Gospel Story Finder

A number of years ago, my brother Ron and I went scuba diving in California. After we had finished, we decided to leave our equipment on the beach and go bodysurfing. We were out quite a distance when I looked back toward the beach and saw a woman in the water in full scuba gear drowning. She had walked out into the ocean intending to scuba dive but had unexpectedly stepped off a sandy shelf into water over her head, and she then panicked.

The woman had at her fingertips everything she needed to be safe. She could have dropped her weight belt with a flick of her finger on the quick-release buckle, pressed the button on her inflatable buoyancy vest so she could float, or put her regulator in her mouth so she could breathe underwater.

We quickly swam back to her and pulled her to shore. She was embarrassed and obviously inexperienced. She had been taught the correct principles of how to scuba dive safely but hadn’t applied what she had learned. She was, you could say, living well below her privileges and almost died because of it.

As a missionary in Louisiana, I learned a very valuable lesson about loving in a godly way. I am grateful to have served with companions, members, a mission president, and those who were learning about the gospel. They taught me lessons that enriched my life far beyond the time that I spent as a full-time missionary.

As most of us have, I had a missionary companion who I thought was difficult. Her ideas about keeping our apartment clean were quite different from mine. She preferred not to run the air conditioner during the summer months because our house was poorly insulated, and she thought that the air conditioning would quickly go through the walls. However, running the air conditioner in Louisiana in the summer seemed reasonable to me. This companion was easygoing, but I was a stickler for following the rules. Her view of the mission rules was much more flexible than mine. I struggled to see her strengths, and I was often critical of her in my mind, which I am sure leaked into my actions. The members loved her, and she easily connected with those who were learning about the gospel. In contrast, I was worried about keeping the rules.

While serving with that companion, I was irritated that my experiences were not what I was expecting from what was often portrayed as “the best two years [or eighteen months] of your life.” During my scheduled interview with my mission president, I shared my frustration about my companion and my lack of understanding about how to fix the problem. His incredibly wise response was that I should try to see my companion as God saw her. As I slowly implemented his admonition, her idea of cleanliness did not seem to bother me as much. I began to appreciate her easygoing nature, and I came to consider her flexibility with some mission rules as a person-focused strength.

Reflecting on this experience now helps me to see that God cares about how well we love. Rules are important and they have their place, but certainly there are times when we need to consider if we are prioritizing rules over people.

Shortly after our training in the Missionary Training Centre as a senior missionary couple, we reported to the mission office to meet with our mission leader, President Mutariswa, for assignments which included supporting the implementation of Gathering Place and Children and Youth Development (CYD) initiatives mission wide.
To carry out these assignments effectively, we needed to travel extensively to minister personally to the congregations and offer trainings for which it was our privilege.
On one of such scheduled visits to Makurdi District, CYD training was to take place Sunday afternoon. Immediately after the church service, it was so amazing to observe a little primary child named Stephanie, daughter of the branch president where training was to take place, start cleaning the chapel with all the tools she needed. She disposed refuse properly and returned all tools appropriately to designated room.
We were touched that a primary child of three years old could lead the way in keeping the chapel clean. After obtaining consent from her father, we reviewed our training slides to incorporate pictures of Stephanie’s worthy example as a demonstration of how a child could grow in wisdom and stature.
Further interaction with the family showed that parents in the Makurdi District use the CYD children’s guidebooks to train their children and Stephanie’s example becomes a sure proof of the efficacy of the Children Youth Development initiative.
We can’t describe in words the happiness we feel knowing that this initiative is a simple but powerful divinely appointed tool in hands of parents and leaders in helping the rising generation remain on the covenant path as they develop along the four (spiritual, physical, intellectual and social) aspects of life. How grateful we are to serve as a full-time missionary couple at this time when the prophet of God has asked we get enlisted in supporting the rising generation.
And Stephanie grows in wisdom and stature!

Like Jim, as a young man I was privileged to have “goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). They taught gospel principles and values to our family by precept and example. As a young boy I thought I had a testimony. I believed! Then came some personal spiritual experiences through faith, prayer, scripture study, and especially father’s blessings in our home that caused me to think more seriously about the principles I had been taught and believed—but even more deeply about what I was beginning to feel. I will be forever grateful to parents who helped coach me through those precious spiritual experiences. They have had a lasting impact on me and on the strength of my testimony.

Hello. My name is Corbett Carrel. I am eleven years old and in the fifth grade. I enjoy school very much and love academic challenges. When my teacher, Mr. Scullin, explained to our class that we would each have the opportunity to compete in a geography bee, I became very excited. I was hopeful that I would perform well and have the opportunity to advance to the second level.
On the first day of the competition, I did very well, answering four out of six questions correctly. I was very encouraged about the competition. On the second day, I was given the final question of the round. Needless to say, I was nervous. At this point I was in second place and needed to answer the final question correctly in order to advance to the next level.
The time had arrived. It was my turn. When I was able to answer the question given to me correctly, I was very excited. I was in a strong position to move to the next level. But I knew that I had had an unfair advantage. I had accidently seen the answer to that question earlier in the day on my teacher’s answer sheet. I had a difficult decision to make. I knew deep inside that I had to choose the right, just like my CTR ring reminds me to do every day.
At the end of the school day, I went to my teacher and explained the situation to him. He was very impressed with my honesty. He was so impressed that he gave me two additional questions to answer. Unfortunately I did not know the answers and did not advance to the second level. I was disappointed but felt good inside about my decision to choose the right.
That night I told my mom about the geography bee. She said that she was very proud of my choice and so was Jesus. Advancing to the next level would not have been worth it. I know my choice was right and that I was really a winner.

Another time, while serving a mission in Kentucky, Lorenzo was warming himself by a fire one evening at the end of a church meeting. An unfriendly man standing beside him (who was part of a gang waiting to attack him) accidentally bumped against Lorenzo and felt his scriptures in the pocket of his jacket. The scriptures were a gift from Joseph Smith, Sr., father of the Prophet Joseph Smith. However, thinking the object in Lorenzo’s jacket was a gun, the man immediately left without causing a fight. Lorenzo said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for taking care of him while he preached the gospel.

In Belfast I had two roommates—Carol and Anne. None of us had any extra money. Our apartment was dismal, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, we decided to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. I had seen some of the miseries of the slums and wanted to help.
Our Christmas tree was only two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The food was simple. The gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games, and a package of molding clay.
The children arrived in their best clothes, which were ragged. They stood in a group at the door, afraid to come in. But we coaxed them inside and we played games, told stories, and sang songs until we were decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath dress and high heels that were much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
Then we served the food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating. Most had never had that much food on their plate.
“Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced after we had passed out the toys. “I felt right at home.”
The older girl in the high heels I noticed had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the car for a baby’s picture book. She was trying to rewrap it, but the cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“Would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?” I produced them, wondering. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and explained “Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.
(December 1973, p. 14.)

As a family we consistently hold family home evening; however, my father often travels for extended periods of time for his employment. Sometimes that means he is out of town when it’s time for family home evening.
Then two years ago, when my father got his own laptop, one of my siblings wondered, “Why not have our family home evenings with Dad via the Internet?”
Since that time, when our father is away during family home evening, we simply agree on a time, and we connect. We can see and hear him, and he can see and hear us. The Internet and the computer have allowed our father to participate in our home evenings.
We do not have to depart from our established schedule: if it is Dad’s turn to give the lesson, for example, he gives it. One of our family’s traditions is to evaluate our personal goals each week; this is never interrupted anymore. And another important thing: our reading of the Book of Mormon as a family is now continual, since we no longer have excuses not to read.
My father also uses the Internet to keep in touch with us in other ways. When he is away from our home in Peru, he connects and finds out what we’re doing and where we are. And when it is time for interviews or family councils, these are carried out at the appointed time, even when he’s traveling.
There are many good and useful technological advances that we often don’t put to good use because we fear their misuse and the harm they can cause us. However, if we use such technology wisely and humbly, it can be of great help.
We feel very thankful in our family for the Internet because it has become a great tool for removing the obstacles that might otherwise keep our family apart.

May and Ann sat by each other in Primary. They drew pictures of Jesus and of their families. They glued them in paper chains to make necklaces.
Sister Gardner asked how their families showed love.
“I ride bikes with my dad!” Ben said.
“We go to church together,” Leo said.
“My sister helps me with homework,” Ann said.
May felt sad. She didn’t ride bikes with her dad. She went to church with only her grandma. Sometimes she fought with her sister.
“How does your family show love, May?” Sister Gardner asked.
May put her head down on the table. “I don’t know,” she said.
Ann looked at May. She picked up a crayon. She started drawing again. Then she held up a picture. It was a girl with long hair. It looked just like May!
“May, I drew a picture of you. It’s for my necklace. I’m going to put you between Jesus and me. I love you. And Jesus loves you too.”
May lifted up her head. The picture made her smile. She felt happy that Ann was nice to her. And she knew that Jesus loved her.
May ran over and gave Ann a hug. “Thank you!” she said. “Can I draw you for my necklace too?”
Ann smiled big. “Yes!” she said. “And let’s draw Jesus too.”
When Primary was over, May ran to show her necklace to Grandma. “Guess what!” May said. “Jesus loves me.”

Once I was helping my mom with laundry in the basement. My brothers and sister were coming down the stairs. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs when my sister started to fall! Somehow I was able to catch her by grabbing her shirt with one hand. I think that was a miracle because the Holy Ghost helped me know where to stand and gave me strength to catch her, even though I was only three and she was two.

Ever since Marcus got his CTR ring, he was determined to choose the right. It wasn’t always easy. A hard choice came when his mother told him he was going to get to see his grandmother. Marcus’s grandmother lived far away, so he didn’t get to see her very often.
When he saw his best friend, Ramon, at school, Marcus said, “I’ve got some great news!”
“I do too,” Ramon said. He handed Marcus an envelope. “Open it!”
“First let me tell you my news,” Marcus said. “My grandmother is coming from England! We get to see her!”
“That’s super!” Ramon said. “When is she coming?”
“Friday night. But we can only visit her at the airport because she’s on her way to help my aunt with her new baby.”
Marcus quickly opened Ramon’s envelope. “You’re having a party!” he exclaimed. “I can’t wait. When is it?” Marcus read the invitation, and his face fell. “Oh no! It’s Friday.”
Ramon shrugged. “That’s OK. I understand why you can’t come.”
“But I want to come. What should I do?” Marcus asked.
“I guess you need to make a choice,” Ramon said. “Let me know what you decide.” Ramon waved and ran to class.
When Marcus got home from school, he sat on the front step, flipping a coin.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked, sitting down beside him. Marcus handed her the party invitation.
“I’m sure Grandmother will understand if you can’t come to the airport,” Mom said.
“But I want to see her,” Marcus said. He looked at his CTR ring. “What do you think is the right thing to do?” he asked.
“They are both good things to do,” Mom said. “In this case, it’s a matter of which is the best thing to do. But I don’t think flipping a coin is going to help. Have you prayed about it?”
“Yes. I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to tell me what to do, but He didn’t. Why won’t He just tell me?”
“Maybe He wants you to figure it out for yourself first,” Mom said. “Then He will tell you through the Holy Ghost if you’ve made a good decision.”
“But how can I figure it out?”
“Follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. He can help you make the choice between two good things.”
The next day at school Marcus told Ramon what his mother had said. “Won’t you feel sad if I don’t come to your party?” Marcus asked.
“Of course,” Ramon said. “But won’t you feel sad if you miss seeing your grandmother? If you came to my party, you might wish you were at the airport.”
“And if I go to the airport, I might wish I was at the party.” Marcus sighed. “I guess I need to think about it more.”
That night Marcus stood on Ramon’s front porch, holding a present. He rang the doorbell. Ramon answered the door.
“What’s this?” Ramon asked. “My party isn’t until tomorrow.”
Marcus took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m sorry that I won’t be able to come to your party, Ramon. I brought your gift early. Happy birthday!”
Ramon smiled and took the gift. “Thanks! I’m glad you’ll get to see your grandmother.”
“Me too,” Marcus said.
“Can you stay for a while?” Ramon asked. “We’re frosting cupcakes, and we could use your help.”
“Now that’s an easy choice to make,” Marcus said, and headed straight for the kitchen.

I remember well getting back into school following my mission. I was rusty in math and other subjects after having been away from school for 2 years. I felt over my head. I found myself looking forward to my college days being over so I wouldn't feel so much pressure. I also longed for my days in the mission field where I was anxiously engaged in serving and helping people change their lives. Life seemed more fulfilling and enjoyable during my mission.
One day during this time, I came across a poem that hit me like a lightning bolt. It says:
Yesterday is but a dreamTomorrow is only a visionBut today - well livedMakes every yesterday a dream of happinessAnd every tomorrow a vision of hope.
I knew then that I couldn't return to my mission and I knew I couldn't fast-forward through my college years. I knew that I needed to focus on today and make it a day well-lived. That required an attitude adjustment. I made that adjustment and I have been blessed. You can make that adjustment if needed and be blessed.Being anxiously engaged does not need to nor should it wait until tomorrow.

Thirty years ago, while I served as a missionary in the Near East, my companion and I were assigned to visit a branch that had been torn apart by apostasy. We approached our assignment humbly and prayerfully. A crucial meeting was scheduled involving the disaffected parties. After we had fasted and prayed earnestly, my companion stood with confidence and spoke with the tongue of an angel. That young, inexperienced elder’s words healed wounds festering in the hearts of men much older than he, prompted confessions, and literally saved a branch of the church.

In Belfast, in Northern Ireland, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was rather unpleasant, but it was all we could afford.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for twelve needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister, Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most poignant thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was sixty centimeters high, decorated with nine small glass balls, strips of tinfoil, and a star we had made from the wrapping foil inside a cereal box. For decoration, we had strips of colored paper hanging from the ceiling, and some balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and an orange drink. The twelve gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of modeling clay.
The children arrived looking as clean as they could, and wearing the best clothes they had, most of it well-worn and ragged. Mentally I counted, eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her tiny sister, who had refused to stay home. That presented us with a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was making clothes for little plastic dolls for girls to play with. Several of the dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it by the Christmas tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the thin wrapping paper.
“If you don’t mind, Miss,” he declared “I’ll have this game of table soccer for me and my friends.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs, although we adults grew tired of singing some of their favorites over and over again.
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting dress and high-heeled shoes much too large for her twelve-year-old body, “I was to a party in a big hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a Christmas tree that touched the ceiling.”
“Was it good?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t. No one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“You’ve left some food on your plate,” objected one boy to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it,” she replied. “I’ve never had so much food on my plate at one time.”
“Give it to me, then, for it’s a shame to waste good food.”
He ate the leftovers on some of the other children’s plates, too, but finally was too full to eat any more.
We gave him the table soccer game. We gave the twelve-year-old girl the plastic beads. We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old girl.
But, “It’s no use to me, Miss,” she said. “I don’t have a doll.”
So I got out another of the Relief Society’s plastic dolls. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree.
“It’s the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction. “I felt right at home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Miss,” seconded another voice, “For whenever any of us wanted something, one of you ladies was near to help.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more. The twelve-year-old, I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for the toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“It will be all right,” she said, trying to rewrap it, although the used wrapping tape wouldn’t stick too well any more.
“Would you have a piece of string, Miss? And a pencil, please?”
I gave her the string and the pencil, wondering what she wanted them for. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “It’s for my little brother, Miss. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford a present for him.”
The beauty and love of that little girl’s spirit shone through the ill-fitting clothes and continues to shine through the years as an example to me.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said the following: “In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time.”10
I tried to teach that principle in the talk I gave at the last October conference. Recently I received an email from Hailey, a member of the Church in Salem, Oregon, and mother of six, who learned this lesson on her own. Here is what she said:

After coming home last night from a couple of long days of helping at our elementary school, a flat tire, doctor’s visit, radiology appointment, and emergency room visit for one of my sick children, I was greeted with a kitchen full of dishes and life mess all over my house. I was exhausted, . . . and honestly, I just wanted to shower and climb into bed. . . .

While I was trying to tidy the kitchen, my seven-year-old approached me and asked if I would walk down to our basement to help him find a particular toy. My first thought . . . was, “I just want to get the kitchen cleaned and kids to bed without interruption.” He again asked if I would help him. . . .

I then remembered the following from your talk in conference: “When prompted, we can leave dishes in the sink or an in-box full of challenges demanding attention in order to read to a child, visit with a friend, babysit a neighbor’s children, or serve in the temple [my insert: or help your child find a toy]. . . . [We can] see people not as interruptions but as the purpose of [our] life.”

I looked at my son, who was looking up at me, and I looked at my sink full of dishes and countertops littered with clutter, and I said out loud, “Dishes, you have to wait.”
As he and I proceeded to walk down our stairs to the basement, my son, Andrew, said, “Mom, you love me more than dishes, huh?”
To which I responded an unequivocal “Yes!” . . .

Then, this morning, while helping him finish his homework for school, I said, “Andrew, I love you.”
He responded with, “Yup, you love me more than dishes.”

That became our new parenting mantra: “I love you more than dishes” (or insert any of the other thousand to-dos on our list).11

Hailey is my example in this. She knows that each day is a gift from a loving Father in Heaven.

Because my mother and father each belonged to different churches, they decided when they married that their children would not be forced into one faith or another. Instead, they would be sent to the nearest church and allowed to make up their own minds about religion once they knew the choices available. I had attended four different churches by my early teen years, and had occasionally attended my relatives’ church when they were visiting.
However, one of my friend’s mother died when I was fourteen, and I began to wonder about our existence here on earth. My mind wandered back to the days I had spent at church, and I decided to use all the knowledge I had to search for the true church on the earth—should there really be one.
I went back to the church into which I had been christened. I enjoyed the worship, but each time I asked questions, I was told just to attend—we didn’t need those answers. To me, if there was a God, a loving Father, I would view him much like my own earthly father—someone who wanted me to grow and search out the truth. I could not believe that a God who wished to keep me in ignorance would be my Heavenly Father.
I went back to other churches I had attended, then studied Judaism and Islam, as well as Christian denominations I had never before explored. Although these religions included many fine teachings, I felt the complete truth was still missing.
My parents had always encouraged me to search for myself. Once I had begun my examination of a particular faith, they would not take me to church. They made me find my own way, feeling that only if I struggled for something would I then hold it dear.
One afternoon as our family drove out of town, we passed a chapel of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jokingly, my father said, “You’ve not tried there yet.” I asked what kind of church it was, and he said it was the Mormon church. I remarked that the name on the front of the Church didn’t say that, and he responded, “Mormon is only their nickname; but don’t try them. They’re an odd lot.”
Since the church building was some four miles from my home, I decided to write and ask about their beliefs. The following week, a letter arrived for me from the branch president, inviting me to attend their meetings. I felt excited, yet nervous, as I read it—something I had never felt before while investigating a church. I decided it was time for me to ask my Heavenly Father about this.
I wasn’t quite sure what to say, since the Lord’s Prayer was the only one I had said before. However, as I finished a simple prayer asking the Lord to show me the way, I heard my mother call me. I went downstairs to find two men sitting in the front room. They had come to our door to see if our family would like to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My mother had asked them if they had come in answer to my letter, but they said they had never heard of me.
I sat silently while the three spoke together, and for the first time in my life all that my mother said seemed confusing, yet these two men made everything so clear. That night I thanked the Lord for sending the truth to me.
The next Sunday I set off on my bicycle to find the LDS meetinghouse. I arrived, but, too nervous to go in alone, I waited for someone else and asked if I could walk in with them. Once I was inside the church, a warm feeling came over me. The missionaries soon spotted me.
As weeks went by, the missionaries taught me the gospel and challenged me to be baptized. I quickly accepted, but my parents had other ideas. I was only sixteen and they didn’t think I was really serious. But they told me that if I still wanted to join the Church when I was eighteen, they would give their permission.
The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.
My baptism was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I renewed the promise I had made to my Father in Heaven two years earlier to serve him as a missionary. After my baptism, I started taking my younger sister to church. She was later baptized after I returned from my mission. Although my parents are still not members of the Church, I am grateful for the way they taught me and the desire they gave me to search for the truth.

Another General Authority, Rulon S. Wells, a kindly and pleasant elderly gentleman, came to our home one time after a stake conference. He stayed for supper and afterward accompanied me while I milked the cows. He leaned on the corral fence and we chatted.
Elder Rulon S. Wells

Afterward, since I had recently obtained a driver’s license, I was able to drive him back to Salt Lake City in our old Model T Ford touring car. When Elder Wells ordained me a seventy before I went on my mission, I was thrilled to learn that he had been ordained a seventy by Brigham Young.

Kevin and Jacqueline S., a brother and sister in El Salvador, are the best of friends, and they stick together in everything. They have a great love for the gospel and for their family. They want their family to be together forever.
When Kevin and Jacqueline were younger, people at church would ask their father, “When are you going to be sealed in the temple?” And he would respond, “When there is a temple in El Salvador.”
However, by the time the San Salvador El Salvador Temple was announced in 2007, Kevin and Jacqueline’s parents had stopped attending church. But Kevin, now 18, and Jacqueline, 15, kept going to church, praying that one day their parents would return.
“I never stopped praying and asking Heavenly Father that they would become active again,” Jacqueline says. “I know Heavenly Father wants the best for us, and He wants us to be an eternal family.”
They also tried to be good examples for their parents. “I never lost hope,” Kevin says. “I always read the scriptures and prayed, and my parents would see me study and leave to go do home teaching visits and to go to Church activities. As I worked to keep the commandments and to progress, my parents saw my example.”
Kevin and Jacqueline’s prayers for their parents began to be answered as the temple neared completion. “When our leaders announced the dedication and cultural celebration, we invited our parents,” Kevin says. “We told them about the privilege we would have as youth to participate, and this motivated them a lot and helped them progress spiritually.”
In addition to attending the cultural celebration, the family was also able to attend the temple open house.
“Even though my parents hadn’t been going to church, they still view the Church and the gospel as something sacred,” Kevin says. “When we entered the temple, my father began explaining to my sisters and me that when we enter the temple, we wear white and that this is where we perform sacred ordinances.”
Kevin was amazed that his two-year-old sister, who normally has a lot of energy, remained quiet while they were inside the temple, and he noticed how his mother had tears in her eyes as she viewed the different rooms and paintings. When the family entered a sealing room, a volunteer tour guide explained to them that this is where families are sealed together forever.
“Our little sister then began to touch each one of us and say, ‘My mom, my dad, my Kevin, my Jacqueline,’” says Jacqueline. “It was like Heavenly Father spoke through her to tell us that we are all hers.”
“Then she hugged us and started giving us kisses and pointing to the mirrors,” Kevin says. “We looked at ourselves together in the mirrors, and it was amazing. When we left the sealing room that day, we made a goal to be able to get back there.”
After attending the temple open house, the family began making some changes. “Since we went to the temple, our family has regained perspective,” Kevin says. “Since then we have been having family home evening, and our parents are bringing us to church and sitting with us on the front row of the chapel.”
In August 2011, Kevin and Jacqueline felt blessed to sit with their parents in the stake center as they viewed the broadcast of the temple dedication.
“When the temple was announced in 2007, my parents were less active, and I thought I would never have the opportunity to be with them at the dedication,” Kevin says. “When they were sitting with me, I could really feel that Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. To be there with my family was one of the greatest blessings I have had in my life.”
“This experience of the temple has strengthened me,” Jacqueline says. “What has strengthened me more than anything is seeing that the temple changes lives, because it helped my parents become active in the Church again. Now we have made the goal that we will be sealed in the temple. I know Heavenly Father wants the best for us.”

Recently a young ex-convict joined the Church after years of trouble and searching. His story is best told in his own words. Only the names have been changed. The following is taken from an address he taped while in prison. We publish it with his permission.
Brothers and sisters: I’m honored on this occasion to be able to speak to you about my life and to give some suggestions in regard to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel has truly been restored in our time through Joseph Smith and all the other great souls who have been instruments in the hands of God and his Only Begotten Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
For those of you who don’t know who I am, it might be best for me to start by telling you a little bit about myself. My name is Bill, and I am twenty-one years old. Up until a few years ago, I was very unfortunate spiritually. Indeed, my present situation somewhat reflects this fact. I guess by now you know that I am housed in the prison system of this state.
I was born in a Baltimore suburb to a fine family consisting of my mother, father, two brothers, and two sisters. I was raised in the Roman Catholic Church and even attended a parochial grade school. I started out as a relatively good child and continued so up until around the fourth grade. Yes, as early as the fourth grade I was on my way to a long road of filth of every kind. I started by getting involved with others who had the habit of stealing anything and everything. By age eleven I found it quite amusing to obtain entry into private premises in order to steal and vandalize. Of course, eventually I was caught and brought before a judge. I was fortunate this time not to receive any punishment for my crimes.
Time passed, and soon I was involved in every kind of unlawful act a person my age could get into. Time and time again I was caught and punished accordingly.
Of course, this kind of behavior caused my parents and loved ones much sorrow. Even with all their efforts to help me, I just seemed to get worse. As time passed, I was introduced to many of the radical, subversive factions of our society and the things that went along with them. It seems I went from one extreme to another trying to find a purpose in life. I was, of course, eventually introduced to one of the strongest underminers of all that is good—drugs. I experimented and tried to find myself using all the inventions of man. However, as time passed, I sensed my degenerated position. I soon realized I must pull myself from this hell on earth; so with all the courage I could muster, I managed to get accepted in the United States Army.
Once in the army and away from my old surroundings, I was able to muster some faith in God, of which I always had a little portion. I remember reading in the Bible and pondering the true meaning of the many prophecies. I even tried to get reactivated in the Roman Catholic Church. That, however, soon subsided, and I was on my way seeking and looking. I remember pouring out my soul in prayer much more frequently during this period, but I would always manage to find myself reunited with one of my various vices. Eventually I was transferred to another area. There I found a small group of seekers after the truth who interpreted God in their own way. I remember it was there that I thanked God for my restoration of faith, but I still was not satisfied.
Finally I became discontented and discouraged with the army. I was due to be transferred to Vietnam, so I decided to go absent without leave. Leaving the army behind, I traveled from the west coast to the east. Eventually I ended up back at my home. My parents were disappointed in me, of course, but they sympathized with me and consented to let me stay at home.
Well, before too long I was back in trouble, and I was getting worse. One night I happened to come across a gun. This led to other things, and I soon talked myself into using it for gaining money. Leaving details aside, I did use it and was caught. I was detained in the county jail to await trial. While awaiting my trial, I had occasion to visit a library they had there. There were a number of books dealing with religion that I asked to see. One of these was entitled Religious Truths Defined, by Joseph Fielding Smith, Jr. To this day I don’t know how that book got there. But praise be to God for allowing a sinner like me to even read it.
I commenced reading the book, which compares the doctrine of many contemporary religious establishments to those of the church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To me it seemed that even a blind person could see the obvious truths the book professed. After all this I had found the true church. That night I prayed to God, and I told him I believed. I didn’t ask if it were true; I told him I knew it was true.
Brothers and sisters, there are no words I know that can describe the tremendous joy and will to do good continuously that I received from an enormously gigantic outpouring of the Holy Ghost the next morning. I was dazed. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Why God led me to that book and what he has planned for me, I don’t know. But I do know that I have found the true church and the true God. I know that God is real, that Jesus Christ is his Only Begotten. I know the Holy Ghost does exist and that he works on the hearts of men.
Well, I was eventually punished for my wrongs and crimes. I thought that God had let me down at first. However, I stayed in contact with his church continuously and was strengthened more and more. Eventually I quit smoking and drinking, and all my vices and bad habits have almost completely vanished. I have managed to get my high school equivalent and now I’m close to graduation from junior college with a degree in business administration. I have almost two years in seminary work completed and have managed to read the standard works a number of times. I have read many of the other books related to the Church and have followed the Church as closely as possible. To my regret, however, I did receive an undesirable discharge from the army, for which I am really sorry. I surely will try to make it up.
I recently started receiving the missionary discussions and anxiously await the opportunity to be baptized, to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, and to get my patriarchal blessing. I believe in everything the Church says and does and can’t wait to be active in God’s work.
That is an extra-short version of my life’s story. Indeed, I could probably fill a couple of volumes with the complete version. But all in all, I have no doubts whatsoever concerning God’s church and work. How I look forward to the day I can be in it.
As for advice and suggestions, brothers and sisters, what can I tell you that hasn’t been told you by the prophets and authorities? I will say, Beware of the ways of the world. Be not concerned with societal standards or resulting sub-societies. “Fear God and keep his commandments, for that is the whole duty of man,” the Psalmist said. Please, trust God. Be pure. Don’t go through what I did, or even a minute portion of what I did. There’s no pleasure in it, only grief. So with that I will end my speaking. I give thanks to God above for bringing me this far, and for the change in my heart and the chance to tell someone my story so that maybe they can avoid what I went through. I also give thanks for all the great people I’ve met since my affiliation, for truly you are saints. May the Lord God of Israel be with you always and forever. Amen.

Illustrations by Scott Peck
So where are your video games?
Don’t have any.
What?! How can we play Monster Quest like we do at my house?
We can’t. Let’s go outside and look for real monsters instead.
Is this an arrowhead?
Maybe it’s a monster tooth!
Yikes! A bigfoot monster was here!
We can’t let the monster get us! Follow me to the creek!
We’re mud monsters!
RAWR!
Sea monsters!
Aaah!
That was even more fun than Monster Quest. Next time, let’s look for real monsters at my house too!