Gospel Story Finder

Davey’s kindergarten class was going to have an Easter egg hunt, and he could hardly wait. He had talked to his two little brothers about the exciting event and had solemnly promised them that he would not eat any of the Easter eggs he found but would bring them home to share.
That morning, Davey stood by his mother, waiting for the school bus. It was hard to stay still enough to carefully hold the two boiled eggs he was taking to color that day. There would be lots of fun on this last day of school before the Easter holiday.
Finally the large yellow bus rounded the corner and stopped to pick him up. He waved and smiled at his brothers, who were watching out the window of their home across the street.
His little brothers’ faces were in the window again when the large yellow bus delivered him home at the end of the school day. Davey was usually the first child off the bus at this stop. But not today. When he finally climbed off, Mom knew that something was wrong. She hurried out to meet him on the front walk. She knelt and looked into his drooping eyes. He fell into Mom’s arms and sobbed.
“I’m so sorry … let my little brothers down,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to … saved everything … didn’t eat even one.”
Mom held him close for a long time and then, when his body stopped trembling, led him inside. She and Davey and his little brothers all huddled together for a big family hug.
“Let’s start again, Davey,” Mom said reassuringly. “Tell us about what happened from the beginning.”
Davey arrived at school with his precious boiled eggs unbroken. When the time came, he colored them sky blue to match his eyes. When they were dry, he placed his eggs in his basket. After his teacher read an Easter story, everyone in his class ran outside for recess. When they came back in, the teacher told them that candy eggs were hidden in their classroom. All the children scrambled to look for the candy eggs. Davey was a good finder, and he helped other children find some. He found a yellow marshmallow bunny too. After the egg hunt, many of the children ate a lot of their candy eggs during the party, but Davey saved every one, just as he had promised his little brothers.
His class was late boarding the school buses after school, and his usual seat behind the driver was already taken. Davey walked down the long aisle until he found a seat near the back. He sat down, carefully cradling his basket of treasures on his lap.
When the bus pulled out, some big boys behind him began to tease him. He could hear them whispering about him. Then they tweaked his hair, ears, and neck. He used one hand to protect his candy; with the other, he tried to bat their hands away. With all the noise and confusion on the bus, the driver didn’t hear Davey’s small protests as the teasing increased.
Then his candy eggs began to disappear as he turned his head this way and that, trying to get away from all the hands that were pinching and tickling him. The worst teaser was the boy who lived across the street. Davey had thought that he was a friend, but today he had become an enemy.
By the time the bus came to Davey’s stop, his marshmallow bunny and all the candy eggs were gone, and both of his sky-blue eggs, so carefully carried and colored, were cracked and smashed.
Mom, Davey, and his brothers all looked at Davey’s little Easter basket. It was a sorry sight.
“Well, Davey,” Mom asked, “what shall we do to let these boys know that you forgive them?”
Davey’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes got wide. “Forgive them?”
“What is Easter about, Davey?” Mom gently asked. “Is it about colored eggs and candy, or is it about forgiving others for the pain they cause?”
Davey was surprised. He had thought that Mom would march right across the street and tell the big boy’s mother exactly how mean her son had been. “Why should I be the one to forgive them first when I didn’t do anything wrong?” Davey asked.
“The Savior didn’t do anything wrong, either. But He forgave those who killed Him. He taught us to forgive everyone because that is what will bring us the greatest peace,” Mom said. “How do you feel inside right now?”
Davey’s face was still very red and tear-streaked. Couldn’t Mom guess how he felt? “I feel mad and sad and …”
“And do you like feeling that way?”
“No.”
“Jesus taught us that when people do bad things to us, the only way we can really feel better is to forgive them, even do something good for them.”
“But stealing is wrong,” Davey protested. “You and Dad have always taught us that when we take something that isn’t ours, we should give it back and say we’re sorry. That’s what those boys should do!”
“Davey, we can’t choose what they will do. We can only choose what we will do. We can do what Jesus did, or we can choose not to.”
“But Jesus never rode the bus and got His eggs stolen. The scriptures don’t say anything about that.”
“The scriptures say to forgive others as you would want to be forgiven,” Mom pointed out patiently. “The lessons that the scriptures teach are true, Davey, not just stories. They really work. Shall we try them out?”
After Davey thought about it, he decided to follow his mother’s suggestion. Maybe then she would find out that the scriptures weren’t talking about someone who stole your brothers’ candy.
Mom and the boys decided to stir up a big batch of cookies as a forgiveness offering. Before Davey knew it, he and Mom were walking across the street to deliver the cookies. Davey could see the neighbor boy through the living room window. He looked anxious when he saw both Davey and his mother coming up his walk. When he hesitantly answered the door, Davey gave him the large plate of cookies and wished him a happy Easter. Nothing was said about the trouble on the bus. The boy had a relieved but puzzled look on his face. As he closed the door, Davey and Mom waved good-bye and started back home.
It was then that Davey noticed a new feeling inside his chest. He had been mad and sad. Now, however, his chest wasn’t tight with anger, it was calm and peaceful. When they arrived home and were eating warm cookies with milk, Davey asked Mom how it could be that he felt so different so quickly.
“Because,” Mom said, “no matter what is broken in your life—your heart or anything else—following Jesus Christ is the best way to fix things. At Easter we celebrate not only that He died for us, but also how He lived. He taught us how to live and be happy, and if we do what He taught, we’ll be happy and have the Holy Ghost to comfort us. Living the gospel works.”
Davey thought about that for a long time—and he decided that the scriptures did teach about stolen Easter eggs, after all.

As a bishop of a student ward adjacent to the University of Utah campus about 18 years ago, I tried vainly to hold a young marriage together. The wife had been unfaithful, and as I sought to help and to understand, I learned that as a child this woman had had an adulterous father. Though unjustified, she acted out her feelings about men. What she then did was not love. Several years after my release as bishop, I saw a story in the local paper about her having been picked up for prostitution. I know not where she is today, but I cannot put out of my mind the words of Jacob, who decried unfaithful fathers who had lost the confidence of their children because of their bad examples (see Jacob 2:35).

The translation of the Book of Mormon is a miracle in itself and gives further proof of the book’s divine origin. When Oliver Cowdery arrived in Harmony, Pennsylvania, on April 5, 1829, to serve as the Prophet’s scribe, only a few pages of the final text had been translated. That evening Joseph and Oliver sat down together and discussed the Prophet’s experiences long into the night. Two days later, on April 7, they commenced the translation of the work. Over the next three months, Joseph translated at an amazing rate—approximately 500 printed pages in about 60 working days.
Oliver wrote of this remarkable experience: “These were days never to be forgotten—to sit under the sound of a voice dictated by the inspiration of heaven, awakened the utmost gratitude of this bosom! Day after day I continued, uninterrupted, to write from his mouth, as he translated, with the Urim and Thummim … the history, or record, called ‘The book of Mormon’” (Messenger and Advocate, Oct. 1834, 14; see also Joseph Smith—History 1:71, note).

In those days of struggle for the Church in England, the missionaries took part in organized sports and choral singing, trying to create a new Church image. Elder Ashton decided to give both a try. “I don’t know how well I did in the ‘Millennial Chorus’ audition,” he chuckles. “They didn’t ask me to be the chorus.” But he was more successful in basketball. In fact, he was captain of the missionary team, the “Saints,” which won a grand national championship in Britain and an all-Europe championship at Lille, France.

I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints my whole life. My parents are strong examples of faith in my life. I never felt the need to do anything more to strengthen and nourish that foundation. I rode on the coattails of their testimonies until I graduated from BYU–Hawaii in 2002.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, “Faith is strong when it has deep roots in personal experience [and] personal commitment to Jesus Christ... Our testimony will be tested and tried. Faith is not faith if never tested. Faith is not strong if never opposed.” [4] I did not know it then, but I was about to have some personal experiences that would test that foundation of faith and start my journey of personal recommitment to Jesus Christ.

My first job out of college was working at a hotel in Waikiki. I was paid $10 an hour with a college degree, which was barely enough to cover the cost for gas, to drive from Laie to Waikiki, five days a week. My husband and I got married later that same year. I quickly learned that, in hotels, there are many opportunities for movement and growth if I was willing to put in the time and effort. My focus shifted and I became more career driven. Hotels are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. As my career in the hotel progressed, my schedule required me to work on Sundays. By that time, both of my sons had been born, so I justified it at first thinking, I am doing this for my family. As I reflect on this time, I can see that I chose to make the Lord less of a priority in my life. My priority was to move ahead in my career to provide for my family. I worked in hotels for 18 years. I left home before my kids woke up and returned home just in time to say goodnight. Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoyed my work and loved the people I worked with. I met some amazing people and built lasting friendships. I worked in Human Resources, Property Rehab or Special Projects, and various leadership roles in Housekeeping. I learned about union contracts, code of conduct, benefits, project management, standards, policies, procedures, and managing teams ranging from 20 to 800 people. While it was great that my career was advancing, I also felt like a horrible mom. I missed out on so many things: sporting events, birthdays, holidays, and just being around when my kids needed me. I am forever grateful to my husband, my best friend, for taking everything on and being there for our kids. My father-in-law and mother-in-law played an integral role in supporting our family. Our kids also have five amazing aunties, or as my sister says, “mom-ties”. These wonderful people stepped up to fill in for me when I could not be there.

During COVID, I was temporarily laid off because the hotel had to close. This was another challenging time for our family. My husband started working a few months before I was laid off. He was able to work through COVID to provide for our family. I was home for nine months and had to navigate where I fit in my family’s schedule and routine. By then our sons were 14 and 16 years old. Having mommy home was great, but it was different from what they had been accustomed to. This also gave me time to re-evaluate my priorities. I decided to go back to my roots and focus on my foundation of faith and learning to strengthen me and my family. I enrolled in an online MBA program to start working on my master’s degree. I also focused on strengthening my relationship with my sons. Those nine months ended up being the recharge and realignment I needed. Eventually, the hotel reopened, and I was called to return to work. When I returned, I struggled feeling like I could not continue doing this because I needed to prioritize my family. My husband agreed, so I left the hotel. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do for my family, it was still difficult because I built so many great relationships over the years.

Caroline Jacobs focused on the words of the closing song. If she concentrated hard enough, she could block out the jeers and cries coming from outside—almost. Her father offered a prayer, and the meeting was dismissed.
Because there was no church building, the Mormon families in the area met in the Jacobses’ home. No one was in a hurry to leave tonight, Caroline noted. They were afraid, just as she was.
The mob hadn’t actually attacked anyone yet. But daily they grew louder and bolder in their protests against the Mormon families in the small Missouri settlement.
Surely they won’t harm people who only want to live in peace, Caroline kept telling herself. But the struggle to believe it intensified every day. Reports came, relating the persecutions the Saints in other towns were suffering, but so far the mob had stopped short of real violence here.
Caroline’s family had moved from New York a year ago, just after her baptism. At first she had liked the frontier town. She’d seen trappers and traders, cowboys and soldiers, all of whom she’d only read about before her family’s move to Missouri.
But as more Latter-day Saint families settled in the area, anti-Mormon sentiment had grown. Caroline kept close to home now and no longer played outside by herself.
When the other families had left the house with her father, who was seeing the widows safely home, Caroline turned to her mother. “Mama, why do the men outside hate us?”
Her mother sighed. “I don’t think they really hate us. I think they’re afraid.”
Caroline listened to the shouts that could still be heard, even though the meeting had ended. “They don’t sound afraid. They sound angry. Besides, why would they be afraid of us?” She knew her father didn’t even own a gun. He’d told her often enough that he believed in talking out differences, not shooting them out.
Her mother looked sad. “People often are afraid of what they don’t understand.”
Caroline thought about that. Maybe her mother was right. “Are you ever afraid, Mama?”
Her mother busied herself with sweeping the wood floor. “Sometimes I am,” she said at last. “Then I remember that if I am at peace here”—she placed a hand over her heart—“I don’t have to be afraid.”
Caroline put a hand over her own heart. “But how can I feel peace when people are trying to force us to leave our homes?”
“Peace isn’t something that comes from the outside. It’s a feeling inside,” her mother said with a slow, soft smile.
“A feeling inside,” Caroline repeated, liking the sound of the words.
The next day Caroline walked with her mother to the small store that sold supplies to the farmers. She kept her eyes straight ahead when several boys from town yelled, “Dirty Mormons!”
“They can’t hurt us with their words,” Mama said quietly, but she tightened her hold on Caroline’s hand and walked faster toward the store.
Caroline thought about Mama’s counsel from last night and placed her hand on her heart. This is where it matters, she thought. If I can feel peace here, it doesn’t matter what’s happening around me.
She fixed her thoughts on the sweet feelings she’d received the previous night, when she’d knelt by her bed and prayed for Heavenly Father’s help. Never before had she known such peace.
On the way home she ignored the taunts aimed at her and concentrated on what she felt inside. Her mother was right. The peaceful feeling didn’t go away. Instead, it grew steadily stronger until she no longer even noticed the boys’ insults.
At home she climbed the ladder to the loft that was her bedroom. Once more, she knelt by her bed and prayed. This time it was a prayer of thanks.

“Callie, wake up!” Mama called.
Callie opened her eyes a little and looked out the window by her bed. She could barely see the outline of the windmill against the morning sky.
A smile lighted Callie’s face. “It’s quilting day!” Callie cried. She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly.
Callie always liked quilting day. Ladies from miles around came to her home. Callie’s friend, Mary Porter, would come with her mother too. Living on the Texas plains prevented Callie from seeing her friends very often after school let out for the summer. And today would be the most special quilting day of all!
Callie rushed to the kitchen. Mama and Papa and her brothers, Joseph and Tom, were already at the table, eating steaming bowls of mush.
“You’re looking mighty cheerful today, Callie,” said Papa.
“It’s quilting day. They’re going to do my quilt today!” exclaimed Callie.
Papa put down his spoon. “I plumb forgot! Was I supposed to put up the quilting frame in the front room, Eliza?” he said to Callie’s mother.
Callie’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. “You didn’t put up the frame?”
Mama smiled. “Now, Henry, don’t tease the child.”
Papa laughed, and so did Joseph and Tom.
“Don’t worry, Callie. The quilting frame is up and ready to go,” said Papa with a big grin.
Callie relaxed. Papa was always teasing.
After breakfast Papa and the boys went to work in the fields, and Callie helped her mother in the kitchen. When she was through, Callie went into the front room. Her Flower Garden quilt was stretched tightly on the frame, waiting to be quilted. Months ago Callie had helped Mama pick the many colored pieces from her scrap bag to go onto the pale yellow background. Mama had brought her scrap bag all the way from Missouri before Callie was born.
Callie ran her hands lightly over the beautiful flowers Mama had carefully pieced together. The Texas plains were too drab. Except for the blue sky, all Callie could see outside were continuous tans and browns. A colorful quilt would brighten the days.
Soon the ladies began arriving in their horse-drawn wagons. Mrs. Porter and Mary were the last to arrive. At first Callie felt shy. It had been so long since she had seen Mary that it was almost like meeting a stranger. Then Mary smiled, and it was as though they had seen each other only yesterday.
Mary had brought her beautiful china doll, Josephine, and a little basket full of doll clothes. “Mama made new clothes for Josephine,” she said.
The girls went outside and sat in the shade of the house. Callie marveled at the array of Josephine’s beautiful clothes. Callie brought out her own doll, love-worn old Sally, and the girls played dolls all morning. By afternoon it was warm even in the shade.
“Let’s go into the dugout,” said Callie. “It’s cool there.”
“Ugh! I hate dugouts. You’ve never had to live in one.”
“Yes, I have,” Callie told her. “In fact, I was born in this one.” She raised the wooden door to the underground room.
“We lived here until our house was built.”
“We lived in one, too,” said Mary. “And I remember how dull and dreary it was.”
“My mama felt that way, too,” Callie said. “But the most important thing at that time was to get the well dug and the windmill built. Everyone around here had to live in dugouts for a while.”
“Well, I’d rather stay up here and be hot than go down there and be cool,” said Mary.
Callie smiled. “OK. Let’s go inside. I want to see my quilt.”
In the front room the ladies were laughing and talking as their nimble fingers stitched the quilt layers together.
Callie and Mary went back outside and played until the ladies began to leave. Mrs. Porter and Mary climbed into their wagon. “You come and see us real soon!” called Mrs. Porter.
Callie and her mother went back inside. Mama laid the finished quilt in Callie’s arms.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Callie cried, hugging the quilt close to her. She raced to her room and spread the Flower Garden quilt on her bed. The plain room instantly became bright and cheery. That night Callie slept soundly under the new quilt.
The next day things were back to normal around the ranch. That afternoon while Mama and Callie were working in the garden, they heard hooves. Callie stood up and shaded her eyes against the sun. “It’s Mr. Walker.”
Mr. Walker rode up to them. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mrs. Logan. I’m riding around to tell everyone that the Porters’ house caught on fire last night. The family got out all right, but the house burned to the ground. They lost everything. We’ll be taking up a collection at the schoolhouse.”
“Mercy!” cried Mama. “I’ll gather up some things for them. You’re sure everyone is all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll be back in their dugout for a while until they can raise another house.”
After Mr. Walker left, Mama gathered things to send to the Porters. “Your papa can take these to the schoolhouse tomorrow,” she said.
All Callie could think of was Mary and Josephine and Josephine’s new clothes. Oh, Mary had been so proud of those clothes, and she’d loved Josephine so much!
Callie had a hard time eating dinner that night. When she went to bed, she lay under her quilt and looked out the window at the stars and the windmill. The sound of the windmill usually soothed her to sleep, but it didn’t tonight. She thought about Mary living in the hated dugout where there were no stars and no windmills to see.
The next morning Callie woke up very early. She got out of bed, folded the precious flowered quilt, and took it into the kitchen. Papa was carrying things out to the wagon. Callie handed him the quilt. “This is for Mary.”
Papa put his big hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell her,” he said softly.
Callie stood in the doorway and watched him drive away. Her stomach felt funny, and she had a lump in her throat. But she felt good too.
Mama put her arms around Callie’s shoulders. “Callie, I have a new quilt pattern called Texas Windmill. It’s the prettiest, swirliest, most colorful quilt I ever saw. How would you like to help me pick out the colors, and I’ll get started on it right away. I think it would look real pretty on your bed.”
Callie smiled. “I’d like that.”

Seminary students know there is an art to breaking in a new copy of the scriptures. The Ada Branch of the Norman Oklahoma Stake demonstrated the technique at a Super Saturday.
At the beginning of the seminary year, Jim, Alice, Chris, and Santee purchased brand-new copies with a sturdy black cover of imitation leather, designed to withstand being handled, used, held, and opened quickly in scripture chases; studied in cars on the way to Super Saturdays; and carried to class. When new, the pages stick together a little around the edges until fingers are slid between to separate them. Ada Branch’s scriptures had no sticky pages.
But still a few more refinements need to be made. The Norman seminary has a rule against using tags or bookmarks for marking references, but if in the heat of a scripture chase competition your book just happens to fall open to the right place because the page has been wrinkled, that’s fair. The pages are high quality, tissue-thin paper designed to resist tearing. They can withstand a little wrinkling. Of course, if you don’t know the reference, you won’t know which wrinkled page is the correct page. So Ada Branch was studying hard, learning references.
Seminary scriptures reach their ultimate usefulness when the student knows the feel and form of his own book so well that in looking up verses, it responds like a well-oiled instrument, an instrument of learning.
The Bibles of the Norman Oklahoma Stake seminary students were well oiled with use and study. Hands were itching to flip the pages to the correct reference. Students were on their toes while sitting down. It was Super Saturday with three favorite seminary activities—scripture chase, seminary bowl (which combines a New Era bowl with seminary lesson review), and a dance.
A Super Saturday in Oklahoma is like Super Saturdays all over. Seminary students drive miles from all over the far-flung stake and gather to compete and get to know each other better. During the car ride to the stake center, students quiz each other on past seminary lessons and recent copies of the New Era that might be used for questions in the seminary bowl. They create memory hooks to remember scripture references. “For the scripture about clean hands and pure heart,” said Chris Wade of the Ada Branch, “just remember palms to remind you of Psalms.”
“How am I going to remember the reference for the scripture that says, ‘I know that my redeemer liveth’?” asked another member of the Ada Branch team.
“I know how we can remember,” said Santee Wade, also of the Ada Branch. “Since it’s Job 19:25–26, how about this? I make 25 to 26 dollars an hour on 19th Street at my job.”
Making the extra effort to get an edge over their competition means extra study. One girl was overheard saying, “I studied every minute I could this week in between classes at school.” Since seminary is either held early-mornings or taken by home-study, it’s hard to get together with your team to review. Chris and Brad Hammock of the Noble Ward recruited their mother and sister to give them clues about things they studied in seminary and read in the New Era.
Competition is fun for these students, and, as Lana Lazenby, Norman Second Ward, put it, “It makes everyone study harder.”
The competition, held at the stake center, is split between two rooms. Home-study seminary students first compete in scripture chase while the early-morning students are holding a seminary bowl. The bowl competition consists of three teams of four with substitutes coming in and out between questions at each captain’s discretion. On the table in front of each student is a box with a button and a light. A quick tap on the button sounds a buzzer and lights the light. The first one to hit his button gets to answer the question. If he is wrong, then the buttons are reactivated and the other teams are given a second chance to answer.
The director asks a toss-up question. The team member that pushes the first button must answer the question without any help from team members. If the answer is correct, then the team is given a bonus question and the team may confer before giving the answer.
As each team seemed to gain momentum, the questions and answers flew fast and furious. “What project were the youth of the Bountiful Stake working on in the New Era article entitled ‘Captains of Ten’?” “Who became leader of the Israelites after Moses?” “What was the theme of the message by Elder Thomas Monson in the New Era article called ‘Crisis at the Crossroads’?” “Name the first five books of the Old Testament.” With good-natured groans at answers that just missed the mark and cheers with correct responses, the competition was exciting. After competing for her team, Marcia Garrett, Shawnee Ward, said, “I think this is great. But I read everything that they didn’t ask.” And Sandra Johnson, also of the Shawnee Ward, was plagued by a problem that many experience when under pressure. “With all these questions, my mind went blank.”
One team that did well had prepared. “We were hot,” said Melissa LeBlanc, Noble Ward. “We’ve been practicing on questions for the past few weeks.”
Although Danny Ellis’s Noble Ward team didn’t win the bowl competition, he summed up the feeling of many of the participants. “We got beat,” said Danny, “but we didn’t lose.” There are no losers when students are learning about the gospel.
At the Norman Oklahoma Stake Super Saturdays, competition is good-natured and fun. It’s a chance to review seminary lessons and get to know other members of the stake.
A New Era bowl is competition between two or more teams consisting of four members each. Questions based on selected copies of the New Era are asked by a moderator, and the first person from any team to answer correctly scores a certain number of points for his team. The team is then entitled to answer a bonus question. The team members may confer about it, but the answer is given by the captain.
Organization. The bowl should have a moderator who asks the questions, a judge who decides if an answer is adequate, a timer/scorekeeper, and as many teams of four as can be comfortably accommodated. If too many teams want to compete, perhaps two bowls could be held.
Game Apparatus. The ideal situation is to have an arrangement of buzzers with lights and a button in front of each contestant. When the first light is activated, it electronically exempts all other lights and buzzers from working. If this type of equipment is not available, the first person to raise his hand would be called on. The judge would decide whose hand was up first.
Time. The bowl can be held in two halves of about ten minutes each. Substitutions to teams can be made quickly only between questions, but the clock is not stopped. A short intermission of a minute or two can be held in between halves to let the teams relax for a moment.
Scoring. A toss-up question or question open to everyone is worth ten points. The player who hits his button first must answer the question immediately with out help from his team members. If he answers incorrectly, his team is penalized five points, and the other teams are given an opportunity to answer the question. If the other team also answers incorrectly, they are not penalized. The moderator then gives the correct answer and goes on to the next question.
If the player answers the question correctly, his team is awarded the ten points. The team may now answer the bonus question, which is worth five points. There is no penalty for answering the bonus question incorrectly. All team members may confer before the captain answers the question.
The game is over when the time runs out.

When I heard that I had won a scholarship to do the cultural exchange in Argentina that I had always dreamed of, I could never have imagined that it would be the beginning of such a big change in my life.
I arrived in Rosario, Argentina, where I lived with a family who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And thus started a year of spiritual adventures, talking with the missionaries and attending seminary and institute. I wanted to know everything, and I could feel that what I was learning about the gospel was blessing me in so many ways.
In a short time I was able to obtain a strong testimony of the truthfulness of the doctrines I was being taught: faith, love, patience, charity, trust, and obedience to the commandments of the Lord, which He has given us to protect us from pain.
He does not want us to go through pains without purpose. He loves us so much, and He wants to prove it so much. But sometimes, through our own choices, we close that door, we separate ourselves from Him, and then it is in our own hands. We must then take that first step toward the recovery of peace in our hearts. This is something I would experience for myself.
After months of learning, missionary lessons, and classes, I experienced adversity in one of its most painful forms—adversity that confronts you with feelings of the past, tempts you to make incorrect decisions in the present, and tries to ruin the future you always dreamed of. I learned that affliction sometimes (and many times) comes from somewhere you never expected.
Being worthy and virtuous in thoughts and acts had always seemed part of who I was, up until then. I knew that the things that I was about to do weren’t right, that people I once trusted were about to go off-road, and that I had actually already begun creating a distance between me and my Heavenly Father. I knew that now was the time when I needed to choose whether I would continue this or stick to the values I had always honored. So I had to find that strength inside of me that told me that I couldn’t ruin these dreams so easily. I couldn’t ruin my hope of an eternal family and a loving husband. Something in my life was wrong, and I knew it had to change.
That feeling, together with the young testimony that had begun to flourish in my heart, and true angels in my life who were always there to help me, saved me from being lost and made me so strong again that I could choose to turn back toward the Lord in time. And I know that He always was there, blessing me in my efforts to listen to His voice and to stay worthy of eternal blessings.
When I think about that time that I went through now, I think of courage for not having surrendered, courage for having always demonstrated my values, and the faith I had and still have.
Although the time of repentance that followed was a time of pain, of recognition of wrong feelings and moments, and of humility, I am so grateful for it—and I always will be. Grateful for the fact that, at the right time, I could feel that my Heavenly Father had forgiven me, that He continues to love me, and that He always will.
The part that cost me the most was learning to forgive myself. I remember how I felt, unworthy and without beauty, neither on the outside nor on the inside. But my Savior was always there, giving me strength and inspiration. He put the right people on my path who helped me to learn even more about the Church, since I had returned to Belgium. They loved me for who I am and helped me love myself again and recognize that this experience didn’t have to be a pain that I carry in my backpack of life forever. I could see that I had the opportunity to choose, to experience how strong my testimony already was by defending my values. Now I see that because I worked on strengthening my testimony through this experience, I can be a blessing in the lives of so many people, near and far.
Don’t fear. Never give up, and always defend your values. Always keep in mind how beautiful and what a blessing it is to share that love for the Savior and have His pure love as a foundation on which to build a relationship and a future family. If you choose to be obedient and choose Heavenly Father in all things, sooner or later, eternal blessings will come. Do not worry if you can’t see them now, but trust that every day, a little more, you will see the hand of the Lord in your lives. Spring will start in our hearts and eternal flowers will begin to bloom.
I was baptized on March 16, 2019, in my ward in Belgium, and I am so happy to have taken this first step on my way to eternity. Yes, I will encounter more challenges along the way—we all will—but with my testimony in my heart, I am ready to face them, since I know Whom to choose.

In the past I have not always been able to say or show my thanks as I have really wanted to. Some years ago, almost every morning I found myself arriving in the parking lot of a certain institution at the same time as another individual. It was early in the morning, usually very dark and very quiet. Most of the time we were alone as we walked from our vehicles into the building. This individual was one of the finest persons I have ever known. I looked up to him. I admired him, I loved him. Yet I had never told him so. Each time we entered the building and climbed onto the elevator together, I found myself tongue-tied. I could hardly stammer “Good morning,” much less, “Oh, how I admire you” or “Thank you for all you have done and are doing for me.” After one of these mornings, I arrived in my office, disgusted with my inability to express my appreciation. In desperation, with a great desire to just say thank you, I took a pen in hand, and in longhand wrote a short note that expressed my feelings. Hurriedly I addressed an envelope and quickly mailed the note before my courage failed me. A very few days later I received a very sweet, short, three-sentence note. I could tell he had personally typed it out on the old typewriter he kept by his desk. It read:

Dear Dee,
That was one of the sweetest notes I have ever received, and I appreciate hearing from you. I am indeed grateful to be so close to you, and I hope that we may see each other once in a while. May the Lord bless you and assist you in all your efforts. With kindest wishes.
Faithfully yours,

While I had known this individual and worked closely with him for a long time, this was really the beginning of a choice and wonderful friendship with this special person—President Spencer W. Kimball. Oh, how President Kimball blessed my life because I took the time and had the courage to say thank you.

Last summer, my wife and I had the opportunity to travel to San Diego, California, and there see Shakespeare’s Macbeth at the Old Globe Theatre. We saw two performances, because our daughter Carolyn was playing the part of one of the three witches in that play. Of course, we were delighted to see her in the play and even more delighted when, at a dramatic moment, she said those famous lines: “By the pricking of my thumbs, / Something wicked this way comes” (act 4, scene 1, lines 40–41).
When I heard that, I thought how useful it would be to have an early-warning system which would tell us about the approach of evil and allow us to be prepared for it. Evil is coming toward us, whether or not we have an early-warning system.

Many years ago when at the age of twelve I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first priesthood meeting. In those days these meetings were held on a week night. I recall that we went to the Tenth Ward building in Salt Lake City, Utah. He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening hymn was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as four hundred there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, some with the accents of the European lands from which they had come as converts, all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(Hymns, No. 147.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.
It is true that during the years which followed there were times when that testimony wavered somewhat, particularly in the years of my undergraduate university work. However, that conviction never left me entirely; and it has grown stronger through the years, partly because of the challenges of those days which compelled me to read and study and make certain for myself. I think that many of you have gone through similar experiences. President Harold B. Lee once said that our testimonies need renewing every day. In harmony with that principle, I would desire to strengthen our testimonies of the great work that the God of heaven has permitted to transpire in these last days.

One afternoon while my mom was reading the Church News, I saw a picture of a child who looked sick. I asked my mom why he looked that way. My mom told me that it was a picture of a child in Ethiopia, and that he did not have enough to eat. He was starving. I asked my mom if we could go to the grocery store and buy some food for him. My mom explained that children who are starving need to eat special food that we could not buy at the grocery store. But she told me that we could give money to the bishop at church, and he would make sure that it would help people in need, including the children in Ethiopia. I ran to my room and brought back a bag full of money from my piggy bank.
When we arrived at church on Sunday, my mom took me to get a tithing envelope. Together my mom and I filled out the donation slip. We listed the amount of money I had brought in the “humanitarian aid” line of the donation slip. I couldn’t wait to give my envelope to the bishop. It made me feel good to share what I have with others.

Sam Stewart builds temples. Their spires do not rise majestically above busy freeways or green hilltops, but above the floor of the Stewart family room in Henderson, Nevada. Their walls are not hewn from fine granite but cut from plain brown cardboard boxes. Yet these knee-high models somehow capture the majesty of real temples.
Sam (11) hopes to design real temples someday. Architects (people who design buildings) must have an artistic flair, and Sam does. His mom first discovered his talent when he was just three years old. She walked into his room and was astonished to see pictures of dinosaurs all over the walls. On the one hand, she didn’t feel that bedroom walls were quite the right place for drawing dinosaurs. On the other hand, they were drawn so well! She suggested that Sam use paper next time, but the already-hatched reptiles were left to roam the walls.
Cardboard replaced paper as the young artist’s favorite surface when he was nine years old. The family was reading about putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). There were cardboard boxes lying around because the Stewarts were sending packages to Sam’s brothers who were on missions. The boxes and the armor collided in Sam’s mind, and he began constructing a cardboard “shield of faith.” After he finished it, he shaped a “sword of the Spirit” out of wood.
About this time, Sam began to feel a strong attachment to the nearby Las Vegas Nevada Temple. At first he appreciated it simply because it was beautiful. But as he learned more about the purpose of temples, he came to love it for the blessings it brings to people’s lives. This interest soon grew to include all the temples of the Church. Sam began filling a binder with pictures of the world’s temples and a file with diagrams and information about their design, history, and construction. By the time he had filled the binder, he knew that he wanted to build temples of stone someday. In the meantime, he would build temples of cardboard.
With boxes, a pair of scissors, a hot-glue gun, and a ruler, he created a faithful scale model of the Las Vegas Temple. It was astonishingly good. No one taught him how to build cardboard temples. He invented the craft as he went along.
Next came his version of the historic Nauvoo Illinois Temple, which was then being rebuilt. The family read all they could find about the project as Sam raised his cardboard walls. He drew the sunstones and other carvings onto the surface with a pen. The Manti Temple and the Preston England Temple followed. Then Sam started working on his masterpiece—the Salt Lake Temple, crafted in far greater detail than the others. This project has taken a year so far and is not yet finished. Once it’s completed, he plans to build models of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the Portland Oregon Temple.
Sam doesn’t just build temples; he studies them, too. He learned so much about the stone carvings on the Nauvoo Temple that his dad invited him to explain their meaning to the temple preparation class he teaches. Sam has also given family home evening lessons on temple architecture to several families in the ward.
He is not shy about sharing his love of temples with his friends from other religions. They like to watch him build, and as he works he quizzes them about temple facts. By now they know all the answers.
Working on temples doesn’t fill all of Sam’s time. He is an excellent student who studies hard because he knows that to be an architect he must be good at math and get good grades. He enjoys sports, including skiing, baseball, and soccer. He especially loves the outdoors and the beauties of nature. He is always eager to visit his family’s cabin in the mountains of Utah.
Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”
“Sam wants to understand things spiritually,” his dad comments. “He prays. He reads the scriptures. He asks a lot of difficult questions—the kind that parents don’t always know how to answer. He’s made me a better person just being around him.”
His mom adds, “He has a clear vision of what’s right and wrong, and he’s strong in doing what’s right. He wants to make people happy. If I’m down, he knows it, and he’ll cheer me up.”
This builder of temples is also helping to build a happy family.

Chauncey was a demon for self-improvement. To make time for study, he rigged up an electric alarm system that aroused him in the morning around 5:00 or 5:30. Then he would usually work out for about 15 minutes swinging Indian clubs. He was especially motivated to go through these exercises in the cold winter months: getting the circulation stimulated helped to compensate for the two hours he was studying without heat. On January 10 the following scene occurred:
“This morning at 6:30 I was awakened very suddenly by my electric clock and bells. I made one jump and landed out of bed on the floor. Then my understanding was clear and I, knowing that if I did not in a minute shut my electric bells off from the strong current that the batteries would be run down and the neighbors would turn out thinking there was a fire, I jumped spryly in the direction of my electric clock, but I had barely got started toward it in the blind darkness than I ran against some living thing and turned a somersault the air and fell all in a heap, and the noise of the gong sounded louder and louder. After I got my understanding, I made another attempt, shutting off the electric current and lighting the lamp looking for the person that I had fallen over. It was a chair.”

This year, my family and I have held onto this beautiful truth more than ever before. Recently, my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. It came on suddenly, and left us confused, overwhelmed, and completely shocked. While this diagnosis has brought fear, doubt, heartache, and anxiety, it has also opened our hearts to a deep and unexpected sense of peace; a peace rooted in the plan of salvation and in the eternal truths we know belong to our family through Jesus Christ.
Each day is a struggle for my dad as he begins to navigate this new reality, but God has sent countless earthly angels to strengthen him and my mom. Nothing can fully remove the weight of what he is facing, yet as my dad and our family have leaned on the Savior for comfort, we have still felt an undeniable joy, a joy that comes from faith in Christ and trust in His promises.
I’d like to share one touching example of that joy. The Primary children in my parents’ ward surprised them by coming to their back porch to sing “Sacred Grove” to my dad.
This moment reminded us that even in the midst of sorrow, Christ sends light, and that through Him, joy can quietly grow right alongside our grief.

I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I’d ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”

Some people may feel that they need eloquent words or lofty reasoning when sharing their testimonies. But simple words offered in faith and humility contain great spiritual power. Sister Anne Osborn Poelman tells of her conversion to the Church. As she met with the missionaries, the most powerful testimony was unexpectedly borne by a young elder who had been a missionary just one week. He was nervous. Sister Poelman tells that when she challenged his statement that he knew the gospel was true, “he paused and gulped. ‘Well, Sister Osborn,’ he finally said as he looked me straight in the eye, ‘I guess I just believe it so hard I know it’s true!’ How can anyone argue with such an earnest, deeply felt testimony? I really couldn’t” (The Simeon Solution, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1995, page 59).

Sister Joan Spencer, secretary: I think of a well-to-do woman in Arizona. A girl she knew had to spend the money she had saved for a mission to help her seriously ill mother. All her mission money went to pay the hospital bills. This wonderful woman paid for that girl’s mission. Both she and her husband realize that because they have been so blessed, they have an obligation and a great opportunity to share with others.

Midalys
Some people used to treat Abner poorly because he is a member of the Church. They also said, “You shouldn’t run a business with your wife.” But I say, “Of course we can do this together!” In truth, this has been a great opportunity for the two of us. He helps me with the house and the children, and I help him run the shop.
God loves and guides us. Returning to Puerto Rico was the right thing for our family. This was Heavenly Father’s perfect plan for us.