Gospel Story Finder

Other milestones were trips to the Freiberg Germany Temple to be baptized for the dead in April and August 1994. Latter-day Saint youth from all over Hungary crowded onto buses to make the 22-hour journey. Then they returned home with a mission: to tell others about it so everyone could share in the power and beauty of the experience.
“I didn’t know who the people were who I was being baptized for—or when they lived,” says Somodi Zsuzsanna, 18. “About halfway through, without warning I suddenly felt the Spirit. I felt that perhaps that person had accepted the gospel in the spirit world and had been waiting for somebody to be baptized in her name. I have never felt such a wonderful thing, before or since.”
“When I was inside the temple,” says Borsos Péter, 18, “I had the sensation that the temple had no roof—that there was direct contact with heaven!”

“All right, everyone. Let’s have talk time,” Mom called.
Josie had been looking forward to talk time all day. Every evening, Josie and her two little brothers, Ben and Wes, gathered in the living room with Mom and Dad to talk about what was going on in their lives.
Tonight Dad had said he would help Josie practice her script for the morning announcements. Reading the morning announcements was a special privilege at Josie’s school. Tomorrow Josie would play a small part of her favorite song over the school’s speakers and use the microphone to announce the day’s activities and lunch menu.
Josie ran to the living room, excited to rehearse her script.
“There’s our famous announcer!” Dad said when Josie hopped on the couch next to him. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”
“I’m excited but a little nervous. I’m afraid I’ll mess something up in front of the whole school,” Josie said.
“That’s why we practice,” Dad said. “Go ahead and read through your script, and I will listen for places you can improve.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Josie said.
She and Dad reviewed the script so many times that Josie lost count. Then Josie stood and performed her script one last time for her family. Mom and Dad cheered. Ben gave her a high five, and Wes smiled and clapped his hands.
Josie went to bed happy and confident.
The next day everything went smoothly. Even though she was nervous, Josie smiled when she heard her music play on the school’s speakers. She was glad she had practiced the script with Dad, and she read it slowly and clearly without any mistakes.
“You did an excellent job,” Mrs. Blake, the assistant principal, said.
At the end of the school day, Josie stood in line for the bus. An older boy turned around and asked, “Are you the girl who read the announcements today?”
Josie smiled. “Yes,” she said.
“Why did you pick that song?” the boy asked. “It was a dumb song. You really ruined morning announcements.” Then he called her a mean name and laughed with his friends.
Josie sat alone in the front seat of the bus. She felt sick to her stomach.
When Josie got home, she found Mom playing with Wes.
“Mom, I know it’s not talk time yet, but I was wondering if we could still talk right now,” Josie said.
“Of course, Josie,” Mom said. “What happened? Did something go wrong with the morning announcements?”
“No,” Josie said. “Everything was perfect. At least I thought so, until a boy told me I picked a dumb song. He called me a really mean name too.”
Mom patted the floor next to her. Josie walked over and sat down. Mom gave her a big hug. Josie and Mom talked about everything that happened that day, including Mrs. Blake’s compliment.
“I’m sorry that boy and his friends were rude to you,” Mom said. “But it sounds like other people you respect, like Mrs. Blake, were very pleased with the way you read the announcements. Dad and I are so proud of you. You worked very hard, and it paid off!”
Josie hugged Mom again. “Thanks, Mom,” Josie said. “I feel a lot better.” Josie was glad that any time could be talk time.

Dad and I went fishing for breakfast. The early sun rays had just peeked over the hills when I hooked something.
“You’ve caught the bottom of the lake,” Dad said.
But how could the bottom of the lake be moving around the canoe?
“It just seems like that because the canoe’s moving,” he said.
But since I was slowly reeling it up, we decided I must have snagged a piece of wood.
“But Dad,” I said, “if it’s a log, why is it jerking? Dad, it’s pulling the line back out!”
And the piece of wood swam underneath where Dad was sitting in the canoe.
As if not to scare the fish, Dad whispered, “Wow! You’ve only got four-pound test line! Better let some out and play with him awhile.”
The fish could easily snap the line. I would have to be careful and wear him out. I unreeled some line and waited.
“That’s the biggest mackinaw I’ve ever seen,” Dad said. “He’s longer than the canoe is wide.”
For what seemed like hours I let out line and reeled line in. Finally I eased the “mac” alongside the canoe, and, since we had no net, Dad reached down and slipped his finger inside the gills. I leaned to the other side to counterbalance Dad as he lifted the fish into the boat.
I felt a sudden lunge, heard a splash, and then heard a dreadful moan from Dad. I twisted around just in time to see a massive dark green shape swim away. Dad slowly sank to the bottom of the canoe and stared blankly at the water.
“Kev,” he said, “you caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen, and I let it get away.”
My momentary anger quickly caved in. Dad was hurting all right. But he was hurting for me. When he realized how big that fish was, he could have taken over and reeled it in himself. It was, after all, his pole, his lure, his line. But no, he gave me the chance and now was in pain because forces beyond my control had deprived me. He said he was sorry, and eventually we laughed about it and went on to catch other fish.
But something was frozen on that day in July when the fish swam away from the boat. A moment in time was frozen in my memory, a moment when I learned that my dad is also my buddy, and that he cares very much what happens to me.

Lisa Toemei* paid extra attention to sweeping the floor of the one-room house. It was a special occasion. The missionaries were coming today. It would make the fourth time the American elders had visited her family.
Lisa had never been off the island of Pohnpei, which is just north of the equator in the Pacific Ocean. She looked forward to the visits of these missionaries from a land so far away. She had many questions for them.
At last the missionaries arrived. As was the custom, they removed their shoes before entering the house. “Brother and Sister Toemei, thank you for inviting us into your home.” Elder Choate greeted them in their own language.
Elder Tyson did the same.
Lisa liked listening to them, even though they spoke with a funny accent.
Barney, Lisa’s little brother, smiled shyly at the two young men.
Elder Choate and Elder Tyson came from the United States of America to teach the people about Jesus Christ. They were dressed in dark pants, white shirts, and ties. Their name badges proclaimed that they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Choate was tall and fair, his hair so light that it appeared almost white. Even the hair on his arms was white! Lisa had never seen such pale skin and blue eyes. He was from Colorado. He showed it to her on a map. It was a small square surrounded by other squares and shapes—and very far from the ocean!
Elder Tyson was not so tall, but he still towered over her papa. His hair was bright red, making Lisa think of the sunset.
During each of the missionaries’ visits, Lisa and Barney couldn’t get their questions out fast enough. What was the United States like? How did people live without being near the ocean? What made their skin so light?
The missionaries answered the questions and then asked questions of their own. Did they know that their family could be together in heaven? Did they want to be an eternal family? Did they believe the Church was true, and if so, would they be baptized?
“An eternal family,” Mama said, her hands clasped. “It is the truth you bring us. Always we know there is something more than what we have, but we do not know where to find it. You honor us with this gift.”
Papa nodded, his face grave. “This baptism you speak of—you can do it for us?”
The elders grinned. “It would give us great joy to baptize you,” Elder Choate said. “Since Lisa is ten, she can be baptized along with you and Sister Toemei. Barney will have to wait until he is eight years old.”
“You will stay for a meal,” Mama said, already bustling about in the far corner that served as their kitchen.
What will we feed the Americans? Lisa wondered. The family had only a little food to last through the week.
Mama prepared the meal, all the while listening as the elders continued teaching from the dark blue Book of Mormon.
Lisa’s eyes widened when she saw the amount of food on the table. Rice, fresh tuna, and bananas filled the serving bowls! There was enough for several meals.
The elders held up their hands. “This is your family’s food,” Elder Choate said. “We cannot eat it.”
“You hold the everlasting gospel in your hands,” Mama said. “You must have our best.”
The young men continued to protest until Papa said quietly, “Would you turn away a gift from a friend?”
The elders looked at each other. “Thank you,” Elder Tyson said at last. “We would be honored to share your meal.”
Why?” Lisa asked her mother in a low voice as the missionaries went to wash their hands. “Why do you give them all our food? We will not have enough for the rest of the week.”
“Did you not hear what these men of God said? They bring a message from the living prophet. What is a bit of food compared to the truth and light that they teach to us?”
There was much laughter at the small wooden table during the meal. Lisa felt the Spirit warm her from the inside out. She especially liked hearing Elder Choate bear his testimony about Joseph Smith, the first President of the Church, and President Gordon B. Hinckley, the current prophet. She listened closely as Elder Tyson told of his recent visit to Guam.
Lisa scraped the last of the rice from the bowl as she put away the leftovers. She knew there would be little food for the next week, but she didn’t mind anymore.
The elders returned the following day. Each carried a sack. There were boxes of cereal and cans of fruit and vegetables.
“It is too much!” Mama said, tears bright in her eyes. “Too much.”
“Would you turn away a gift from a friend?” Elder Choate asked, using Papa’s words. “The gospel of Jesus Christ makes us all brothers and sisters. We could not let our brothers and sisters go hungry.”
Brothers and sisters—Lisa liked that.

During the last general conference, a relatively insignificant thing caught my attention. It was a necktie! As a choir of young boys and girls was singing, one of the TV cameras happened upon a young boy in the choir. He thought he saw himself on the television monitor but perhaps wasn’t completely sure. So this is what he did: by wiggling his tie almost unnoticeably, he knew—yes—it was really him!
And now to you, my young friend with the tie, yes, it is you. You and the millions like you, if you prepare well, will be the faithful mothers and fathers in the Church and the Lord’s future leaders. You will be the teachers and leaders that will continue to establish the Church throughout the world. You will probably want to look in the mirror periodically and remind yourselves of the great mission that lies before you, and perhaps you might even want to wiggle your tie just to remind yourself of your important mission ahead. May you stand straight and noble in your callings.

“There’s never anything in this house to eat!” I complained as I surveyed our half-empty refrigerator. in desperation I opened the meat keeper and then pulled out the vegetable drawer. There I saw it. Between the folds of the plastic bags containing the asparagus and the cabbage, someone had attempted to hide a cream-filled, golden yellow sponge cake, a Twinkie.
“It’s my lucky day,” I said for the benefit of that someone—my nine-year-old sister, Valarie. There was little doubt in my mind that she was the one who had hidden the Twinkie because she is the sneakiest member of our family and had been hiding things ever since I started my growth spurt.
Just as I expected, she immediately swooshed over, jumping and screaming, “That’s my Twinkie!”
“Yours?” I said. “Who says?”
“You know you ate yours,” my sister shouted. “Now give me that!”
Technically speaking, of course, she was right. Mom had bought six packages of Twinkies and had given each of us a package. I had done away with my two Twinkies in a matter of seconds. Valarie had apparently eaten one and then saved this other one. Yes, technically, I had eaten my portion. But why should a kid who is barely over four feet tall receive the same food allotment as someone who is destined to play varsity basketball? I needed nourishment. I walked casually, though swiftly, down the stairs and to my room.
I knew what would come next. Within six seconds Valarie was pounding on my locked door. “You’ll be grounded! I’ll tell Mom and Dad! You won’t be able to drive until you’re 18! I’ll take your tapes! I’ll … I’ll tell everybody you like Becky Fitzgerald!”
Now I knew I was pretty safe when it came to the first few threats. I could plead innocence. How was I to know that the Twinkie belonged to Valarie? It was just right there in the vegetable bin. The mention of Becky, however, did bother me slightly. But then I realized that since Becky already knew I liked her, it wouldn’t matter if Valarie blabbed. No, nothing Valarie said or did could affect me. Nothing.
So, as she pounded on the door, I opened the wrapper slightly and squeezed the Twinkie. Sure enough, it was perfect. Along the seam line, I could see the slightest hint of the cream filling.
To me, there is no greater treat than a Twinkie for your everyday, put-it-in-your-mouth variety of junk food. And this particular Twinkie would be especially satisfying because my sister was pounding on my door.
In fact, the sheer delight of the moment made me grin. I knew I was grinning because I could see my reflection in the mirror on the medicine chest in the bathroom adjacent to my room. The reflection of myself with that Twinkie poised near my mouth and ready to go in would normally have been a fine sight if at that moment my eyes hadn’t shifted to the picture in the corner of my mirror. It’s the picture of Christ that Sister Engright gave me. I can’t even remember the exact circumstances, except that there had been an article of faith involved and that CTR song.
Something was causing me to hesitate before stuffing the Twinkie into my mouth. I looked back at myself in the mirror again. It was always startling to see that I didn’t look the way I pictured myself. The rash that had developed when I’d started shaving hadn’t disappeared yet like Dad had said it would after my skin toughened up. Just looking at myself made me want to stuff a hundred Twinkies in my mouth out of sheer discouragement. What a contrast this adolescent face was to the face of the Savior’s in the picture. The Savior had always been my idea of a true hero. Here was someone who hadn’t buckled under when the going got tough. That’s why I’d put his picture on my mirror and not on my wall between the sports and car posters.
My sister was hitting the door so hard now that I was afraid she’d bang a hole through it. Dad had talked about that recently when he and Mom were discussing the possibility of getting some new doors. “Let’s wait until Chuck is out of the terrible teasing stage,” I’d heard him say.
“You mean when he’s 43,” Mom had answered.
“Yes, or on his mission,” Dad had said. “Let’s get new doors when he’s gone and no one feels a need to tear after him and pound on his door.”
I looked at the picture of the Savior again. It wouldn’t be that long before I’d be out there somewhere trying to convert people to the gospel of truth and light and peace.
Peace? What was peace? I didn’t feel peaceful these days with my body changing and all kinds of forces exploding in me, making my insides feel like they were going to pop right out. Take this Twinkie, for instance. I wanted it so badly I could hardly stand it. Sometimes I wanted to eat and eat and eat and never stop. And why shouldn’t I have this Twinkie? It wasn’t as if I was about to take drugs or commit a felony. I wasn’t doing half the stuff I knew some of the kids at my school did. Hey, I’m your basically good guy, and Mom and Dad had every reason to feel fortunate that my only vice was teasing my sister once in a while.
But now looking at the serene and peaceful expression on the face in the picture, I could see a contrast. “Ah, I don’t care,” I thought as I lifted the Twinkie again. “I’ve got to have this. I’m a growing boy.” I could again smell the sponge cake and I was pretty sure I could even smell the cream filling. “I’ll get her another one sometime. I’ll give her the whole package the next time I get to a store.”
But I knew that wouldn’t do it. I knew that the issue came down to right now and this minute. Anybody could repent later, but it takes a big man to make the correct decision at the very moment that temptation is beckoning him.
Good grief, it’s only a Twinkie, I thought. But I also knew that life is a combination of all kinds of small decisions and acts. Yes, it was just a Twinkie, but it wasn’t mine.
I moved the Twinkie a little further away from me where I couldn’t smell it quite so well, and then I found myself pulling the wrapper back around it.
The next part I knew would be the most difficult because it involved the swallowing of pride. Besides, if I opened the door, my sister would rush me. Oh well, it had to be done.
“Here,” I said, opening the door a crack and pushing the wrapped Twinkie through it. The look of astonishment on her face deserved to be put on film. Then her eyes narrowed.
“All right, what did you do to it? What did you put in it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
My sister examined the Twinkie carefully. “I know you did something to it.”
I was finally able to convince her that the Twinkie hadn’t been tampered with, and she scrambled from the door.
I sat down on my bed and felt the pang of withdrawal. The Twinkie was gone. This particular Twinkie would never be mine. But something funny was happening. As much as I could almost taste that Twinkie, I was glad—glad I hadn’t eaten it. In fact, as I went back to the mirror to check my smile, I was feeling satisfaction of a different, more substantial kind. The truth is, I was feeling pretty good.
I turned on the tap, patted down my hair, checked my teeth one more time, stretched my neck to see if there were any whiskers I’d missed, and glanced again at the picture of the Savior. Then, whistling, I left my room to go out into the world—a better man.

When I was a college freshman, I found myself flustered and frustrated as I tried to get through my first semester. It was very difficult to fit everything into my busy schedule, which included a full load of classes, a very time-consuming Church calling, and the everyday adjustments of living on my own for the first time. As December arrived, I became overwhelmed with everything. With the pressure of finals and a lack of time and money, I didn’t feel the Christmas spirit at all.
I went home a week before Christmas, wondering what to do for gifts. I had been assigned to buy a present for my younger sister Rachel and didn’t know what to get her, until my friend showed me a very plain little stuffed bear her mother had made for her and the touching poem she’d written to go along with it.
On Christmas Eve, I found myself working frantically to finish a bear. My mom came to my room, sat down with me, and helped me get it done for Christmas morning.
As Rachel tore the paper from the package and peered inside, a huge smile spread across her face. There were tears in everyone’s eyes as the family realized what a special gift it was. In its seams, and in the poem attached, was the real meaning of Christmas. There was love in that simple bear.
—Lisa McKinstryRexburg, Idaho

Photograph courtesy of Ashley Tuft
Before I went through the temple, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I read the booklet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple and took a temple preparation class. That helped me be more prepared for receiving my own endowment. When I went to the temple for the first time, I was not nervous like I thought I would be, because I felt peace. The temple workers were all very friendly and made sure I knew where to go the whole time I was at the temple.
During the endowment, I made covenants with my Father in Heaven and in return was promised many beautiful blessings and gifts of knowledge. Like other ordinances, including baptism, the endowment ordinance is very symbolic. Before I went through the endowment session, a temple worker told me that I may have many questions by the end of the session. Because there are so many symbols, it’s impossible to understand everything at once. That’s why I think it’s so important to return to the temple as often as possible.
Since I’ve been to the temple, I’ve felt the Spirit more abundantly in my life. I’ve felt the words that I heard in the temple sink into my heart, and I know that if I do all that I covenanted with my Heavenly Father to do, then I will be blessed. This ordinance has helped me understand how much Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love each individual person, because we are taught in the temple how to be happy.
Ashley Tuft, 20, Texas, USA

The priest flipped on a recently installed electric light, and as the uncovered bulb swung gently from its cord I looked around the shadowy room it illuminated. The floors were concrete, and except for two ancient and sagging cabinets against the wall, all the room contained was an unsteady wooden table and chairs. As the priest opened the shuttered windows for us, we saw a mixture of wild shrubs and flowers and could hear a donkey braying somewhere close by.
My husband, George, who had spent many hours here on previous trips, looked around with a smile of enormous satisfaction and went with the priest to an adjoining room to get the record books. I was left alone in the room, trying to get used to what I was seeing.
So—we had really made it after all! I thought of how impossible a trip to Spain to do genealogical research had seemed in the first place, how much planning it had taken to assemble a clientele, the weeks of agonizing over finances, the prayers and tears over leaving the children, and the lists and lists of things to do.
George was soon back with the records, and with excitement showed me the heavy volumes filled with page after page of thick parchment where priests had been noting marriages, baptisms, and deaths since the 1500s. They were impressive, and I settled down to help George search them, hoping that his enthusiasm would sustain me.
Unfortunately, as the hours and days wore on, I found that what came so naturally to George didn’t to me. He could spend hour after hour studying over the pages, totally oblivious to his physical surroundings. But I found that I noticed—and responded to—every detail. The wooden chair became unbearable to sit in after a couple of hours, the shadows from the light bulb made it hard to read, and it was so cold that my back ached at night from shivering.
My reactions were both embarrassing and frustrating to me. George had always found genealogical research stimulating, and I had prayed that the experience would be just as exciting for me. But the long, cold, stiff hours seemed endless.
Finally it came time to start a new line in a different parish. Since this was a new family line for us, George searched through the marriage book while I worked on baptisms and births. Although I was looking for the children of three different couples, I found myself particularly intrigued by one family in the records. I began to feel like I knew the mother as I found the record of each of her children’s births. The spacing of her children was similar to mine, and I reminisced about my own pregnancies and the reactions of our children to each new baby. I had been away from home for two weeks now, and the memories of a home full of children’s noises, soggy kisses, and exuberant hugs were sweet to me.
Then George suggested that I work on death records for a while. Since I was still in the same period, the names I found were familiar to me, and I noted the deaths of several of the older family members. But I was not expecting so many younger deaths, and tears of sympathy filled my eyes when I recognized the name of one of my “friend’s” children who had died at the age of three. When I turned the page and found, eight days later, the death record of her six-year-old, my heart lurched and the tears spilled.
I thought again of my own little ones, exactly the same age—the feel of their little bodies nestled in my lap, the sound of their laughter and voices in the house. The distance of an ocean gave me compassion, and I continued to cry and empathize as I turned the pages.
But when I found the death of her husband six months’ time later, I was so upset I had to stop writing, and even George noticed my sobs. “I just can’t understand why she had to go through this,” I told him. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
And then suddenly a true understanding of phrases I had been hearing and saying my entire life came to me, and feelings and thoughts rushed together. “Dear friend,” I thought, “that’s why I’m here. Your suffering wasn’t without purpose; there is something I can do for you. Thanks to a loving Savior and a temple of God, I can help give you back your husband and your children. They can be yours forever now, just as I have mine.”
The tears kept running down my cheeks, but they were tears of peace and joy, a humble gratitude for temples and families and a chance to do something to help.
Since returning from Spain, going to the temple is a deeper experience for me. As I check the name pinned to my sleeve, I feel a respect for this woman. She coped with physical deprivations and a closeness with death that I have never had to experience. And although I am not able to share with her my hot water or shampoo, or the medicine I so nonchalantly give my sick children, I can share that which means the most to me, the blessings of the gospel.

There was one day that Wilford Woodruff later called “a day of God’s power.” After a morning prayer, Joseph blessed the sick.
Brigham, do you have faith enough to be healed?
Yes, Joseph, I do.
Joseph and Brigham went to see Elijah Fordham, who was about to die. Each minute was expected to be his last.
Joseph took Elijah by the hand. Elijah did not answer at first, but everyone in the room could see the effect of the Spirit of God resting upon him.
Brother Fordham, do you know me?
Elijah, do you not know me?
Yes!
Have you faith to be healed?
I’m afraid it is too late. If you had come sooner …
Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?
I do, Brother Joseph.
Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole!
The words Joseph spoke were like the voice of God. They seemed to shake the house, and they caused Elijah to leap from his bed.
Healthy color came to Elijah’s face, and he was full of life. He called for his clothes, ate a bowl of bread and milk, and put on his hat. Then he went with Joseph to bless the other sick members.

I was once saved from death or serious accident because my father hearkened to the voice of the Spirit. If he had not responded instantly to the whisperings of the still small voice, my life might have ended then or had its course totally changed.
One of my earliest childhood recollections is of riding a horse through an apple orchard. The horse was tame and well broken, and I felt at home in the saddle.
But one day something frightened my mount, and he bolted through the orchard. I was swept from the saddle by the overhanging limbs, and one leg slipped down through the stirrup. I desperately hung to an almost broken leather strap that a cowboy uses to tie a lariat to his saddle. My weight should have broken the strap, but somehow it held for the moment. Another lunge or two of the stampeding horse would have broken the strap or wrenched it from my hands and left me to be dragged to injury or death with my foot entangled in the stirrup.
Suddenly the horse stopped, and I became aware that someone was holding the bridle tightly and attempting to calm the quivering animal. Almost immediately I was snatched up into the arms of my father.
What had happened? What had brought my father to my rescue in the split second before I slipped beneath the hoofs of my panic-driven horse?
My father had been sitting in the house reading the newspaper when the Spirit whispered to him, “Run out into the orchard!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, not waiting to learn why or for what reason, my father ran. Finding himself in the orchard without knowing why he was there, he saw the galloping horse and thought, I must stop this horse.
He did so and found me. And that is how I was saved from serious injury or possible death.

LaRae is Gene’s wife and the mother of two teenage children. She usually gets very tired before the day is over but on her perfect day she felt very invigorated. She was able to accomplish many of the things she wanted to do. “But,” she added, “by trying to keep a day perfect, I realized some of the habits I had gotten into. For instance, I would suddenly get mad at Gene for some silly, insignificant reason. It was just a habit with me. Now I’m working on correcting it.”

I was particularly affected by the experiences of the sons of Mosiah. What tremendous power they gained as they turned their lives to the Savior and sought to take the gospel to their Lamanite brethren! For the first time in my life, I fasted about my desire to share the gospel and prayed to be directed. On one memorable day, the maintenance man who worked in our apartment complex said that he would like to know more about the Church, and a neighbor knocked on my door and said, “I’ve noticed your family goes to church on Sunday. What church do you go to?”

The Book of Mormon brought me a great desire to be accepted of the Lord. One night, my newborn daughter awakened me. I fed her, and she soon fell asleep, but I was left awake in the stillness of the night. I thought of the changes in my life and the many things that still needed to be changed. My thoughts were drawn to God, and I prayed, remembering the words of the Lamanite king who cried, “O God, … wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee.” (Alma 22:18.)
One by one, the Lord showed me my weaknesses. In the early hours of the morning, I received a sweet assurance, which I recorded in my journal and have pondered many times: “I am your Father. Your Father!”
I now have a different view of my experience years ago when I was contacted by those two young women. I am grateful that I saw then how much I needed to search the scriptures. I wish I had been prepared to share knowledge and testimony with those young women. I realize how much more I need to study and to live the principles of the gospel.
Two years ago my goal was to read the entire Old Testament for the first time in my life. Little did I suspect that I would find in Jeremiah 29:13 this beautiful promise of the Lord: “Ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” [Jer. 29:13]
That search very much involves the scriptures, and it leads to eternal life.

In times of need, having water to drink can be the difference between life and death—or at least between peace and anxiety. Just ask the Kawai family, members of the São Paulo Brazil Stake. They have been storing food and water for 20 years. Although their small apartment doesn’t have much room to spare, the Kawais decided to make home storage a priority.
Sister Kawai tells of one experience when that decision paid off. “I was in the hospital having just given birth when I learned that there was a problem with the city’s water pipes,” Sister Kawai explains. “Hundreds of thousands of people were without water. But I wasn’t concerned about going home. I had peace of mind knowing that my family would have water to drink.”

In 1988 life was pretty normal for Jared Anderson of Pocatello, Idaho. Much like other ten-year-old boys, he had a paper route and assigned chores around the house. He loved to play basketball and baseball and ride bicycles with his friends. But during that year his life changed quite dramatically when he suddenly became responsible for assisting with his mother’s care.
Thirteen-year-old Jared still remembers the pain he felt when he heard that his mother had collapsed with a grand mal seizure one April Sunday in 1988. Jared was visiting that day at his grandmother’s home when a phone call came from the hospital. Tests and surgery later that week confirmed that Marcia Anderson had two types of brain cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live. “I was really scared,” Jared recalls. “It was so frightening to hear that my mother was dying. She has been my best friend. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her.” Now it’s Jared who is there when his mom needs him. He is the youngest of four children in Neil and Marcia Anderson’s family and has the most time at home to be with his mom. Jared’s oldest sister, Trina, is married; his brother, Shane, is on a mission in Roanoke, Virginia; and his sister Kim is a senior in high school.
After Sister Anderson’s surgery, she had to relearn everything—walking, speaking, reading, writing, and dressing herself. She has been involved in extensive physical therapy—all of which Jared has learned to help her with. She still suffers from seizures. So nurses taught Jared how to reduce the danger of her seizures by catching her when she would fall and holding her head so it wouldn’t be injured.
“Jared has a kind of sixth sense,” his mother recalls, “and he always seems to get there to help me at the very moment I need him.” But Jared explains that any boy would do that for a mom he loved.
Jared has cheered his mother on as she has outlived the doctors’ predictions. He has helped her progress from bed to wheelchair to walking again. Through it all, Jared has turned to his Heavenly Father for help. “Even when she’s having seizures, I always stop and pray for help, but I remember also to ask Heavenly Father that his will be done.” He adds, “It has taught me a lot about patience.”

My fondest childhood memories are of my family piling into our big gold van and fleeing the flat deserts of Texas toward the mountains and rivers of the West. As we climbed in elevation, my father, a geologist, would point out the window at rock formations and explain how the layers were deposited just so and how the rocks contained a record of past processes that quietly shaped the landscapes in front of my eyes. My mother would take pictures of wildflowers, collect pine cones, and revel in the turning of the seasons.
Their love for nature was contagious, and I fell in love with the world of living things too.
Years later, while serving my mission among the mountains and forests of Alaska, I developed an even deeper respect for the connections between God’s human and nonhuman creations and decided to devote my life to the conservation and study of nature.
Throughout my studies, I’ve been encouraged by principles of earth stewardship taught by prophets, apostles, and other Church leaders. For example:
At the beginning of this dispensation, the Lord told Joseph Smith that He wanted the Saints to be “accountable, as [stewards] over earthly blessings, which I have made and prepared for my creatures” (Doctrine and Covenants 104:13).
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “As beneficiaries of the divine Creation, what shall we do? We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”1
In 2019, Sister Sharon Eubank, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency and president of Latter-day Saint Charities, discussed the connection between God’s children and the earth by stating: “Some people will say, ‘Isn’t there something more important to do? Shouldn’t we be caring for the poor versus caring for the earth?’ And my question is, are they not linked so inextricably that we can’t do one without caring for the other?”2
And finally, President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke these words directly to our generation in March 2020: “I see … your commitment to a more sustainable future for all of God’s children and creatures and the earth. Whether it is environmental, economic, or social, I would hope you will continue to find creative solutions to help protect the future for all of God’s children in our world. We should do whatever we can to protect and preserve the earth, to make life better for those who will live here. We have a divine stewardship, as noted in Doctrine and Covenants 59:16–20.”3
These teachings and many others4 highlight our responsibility to care for God’s creations, both today and for future generations. So how can we as young adult Latter-day Saints respond to these prophetic teachings more fully today? Here are a few ideas to consider.
In the past few decades, nations across the world have been experiencing increases in pollution, deforestation, drought, species extinction, biodiversity loss, and other challenges that are intensifying.5 We need to always keep in mind that God created this earth for us, His children, and it’s our responsibility to care for and protect it (see 1 Nephi 17:36; Doctrine and Covenants 59:20; 103:13).
We can start by learning more about these and other environmental problems that may exist in our communities and countries. As Latter-day Saints, we’re taught to be informed about “things both in heaven and in the earth, and under the earth; … things which are at home, things which are abroad; the wars and the perplexities of the nations, and the judgments which are on the land; and a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:79). Surely the Lord wants us to care about the issues that affect His creations—both this earth and its inhabitants.
Learning about the role we play in our local ecological communities can also help us discover how our individual actions affect the environment. In our increasingly connected world, people’s individual actions on one continent are now collectively contributing to the environmental effects felt by God’s children in other parts of the world (for example, things like rising sea levels, food shortages, plastic pollution, and invasive species). This relationship with our global neighbors provides a whole new meaning to the commandment to “love [our] neighbour as [ourselves]” (Matthew 22:39).
It’s good to learn about environmental problems, and even better to do something about them. Here are a few practical steps you can take:
Go outside and learn about the plants, animals, and ecosystems around you. Knowledge leads to understanding and respect; use field guides, online resources, or apps to get to know God’s creations more personally.
Choose to walk, skate, cycle, carpool, or use public transportation where available. You can enjoy the outdoors a little bit more while at the same time reducing pollution.
Buy local. This has the double benefit of directly supporting your community and cutting carbon emissions (products grown or made locally don’t need to travel as far).
Plant a garden. There are few food sources more sustainable or personally fulfilling than growing your own!6 As a young adult, you might have limited space, so start small by growing an herb garden or consider joining a community garden.
Reduce, reuse, recycle. Consume less, carry reusable grocery bags and water bottles, and check what materials are recyclable in your city.
Use less water and energy. Things like taking shorter showers, turning off lights, and unplugging appliances when not in use can all add up.
Get involved. You could consider volunteering or supporting reputable environmental groups.
Vote. Take the time to be educated, and vote the way you feel will best affect environmental issues and policies.
Be “anxiously engaged in a good cause” (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:26–29). We’ve been taught the principles—now it’s time to act on them.
You don’t have to feel overwhelmed by this list: to start, choose just one item and put energy behind it. Doing something is better than nothing. In doing these simple acts of environmental service, you may feel that your contribution doesn’t matter, that it won’t make any difference against the magnitude of the world’s ecological issues, but remember that “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
In spiritual matters, we don’t stop choosing the right just because the world is growing more wicked! We know that our small acts of kind service won’t stop all the evil in the world, but we continue to perform them anyway, blessing lives in the process. We can have a similar attitude toward the earth and her inhabitants.
Throughout my life, I’ve had the privilege to travel and conduct research in many different countries and landscapes. Despite the drastic differences in species, climate, and human culture that exist on our planet, there is one unifying principle among each of these ecosystems: they are all connected and beautifully alive.
When Christ returns to this earth—a world He created to sustain us physically and spiritually, and one that He commanded us to preserve—I, for one, hope to have done my best to take care of His beautiful creation.

We had a wonderful time together as we drove on to Berkeley, California. We found a furnished apartment for forty-five dollars a month. But our second day, when I came home that evening, I discovered that my key wouldn’t work in the door. I finally went to the manager and said, “I’m sorry, my key doesn’t work.” She said, “Oh, that’s all right. Your wife has moved you.” I said, “Moved us?” “Yes,” she said, “we had another apartment that was five dollars less.”

Then came the first Sunday in March. I’ll never forget that day. Just after Sunday School Bishop Edwards asked me if I could come to his office an hour before fast meeting for a little talk. Well, I know the bishop doesn’t just call people in for a little talk for no reason. I wondered what I had done—or what I was going to do. But I did tell him I would be there.
At three o’clock I found myself stepping on the rich blue carpeting of the bishop’s office and then staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, instantly knew everything about me. I had known Bishop Edwards for a long time. He had been my Sunday School teacher when I was in junior high school and had been bishop now for a couple of years. I hadn’t known him as a bishop too well since I spent many Sundays in my student branch at school. But now, as I looked at him, I knew what a wonderful man he was and the great power he represented.
After a few minutes of small talk about school, family, and whatever, he got to the point of this meeting. “Today as I looked over the congregation, my eyes rested on you,” he said intensely, “and as clearly as we have been speaking to each other, a voice said to me, ‘That girl needs to go on a mission.’” I was stunned! That was the last thing I expected him to say. Me? On a mission? His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I can see by your expression that you didn’t receive the same inspiration. It must come as quite a surprise. But it’s something you don’t have to decide right now. You think about it and be sure to include your parents and the Lord in your decision. Just let me know when you’ve found your answer.”
A few moments later I walked out of the door, and the fluorescent lighting of the hall hit me with the reality of the situation. I figured in two years I’d really be an old maid. But two years might give Allen time to join the Church on his own. It would give me a chance to find myself. And most important, it would be a chance to get closer to the Lord and serve his children more than I had ever done, I found an empty room and knelt in prayer, asking my Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. When I stood, I felt a certain calm, even though I still didn’t feel that I had a positive answer.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

While in St. George for a stake conference, President Snow received a revelation in which the Lord reaffirmed that Church members should pay an honest tithing. President Snow felt so strongly about this inspired direction that despite his advanced age he vigorously taught the commandment in the stakes all that summer. He also asked the Quorum of the Twelve to teach the doctrine of full tithing payment at every opportunity. Over time, the Saints responded, eventually saving the Church from a crushing burden of debt.

Aurelia Spencer Rogers began at a very young age to follow Heavenly Father’s plan for her. She was six years old when her parents joined the Church. Her family moved from Deep River, Connecticut, to Nauvoo, Illinois. When the Saints were forced to leave Nauvoo, Aurelia’s mother died, leaving seven young children. They and their father crossed the Missouri River and went to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, where he built a log cabin for them to live in.
When Aurelia was twelve, her father was called to serve a mission in Great Britain. She and her fourteen-year-old sister, Ellen, said that they would care for the family while he served the Lord. How would you feel if your father went to serve a Church mission and left you in a new land to take care of little brothers and sisters?
Aurelia loved all children and was concerned about them. When she was a young married woman, she felt that parents needed help in teaching their children about the gospel and about how to treat one another with kindness. When the Primary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was established in 1878, Aurelia was called to be its first president. Today, all of us can enjoy Primary because Aurelia Spencer Rogers followed Heavenly Father’s plan for her.