Gospel Story Finder

I began investigating the Church as a teenager, but I stopped attending the Sunday meetings because I felt excluded by many of the youth. Some time later, one of those youth invited me to a Church activity. I accepted and liked the activities because they were things I enjoy doing: acting, playing basketball, and running.
As I continued to attend activities, I got to know the youth and realized that many of them went to my school. With time I was able to develop friendships with young men and young women who had the same standards that I live by. I am grateful that someone invited me to a Church activity, and I am grateful that I accepted.

Marcy hated her eye patch. She’d had to wear it every day for two weeks while her eye healed from surgery, and it made her feel like a scary, one-eyed pirate.
It wasn’t so bad wearing the patch at the hospital or at home because nobody but Marcy’s family saw it. But today was different. Marcy had to face other people for the first time since her surgery. “Mom, please don’t make me go to Primary,” she begged. “The kids will make fun of me.”
“No, they won’t,” Mom said as she braided Marcy’s hair.
“They will,” Marcy insisted. “Nine-year-olds don’t think eye patches are neat, Mom.”
“Sweetie, you might be surprised. I bet they’ll be interested in your surgery. You may be the star of the class.”
Marcy shot her mom a look of disbelief. “Cammy will make fun of me. She always wears the prettiest clothes—she wouldn’t be caught dead in an eye patch. And Dean will probably call me names.” Mom listened while she twisted shiny lavender ribbons around Marcy’s smooth braid.
“Your teacher won’t make fun of you,” Mom said, tying the ribbons into Marcy’s hair.
“Mom,” Marcy sighed, “teachers aren’t allowed to tease.”
“You’re beautiful,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about the patch.”
Marcy frowned. “I don’t look beautiful.”
“Marcy,” Mom said, “to me you look beautiful, and to Heavenly Father you do, too. It says in the scriptures that Heavenly Father doesn’t look on outward appearances, but on the heart. He doesn’t care about fashionable clothes or stylish hair. Or, for that matter, crutches or wheelchairs—or eye patches.”
Marcy sighed again. “Tell that to Cammy and Dean.”
Soon it was time for church, and Marcy’s family drove away in their red van. They slipped into the chapel and sat on the last row. Marcy kept her head down, hoping nobody would notice her.
After sacrament meeting, Marcy trudged down the hall toward her classroom, keeping her head toward the wall to hide the patch. As she got closer to her classroom, tears began welling up in her eyes. Her face flushed hot, and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest.
She stood outside the classroom door, hoping everyone would notice her lovely hair and pale purple ribbons instead of the ugly black patch. She took a deep breath, but couldn’t go in. The sound of squeaky chairs and gentle laughter inside the room sounded so normal. She didn’t feel like she fit in with those happy sounds.
She glanced around and noticed the hallways were strangely empty. It seemed everybody but her was already in class. She gripped the doorknob. It felt cold on her clammy hands. Turning the knob, she vowed not to cry, no matter how badly the children teased her. She slid through the door and into the nearest seat, keeping her uncovered eye focused on her feet.
Then she heard it. A giggle. She thought it was Dean, but she couldn’t be sure. Then there was another snicker, and another. Then her teacher’s deep voice. “Welcome back, Marcy.”
Marcy looked up at him, knowing he wouldn’t tease her. She gasped when she saw his face. He was wearing an eye patch! A black eye patch, exactly like Marcy’s.
Marcy giggled. Then she looked at the other children in the class. They were all wearing eye patches! Even Cammy. She had painted a yellow tulip on hers, to match the yellow tulips on her blouse. Dean had scrawled his initials on his patch in bright blue puff paint. The rest of the class wore variously decorated patches, with gold stars, smiling suns, or plain black. “Basic black,” her teacher said. “It goes with everything.”
Marcy laughed again to see the variety of eye patches. And suddenly, she didn’t dislike her eye patch quite so much. For the first time all day, she knew that Heavenly Father really did look on her heart. And she knew He could see that hers was full of gratitude and happiness.

In 1965, Dr. Nelson was presented with an extraordinary opportunity to assume the position of professor of surgery and chairman of the Division of Thoracic and Cardiovascular Surgery at another major university. Included in the offer was a generous salary and an arrangement to pay fully for the college education of all his children when the time came.
The Nelsons were overwhelmed by this offer and were inclined to accept. But before making a decision that affected not only their family but also his service as stake president, he sought the counsel of President David O. McKay.
After hearing the details of the situation, President McKay closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and pondered the matter for some time. Then he said, “Brother Nelson, it doesn’t feel good to me. I don’t think you should go.”
“That was it,” says Dr. Nelson. “We declined their gracious offer with many thanks. And here we stayed.”

Life cannot be all about work, and it cannot be all about play; there needs to be a certain balance. I would like to give you a personal example.

We married a year after returning from my mission. Coming home, I still had to do my military service, and when that part was finished, I started working full time. I met Marjan at a YA summer camp shortly after returning home from my mission and we got married a year later. We were poor but happy newlyweds with no car but wonderful bicycles. We lived about an hour away from the stake center by public transportation, and the stake conference was coming up. The cost for me to go to the priesthood leadership session of that conference would equal a week’s groceries. Besides that, I felt I needed to stay with my sweetheart since we just gotten married, and I needed to hold her hand all the time. On the stake conference Saturday morning, while I was comfortably sitting on the couch—yes, we managed to have a couch after some weeks—she asked me why I was not getting ready to go to the priesthood session. I told her I did not want her to feel lonely without me. Well, you should have seen the look on her face when she told me that, as a priesthood leader, my place was to be in that conference meeting. I am so grateful for her directing me in the right way, otherwise I would not have been standing here addressing you today.

Yes, our priority should be the one we are sealed to, but we should not use this as an excuse and miss out on growing experiences that make us better.

Would you have been absent from that upper room if you had been invited to be there with the Savior on that occasion just prior to His crucifixion? Will we ever be absent from those occasions each week when we are invited, even as the apostles, to eat and drink and remember the Savior, the Son of God, and keep His commandments so we can have His spirit to be with us? Think of how we would feel if these sacred emblems were not available to us because there was no authorized authority to administer them or because of our lack of worthiness to partake of them. Would we be more ready, more reverent, more thoughtful and grateful when the opportunity was restored for us? How would you feel if you wanted with all your heart and soul to partake of those emblems and to witness anew that you were willing to take upon you the name of Christ; that you wanted to show that you would always remember Him and you would keep His commandments so that you might have His spirit to be with you always—but because of wrong choices in your life you were deprived from that blessing for a time?

I know someone in this situation. He tells me that each week he hears the words of that prayer with a clarity, a fervor, a commitment that he never felt before. But as the emblems of the bread and water are offered him, he must pass them on to others who often seem not to feel the full impact of what they are doing and his heart cries out, Do you realize the blessing that is yours?

Jenny buried her face in her hands. All she wanted was to go home, but Amy and Mandy were so interested in the movie that Jenny didn’t know what to say. This was the worst night she could remember.
Jenny had been looking forward to a fun evening when she arrived at Amy’s birthday party. When she walked in, she found Amy and Mandy looking at a magazine.
“Hi, Jenny!” Amy said. “Come read with us!”
Jenny sat down and looked over Mandy’s shoulder. Immediately she saw a picture she knew she shouldn’t look at. Amy and Mandy giggled. Jenny stared at the floor. She didn’t know what to say. Amy and Mandy were two of the most popular girls in school, and Jenny wanted them to like her.
Finally Amy put down the magazine. “Let’s play a game!” she said.
Jenny was relieved. Now she could have some fun.
Amy pulled out a word game. Jenny was excited. “I play this game with my family all the time,” she said. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Jenny put together her word: “listen.” She smiled at her friends. “Look! It has six letters! I’ve never been able to make such a long word in this game before!”
Then Mandy put down her word. It was a naughty word Jenny’s family didn’t use. Mandy and Amy giggled. Jenny couldn’t decide if she should ask them to stop. She kept making regular words, but Mandy and Amy kept making bad words. The more they giggled, the worse Jenny felt.
Jenny was relieved when Amy’s parents came in to check on them. With grown-ups around, Jenny was sure no one would say bad words or look at bad pictures.
“Are you ready for the movie?” Amy’s parents asked.
Jenny sat on the couch with Amy and Mandy to watch the movie, but this wasn’t like movies Jenny watched at home. The movie bothered her. Should she say something? Should she leave? Jenny didn’t know what to say. So she just sat there feeling worse and worse.
When Jenny’s mom came to pick her up, Jenny almost ran to the car.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked as Jenny buckled her seatbelt and started crying.
“I feel so yucky!” Jenny said. She told Mom all about the party.
Mom’s face was serious. “Jenny, I’m so sorry that happened. If you are ever in a bad situation, remember that you can always call Dad or me to come get you.”
Jenny nodded. “I know,” she said. “I should have called.”
When they got home, Jenny went to her room and tried to act like everything was fine, but all she could think about was the bad things she’d seen. How could she forget them?
A while later she heard a knock on her door. It was Mom and Dad.
“I hear you had a bad night,” Dad said.
“I feel so yucky inside,” Jenny said.
“How do you think you can feel clean again?” Dad asked.
Jenny thought about it. “Will you pray with me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Dad said.
Mom and Dad knelt by Jenny. Jenny prayed that she wouldn’t feel yucky anymore and asked to be forgiven for staying around things she knew she shouldn’t.
Jenny finished her prayer. She felt better. The yucky feeling was gone. She felt different from how she had been feeling all night. The Holy Ghost was helping her feel happy again. Jenny decided this was the way she wanted to feel all the time—no matter what.

In this next situation, Janet, as I will call her, was involved in serious transgression. After discovering that she was expecting a child out of wedlock, her bishop referred her to LDS Social Services. Instead of being condemned by staff personnel as she had feared, she found love and understanding—the love and understanding that she needed to help her repent. With the help of her bishop and the agency, she began to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. She was introduced to foster parents who lovingly accepted her into their home. She attended church regularly and studied the gospel. An unwed parents group sponsored by the Church helped her to realize the magnitude of her transgression and to resolve to start a new life. She began to more fully understand herself and her relationship to her Father in heaven.
“I went through an awful lot,” she recalled. “But I felt like such a load was lifted by being able to share the burden with those who understood. I’m so grateful for all the help I received from my Heavenly Father.”

I was born on March 7, 1998, in Congo Town, near Monrovia. Growing up, I attended church regularly with my grandmother in another church. Unfortunately, when she died in 2009 from pressure (hypertension), my church attendance stopped because there was no one around to encourage me about going to church and how to gain salvation.
As I grew older, I became curious about spirituality—how to get salvation and one day go to heaven. That became my goal and wish because my grandmother always told me that heaven is way better than the great America that I wished to visit.
However, I did not attend church again. I later relocated to Brewerville with no involvement in church activities. A big tree had fallen from the family—there was no more support, and everyone had to fight for themselves. I started looking for opportunities to gain an education since my grandmother was no longer around.
My life took many turns, as it does for most people, and through all these experiences, I found myself at a crossroads—searching for something more meaningful.
Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

Go ahead. Stand Yanery and Yajaira Ortiz next to each other, and just try to tell them apart. No, really. Try.
All right. Here’s a hint that might help. Yajaira is the older of the identical twins—by 17 minutes.
Any guesses yet? Give up?
Okay, that’s Yajaira wearing the Mickey Mouse shirt. In her bedroom in Garfield, New Jersey, Yajaira has hers decked out in a Mickey Mouse motif. That’s the giveaway. She loves the cartoon mouse. Meanwhile, Yanery’s room is done more in neo-modern teen. Posters, textbooks, makeup. The usual stuff.
Oh, there is one more area where they are identical. They both have the Young Women theme displayed prominently on their walls.
Okay, let’s move to quiz number two. Look at some of Yanery and Yajaira’s friends. There’s Veronica Cruz, Michayne Campbell, Romano Johnson, Desmond Aultmon, and Rafael Geldres.
Take a good look and tell us what they have in common.
Tough, isn’t it?
Okay, here’s the answer. They’re the same too—at least when it comes to what they believe and how they live their lives. Along with the Ortiz sisters, Veronica, Michayne, Romano, Desmond, and Rafael are all members of the Church, members of the Paterson Second Branch of the Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Paterson, New Jersey, is not a tourist town, despite being only 20 minutes from New York City. Gone are the days when locomotive trains and much of the nation’s silk were manufactured there. Today, crime is rampant, many of the buildings are empty, and the unemployment rate is as high as Manhattan’s skyscrapers.
Still, home is home. And the influence of the Church on the LDS youth offers peace and comfort to them. The fact that Michayne is Black and Yajaira is Hispanic makes no difference. But Yajaira is aware, as Mia Maid class president, what being an example to a younger member like Michayne means. That is important.
“I’m supposed to be an example to everybody. I feel the responsibility because I’m the president, and I want to show people the way to act by the way I act,” Yajaira says.
Eighteen-year-old Rafael has his own take on the Church and its members. He was baptized in 1996. “The good thing about the Church is that everybody’s equal,” says Rafael, who is of Peruvian descent. He has noticed lines drawn among the students of different races who attend John F. Kennedy High School and has been troubled by the violence that seems to follow. “In the Church, no race is better than the next. I’ve noticed this, and it’s incredible.” He wishes his nonmember friends and classmates felt the same way.
Not long ago, in a diner near his home, one of Rafael’s classmates was shot and killed in what police determined was a race-related murder.
And Desmond, who will be 14 in a couple of months, can tell some disconcerting stories too. Last year, he was walking near the corner of 18th and 38th streets. Without warning, two guys jumped out of a car, roughed him up, and left him lying in the street.
“It’s tough living here, but my life has changed a lot since I joined the Church. You just have these happy feelings,” he says.
Desmond’s life did change permanently in March 1996 when he was baptized. And for many youth in the Paterson area, things began changing in 1993, when the missionary work started rolling and the branch grew from seven members to the more than two hundred it counts on its rolls today. Meanwhile, the Young Men and Young Women programs are flourishing, mainly because people like Veronica and Romano were joining the Church, and lifelong members like Yajaira and Yanery were moving in from out of state.
“The Church has taught me a lot,” says 15-year-old Veronica. “Being involved in the Church has taken me away from the activities around the streets and stuff. Without the Church, I probably would have been like most of the teenagers I see around me. I would have followed my friends and everything like that. But in the Church, we are taught to be independent from the crowd. By following the Church’s teachings, I have also had some ground rules and some values set for me.”
When Rafael talks about how his life has been altered, he has the answer. “It’s made me sweat a lot,” he says with a smile while holding a paintbrush. He’s in the middle of a service project inside a YMCA in Passaic, New Jersey, painting the fourth-floor hallways of a building that desperately needs a coat or two. It’s about a million degrees inside, and, yes, everybody is sweating. But everybody’s happy too.
“That’s the way all our activities are,” he adds. “We work hard and have fun. But, seriously, the Church has helped me perceive things in a different way. I think I’ve become smarter. For example, when things happen, they make more sense to me.”
“I know I look at life totally different than maybe other people do,” explains Yanery. “I can fall back on things that other people don’t have. The first step I took was baptism. If we live every day following the teachings of the Church, it can help us out in the long run.”
With paint flecks on her face, Michayne stops her brush strokes for a moment and considers the service project and her Church membership. “I love doing things that are not just for myself but for other people. You come closer to the Lord when you’re doing service,” she says. “I know so much more about God and Jesus Christ. I pray more, and I do the things I’m supposed to do. If I wasn’t a member of the Church, I think things would be different.”
Desmond considers the challenges he faces every day, and he is also grateful for the Church. “So many people will say, ‘Come on, try this. Try this.’ I’m like, ‘I don’t have time for that. Drugs won’t get you anywhere.’”
While Yajaira faces many of the same challenges, she also sees reminders every day that teach her how to live. “My mom really loves the Church, and there is more peace in our home because of it,” she says. “Whenever I go in my house, I always remember something. Scriptures, the Young Women values—those sorts of things. I already have them in my head and know the things they teach are the way I want things to go for me.”
Another day in Paterson is coming to a close. Sunlight is flashing off the Great Falls, a national historic landmark, where water falls almost 80 feet into the Passaic River. It’s easily the most-visited place in the city.
“It’s different from when I used to live in Missouri,” says Yanery, speaking not only about the scenery but the lifestyle as well. “Here, it’s like, ‘Mormon? What’s that?’ People don’t even know what my religion is. But I like it because I stand out and my values stand out. I feel different from everybody else.”
Yanery finishes speaking, and she walks toward her sister. As they stand next to each other, watching the water cascade into the river, you realize Yanery’s right. They do stand out, even if you still can’t tell the two sisters apart.

Thank you for publishing the New Era. Every story has a special message in it that helps me always feel the Spirit. One day I decided to read the Message. I used to only read the short articles, the Mormonad, and the Mormonisms. When I read the Message, I could feel the Spirit. I now read every article in every magazine. I even told one of my nonmember friends about the magazine, and the next day she told me she had read a lot of it. Thank you for this inspirational magazine.
Loni HawkinsKingsville, Texas

When I was six years old, my family moved to a new house in our hometown of Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. On the day we moved in, we were tired and thirsty. My older brother took me into the kitchen to get me a glass of water, but the utilities had not been turned on yet.
We didn’t know what to do. It was late, and we didn’t know anyone. Just then, someone knocked on the door. It turned out to be a pleasant and smiling older lady. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said. “I’m your neighbor, Tenchita. I thought you probably didn’t have any water, so I brought you some lemonade and bread.”
I was so happy to see the lemonade that I smiled a huge smile. A few days later, Tenchita invited us to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and gave us a copy of the Book of Mormon.
We soon took the missionary discussions, and three months later the elders challenged us to be baptized. My five older siblings accepted the challenge, but my parents didn’t feel ready. They continued to attend church, however, and they and I were baptized and confirmed two years later, when I was eight.
I was young, but I could see the changes the gospel of Jesus Christ made in our family. Like all families, we had our problems, but communication and harmony increased in our home, and we trusted that solutions would come because of the teachings we received in the true Church. We were grateful that Tenchita had introduced us to the gospel, but she soon moved, and we didn’t hear from her again.
Thirteen years later, my family was sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple, and I decided to serve a mission. In my first area in the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission, we often visited members who were ill or less active. One day the bishop asked us to visit an elderly sister who was sick and couldn’t leave her home. He told us that this sister’s favorite drink was lemonade.
When my companion and I arrived at the house, the sister was ill in bed, but I recognized her immediately and gave her a big hug. Sister Tenchita didn’t know me at first, but after we had talked for a while, her eyes shone in recognition. She smiled and said, “I brought you lemonade and bread.”
I thanked her for also bringing me the gospel and making it possible for me to serve a mission.
Giving a glass of lemonade and a loaf of bread is easy and inexpensive, but giving them the way Sister Tenchita did—with affection and concern for our eternal welfare—truly made them valuable. She changed my life and the lives of members of my family. Likewise, we can all change people’s lives by helping them find their way to the “living water” and the “bread of life” (John 4:10; 6:48).
Today my family and I don’t share just lemonade and bread with our neighbors; we also share the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

We all have our own mountains to climb. We are all individuals with different challenges we face. What may be hard for one person may be easy for another. For example, I grew up in a family that we knew we were loved; we just didn’t verbally express it. In a Young Women lesson, we were challenged to go home and tell our parents we loved them. This might have been easy for some in my class, but for me, it was a mountain I had to climb. My mother was cleaning up in the kitchen as I paced the kitchen floor back and forth when finally, I spoke those three words: “I love you.” Why was that so hard? It was only three simple words. After that challenge, “I think I can” turned to “I knew I could,” which, from then on, I was able to verbally tell my parents I loved them on a regular basis. Because of repetition, those three words became easier to express through the years.

Zion’s Camp was formed to reestablish the Saints in Jackson County, Missouri. In this “effort to redeem Zion,” some 200 men traveled more than a thousand miles in the most trying circumstances under the personal leadership of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
George A. Smith, age 16, was selected to go on the camp and recorded some of the suffering, trials, and hardships the brethren endured. He stated that on May 26, 1834, “the day was exceedingly hot and we suffered much from thirst and were compelled to drink water from sloughs which were filled with living creatures. Here I learned to strain wigglers with my teeth.” The next day, an exhausted Solomon Humphrey lay down on the ground and fell asleep. “When he awoke he saw a rattlesnake coiled up within one foot of his head and [lying] between him and his hat, which he had in his hand when he fell asleep. The brethren gathered around him, saying, ‘It is a rattlesnake, let us kill it.’ Brother Humphrey said, ‘No! I’ll protect him, you shant hurt him for he and I have had a good nap together.’” I have no desire to have a nap with a rattlesnake!

After the Liberty Jail experience, the Prophet gave fervent public testimony about the Book of Mormon to a congregation of about three thousand in Philadelphia. When Sidney Rigdon, in his remarks on that same occasion, seemed to neglect the Book of Mormon in favor of citing the Bible, Joseph took the pulpit and declared, “If nobody else had the courage to testify of so glorious a message from Heaven, and of the finding of so glorious a record, he felt to do it” (Words, p. 45). The atmosphere, according to one present, was electric.

This is not to say that Joseph had not earlier been clear and declarative regarding the Book of Mormon. For instance, in an 1834 sermon, Joseph observed, “Take away the Book of Mormon and the revelations, and where is our religion?” (Teachings, p. 71).

My husband, Cory, and I serve as ordinance workers in the temple. Before our shift I often find myself sitting in front of a painting of a distraught Mary and Martha being comforted by a weeping Jesus.

In the painting, the women have brought their troubles to Christ and are having a moment of undisturbed connection with their Savior. They are allowing Him to minister to them, and He is bringing them comfort and lifting their burdens.

One day I found myself craving this level of individual connection with the Savior. A thought came clearly to my mind: “I show up every morning at our appointed time for you to receive this kind of ministering. Do you?”

This question changed how I thought about my mornings with the Lord. I thought back to my recent morning scripture study, which involved a rushed listening of the audio version of the Book of Mormon at two-times speed in my car on my way to work. Although I still considered listening to the scriptures a good practice, it didn’t provide me with the depth of experience that I was craving. I was seeking rest, healing, guidance, and assurance, but I was barely giving God enough time in my life to allow for that kind of experience.

A short family history story illustrates this counsel.

Several months ago I read the testimony of my great-grandfather’s sister Elizabeth Staheli Walker. As a child, Elizabeth immigrated to America from Switzerland with her family.

After Elizabeth married, she and her husband and children lived in Utah near the Nevada border, where they ran a mail station. Their home was a stopping place for travelers. All day and all night they had to be ready to cook and serve meals for travelers. It was hard, exhausting work, and they had little rest. But the greatest thing that concerned Elizabeth was the conversation of the people they associated with.

Elizabeth said that up to this time she had always taken for granted that the Book of Mormon was true, that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been authorized of God to do what he did, and that his message was the plan of life and salvation. But the life she was experiencing was anything but what would strengthen such a belief.

Some of the travelers who stopped were well-read, educated, smart men, and always the talk around her table was that Joseph Smith was “a sly fraud” who had written the Book of Mormon himself and then distributed it to make money. They acted as if to think anything else was absurd, claiming “that Mormonism was bunk.”

All this talk made Elizabeth feel isolated and alone. There was no one to talk to, no time to even say her prayers—although she did pray as she worked. She was too frightened to say anything to those who ridiculed her religion. She said she didn’t know but what they were telling the truth, and she felt she could not have defended her belief if she had tried.

Later, Elizabeth and her family moved. Elizabeth said she had more time to think and was not so distracted all the time. She often went down in the cellar and prayed to Heavenly Father about what was troubling her—about the stories those seemingly smart men had told about the gospel being bunk and about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.

One night Elizabeth had a dream. She said: “It seemed I was standing by a narrow wagon road, which led around by the foot of a low rolling hill; halfway up the hill I saw a man looking down and speaking, or seemed to be speaking, to a young man who was kneeling and leaning over a hole in the earth. His arms were stretched out, and it looked as if he was reaching for something from in the hole. I could see the lid of stone that seemed to have been taken off from the hole over which the boy was bending. On the road were many people, but none of them seemed to be at all interested in the two men on the hillside. There was something that came along with the dream that impressed me so strangely that I woke right up; … I could not tell my dream to anyone, but I seemed to be satisfied that it meant the angel Moroni [instructed] the boy Joseph at the time he got the plates.”

In the spring of 1893, Elizabeth went to Salt Lake City to the dedication of the temple. She described her experience: “In there I saw the same picture [that] I had seen in my dream; I think it was [a] colored-glass window. I feel satisfied that if I saw the Hill Cumorah itself, it would not look more real. I feel satisfied that I was shown in a dream a picture of the angel Moroni giving Joseph Smith the [gold] plates.”

Many years after having this dream and several months before she died at nearly age 88, Elizabeth received a powerful impression. She said, “The thought came to me as plain … as if someone had said to me, … ‘Do not bury your testimony in the ground.’”

Generations later, Elizabeth’s posterity continues to draw strength from her testimony. Like Elizabeth, we live in a world of many doubters and critics who ridicule and oppose the truths we hold dear. We may hear confusing stories and conflicting messages. Also like Elizabeth, we will have to do our best to hold on to whatever light and truth we currently have, especially in difficult circumstances. The answers to our prayers may not come dramatically, but we must find quiet moments to seek greater light and truth. And when we receive it, it is our responsibility to live it, to share it, and to defend it.

Unfortunately, my activity in the Church didn’t last. My marriage was difficult, and I turned to old vices to escape my pain. Hobbies began to replace church attendance.

Three years passed, and I reached rock bottom. I had to make a choice. Could I live the gospel for myself regardless of what was happening in my life? Or would I just give in to the darkness? I knew that committing to the strait and narrow path meant getting rid of negative influences in my life. Also, my desires to go back to church highlighted that my spouse and I were on different paths. With the state of our marriage at that point, we were headed toward divorce already.

I was scared. There was no guarantee that my efforts would grant me the good things I wanted in this life. But my decision came back to what I had learned years before—that I was happiest living the gospel. I decided to commit fully and put myself in God’s hands, come what may. From here on out, it was me and Him.

Once again, I started going back to church and getting my life on track. One of the happiest days of my life was when I received a temple recommend again. I found solace in the temple as my marriage continued to fracture and ultimately came to an end.

As scary as that decision felt, through that experience I learned to appreciate God’s hand in my path. Even though I had stumbled, the race wasn’t lost. I wasn’t competing with anyone else. When I relied on the Savior for my self-worth, I could stop spending all my efforts trying to change others’ perspective of me.

I found myself at church being OK sitting alone or amidst members who were in different stages of life. I made an effort not to hide and made myself available to talk with people in my ward. I was able to enjoy attending my meetings for their intended purpose.

Having that peace also helped as I got back into dating. I still didn’t get a lot of second dates, but I now knew I didn’t have to compromise my standards just because I had slipped up in the past. I was living the gospel to the best of my ability, and I was good enough to date those who were living the gospel to the best of theirs too.

I ultimately found a worthy daughter of God who I married in the temple. Her path was very different than mine, but when it came to a love of the Savior and an understanding of His Atonement, we were on the same page.

“It was a great opportunity to strengthen my testimony,” says Daniel Kirkpatrick, who baptized his friend Jeron Fosjord after helping the missionaries teach him. “It helped me appreciate the priesthood more because it wasn’t my dad performing the ordinance. It wasn’t one of the older adults or even my older brother. It was me. I had the priesthood, and I could use it.”

Daniel, a priest in the Pioneer Park Ward, was struck by the eternal consequences of performing Jeron’s baptism. “Jeron is going to be a missionary some day. He’ll affect others, and they’ll affect others. It was a sobering thought, a wake-up call, that what I was doing will have eternal echoes.”

When the day finally came, naturally Dan was nervous about performing an ordinance in front of other people. “I was a little scared,” he says. “I probably asked Jeron his middle name a thousand times to make sure I got it right.” It didn’t help that the font hadn’t filled all the way.

“The water didn’t even reach our knees,” Dan says.

He got the name right, but the water was so low that it took him four tries before Jeron was completely submerged. “I just about drowned him one time because as he was coming up I saw that he hadn’t gone all the way under, so I panicked and pushed him down again.”

After the third try, they went ahead with the talks and musical number while the font filled some more. By Dan’s fourth and final try, the water was up to their waists. “It was easy then,” he says.

Despite it being a “rough first time,” Dan loved the experience: “It was awesome.” Not only did it strengthen his testimony and help him appreciate the priesthood more, the experience excited him about serving a mission.

“I’ve felt the fears and tasted the successes of a full-time mission,” he says. “I’m excited to get out there and serve.”

Two missionaries asked a new family to kneel in prayer, and the senior companion, not knowing why, asked the husband to move over by his wife and take her hand. He hesitated, and the missionary simply said, “That’s what my mom and dad do at home. Please take your wife by the hand.”

After they were baptized, the husband and wife tearfully confessed that they were on the verge of divorce when they met the missionaries. The husband had already moved out of the home. He was just there to visit the children when the missionaries appeared. The husband said that as his hand touched his wife’s, a healing spirit came over them. Love replaced the wounds and the misunderstandings; they forgave each other, and the husband came home.

“Grandfather George T. Benson, my father’s father, was bishop of the Whitney ward for 23 years, as I remember. He had been a counselor in the ward in Preston. The ward had grown, and it was decided to divide it by making a ward down in the Whitney rural area. While a meeting of the priesthood was called and it was decided to go ahead with the division, the visitor, who was probably great-grandfather Ezra T. Benson, asked what the ward should be named. Grandfather responded by saying, ‘There’s a young bishop in Salt Lake presiding over the Twentieth Ward by the name of Orson F. Whitney, whom I have often admired. I suggest we call this the Whitney Ward.’

“This was approved. Orson F. Whitney later became a member of the Council of the Twelve, was my mission president, and performed the marriage of Flora and me.”

President Benson