relationship, my husband left and our marriage ended. I felt like a failure.
A time of deep pain, humiliation, and shattered dreams followed. I had never experienced greater loss or grief.
In the midst of my sorrow, my ministering brothers came to see me. They consoled me and gave me a blessing. Then, in their deep voices, they sang a hymn for me that I didn’t recognize. For me at that difficult time, it was the most beautiful, comforting hymn I had ever heard. They sang:
Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One. 1
I could not help but weep at the words and music. They confirmed for me, and strengthened my testimony of, the truth that the Savior understood me, loved me, and would never leave me alone in my sorrow.
As my ministering brothers finished singing, I remembered the words that Isaiah used to describe the Savior: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5).

We live in an environment where there is much of litigation and conflict, of suing and countersuing. Even here the powers of healing may be invoked. As a young man I worked with Elder Stephen L. Richards, then of the Council of the Twelve. When he came into the First Presidency of the Church, he asked me to assist him with a very delicate and sensitive matter. It was fraught with most grave and serious consequences. After listening to him discuss it, I said, “President Richards, you don’t want me; you want a lawyer.” He said, “I am a lawyer. I don’t want to litigate this. I want to compose it.”
We directed our efforts to that end, and wonderful results followed. Money was saved, much of it. Embarrassment was avoided. The work was moved forward without fanfare or headlines. Wounds were closed. The healing powers of the Master, the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, were invoked in a delicate and difficult situation to compose what otherwise could have become a catastrophe.

Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor, spearheaded the bear project. They approached Captain K. D. Simpson of the Davis County Sheriff’s Department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
Captain Simpson told them that children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by the Davis County Paramedics.
Sister Adams read a newspaper article about a Montana group who donated teddy bears to a paramedic organization. She brought up the idea at a Young Women presidency meeting, and the theme “Teddy Bear Picnic” was selected for the Young Women birthday party.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the Young Women decided that they would create teddy bears to help. “We wanted to give the child something to focus on beside his pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give him something to hold on to and to love.”
When the young women gathered for a stake Young Women birthday party, they met to begin clipping, turning, stuffing and hand finishing 285 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive in the West Point Third Ward, said, “The first bear was hard to make until I got the hang of it. But it was worth it because it would help someone in pain.”
Ninety bears were completed that evening. The girls took the rest of the bears home to finish on their own.
The bears are eight inches tall and made from scraps donated by the stake Young Women presidency. The West Point Stake Relief Society donated most of the stuffing.
The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”
The local hospital received another 100 teddy bears that were hung on a Christmas tree. Children admitted to the hospital were able to choose which one they wanted.
Captain Simpson said, “At first the paramedics weren’t too sure about using the bears. It wasn’t macho. It took two or three times using the bears before they realized how well they worked. Now if they don’t have enough, they get more. They count on them when working with children.”
Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, saw firsthand how effective the bears can be. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to give up her bear even when the paramedics needed to transfer her from one gurney to another. She finally gave it up just before undergoing surgery.
Nicole lives in the West Point Sixth Ward but had not yet turned 12 when her friends had made the green spotted bear the paramedics gave her after the accident.
“The paramedics had to take the seat out. Then they took me out of the back window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”
Jennifer Techmeyer, a Beehive in the West Point Seventh Ward, said, “I thought it was really great to make something to put in the ambulance for the kids. I thought it was special to donate our love to them.”

For David Wojnar, 22, from Springfield, Massachusetts, a good friendship played an important role in his conversion to the Church. Now a missionary serving in Utah Salt Lake Mission, Elder Wojnar talked about the role of friendship in missionary work.

“When I graduated from high school, I decided it was time to move away from home. I got a job in Virginia and moved in with an old friend. One of my roommates was LDS. We soon became good friends. We did things together, and we could talk about anything. He had a sincere interest in me. We were friends first, and being friends probably helped more than anything else,” Elder Wojnar explained.

“Eventually, he asked me to go to a Young Adult activity with him. They were putting on a play. The young people came up and made me feel welcome. They all were excited about meeting someone new,” Elder Wojnar explained. “They were different from anybody I had run around with before. There was a different spirit.”

“When I became involved in the activities and started attending church, the members made me feel special and important. They never put me down because I was a member of another church. I felt good being around them.”

At that time, Elder Wojnar still wasn’t ready to commit himself to baptism. “My other roommate, my friend from Massachusetts, was taking the discussions and was almost ready for baptism. When the missionaries came, I always found an excuse to leave. Most of the barriers I had were just fear and not knowing what would happen. I was determined to serve the Lord, and I just needed time. No one seemed excited or upset about the hesitancy that I was experiencing. My friend was patient and didn’t give up on me. He was still my friend, and eventually I did make the commitment,” Elder Wojnar said.

“Being sincere is one of the most important aspects of missionary work,” Elder Wojnar explained. “If you’re sincere and a true friend, people will respond to the gospel. It’s not as important for members to teach the doctrines as it is for them to plant the seed. Being a good example is also important. It means more than just living the principles. It means going out and showing the results of living the gospel. Don’t be afraid to let people know you’re a Mormon. I’m tickled pink whenever I can tell anybody I’m a Mormon,” Elder Wojnar concluded.

On June 11, 1979, I climbed aboard a DC-3 that was headed for the Moose Creek Ranger Station in northern Idaho where I was to spend my summer working for the forest service. The station is 21 miles from the nearest road and about 60 air miles from the forest headquarters at Grangeville.
At about 9:30 A.M. the plane left the Grangeville airfield. Everything went fine until about halfway through the 30-minute flight. Suddenly the plane’s engines got very quiet. When I looked out the windows, I noticed that only one engine was running. A few seconds later the starboard engine exploded, and flames enveloped the entire right side of the plane. Everyone aboard (10 forest service employees and 2 crew members) was very quiet and frozen with fear, it seemed.
Never in my life had I been as terrified as I then was. All I could think about was the life I had led up to this time. I wasn’t so much afraid of dying, but I was terrified at the thought of having to come to judgment so soon. I have a terrible habit of procrastinating, and I had always had the idea that I could “play today and repent tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, the plane was steadily losing altitude and was pitching and bucking fiercely. I wanted desperately to get out alive so that I could get my life in order.
In the midst of this turmoil a voice seemed to speak to me. It said, “Bryant, why don’t you pray?” So I prayed, desperately and fervently. I asked for many things, but I clearly remember asking the Lord to help me accept his will. I also asked him to comfort me and to help my family understand. As I finished praying, we were just on the verge of crashing, perhaps 100 feet above the treetops. The pilot had been giving us instructions to fasten seat belts.
I was at this time very calm and collected. I no longer feared dying. In fact, I was actually curious as to what it would be like to die and who I might meet in the next world. About this time the plane hit a tree and veered sharply into the river. Authorities say that the plane hit the water at about 100 miles per hour.
When the plane hit, there was a terrific jolt, and several aftershocks. As the plane came to rest in the Selway River, I was thrown hard against my seat belt. I then came to my senses and thought, “I’m alive.” But what I saw made my blood run cold. The plane was floating down the river, which was at flood stage. The water was very high and very rough. Debris from the wreck was floating all around, and there was a sickening silence. I was still fastened to my seat by my safety belt, and I was sitting waist-deep in water. The water itself was colored a deep red with the blood of the passengers whom I could see in the plane. They looked unconscious. I tried to release some of them from their seat belts, but I couldn’t because the swirling water made it too difficult, and I was forced to abandon the plane.
The cargo doors of the plane were ripped open, so I let myself down through them, then tried to swim. The water was very fast and extremely hard to keep afloat in. I was caught in an undertow and forced to the bottom of the river.
One more time I asked the Lord to preserve my life and give me the strength I needed to pull myself from the river. Once again, as instantly as in my earlier prayer, confidence came to me. I felt a terrific amount of renewed energy, and when I was released from the eddy, which was holding me to the bottom, I found myself being swept down the river, right next to the bank. I grabbed hold of a tilting rock and easily pulled myself from the river.
Upon getting ashore I saw two other survivors, so I treated one for shock, then stopped the bleeding of the other and splinted his fractured leg. Then I started to walk the 12 miles to the Moose Creek Ranger Station to obtain help. The first two miles were very steep and without trails, but I’d worked in that area before so I knew which direction to go. I got very tired but eventually found help. Later I found out that one of the people I’d helped didn’t live. Only I and one other person survived the crash.

Just before I entered sixth grade, we moved to a new house. A few boys at my new school made fun of me, called me names, and wouldn’t let me play ball. When I told my dad about it, he said that instead of getting mad and trying to make those boys as unhappy as they had made me, I should try to make friends with them. So I invited them to come over and do something at my house. Neither of them could come, but from then on, they were my friends instead of my enemies.

Ancient One saw, with the eyes of his mind, his boy-self walking with his father in the bright sunshine of a day many years gone. His father was tall and muscular, the boy small and thin, his bare feet dusted with soft, orange sand. How he had loved his father, so strong and handsome!
The boy and his father were walking side by side, heads bent, eyes searching the ground. Father stooped and picked up a small black stone. He showed it to the boy, then stowed it in a leather pouch that hung from his waist by a thick strap. They walked on. Now the boy crouched to pick up another stone. He showed it to his father, who nodded approval. They kept searching until there were seven black stones in Father’s pouch.
One night in the midst of the long, cold winter, Father took the stones from the pouch and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, chipping away at them. Flickering flames made his shadow dance behind him as he worked.
The snows finally melted. The grass grew green, the trees budded, and the flowers showed their young faces. Father presented the black stones to the boy as part of the celebration of his seventh spring of life. But the stones had changed. Father had shaped them into seven sleek black arrowheads, which he had attached to seven straight shafts of wood and feathers. Father also gave the boy a bow that his own father had fashioned for him from the willowy branch of an ash tree.
Filled with happiness and excitement, the boy ran toward the woods, his bare feet kicking puffs of dirt behind him. It was a warm day, but in the woods the air was cool and damp. Sometimes mud squeezed up between his toes. Birds sang in the trees, and insects buzzed. Leaf shadows from hundreds of tall trees played on the ground. The boy vowed to stay in the woods until he could shoot his arrows straight and far. He would earn the look of pride in his father’s face and be a step closer to manhood.
When he came to a meadow deep in the woods, the boy placed the first arrow on his bowstring and tried to remember all his father had taught him.
Facing a dead tree that stood alone in the meadow, he pulled the string back and let the arrow fly. It stuck in the ground well to the left of the tree. The boy frowned. He quickly shot another arrow. It skittered along the ground to the right of the tree. Anger boiled up inside the boy. Gritting his teeth, he quickly shot the five remaining arrows, missing the mark farther each time.
Fiercely blinking back angry tears, he ran to the closest arrow and jerked it from the ground. He grasped it in both hands, ready to snap it in two. But as he looked at the arrow, he remembered his father sitting patiently by the fire straightening the shaft, sighting along it with a critical eye and then straightening it again and again and again. To become a great hunter and warrior like his father, he would need not only strength and courage but also patience and wisdom.
He gathered the arrows and returned to his shooting spot. This time he took a deep breath and tried to make his mind as quiet as the feet of a stalking hunter. He shot again and missed but let his anger drift away like smoke in the wind.
Again and again he shot, growing calmer each time. At first he still missed badly, but gradually the arrows began flying farther and straighter. When one finally hit the tree, he whooped and danced with joy.
The boy returned to the meadow every sunny day. Time after time he shot and retrieved the arrows. Gradually his arms began to feel at one with the bow. His eyes began to see, his mind began to know when and how to let the arrows go. By late spring most of the arrows he shot sliced swift and true through the air.
One day the boy hit the tree dead center with every arrow. His heart beat strong with pride and joy. As the sun sank and the light of day began to fade, he shot each arrow into the sky—seven arrows for the seven springs of his life. Each one sailed up, higher and higher. Glossy black feathers rippled in the wind; a bright black arrowhead pointed at a cloudless sky. When the arrow had soared as high as the highest tree, it turned toward the earth and began to fall. Diving faster and faster, it became a blur in the boy’s large black eyes. Each arrow landed, taking its place in line with the others. The boy tipped his face to the sky and laughed out loud. He gathered his treasured arrows and raced home, his heart full of happiness.

“Cami asked me if I wanted to go to church. At first I thought, no, I didn’t really want to. Then I decided that since I hadn’t been baptized into any church, I ought to start looking around and seeing what I believe in. I went with Cami, and the things I was taught I believed, so I started going to church more often. When I had the missionary lessons, I felt I was ready to be baptized.”
Tami HowellLong Beach California East Stake

When I was 12, I never dreamed that I would have to defend my belief in the Church. After all, I lived in a predominantly Latter-day Saint community, and most everyone I knew believed the same things I did. I didn’t anticipate the heated discussion I would have with my brother while he was on leave from his military duties. I wasn’t prepared to deal with the situation, and I finally left the room crying.
Since then, I’ve learned a lot about getting along with family members who don’t believe the same things I do. Here are some of the things that have helped me keep the peace without compromising my beliefs:
Remember courtesy. No matter where they stand on religious issues, it is important to treat all family members with kindness and love—serve them, communicate with them, and include them in family discussions and decisions.
Include family members in all family activities, even if those activities are Church related. For many years my brother refused to have anything to do with our religious activities, but now he wants to be invited to weddings, baby blessings, and other activities. Those with other beliefs still want to feel welcome, even if they don’t accept an invitation.
Use challenging questions to build your testimony. As hard as it was to answer my brother’s questions about the Church, I was determined to know for certain that what I had been taught was true. I studied the scriptures and asked my Church leaders and parents many questions until I gained a firm testimony of the gospel.
Do not avoid religious topics.Because the Church is so much a part of the life of a Latter-day Saint, avoiding the subject of religion may make family members feel as though you’re keeping secrets from them. In your conversations, include personal experiences that relate to the Church.
Seek to understand their point of view. I used to think my brother was always wrong, but when I started to look at things from his perspective, I was surprised. How would I feel if I couldn’t attend my little sister’s wedding? How would I feel if I didn’t understand some of the language my family members often used? If I were him, I might also sometimes react negatively to such things.
Take responsibility for mistakes. I used to argue with my brother or attack his beliefs. When I was finally mature enough to realize I was in the wrong, I apologized, and my relationship with my brother has never been better. You never need to apologize for your beliefs, just for actions that are not in keeping with the gospel.
Avoid contention. The Spirit will not stay where there is contention. If the Spirit is gone, opportunities for learning and growth are also gone.
Encourage those of other faiths in their own religious activities. Although we believe our Church to have the fulness of the gospel, many truths are taught in other churches. And where our views differ, we should still respect the religious views of others. Be as supportive of your family members’ righteous and wholesome religious activities as you want them to be of yours.
“Our adherence to these divinely given standards need never be an offensive thing to those about us. We need not contend with them. But if we will pursue a steady course, our very example will become the most effective argument we could ever make in favor of the virtues of the cause with which we are associated.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “Contend Not with Others,” Tambuli, Nov. 1989, 4.

I illustrate this principle with a personal experience. When I was young, I decided to prepare for the entrance exam to the best business schools in France. This preparation, which lasted a year, was very challenging. At the beginning of the year I decided that whatever the heaviness of the task, I would never let my studies prevent me from attending my Sunday meetings or from participating in an institute class once a week. I even accepted a call to serve as the clerk in my young adult ward. I was confident that the Lord would recognize my faithfulness and would help me accomplish my objectives.
At the end of the year, when exams approached, I felt that I had done my best. When I arrived for the examination at the most reputable school, I had full confidence that the Lord would answer my desires. Unfortunately, the oral exam in my strongest subject was an unexpected disaster—I received a grade that prevented me from getting into this highly coveted school. I was distraught. How could the Lord have abandoned me when I had persevered in my faithfulness?
When I presented myself at the oral exam for the second school on my list, I was filled with doubt. In this school the exam that was weighted the heaviest was an interview with a jury presided over by the director of the school. The beginning of the interview was normal—until I was asked a seemingly insignificant question: “We know that you studied a lot to prepare for this exam. But we would be interested to know what your activities were outside of your studies.”
My heart skipped a beat! For one year I had done only two things: study and go to church! I feared that the jury would negatively interpret a description of my membership in the Church. But in one second I made the decision to remain faithful to my principles.
For 15 minutes or so, I described my activities in the Church: my Sabbath meetings, institute classes, and responsibilities as the ward clerk. When I had finished, the director of the school spoke.
“You know, when I was young, I studied in the United States,” he said. “One of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a remarkable young man, someone who had great human qualities. I consider Mormons to be very good people.”
That day I received one of the best grades possible, which allowed me to get into this school with a place of honor.
I thanked the Lord for His goodness. It took me several years, however, to understand the miraculous blessing of not getting into the first school. In the second school, I met key people. The benefits of my association with them became evident throughout the entire length of my career and are still important in my life and in the lives of members of my family.