Gospel Story Finder

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two Trojan players while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it swished through.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored fifteen points a game. Secretly I wished that Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told the class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would be shouting, “Go Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now, instead of worried.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second grade class after gulping down my sandwich. My stomach felt as though I’d swallowed a roller coaster when I saw all those faces staring at me. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball like Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed like a video on fast forward.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again?” she asked.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them out. It had nothing to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game, and I started grinning like a circus clown. But I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby, and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

It happened in the days when stake conferences consisted of two sessions during the day and a stake fireside in the evening. The visiting general authority always attended the 10 A.M. and the 2 P.M. sessions and occasionally remained as the speaker for the evening fireside. On one particular day it was our good fortune in the Wasatch Stake (Heber City, Utah) to have Elder Spencer W. Kimball as the guest for the day. Our family had been somewhat acquainted with Elder Kimball and were overjoyed when he accepted our parents’ invitation to have dinner with us and remain at our home until time for the evening meeting.
My eight sisters and I did a great deal of singing during the time we grew up and were accustomed to invitations that didn’t give us a great deal of time for preparation. However, on that conference afternoon, the telephone rang and I heard the voice of our stake president, H. Clay Cummings, on the other end. He told me that the person previously asked to sing the musical number for the evening fireside couldn’t perform and wondered if our family would provide some music. I placed my hand over the phone while I relayed the message and asked the others for their opinion. I mentioned to them that it was extremely short notice and that perhaps we should tell him no. While a short discussion ensued, our guest taught us all a great lesson: “Tell President Cummings we’d love to,” Elder Kimball remarked. “Your father and I will do the men’s parts and two of you girls can do the others, and we’ll sing them one of the beautiful hymns.”
I sheepishly gave the message to President Cummings and hung up the phone. Immediately, we gathered around the piano and prepared our presentation for that evening.
Can you imagine the thrill of singing that number with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, the future President of the Church? It was an experience I shall never forget.

“I don’t know how we’re sisters. It’s like we’re from two different planets,” I complained to my best friend as I saw my older sister walking away from me at school.
Catheryn and I were three years apart and had been best friends until she turned eight. I think she realized it wasn’t cool to be friends with your little sister, and we started making new friends.
When I was 17, I moved to Orem, Utah, where Catheryn had moved for college. We seldom saw each other. She left for a semester abroad, and I was busy finishing up my senior year of high school.
When she returned, however, things began to change. She never said anything about the two of us not being friends. Everything clicked, and we began to have a real relationship. It was more than just friends; we were sisters again.
We spent the next year and a half getting to know each other. We would talk on the phone, go shopping, have dinner together, and of course we loved to share clothes. It was my dream come true.
Then in November of 2006 Catheryn and her husband, Steve, were involved in an accident at a reservoir. They were both killed. In an instant my new best friend was gone, and I felt like a part of me was gone with her. I didn’t understand why Heavenly Father would take my sister away when I was just starting to get to know her again. “If only we had more time,” I thought.
Each day I prayed to understand the Lord’s plan and why Catheryn had died. I didn’t think I would ever feel whole again.
One night as I prayed, I felt completely surrounded by the love of God. His Spirit wrapped around me like a thick, warm quilt and filled the emptiness I had been feeling. I changed my bitter attitude to a thankful one. I was grateful Catheryn and I had become friends at all. And more than that, I was grateful to have a Father who answered my prayers and could understand exactly how I felt.

Tossip Sahaiau of Manus, Papua, New Guinea, is justifiably excited about his local soccer team’s grand final win in district competition. But the 18-year-old co-captain knows that his team had extra help.

Because of financial problems, the team almost didn’t make it to the finals. “It was through prayer that we were able to get the money we needed,” said Tossip.

Tossip is the only Latter-day Saint on his team, but he tries hard to set a good example. His faith helps. “I am thankful that the Lord has directed me to my right destination in the Church,” he says.

Tien was the only one in his group that spoke Siamese, the Thai language. He was able to communicate their desire to seek freedom in Thailand. They were put into a refugee camp but eventually lost track of each other. Tien spent a total of two years in three different refugee camps. He volunteered to work in the kitchen, where he could get enough to eat and also receive extra water for showers. While carrying out his kitchen duties, he noticed that whenever he offered coffee or tea to certain young ladies, they always politely refused. He was very curious about this practice, so one day he asked if something was wrong with his drinks. They explained that they were Mormons and did not drink coffee or tea for religious reasons.
Missionaries were not allowed to give formal lessons in the camps. They were there to teach the refugees how to speak English and otherwise prepare for life once they left the refugee camp. But from their mealtime discussions, the missionaries left Tien with an interest in the gospel and a card with a Utah address saying to get in touch when he left the camp.
One day a U.N. official came to visit the camp and said there were too many unattached children in camp under the age of 18. He said if there were any who would like to go to America, applications were being taken. Tien, who was willing to go anywhere, quickly applied. He was asked if he had a preference of a place to live in America. He showed the missionary card with a Utah address and said he heard the place on the card was nice. His papers went first to New York and then to Utah, where a sponsor was located. After arriving, he found a home with foster parents, Gary C. and Shawna Smith and later with Macoy and Marjorie McMurray. Tien was baptized after missionaries in Salt Lake completed the work begun in the refugee camp through the Spirit and the unselfish Christian service of the missionaries.
Tien is now a senior at Olympus High School in Salt Lake City. His parents are still in Laos, unable to join him in America. He plans to serve a mission as soon as he graduates in June. He feels that his finding a life-saving gas can along the Mekong River and then finding the missionaries in the refugee camp are more than mere coincidence. His visa does not allow him to travel out of this country, so he hopes to do missionary work among Vietnamese people living in America.

Starting in my junior year of high school, my life began to get off track. I went to church only to pacify my parents, not because I wanted to. Towards the end of the year, I felt I had hit rock bottom. Nothing was going right, not at school, not at work, and especially not at home.
One day I went to my sister’s house. At that time my brother-in-law, Gerry, was in the bishopric. I began to tell them all the things in my life that were going wrong. After patiently listening, Gerry suggested that I start reading the Book of Mormon 30 minutes a day. I figured I had tried everything else and nothing had worked, so I decided to give it a try. Gerry promised me that if I truly tried to read for 30 minutes a day for a whole month, things would start to change for the better.
I started reading that very night. I think it was the longest half hour of my life. The next day was just an average day; nothing great and nothing horrible happened.
But change takes time. The next week was not an easy one. I missed the extra half hour of sleep, but I stuck with it. Soon I started to notice little things just happened to work out for the better.
At this time, I received the biggest blessing I have ever had in my life, although I didn’t recognize it at first. I had the opportunity to go to Ireland to work for the summer. I was already two weeks into my month of reading, so I decided to continue the Book of Mormon test while in Ireland and read it every day. And I did.
My life began to change dramatically. I began to love the things that I used to detest. I looked forward to going to church at my little branch in Galway. I gained a more positive outlook on life, and my testimony began to grow in leaps and bounds. One day I wrote in my journal:
Today was the most wonderful day. I woke up and went to church at 10:30. Today was our branch conference. It was the most spiritual meeting I have ever attended! I don’t think that I have ever felt the Spirit so strongly before. The people here in Galway are the friendliest, most generous, righteous people I have ever met. They give me strength. They are so firmly rooted in the gospel; I learn so much just by their examples. I think that today is the first time I have ever known or felt absolutely positive that the gospel is right and true.
Reading the Book of Mormon was no longer a chore. It was something I began to look forward to every day. My time in Ireland was soon up, and I had to return home. I knew that facing my old home life and my old friends was going to be a great challenge.
When I got home, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. My mom and I actually saw eye to eye on a lot of things, and I grew to love her with all my heart. As the wrinkles in home life began to iron out, so did things with my friends. I stopped hanging out with some of my old friends and started associating with a different group of girls. This was hard, but I had a lot of support. My life took a 180-degree turn.
Throughout this whole process I had the scriptures and a sister who was sent straight from heaven. My sister always knew when things were getting rough, and she would write me little notes of encouragement. She gave me a compass to remind me every day of the changes I had made in my life and to keep going in the same direction.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman: Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

I’ve visited the Church in different places around the world, and while on those visits have always felt welcome. For a long time, I thought it was good enough for me and my family that I was an enthusiastic supporter of this Church, but in June 2022, something changed.
I was raised Catholic and said prayers during my younger years, but in June of 2022, I really prayed to God for the very first time. I prayed for guidance, to know if this was the right time for me to study the gospel. That night in my sleep, a scripture from the Book of Mormon entered in my mind: 2 Nephi 17.
It was like a movie. I saw golden glowing letters on the inside of my head. I had no idea if the scripture, 2 Nephi 17 existed, but I clearly felt that this was an answer to my prayers and came up with a plan to go to Church with Ellie and the children for at least a year, to read the scriptures and to pray together as a family. Later that day at work, I looked up the text of 2 Nephi 17, and my eyes landed on verse 11, that reads: “Ask thee a sign of the Lord thy God; ask it either in the depths, or in the heights above.”
I did not see this experience as a faint sign. This felt like God literally telling me that indeed it was time. I went home to tell Ellie and told her that I was ready to start a sincere study of the gospel. While telling her my story, I was struck by lightning—not by actual lightning, but by the Holy Ghost. I immediately knew what it was. Physically I felt something happening in my heart and realized that I was freed from a restlessness that I’ve carried all my life. Immediately I felt a love come over me that I have never felt before. I knew that this was the love of Christ. I literally had a change of heart. For my oldest daughter, Mayra, it was a very emotional moment, because two days earlier she had prayed that I would experience a conversion. Later, I learned two other friends had prayed for the same thing a few days earlier. A great testimony of the power of prayer!

Photograph courtesy of the author
Screams echoed through the trees as people ran to avoid lava and falling rocks. I stood backstage listening to the soundtrack booming through speakers across the hill.
That summer, I participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant, which portrayed several events from the Book of Mormon. I had been cast as a harvest dancer (see 1 Nephi 18:23–24) and an unbeliever (see 3 Nephi 1:4–21), but everyone, including the staff, was a part of the upcoming scene.
A spotlight shone on a figure dressed in white, seemingly floating above the highest tier of the stage. He wasn’t really the Savior, of course—just a volunteering college student like me. But in that moment onstage, I imagined the real Savior standing there instead.
I pictured Him walking up to me, and I imagined looking into His eyes. Feelings from the Spirit washed over me. In that moment, I had a taste of what it must be like to see my true Savior. I treasured this unique spiritual experience.
Six months later, a statement from Bishop W. Christopher Waddell, then Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, changed my perspective: “Each Sunday we are able to have an experience similar to one shared by the survivors of the serious destruction that occurred at the time of the Savior’s crucifixion, as described in the Book of Mormon.”1
I was stunned. Was it possible for me to feel, every week, the same way I had felt onstage that night? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that partaking of the sacrament is a personal experience with the Savior much like kneeling in front of Him and feeling the prints of the nails in His hands and feet.
We don’t need to be in a pageant to experience the Savior’s love and understanding or to visualize a personal moment with Him. We have opportunities every week. Each Sunday, He is waiting to show us His love and understanding. We just need to come unto Him.

One day during a deacons quorum meeting our adviser decided that we would have a testimony meeting. It wasn’t that I hadn’t shared my testimony before. In fact, I was one of those kids who thought that bearing testimony was what one was supposed to do at every testimony meeting. But it wasn’t the cool thing to do at age 12.

I suppose that we had about 8 or 10 deacons in our quorum, and slowly (although not slow enough, it seemed to me) one boy after another stood to share his testimony. I was almost panicky because I just didn’t know what I would say. I hoped that maybe the time would run out, and I wouldn’t feel obligated to stand, but it did not. A small group of 10 deacons sharing their testimonies doesn’t take long, so plenty of time still remained when all of the other boys had finished standing and sharing their testimonies. I stood awkwardly and recited the same basic things most of the others had said: “I love my mom and dad. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

The thing was done, but for the first time in my life I realized that it was a lie. The only thing I had said that I knew to be true was that I loved my mom and dad. I really did not know if the Church was true or if Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I knew then that I had to find out. I had to know for myself.

I don’t remember exactly when I finally asked, but I do remember that one night I knelt by my bed and pleaded with my Father in Heaven to forgive me for my weaknesses and to let me know if this church I belonged to was truly His Church. I had never prayed with such intent before, and I am not sure I have ever prayed with more fervor since. I was only about 12 or 13 years old, and yet I can still feel to this day the power of the spiritual witness that came to me that night confirming that this was indeed the Church of Jesus Christ and that my Father in Heaven knew me and loved me. The test had worked, just as the scriptures promised.

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, "Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm."

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

Let me share a personal story.

My wife and I learned to work better at being equal partners after one day when I decided to make an important decision without consulting her. My action surprised her, took her off guard, and put her in a very difficult situation. Afterward, she put her hands on my shoulders and firmly said, “Ron, please, never do that to me again.” We have pretty much been on the same page ever since.

I am very happy to express my joy and gratitude for the fact that the last issue of L’Étoile (the former name of the Church’s French magazine) and the first issue of Le Liahona (the current name of the Church’s French magazine) helped put me on the path of the restored gospel, which I had been seeking for many years.
Disappointed by the false teachings that met me everywhere I turned in life, I had decided never to enter a church of any kind until Jesus Christ Himself returned and announced His gospel in person. The presentation and contents of the articles in the magazine, however, led me to the truth as restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I am again attending church, this time the true Church of Jesus Christ.Fidele Kituma-wa-Talanzambi, Mbuji Mayi Branch, Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission

Sharing the gospel message is one of the most rewarding ways we can render service to those who are not of our faith. I recall a childhood experience with someone I will simply call Uncle Fred.
When I was six years old, Uncle Fred was my worst nightmare. He was our neighbor, and he was always drunk. One of his favorite pastimes was to throw rocks at our home.
Because my mother was a great cook, single adult members from our small branch frequented our home. One day when Uncle Fred was sober, these members befriended him and invited him into our home. This development terrified me. He was no longer just outside but inside our home. This happened a few more times until, finally, they were able to convince Uncle Fred to listen to the missionaries. He accepted the gospel and was baptized. He served a full-time mission, returned with honor, pursued further education, and was married in the temple. He is now a righteous husband, father, and priesthood leader. Watching Uncle Fred today, one would find it difficult to believe that he once brought nightmares into the life of a six-year-old boy. May we always be perceptive to opportunities to share the gospel.

Years ago on a cold night in a train station in Japan, I heard a tap on the window of my sleeper car. There stood a freezing boy wearing a ragged shirt with a dirty rag tied about a swollen jaw. His head was covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out.
I will never forget that starving little boy left standing in the cold, holding up an empty tin can. Nor can I forget how helpless I felt as the train slowly pulled away and left him standing on the platform.
Some years later in Cusco, a city high in the Andes of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room that opened onto the street. It was night, and while Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He wore only a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.
On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This starving street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.
Later the little boy returned. He slid along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. When he was near the point where the woman would see him again, I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.
Then, as something symbolic, I set him on Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer, the hungry little boy darted out into the night.
When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about my experience. He was deeply moved and told me, “You were holding a nation on your lap.” He said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”
As I have visited Latin American countries nearly 100 times, I have looked for that little boy in the faces of the people. Now I do know what President Kimball meant.
I met another shivering boy on the streets of Salt Lake City. It was late on another cold winter night. We were leaving a Christmas dinner at a hotel. Down the street came six or eight noisy boys. All of them should have been at home out of the cold.
One boy had no coat. He bounced about very rapidly to stave off the chill. He disappeared down a side street, no doubt to a small, shabby apartment and a bed that did not have enough covers to keep him warm.
At night, when I pull the covers over me, I offer a prayer for those who have no warm bed to go to.
I was stationed in Osaka, Japan, when World War II closed. The city was rubble, and the streets were littered with blocks, debris, and bomb craters. Although most of the trees had been blasted away, some few of them still stood with shattered limbs and trunks and had the courage to send forth a few twigs with leaves.
A tiny girl dressed in a ragged, colored kimono was busily gathering yellow sycamore leaves into a bouquet. The little child seemed unaware of the devastation that surrounded her as she scrambled over the rubble to add new leaves to her collection. She had found the one beauty left in her world. Perhaps I should say she was the beautiful part of her world. Somehow, to think of her increases my faith. Embodied in the child was hope.
Mormon taught that “little children are alive in Christ” and need not repent.
Around the turn of the previous century, two missionaries were laboring in the mountains of the southern United States. One day, from a hilltop, they saw people gathering in a clearing far below. The missionaries did not often have many people to whom they might preach, so they made their way down to the clearing.
A little boy had drowned, and there was to be a funeral. His parents had sent for the minister to “say words” over their son. The missionaries stood back as the itinerant minister faced the grieving father and mother and began his sermon. If the parents expected to receive comfort from this man of the cloth, they would be disappointed.
He scolded them severely for not having had the little boy baptized. They had put it off because of one thing or another, and now it was too late. He told them very bluntly that their little boy had gone to hell. It was their fault. They were to blame for his endless torment.
After the sermon was over and the grave was covered, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the mother, “and we have come with a message for you.” As the sobbing parents listened, the two elders read from the revelations and bore their testimony of the restoration of the keys for the redemption of both the living and the dead.
I have some sympathy for that preacher. He was doing the best he could with such light and knowledge as he had. But there is more that he should have been able to offer. There is the fulness of the gospel.
The elders came as comforters, as teachers, as servants of the Lord, as authorized ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
These children of whom I spoke represent all of our Heavenly Father’s children. “Children are an heritage of the Lord: and … happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.”
The creation of life is a great responsibility for a married couple. It is the challenge of mortality to be a worthy and responsible parent. Neither man nor woman can bear children alone. It was meant that children have two parents—both a father and a mother. No other pattern or process can replace this one.
Long ago a woman tearfully told me that as a college student she had made a serious mistake with her boyfriend. He had arranged for an abortion. In due time they graduated and were married and had several other children. She told me how tormented she now was to look at her family, her beautiful children, and see in her mind the place, empty now, where that one child was missing.
If this couple understands and applies the Atonement, they will know that those experiences and the pain connected with them can be erased. No pain will last forever. It is not easy, but life was never meant to be either easy or fair. Repentance and the lasting hope that forgiveness brings will always be worth the effort.
Another young couple tearfully told me they had just come from a doctor where they were told they would be unable to have children of their own. They were brokenhearted with the news. They were surprised when I told them that they were actually quite fortunate. They wondered why I would say such a thing. I told them their state was infinitely better than that of other couples who were capable of being parents but who rejected and selfishly avoided that responsibility.
I told them, “At least you want children, and that desire will weigh heavily in your favor in your earthly lives and beyond because it will provide spiritual and emotional stability. Ultimately, you will be much better off because you wanted children and could not have them, as compared to those who could but would not have children.”
Still others remain unmarried and therefore childless. Some, due to circumstances beyond their control, are raising children as single mothers or single fathers. These are temporary states. In the eternal scheme of things—not always in mortality—righteous yearning and longing will be fulfilled.
“If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.”
The ultimate end of all activity in the Church is to see a husband and his wife and their children happy at home, protected by the principles and laws of the gospel, sealed safely in the covenants of the everlasting priesthood. Husbands and wives should understand that their first calling—from which they will never be released—is to one another and then to their children.
One of the great discoveries of parenthood is that we learn far more about what really matters from our children than we ever did from our parents. We come to recognize the truth in Isaiah’s prophecy that “a little child shall lead them.”
In Jerusalem, “Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,
“And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
“Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
“Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
“And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence.”
We read in the Book of Mormon of the visit of Jesus Christ to the New World. He healed and blessed the people and commanded that the little children should be brought to Him.
Mormon records, “They brought their little children and set them down upon the ground round about him, and Jesus stood in the midst; and the multitude gave way till they had all been brought unto him.”
He then commanded the people to kneel. With the children around Him, the Savior knelt and offered a prayer to our Father in Heaven. After the prayer, the Savior wept, “and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.
“And when he had done this he wept again.”
I can understand the feelings expressed by the Savior toward children. There is much to be learned from following His example in seeking to pray for, bless, and teach “those little ones.”
I was number 10 in a family of 11 children. So far as I know, neither my father nor my mother served in a prominent calling in the Church.
Our parents served faithfully in their most important calling—as parents. Our father led our home in righteousness, never with anger or fear. And the powerful example of our father was magnified by the tender counsel of our mother. The gospel is a powerful influence in the life of every one of us in the Packer family and to the next generation and the next generation and the next, as far as we have seen.
I hope to be judged as good a man as my father. Before I hear those words “well done” from my Heavenly Father, I hope to first hear them from my mortal father.
Many times I have puzzled over why I should be called as an Apostle and then as the President of the Quorum of the Twelve in spite of having come from a home where the father could be termed as less active. I am not the only member of the Twelve who fits that description.
Finally I could see and understand that it may have been because of that circumstance that I was called. And I could understand why in all that we do in the Church, we need to provide the way, as leaders, for parents and children to have time together as families. Priesthood leaders must be careful to make the Church family friendly.
There are many things about living the gospel of Jesus Christ that cannot be measured by that which is counted or charted in records of attendance. We busy ourselves with buildings and budgets and programs and procedures. In so doing, it is possible to overlook the very spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Too often someone comes to me and says, “President Packer, wouldn’t it be nice if … ?”
I usually stop them and say no, because I suspect that what follows will be a new activity or program that is going to add a burden of time and financial means on the family.
Family time is sacred time and should be protected and respected. We urge our members to show devotion to their families.
When we were first married, my wife and I decided that we would accept the children that would be born to us with the responsibility attending their birth and growth. In due time they have formed families of their own.
Twice in our marriage, at the time of the births of two of our little boys, we have had a doctor say, “I do not think you are going to keep this one.”
Both times this brought the response from us that we would give our lives if our tiny son could keep his. In the course of that offer, it dawned on us that this same devotion is akin to what Heavenly Father feels about each of us. What a supernal thought.
Now in the sunset of our lives, Sister Packer and I understand and witness that our families can be forever. As we obey the commandments and live the gospel fully, we will be protected and blessed. With our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, our prayer is that each one of our growing family will have that same devotion toward those precious little ones.
Fathers and mothers, next time you cradle a newborn child in your arms, you can have an inner vision of the mysteries and purposes of life. You will better understand why the Church is as it is and why the family is the basic organization in time and in eternity. I bear witness that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true, that the plan of redemption, which has been called the plan of happiness, is a plan for families. I pray the Lord that the families of the Church will be blessed, parents and children, that this work will roll forth as the Father intends. I bear this witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Illustrations by Alyssa Tallent
“Estas son las mañanitas …”
The sound of Mamá’s singing woke Ingrid up. She opened her eyes and saw Mamá coming into her room. Mamá always sang her a special birthday song on her birthday.
“Feliz cumpleaños!” Mamá said. “Let’s get ready for your party.”
Ingrid could smell a chocolate cake baking in the oven. I wonder what presents I’ll get! she thought. She climbed out of bed and looked out the window. The jacaranda tree outside was full of purple flowers.
Ingrid helped push the sofa into Mamá’s room so there was lots of space in the living room. She helped frost the cake and stuck seven candles on top. Soon it was time for the party!
Ingrid’s friends from school and Primary came. They played games and ate cake. Then came Ingrid’s favorite part—presents! She got a new book, a stuffed tiger, and a charm bracelet.
After everyone left, Ingrid gave Mamá a hug. “Thank you, Mamá. That was the best birthday ever!”
“It’s not over yet,” Mamá said. “I have a special surprise for you.” She handed Ingrid a slip of paper. It said, “Time for bed!”
“It’s a clue,” Mamá explained. “You have to find the next one.”
Ingrid hurried to her bedroom. She found another slip of paper under her pillow. It said, “Laundry day.”
Ingrid ran to the kitchen and opened the washing machine. Another clue!
Ingrid found more clues behind the TV, inside her favorite book, and under the bathroom rug. The last clue led to her closet. Up on the shelf was a wrapped box. Ingrid wasn’t tall enough, so Mamá got it down for her.
Ingrid tore off the paper and lifted the lid. Inside the box was some folded white fabric and a big copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Next year, you can be baptized,” Mamá said. “This is a special gift to help you get ready.” Mamá touched the white fabric. “This is what I’ll use to make your baptism dress. And this”—she picked up the Book of Mormon—“is for you to read.”
Ingrid looked up at Mamá. “I’ve never read the whole Book of Mormon.”
“I know you can do it.” Mamá flipped the book open. “Look. The letters are extra big. I thought that might make it easier.”
Mamá closed the book again and handed it to Ingrid. Ingrid ran her fingers over the smooth cover.
“It’s important that you find out for yourself if the Book of Mormon is true,” Mamá said. “I promise that if you read and pray with all your heart, Heavenly Father will help you know.”
That night Ingrid read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. She liked reading the scriptures.
She read her Book of Mormon again the next day. And the next. She read it every day. After a few weeks, she decided she didn’t want to wait till the end of the book to pray about it.
Ingrid knelt by her bed. She prayed with all her heart and asked Heavenly Father to help her know that the Book of Mormon was true. Then she waited. She thought she might hear a voice, but she didn’t. Instead, a happy feeling grew in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father was answering her prayer.
Almost a year later, Ingrid finished reading the Book of Mormon. She knew that no matter what she got for her eighth birthday, the Book of Mormon would always be one of her favorite gifts!
This story took place in Mexico. Go to page 14 to learn more about that country!

They didn’t forget about it in a week. They didn’t forget about it in a month.
“Mom, can I take the car tonight?” Anne asked. “Debbie and I want to see Superman.”
“Again?” Mother asked. “How many times have you seen it?”
“Only three,” Anne said. “Star Wars still holds the record.”
“I hardly dare ask how often.”
“Six times.”
“You may take the car,” said Mother.
“Thanks!” Anne said.
“As soon,” Mother added, “as you settle up your car leasing bill.”
Anne looked horrified. “You didn’t say anything about it.”
“Why should I have? It’s your bill, not mine.”
“But I’ve spent almost all my money.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe Debbie can drive.”
They went over the accounts. “Your total bill is now $38.56,” Mother said.
Anne gulped. “But, Mom, that’s more than a new top.”
“And just think,” Mother said with a smile, “we’re only charging you half what it costs us!”
Anne went to her bedroom and got the money and paid Mother. “Take it,” Anne said. “Take it all. I don’t like money anyway. I hate money. I never want to see money again. Money is filthy and disgusting. Take all of it.”
“Aren’t you going to the movie?” Mother asked.
“I have 42¢ left. That wouldn’t pay for the gas to get the car out of the driveway. Let alone the movie.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Mother. “Perhaps if you walked to Debbie’s house more often—it isn’t even a mile.”
“What am I supposed to be, a pioneer?”
“But haven’t you heard, dear?” asked Mother. “The sidewalks are paved all the way there.”
“Would you really thrust your own youngest daughter out in the snow and the sleet—”
“This is California, dear. If it starts snowing, I’ll let you take the car for half price.”

When triplet brothers Ryan S., Trent, and Nathan all received their mission calls on the same day, they could barely contain their excitement. And then things really got exciting.
All three brothers were called to serve in the same city—Mexico City, Mexico—albeit in three different missions there. Their friendships with one another have only deepened now that they’re in the mission field. “We continue to be a strength to each other,” says Ryan.
The brothers had a chance to meet up when their missions came together for a special meeting with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “We’re progressing together stronger than ever before,” says Ryan.

While preparing for the construction of the magnificent Paris France Temple, I had an experience I will never forget. In 2010, when property for the temple was found, the city mayor asked to meet with us to know more about our Church. This meeting was a critical step in obtaining a building permit. We meticulously prepared a presentation that included several impressive pictures of Latter-day Saint temples. My most fervent hope was that their architectural beauty would persuade the mayor to support our project.
To my surprise, the mayor indicated that rather than reviewing our presentation, he and his team preferred to conduct their own investigation to find out what kind of church we were. The following month, we were invited back to hear a report given by a city councilor who also happened to be a professor of religious history. She said, “Above all else, we wanted to understand who the members of your church are. First, we attended one of your sacrament meetings. We sat at the back of the chapel and carefully observed the people in the congregation and what they were doing. Then we met with your neighbors—those who live around your stake center—and we asked them what kind of people you Mormons are.”
“So what are your conclusions?” I asked, feeling a little bit of anxiety. She replied, “We discovered that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the closest to Jesus Christ’s original Church than any other church we know of.” I almost objected by saying, “That’s not completely accurate! It’s not the church that is closest; it is the Church of Jesus Christ—the same Church, the true Church!” But I restrained myself and instead offered a silent prayer of gratitude. The mayor then advised us that, based on their findings, he and his team had no objections to the construction of a temple in their community.
Today, when I think about that miraculous experience, I feel grateful for the mayor’s wisdom and spirit of discernment. He knew that the key to understanding the Church is not to see it through the outward appearance of its buildings or even as a well-organized institution but through its millions of faithful members, who strive each day to follow the example of Jesus Christ.