Gospel Story Finder

Q: Experience has a lot to do with that also, doesn’t it?
Freed: Yes, that’s a good point. At one point in my career I said to myself, “Well, I’ve lost plenty of matches by underhitting the ball; from now on, when the big point comes up, I’m going to lose it by overhitting. I’m really going to sock the ball.” So I started losing them by socking the ball! But I really did better in the long run by hitting hard. I lost some good points when I did that, but it loosened me up, and later I won a lot more because I was a little more cool.

In 1831, Ezra Booth witnessed the healing of Alice “Elsa” Johnson’s arm by Joseph Smith. That miracle convinced Ezra that Joseph was a prophet and led to his baptism and subsequent ordination as an elder in the Church. Several weeks later, Ezra went with other Church elders, along with Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon, to Jackson County, Missouri, USA (see Doctrine and Covenants 52:22–34). After they arrived, the Lord revealed to the Prophet that the City of Zion would be located in Independence, a small town in the county (see Doctrine and Covenants 57:1–3).
Ezra was very disappointed in hearing the news. Independence—which was still relatively undeveloped—seemed too rough to serve as the “center place” of Zion. “The prospect appeared somewhat gloomy,” Ezra explained, because the town contained only “two or three merchant stores, and fifteen or twenty dwelling houses.”1 How could Independence become the beautiful Zion he had heard so much about?
Ezra’s disappointment deepened when he realized that few Church members lived in Independence. Joseph had prophesied that a large congregation would exist in Independence. But when the prophecy hadn’t yet been fulfilled, Ezra began to question Joseph. He didn’t think Joseph conducted himself the way a prophet should, and he refused to share his testimony with the people of Jackson County.2 His disappointment slowly transformed into dissension.
The Lord asked Ezra to repent because he and others “condemned for evil that thing in which there was no evil.” The Lord said, “When these things are made known unto them, and they repent of the evil, they shall be forgiven.” (See Doctrine and Covenants 64:15–17.)
But Ezra never repented. Instead, he left the Church, became a bitter critic of Joseph Smith, and published a series of letters against him.3

I cannot even claim one by marriage—Kevin’s pioneer heritage includes his father’s 1960 journey across the plains of America in a car whose tires were so bald they should have traveled only one block, not three thousand miles from the Bronx, New York. That young 1960 pioneer came of Puerto Rican heritage, raised on a diet of New York Yankees, Broadway shows, and playing hooky at Coney Island. That pioneer who made his solitary journey is now the gentle grandfather of my two very wild children. In marrying Kevin, I assumed his pioneer journey as part of my individual heritage—no Young, Smith, Call, or Snow in our combined family journals.

The youth of the Kitchener Ward, Brampton Ontario Stake, performed a special service project at the Doon Pioneer Village, a community museum. They helped prepare the facility for the spring opening by scrubbing buggies, sweeping out the various buildings, and dusting all the nooks and crannies in the general store.
Besides getting dusty, the youth enjoyed trying on old-time costumes. Their project saved the community the cost of hiring others to do the work. The local newspaper covered the event, and the curator and foreman of the village were impressed with and appreciative of the amount of work the youth accomplished. The morning was concluded with a picnic in the old town hall.

Marian Wright Edelman told the story of Jean Thompson, who was a teacher:

On the first day of school, Jean Thompson told her students, “Boys and girls, I love you all the same.” Teachers lie. Little Teddy Stollard was a boy Jean Thompson did not like. He slouched in his chair, didn’t pay attention, his mouth hung open in a stupor, his eyes were always unfocused, his clothes were mussed, his hair unkempt, and he smelled. He was an unattractive boy and Jean Thompson didn’t like him.

Teachers have records. And Jean Thompson had Teddy’s. First grade: “Teddy’s a good boy. He shows promise in his work and attitude. But he has a poor home situation.” Second grade: “Teddy is a good boy. He does what he is told. But he is too serious. His mother is terminally ill.” Third grade: “Teddy is falling behind in his work; he needs help. His mother died this year. His father shows no interest.” Fourth grade: “Teddy is in deep waters; he is in need of psychiatric help. He is totally withdrawn.”

Christmas came, and the boys and girls brought their presents and piled them on her desk. They were all in brightly colored paper except for Teddy’s. His was wrapped in brown paper and held together with scotch tape. And on it, scribbled in crayon, were the words, “For Miss Thompson from Teddy.” She tore open the brown paper and out fell a rhinestone bracelet with most of the stones missing and a bottle of cheap perfume that was almost empty. When the other boys and girls began to giggle she had enough sense to put some of the perfume on her wrist, put on the bracelet, hold her wrist up to the children and say, “Doesn’t it smell lovely? Isn’t the bracelet pretty?” And taking their cue from the teacher, they all agreed.

At the end of the day, when all the children had left, Teddy lingered, came over to her desk and said, “Miss Thompson, all day long, you smelled just like my mother. And her bracelet, that’s her bracelet, it looks real nice on you, too. I’m really glad you like my presents.” And when he left, she got down on her knees and buried her head in her chair and she begged God to forgive her.

The next day when the children came, she was a different teacher. She was a teacher with a heart. And she cared for all the children, but especially those who needed help. Especially Teddy. She tutored him and put herself out for him.

By the end of the year, Teddy had caught up with a lot of the children and was even ahead of some. Several years later, Jean Thompson got this note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
I’m graduating and I’m second in my high school class. I wanted you to be the first to know. Love, Teddy.

Four years later she got another note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
I wanted you to be the first to know. The university has not been easy, but I like it. Love, Teddy Stollard.

Four years later, there was another note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
As of today, I am Theodore J. Stollard, M.D. How about that? I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m going to be married in July. I want you to come and sit where my mother would have sat, because you’re the only family I have. Dad died last year.

And she went and she sat where his mother should have sat because she deserved to be there.

I am one who believes that many of you here this evening have made covenants with someone before you ever came to this earth. Maybe not everybody did, but many of you did. I did. That’s right, and I was not a member of the Church. All you have to do to have such a covenant fulfilled is to live up to the light and knowledge that you have.

When I was eighteen years old, I saw this little black-haired girl who was just fourteen years old, walking down the street. Now, I know that is not MIA dating age, but I was not a member of the Church, so that didn’t apply to me. The first time I saw her walk by I knew she was for me, and so I got acquainted with her and told her so. Yes, I told her she had four years to grow up in. I was going into the navy and I’d be back and marry her. So four years later I came back and married her. After all, I had told her I would, and that is the smartest thing that I have ever done.

Among other reasons, it was she who was home when those two young men came by and knocked on my door out in San Diego, California. They said they were taking a poll. Now, as a matter of fact, that was the kind of thing Moroni calls a stratagem. They weren’t really taking a poll—they were tracting— but they were using the survey technique. They were asking questions that I had been trying to answer all my life, such as: “Do you believe that God speaks to man today?” “Do you believe that God has a true church on earth?” Well, my wife expected them to come back and give her the answers to the poll questions: “Why, yes, five percent of your neighborhood believe that God speaks to man today, and perhaps ten percent believe that he has a true church on earth.” But instead, they came back and gave her Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story (a pamphlet) and the Book of Mormon.

She wrote me a letter in Hawaii, where I was undergoing a very accelerated training course in the navy. In her letter she said two young men had come through the neighborhood and knocked on the door. Mormons, they were, which of course meant nothing to me because I’d never heard of a Mormon. I really had no idea what a Mormon was. The only thing that registered on me was that two young men had knocked on my door with my wife at home and me 2,000 miles away. I didn’t care what they called themselves. What were they doing calling on my wife? In her letter she said, “You know, it is rather strange. They both have the same first name—Elder.” You see, we don’t understand sometimes that we in the Church have a vocabulary all of our own and that people outside the Church many times don’t know what the Mormon elders are talking about. They also invited her to the “stake house.” She didn’t eat before she went, expecting to be fed. (It must have been an unusual meeting.) Often we do eat in the stake house, don’t we? Sometimes it seems the Mormons meet to eat.

She didn’t mention any more about the Church until I came home some thirteen weeks later, and then the first thing she told me when I walked into the house (after having been gone for thirteen weeks) was the Joseph Smith story. When she said that a man had seen a vision in almost modern times, I thought that was the most preposterous thing I had ever heard in my life, and I laughed at her. How could she be so gullible as to swallow this fabulous tale? She then did what the sisters have been doing since Eve’s time: she cried. I could see that this really meant something to her, that she believed this fabulous story; so I said, “They must have left something for you to read.” Everybody did—Jehovah’s Witnesses, Seventh-Day Adventists—everybody had been in my home and they all left something to read. I was sure these Mormons had too. “Yes,” she said, and gave me Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story, and I read it.

The power of that testimony didn’t come through the printed word to me. I believe that it is necessary to have the elder or the sister there to bear their witness that they know it is true, and when that happens the Holy Ghost can confirm it to the heart of the person and he knows it too. That didn’t happen to me, and so I said, “They must have left something else,” and she gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. I took the book and looked through it: “Five hundred and twenty-two pages written by a man, no doubt. I’m sure it’s full of errors. I’ll shoot this down in fifteen minutes.” You see, I had become a real expert on religion by this time. I had read Mary Baker Eddy’s Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, the Catholic Baltimore Catechism, Father Smith Instructs Jackson, and several other books on religion. I remember one book entitled Human Life of Christ by John Erskin, where he said that the way that Christ fed the 5,000 was that people who came out to hear him all brought their lunch with them and when he preached this sermon on giving of yourself they all opened their lunch and shared it with everybody. Isn’t that a “beautiful explanation” of the Lord’s miracle?

I was sure that all religions were man-made, and so I had made up my own religion. It seemed to be as good as anybody else’s. I took the book and declared, “I’ll shoot it down in fifteen minutes. I’ll show you; this is another man-made book.” And I started to read the Book of Mormon. I hadn’t finished 1 Nephi before I found myself hoping above everything else in this world that this book was true. I said, “Dear God, please let it be the truth. Please let it be true, for if it is, it will answer all the questions I’ve been trying to answer all my life.” And I read on.

I hadn’t finished 2 Nephi before I knew it was true. I found myself reading that book—every word—as the word of the Lord to me. I had prayed one simple prayer to the Lord. If I had prayed it once I had prayed it a thousand times. It was simply, “Dear God, please show me the truth. Please lead me to the truth,” and here, through no effort of my own, he had sent these two young men right into my living room with the truth. I knew it was true. I was sure after such a long search that if I ever found the truth it would be like a Cecil B. De Mille production—in technicolor, panavision, and stereophonic sound. No one who heard it could turn it down. It would be blared from the housetop—the truth! That’s what I thought.

Well, you should have seen these two elders that knocked on my door. To begin with, they didn’t like each other. No, they didn’t get along well at all. One was a very happy soul. He had made up a joke for almost every discussion, and when he would tell his joke somewhere in our discussion his companion turned livid red all over. The companion was a very sober young man. He took Alma to heart when he said, “Be sober, my son.” He seldom ever smiled. Their grammar was atrocious. Their diction was worse than mine. So far as knowledge of the world is concerned, they really didn’t have any. I knew much more about what was going on in the world than they, but though they didn’t particularly like each other, they both loved the Lord. They were willing to overlook these little idiosyncrasies that they each had which made them unacceptable to each other, in order to do the work the Lord had called them to do, and they did it marvelously well.

It is my witness that the Lord can speak through nineteen-year-olds and speak eloquently, for he did through them. They came to my home the first time (after I returned home), having fasted and prayed for two days. My wife had frightened them: I was going to be a tough nut to crack (or so my wife believed). But before they got to my home I’d finished 2 Nephi and I knew the book was true. I never argued with one word that they told me. But you see, they would have never gotten in my home if it hadn’t been for my helpmeet.

The missionaries knocked on our door just one day after my wife moved into our home. She was what missionaries call a “new move-in,” and they always make good contacts. She was also expecting our third child—a new birth in the family seems to make parents receptive to the gospel too. Well, I didn’t know when I saw her walking down the street when she was fourteen how I knew her, but I know now. I’m sure we were very well acquainted before we ever came to this earth, and I am sure that many of you can find your covenanted mates if you will just keep the commandments and be in condition to recognize them when you see them. That is very important.

My grandparents have had a great influence on my life. Even though they have been dead for many years, I still feel their love. One grandfather, James Akerley Faust, died before I was born. I knew him only through the stories my grandmother and my parents told about him. However, I feel a strong kinship with him because I am in part what he was. Among other things, he was a cowboy, a rancher, and a postmaster in a small town in central Utah. On one occasion Grandfather took a trip in the winter to Idaho, where he met an acquaintance who had fallen on hard times. It was cold, and Grandfather’s friend had no coat. Grandfather took off his coat and gave it to him.

I made my way to Church College of Hawaii, a university owned and operated by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now known as Brigham Young University–Hawaii Campus, CCH is where I found my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and made the pivotal decision to become a member of His church.
CCH is also where my typing skills helped me to earn a bachelor of science degree in business education, with a minor in secretarial sciences. I also picked up a teaching certificate, and for my first job after university, I became the typing teacher.
I taught typing and various business-related subjects at the Church-owned high school in Pesega, Samoa, and then at Kahuku High when I returned to Hawaii a few years later.

Just after 2:00 a.m. on October 26, 2003, Daniel Olsen, 17, hears his mother telling him that a wildfire is less than a mile away. “I jumped out of bed, but the power was out, so I couldn’t find my shoes,” he remembers. “My younger sister, Kelli, yelled, ‘What good are shoes if you’re dead?’” He grabbed his gym bag and ran out of the house barefoot.
Outside, Daniel can smell the smoke, see the oak trees silhouetted against the orange sky, and feel the ash in 50-mile-per-hour (80-km-hr.) winds swirling around him. “We started driving down Wildcat Canyon and said a prayer,” he says. “My mom honked the horn to wake others. I sang, ‘We are as the armies of Helaman’1 as loud as I could. It made me feel better.”
A few hours later, the fire is burning 12,000 acres (4,800 ha) an hour, creating its own weather system of wind and fire tornados. The 150-foot-high (46 m) flames consume the dry brush and trees as the fire climbs uphill to 12-year-old Matthew Porter’s home. He and his family had left earlier. The flames roll in the wind against the wooden eaves of the roof until they take hold. Soon the ceiling collapses into the house. The curtains, bedding, furniture, piano, and books burn. The walls fall inward. The metal garage door sags, and the tires on an ATV melt. Amid the inferno, a wrench hangs on the fire hydrant at the end of the driveway, unused.
Daniel’s and Matthew’s houses were among the 2,232 lost during 11 days as this fire, named the Cedar Fire, burned more than 280,000 acres (113,300 ha) and killed 14 people, most of whom died in Wildcat Canyon. Twelve other fires were burning at this time in southern California, forcing more than 100,000 people to evacuate.
Daniel and Matthew, like other LDS youth affected by the fires, are emerging stronger as they learn that the gospel eases suffering during a crisis.
“Our relationship with the Savior survives everything,” says Daniel, who found comfort in the words “He that is righteous shall be righteous still; he that is happy shall be happy still” (Morm. 9:14).
“When you realize your home is gone, it’s overwhelming,” says Matthew. “You don’t think you can do it, but you do it anyway.”
Joe Tidwell, 16, is in the same ward as Matthew. “Our family decided on the day after we lost our house to focus on the good,” Joe says. “We’ve tried to do that every day since.”
A week later the fire was still burning when Latter-day Saints gathered to hear President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, speak. He pronounced an apostolic blessing upon them. After the meeting, he shook hands with every person, including 16-year-old Tori Gross.
“President Packer reminded us that we lost our houses, not our homes,” Tori says. “When a boy at school said he was homeless, I said, ‘You’re not homeless, you’re houseless.’ Our house burned to the ground and so did part of the new house we are building. But our family survived. Since the fire, I feel closer to Heavenly Father, and I rely on the gospel more.”
Elsie Smith, 17, whose house didn’t burn, spent nearly every Saturday for several months helping clean up sites where houses were burned. “Kids from other stakes came every week to help,” she says. “Only 2 of the more than 600 homes that burned in our ward area belonged to members, but we helped everyone.”
A. J. Schumann, 17, spent six hours helping his dad and neighbors clear a 30-yard firebreak in an effort to save his and other houses. “It’s amazing to see how people rally together in a crisis,” he says. “Ward members, whose homes were not in danger, came to help us. After we evacuated, somehow two of our friends made their way back and hosed down our burning fences. All eight houses survived, but I’ve learned people matter more than things.”
Smoke and ash filled the air, turning the sun red. Parker Boyack, 15, could see the smoke and orange glow in the sky. After seeing on television damage caused by the fire, he wanted to help. The next day he went with his mother to the evacuation center, where hundreds of families had spent the night.
“People were so shocked and scared,” he says. “I took down cots and folded blankets, then I sorted the donated food. I played with the children, fed the birds and cats, and took a big dog to the park to run. I think I made some difference. I knew we should help people, but this changed my life.”
Daniel, Matthew, Tori, Elsie, and A. J. all faced the fire and had moments when they were scared and not sure they were going to make it. Though the outcomes varied, these LDS youth dealt with the challenge in the same way—they drew upon prayer, family, and the scriptures.
Elsie came to the understanding that we all have good and bad things happen to us. “Your Father which is in heaven,” the Lord taught, “maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matt. 5:45). Elsie says, “It’s how we handle what happens that is important.”
Matthew bears testimony of what is said in D&C 68:6: “Be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.”
Matthew says, “This experience brought out strength in me. I feel closer to Heavenly Father and have a better understanding of how He works. Even though we felt the Spirit when we prayed together in the garage before we left, our house still burned. I learned Heavenly Father moves in mysterious ways. He loves us. I never doubted that. I don’t blame Him for what happened.”
As these youth learned, no trial is beyond the Lord’s healing touch. The Savior will “bind up the brokenhearted,” give “comfort to all that mourn,” and give us “beauty for ashes” (Isa. 61:1–3).
Putting the gospel into practice really does work. These LDS youth drew upon their faith in Jesus Christ and came out stronger. We can do the same.
About 180 missionaries in the California Carlsbad Mission divided their time between proselyting and helping fire victims. For a month they shoveled ash and debris, hefted sandbags, and helped at evacuation centers.
One elder said, “My shoulders are sore, my back hurts, and my fingernails are dirty from dirt and ash, but my heart is full.”
The reputation of the missionaries’ hard work grew. An engineering official, assessing his needs for a sandbagging project, said with a smile, “We’ll need 195 men or 5 Mormon missionaries.”
In one area where more than 300 homes burned, the residents honored the firemen and the missionaries. One resident said, “These missionaries worked longer and harder than anyone else.” Then the missionaries sang, “Because I Have Been Given Much,” (Hymns, no. 219). After the song, the missionaries and residents hugged one another with tears in their eyes.
Said one elder, “We showed others that though we are young, the gospel guides our lives whether we are teaching the gospel or digging out the remains of a home.”
Ten elders worked around-the-clock at a Red Cross evacuation center. After four days, its senior official called mission president Stephen M. Studdert and lovingly referred to these elders as “Mormon angels.”
“I cannot think of a more accurate term to describe the Christlike goodness of all our missionaries,” says President Studdert. “They served selflessly, often ignoring personal physical exhaustion, to bring a measure of gladness to those in need.”
Have cash on hand.
Send copies of family pictures to friends.
Keep your shoes by the bed.
Keep your preparedness kit in your car.
Have a plan. Know where you will go if you need to evacuate.
Take photos of your home, inside and out.

There were only a few days left until the start of my freshman year of college, and getting my textbooks was definitely a priority. New textbooks can be expensive, so I found a book-exchange site where I could find students who were selling their used textbooks. It wasn’t long before I found a woman looking to sell her physical-science book, and soon I was on my way to her apartment to pick it up.
When I arrived, I noticed that the outside of the complex looked fairly dirty. There was trash littering the walkway, and to be honest I was a little hesitant to knock on her door alone.
But I did need that textbook.
So I knocked, and a woman carrying a screaming baby came to the door. Behind her, I could see that the apartment looked dark and cluttered. Clothes were piled on the couch, and many dirty dishes sat in the sink. I could feel a sense of uneasiness in the atmosphere and in the woman’s demeanor.
We had a short exchange. She gave me the book, I gave her the money, and that was that.
The woman closed the door, and instantly the Spirit impressed upon me that this woman needed my help. I felt like I should knock on her door again.
But the idea seemed so awkward. What was I going to do, just knock and say, “Hi, you look like you need help”?
No way.
I quickly dismissed the idea and got in my car. But when the uneasiness and the thought in my mind persisted, I was reminded that I was being prompted by the Spirit, as “all things which are good cometh of God” (Moroni 7:12). And this definitely wasn’t my own thought.
I had never felt such a clear and specific message from the Holy Ghost in my life.
The gift of discernment includes “perceiving … the source and meaning of spiritual manifestations.”1 But even though I knew this feeling of needing to help was from the Holy Ghost, I still hesitated.
I said a quick prayer and told Heavenly Father that I felt uncomfortable and was going to drive away, so if He wanted me to stay, He was going to have to stop me. As soon as I opened my eyes, I started my car and felt the prompting again, but even stronger—it felt like the Spirit was pulling me out of my car. I knew I needed to obey the prompting, however odd the situation seemed, so I turned off my car and made my way back to the woman’s apartment.
I frantically thought of what I would say when I knocked on her door again.
“Hi, can I help you?”
No.
“Hello, I want to serve you.”
No! I was panicking now, and I was out of ideas!
But I knocked anyway, and the woman came to the door looking frazzled with a confused expression on her face.
“Hi, I felt like I should come ask you if you need any help,” I said.
The woman gave me a terribly strange look and said, “Nope, I’m good.”
After that I frantically said, “OK, thanks. Bye!” before she shut the door.
Talk about awkward.
As I got in my car and drove away, I tried to reason why God would have sent me that prompting just to have the woman deny my offer to help. I was confused but mostly glad I had followed the prompting.
Suddenly I heard a text alert on my phone. I pulled into a parking lot and saw that the text was from the woman who had sold me the textbook. She was asking me to come back and help her out if I still had time and wasn’t too far away.
Amazing, right?
I drove back, knocked on the door, and asked her how I could help. I think we both recognized the awkwardness of the situation, but she asked if I could hold her baby so she could get some dishes done while her husband was at work. I gladly agreed, and for the next few hours, I rocked her baby while she told me about her life, with all the highs and lows.
I could tell from our conversation that she was going through a challenging time in her life and that she was glad to have someone to share her burdens with. After the laundry was folded and the dishes were washed, she took back her baby and thanked me, and we parted ways.
I never saw the woman again, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget hearing the voice of the Spirit like that or the realization that Heavenly Father truly is aware of each of His children.

A few years ago my older brother was on a foreign exchange trip in Moscow, Russia. At that time, a prominent Russian political leader had been saying things against the Church. My mom and I were worried for my brother’s safety. He was staying with a family we didn’t know much about, and we worried what they would think. We didn’t know what the Russian people’s reactions toward the Church and toward my brother would be.
We decided to pray. In fact, we said many prayers that night. When it was time for me to go to bed, I said one more prayer for my brother. I had the feeling that I should read my scriptures. When I opened them, the first scripture that I saw was D&C 98:1–3. The verses read:
“Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord.”
This scripture was a definite answer to prayer. It seemed like Heavenly Father was talking directly to me—that the scripture was written just so that I could find it more than 150 years later. I went upstairs to show my mom. When she read it, tears welled up in her eyes. We both knew that everything would be okay. We knew that Heavenly Father had control over the situation.
Sure enough, the president of Russia defended the Church, and the Russian government leader apologized for what he had said. Soon afterwards, my brother returned home safe and sound.
I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for helping me find that scripture and for giving my mom and me comfort in our time of need.

Charlotte pushed her fingers into her ears. Singing time was usually her favorite part of Primary. But today she didn’t want to hear the songs they were singing. She had asked if she could sit in the hall instead.
She stared at the green carpet, trying not to cry. It didn’t work.
Someone walked up beside her. Charlotte quickly wiped away her tears and looked up.
It was Sister Henry. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Charlotte swallowed. “Those songs are about happy families and being together forever,” she said quietly.
“Oh. I see.” Sister Henry sat down beside Charlotte.
A few months ago, Charlotte’s parents had called a family meeting. Dad explained that he was moving.
“So it’s kind of like you’re getting a divorce?” Charlotte had asked.
“Not kind of,” Mom said. “We both love you, but yes, we are getting divorced.”
Charlotte remembered how her skin felt cold and hot at the same time. Then all of her feelings erupted! Fear, anger, confusion, and deep sadness—the kind that made you feel sick.
She still felt that way sometimes. Like when Mom and Dad sat on opposite sides of the pool at her swim meets. Or when her little brother cried for Mom when they stayed at Dad’s house.
Or when they were singing about families in Primary.
“When my parents got divorced, it felt like someone was punching me in the stomach,” Sister Henry said. “Over and over again.”
Charlotte was surprised. “Your parents are divorced too?”
Sister Henry nodded. “They got divorced when I was about your age.”
Charlotte looked at her hands. “Sometimes when we sing ‘Families Can Be Together Forever,’ I think, ‘Except for mine.’” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I get so mad. And that’s bad, isn’t it?”
Sister Henry shook her head. “No. I used to feel sick whenever I saw kids with both of their parents together.”
“Yeah!” Charlotte said. “It’s like they’re in a happy family club, and I’m not. Everything is different now.”
“It’s normal to feel mad, sad, or scared now—however you feel,” Sister Henry said. “Divorce is hard. But I promise that you will feel better. Your family is still your family, even if it looks different now. It helped me a lot to remember that my parents still loved me, and would for all eternity.”
Charlotte smiled. She liked Sister Henry.
Sister Henry leaned closer to Charlotte. “But you know what helped me the most?” she whispered.
“What?” Charlotte whispered back.
“I learned that I still have a perfect, happy family,” Sister Henry said. “And so do you. We all do, no matter what our earthly family is like right now.”
Charlotte crinkled her nose. “How?”
“Well, our earthly families aren’t perfect, but our heavenly family is. So no matter what happens, we have heavenly parents who love us and a wonderful heavenly home waiting for us.”
When Charlotte thought about that, she felt a little hopeful. She imagined what it would be like one day when she saw her heavenly parents again.
“Maybe when we’re singing about families, I can think about my heavenly family,” Charlotte said. Sister Henry nodded.
Charlotte had just one more question. “Does it look like I’ve been crying?”
“Not a bit,” Sister Henry said.
Charlotte stood up. “Then I think I’m ready to sing.”

During my sophomore year at Brigham Young University, our ward bishopric signed the ward up for a Sub-for-Santa program, through which we would provide Christmas presents for a family in need.
Our ward name, however, kept disappearing from the list of volunteers. As Christmas neared, we still had no family to help. Then one of the bishop’s counselors told us of a family that might be able to use our help instead. When we learned about this family, we all felt certain that we should focus on them.
Linda (name has been changed), who had several sons ages 9 to 15, had fought a grueling battle with breast cancer. During the stress of that illness, her husband had left her. She had just moved from another state to take a job in Provo, Utah, but the job fell through, and she was left with no income.
When we met Linda, we immediately took her into our hearts. We were blessed to see her the way the Savior did—as a great and noble spirit who had overcome many difficult challenges. She was never a project to us; rather, she was an eternal friend. Every member of the ward contributed something to help her and her boys. We were all young college students and poor in our own right, but we gladly gave because we loved her.
Linda came to our ward Christmas party, during which several ward members went to her apartment and filled her cupboards and refrigerator with food. They decorated a Christmas tree and surrounded it with presents for the whole family. They also left her four new car tires and paid her rent for several months. I’m not sure how our meager contributions managed to accomplish all that, but I knew that Heavenly Father had used our sacrifices to bless her.
A year later I was in another student ward, but I returned at Christmastime to visit my previous bishopric. I learned that Linda’s husband had returned to the family and that their finances had stabilized. But then her cancer had returned and claimed her life. I realized that we had helped give Linda her last Christmas.
In feeling “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47) so strongly through that experience, I learned that real charity is a priceless spiritual gift that propels us to act in the Savior’s place.

Another false philosophy that appeals to the Mr. Hyde side of our natures is that peeking into pornography is harmless. This is a terrible deception. Pornography is as addictive as cocaine or any illegal drug. I recently received a heartbreaking letter from an excommunicated man whose soul is filled with sorrow and regret. With his permission, I quote the following from his letter: “I hope that this letter will confirm to any who have doubt that the path of destruction only reaps sorrow and grief, and no sin is worth this price.”

He goes on to state: “I have brought grief and sorrow upon myself. Only now do I fully realize the great destruction that I have brought upon myself. No selfish or lustful desire is worth losing your Church membership for. I have brought terrible grief to my wife and two wonderful children. I am grateful for my wife’s great efforts to help me overcome my sins. My wife has been a victim of my sins and had to endure great sorrow and suffering. I long for the day that I can again be a member of the Lord’s Church and for our family to be an eternal family.”

The letter goes on to admit: “My sins are a direct result of my early childhood addiction to pornography. Without a doubt, pornography is addictive and is poison. Had I learned early in my life to apply the power of self-mastery, I would be a member of the Church today.”

A friend who was making his first visit to Salt Lake City called on me in my office. He is a well-educated man and a devout and sincere Christian. Although we have not discussed this with each other, we both know that some leaders of his denomination have taught that members of our church are not Christians.
After a short discussion on a matter of common interest, I told my friend I had something I would like him to see. We walked over to Temple Square and into the north visitors’ center. We viewed the pictures of Bible and Book of Mormon Apostles and prophets. Then we turned our steps up the inclined walkway to the second level. Here Thorvaldsen’s great statue of the risen Christ dominates a setting suggestive of the immensity of space and the grandeur of the creations of God.
As we emerged and beheld this majestic likeness of the Christus, arms outstretched and hands showing the wounds of his crucifixion, my friend drew a sharp breath. We stood quietly for a few minutes, enjoying a reverent communion of worshipful thoughts about our Savior. Then without further conversation, we made our way down to the street level. On the way we walked past the small diorama showing the Prophet Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove.
As we left Temple Square and took our leave of one another, my friend took me by the hand. “Thank you for showing me that,” he said. “Now I understand something about your faith that I have never understood before.” I hope that every person who has ever had doubts about whether we are Christians can achieve that same understanding.

“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”

Clay said quietly, “I ran the marathon today. Twenty-six-point-two miles. It was a killer.”
“You should have told us!” Mom said. “We would have come to cheer you on.”
He looked at me. “I thought about what you said about praying. The whole time I was praying that God could help me understand why Ryan died and help me know that he wasn’t gone for good. Near the end of the race, I was the only one in front. I don’t even remember passing the other runners. It was like Ryan was running next to me, saying, ‘Go for it. You’re gonna win. Listen to your feet; keep up the rhythm; keep up the pace.’ And I won. I think I understand now. Ryan was like a sprinter. His race was quick, over in a few seconds. The rest of us are going for distance, though we don’t know when our own race will end.” His eyes filled, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand.
His voice dropped. “Ryan’s alive. His spirit is still alive.”
Elder Martin turned to Clay. “You’re right. You will see him again and be with him.” His eyes shone.
Elder Weiss said, “Hey, Clay, you’ve inspired us to start running every morning. What if we come by here on our way and pick you up? We can do some running together, and you can give us some pointers.”
Clay nodded. His breathing had slowed. He looked more healthy and alive than he’d looked for a long time. “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.”
I watched the elders pedal away, smiling and talking like brothers, their long coats flapping behind them, ears already red with cold. Even though they wore dark suits, they seemed as bright as our flowers against the dull sky. Part of the pattern was becoming clear to me, and I knew those two young men would be connected to our family forever.

I was halfway up a climbing wall, completely stuck. Moments earlier, I had been on the ground, chatting with friends and waiting in line. Although I’d never climbed a wall like this before, I hadn’t been nervous or concerned. Within a matter of seconds though, everything had changed. I now clung desperately to handholds, my progress stopped by inexperience and fear.
Only moments before, when the man ahead of me slipped in his own ascent and descended slowly to the ground, I readied myself to climb. As I strapped on the safety gear, my friend Kent tapped me on the shoulder. “Liz, I’ve been watching the climbers and studying the wall. I know how to get to the top. Take your first step with your left foot and grab high with your right hand …” Kent’s directions were detailed, like driving instructions, but I just nodded without really paying attention. The wall didn’t look hard. I was sure I could do it on my own.
Disregarding Kent’s instructions, I grabbed holds right in front of me and followed the course that seemed to offer the least resistance. Climbing quickly, I took three fairly easy steps, and then … nothing. The next handhold was out of reach, and I couldn’t find a toehold. I was only 10 feet up, and my options had entirely disappeared.
Cutting through my predicament, I heard Kent’s voice from below. “Liz, I told the instructor that you are a first-time climber. He said you can start over. Come down and begin again, this time with your left foot.”
I quickly descended, thanked the instructor, and started again. This time I listened to Kent’s instructions as he directed me up the wall. Following the course he charted, I climbed, stretched, and maneuvered my way up. Nearing the top, I made a sickening discovery. The bell that from below had appeared easy to reach was actually located on an overhang.
“Liz,” Kent called, “you’re going to have to jump up to grasp that handhold to the left of the bell. With your left hand on that hold, you’ll be able to ring the bell with your right. You can do it, Liz.”
Was he crazy? If I jumped for the handhold, I would be airborne for a split second. And if I could grab the handhold by the bell, my feet would be left dangling in the air.
As I felt my fingers slipping, I realized that I needed to trust Kent’s directions. He could see the entire wall. He had watched others before me. He knew this was the only way for me to succeed. I resolved to follow his instructions and trust my guide. Jumping high, I grabbed the left handhold and reached for the bell. I’m not sure which I heard first, the bell up high or the cheers down below, but both assured me that I had succeeded.
On the climbing wall, I was given permission to try again by an understanding instructor. In life, we are given the ability to try again by an even more understanding Savior. If we repent of our errors, heed the counsel of those He has called, and keep striving upward in faith and hope, each and every one of us can reach the top and ring the victory bell.

As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.

Some years ago, President Roy A. Welker of the German-Austrian Mission, one of the outstanding mission presidents of the Church, needed to assign a missionary to labor in Salzburg, Austria, to solve a problem in the branch there. Eight new missionaries were soon to arrive in the mission. He prayed that one of them would have the proper visa and currency to labor in Austria. He continued to pray and waited two weeks for an answer. The night before the eight arrived, the Spirit of the Lord whispered to the president the name of the missionary who should be assigned to Salzburg. The one whose name he received was the one who had the proper credentials to go to Austria. I was that elder.

The president’s patience not only helped solve a problem in the branch, but it also blessed me and our family in a way that I never could have foreseen. Shortly after I arrived in Salzburg, that part of the German-Austrian Mission was changed into the Swiss-Austrian Mission. Later, I was transferred to Zurich, Switzerland, where I met Brother Julius Billeter, a warm and friendly member who was a genealogist. He was acquainted with the genealogical records of my progenitors. He researched the names of 6,000 of my ancestors for whom temple work later was completed.