Gospel Story Finder

David Baugh, the deacons quorum adviser, shared a story about a raw egg wrapped in several layers of egg cartons and tape. The teacher invited the class to bounce the bundle off the wall or drop it on the floor. Then he took the package back, pulled it apart, and showed the students the sheltered, unbroken egg inside. He taught the students that the gospel was designed to protect each of them in the same way—by helping them build layers of testimony as they kept the commandments.

A member of our ward in Manhattan tells of a time in college when he was questioning the Book of Mormon. Could he believe the story of Nephites and Lamanites? Was the Book of Mormon historically authentic? During this time of struggle and doubt, he prayed for guidance about the book’s value. Eventually, he says, the answer came. In his mind he heard the words: “Did it not bring you to me?” For him that was the payoff. He had found the Savior in the pages of the Book of Mormon. That is what the book was intended to do. That is what Joseph would want to come out of his work: for us to believe in Christ.

Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”

Years ago when I was a young mother, my heart was broken when my husband left the Church, then left me. I pulled my two little girls close to me and centered our lives in the gospel.
I prayed for my children daily and involved them in wholesome activities. Home teachers and bishops assured me that these little ones would be mine in the eternities and would appreciate my sacrifices for them. I took comfort in the fact that because my children were born in the covenant, they would be heirs to promised blessings. Three years after the divorce, I married a faithful Latter-day Saint, and I felt sure all would be well.
But soon we began having severe problems with my younger daughter. She had been happy and full of energy as a young child, but as an adolescent she became demanding, defiant, and belligerent. She began smoking, drinking, experimenting with drugs, and shoplifting. She used vulgar language and became sexually active. She challenged all authority and eventually dropped out of high school.
This was as difficult a challenge as any I had faced. My husband and I desired for her to repent, gain a testimony, and feel peace in her life. I became despondent and inconsolable—I couldn’t bear the thought of “losing” another loved one.
We fasted and prayed, pleading with Father in Heaven not to allow this child to be lost. My husband and I counseled together and sought advice from our bishop. We put her name on temple prayer rolls. Although my patient husband was a great help to me, he was largely ineffective with my daughter because she refused to accept him as an authority figure.
During this time I received numerous priesthood blessings. I spent hours attempting to talk with my daughter. I read the scriptures and books on dealing with difficult children. I asked for advice, consulted with friends and family, and pled with youth leaders for help and influence.
I wondered, “Where is the joy in family life? When will these problems cease?” We feared almost every contemporary nightmare: teen pregnancy, sexually transmitted disease, drug addiction, death in a drunk-driving accident. Finding no resolution to the problem, I lost all confidence in my ability to be a good parent. I felt desperate, sorrowful, frantic, angry, and helpless.
Then, after several years of frustration, I began to realize that I needed to make changes in my own life. I began to see that in my efforts to help my daughter, I was acting out of terror, not out of faith. The way of the Lord is not frightened frenzy. Jesus Christ brings hope, not despair. Satan is the author of discouragement and unhappiness. I had been listening to the wrong voice.
I decided to go back to the basics of the gospel and build a stronger, more solid spirituality. I wondered when, for instance, I had last offered prayers of gratitude. Had I completely forgotten my many blessings? Had I actively looked for the good qualities of my struggling daughter? Did I appreciate the obedient members of my family? Did I acknowledge the joyful moments in my day? Did I enjoy a beautiful sunset or a soft rain?
I was ashamed. I had become so negative and unhappy that my thoughts and actions did not reflect my testimony of Jesus Christ. My countenance didn’t show my love for and hope in the Savior.
I chose to change. I concentrated on filling my soul with positive thoughts and feelings. I read uplifting books and stopped watching content-empty television programs. I became diligent in a personal exercise program, which relieved stress and lifted my spirits.
But most important, I changed my scripture study routine. My mind is most alert in the morning, so I began reading the scriptures early. Sometimes I read just a few verses, other times a few chapters. In my car, I turned off the radio and pondered what I had read that morning. The spiritual experiences I had right there in my car more than made up for the news and traffic reports I missed.
Amazing things began to happen. Impressions began to pop into my mind: I received ideas about how to handle day-to-day obligations and how to prepare for Church assignments. And I received inspiration about how to interact with my precious daughter.
One day I felt that my conversations with my daughter should turn to the positive things we had in common. Sure enough, our shared interests in music, art, and old movies provided us with nonthreatening topics of conversation. This change was a helpful first step in repairing our damaged relationship.
Another morning I felt a strong impression that continued over the next few months: Force is not the answer. I tearfully asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for forgetting that agency is a basic part of His plan. I realized that it is not appropriate to attempt to make someone do something, even if that thing is righteous. That was Satan’s design.
Change didn’t happen overnight. It was difficult, and I had to do a lot of it. I had setbacks, but I kept trying. As parents, we still had to set standards for what was acceptable in our home, but our daughter began to respond more positively because I was now more confident and less emotional.
The continuing spiritual impressions we received were a great blessing. Line upon line, the Spirit taught us what to do and when to do it. When we obeyed, we were blessed. When we struggled, we were gently reminded.
On one occasion, the Spirit reminded me that true conversion comes through the Lord. So instead of merely praying for my daughter to do what I told her, I began asking that she would be blessed with a change of heart. And I looked for moments to talk with her about the Savior. She agreed, for instance, that a violent world needs more of His gentle ways.
As the Spirit taught me, I began to recognize more of Christ’s great mercy in my own behalf. One day I thought, “Perhaps my experiences with straying family members can help me realize that I, too, stray when I don’t put my whole faith and trust in Him. Maybe our family’s struggles with this prodigal child can ultimately be for our benefit. Perhaps our weaknesses, though not as visible as hers, also need refining.”
As I began to think such thoughts, I became more grateful than ever for Christ’s Atonement. And as my gratitude increased, so did my faith in His ability to touch my daughter’s life. I developed a firm conviction that He will keep entreating her and trying to bring her back, for He loves her even more than I do! My role now is to be close to her and to strive to become the best example of the Savior I can be.
Today this daughter is still not active in the Church, but she has a good life. Recently she married a good man, and she is a responsible and capable worker in a good career. She and I have a great relationship, and I have a bright hope that she will someday return to the teachings of her childhood.
Through these difficult times I have learned that we have the right to inspiration in our own lives. I firmly believe the Holy Ghost can help us as we prepare ourselves to hear His promptings and act on them.
The experiences I have had with this daughter have also brought me closer to the Savior. They have taught me to search my own soul, to seek the Holy Ghost for guidance, to rely on the Atonement, to be grateful for what I have, and to hope for the future.

When approaching one Christmas season, my wife and I were asked by our Bishop to do 12 temple endowment sessions each before the end of the year. We lived about 60 miles from the temple, which was usually about an hour and a half away from our home. We normally went once each month. This request from the Bishop was going to stretch us a lot.

To fulfill this assignment, we decided that we would have to devote one entire day to temple attendance. I took a day off from work and Sherri and I went through eight endowment sessions in that single day. What an incredible blessing that experience was in our lives. As we remained in the temple, contemplating the meaning of these sacred ordinances, and as we pondered upon and prayed for understanding, we gained more insights, and more understanding about our Heavenly Father's will and purposes than we had through all the years of attending one session each month.

How grateful we are for what that assignment and that experience taught us about a higher standard of temple worship.

True ministering is illustrated by an older sister in Africa who was assigned to seek out a sister who had not attended Church meetings for a long time. When she went to the sister’s home, she found that the woman had been beaten and robbed, had very little to eat, and possessed no clothes that she felt were appropriate for Sunday Church meetings. The woman assigned to minister to her brought a listening ear, produce from her garden, scriptures to read, and friendship. The “missing” sister soon came back to church and now holds a calling because she knows she is loved and valued.

In high school I had a wonderful history teacher by the name of Mrs. Gundry who taught me this principle. As best as I can remember, on the first day of class she announced that she did not grade on a curve, and if we would follow a few simple instructions, every student could earn an A grade. I remember feeling excited inside, and thinking, at last I have a teacher who does not grade on the curve. Her simple formula to earn an A grade (which I continued to follow all through my college years with the same results), was the following:
1. Attend class every day. (She would not tolerate any sluffing).
2. Take good notes and memorize the key points from our notes prior to each test.
3. Do all of our homework assignments.
4. Read the assigned chapters in the textbook, and review them prior to the exams.
5. Pay attention during her lectures, and there would be no talking to our neighbor.
She promised there would be no surprises or trick questions on her exams, and she told us that at the end of each semester or grading period, she would open her books so that we could see exactly what we had earned on each assignment and test, so that no one could say they had been cheated.
Because of Mrs. Gundry, I learned to love history. She taught with enthusiasm and with clarity, and yes, she held to her word. By following her formula for success, I was able to earn excellent grades.
As a young man, I could not understand why everyone in her class did not get an A grade. The formula was so simple and yet there was a price to pay. Much to my surprise, at the end of the school year, there were a few A's, some B's, several C's, a few D's, and yes, some failed the course.
It was not the teacher who graded on the curve; it was the students who chose to create the curve through their own actions.

My mother taught me the gospel when I was young, but because my father was not a Church member, I always wondered if I was on the correct path. I never understood why my father had never joined the Church if it really was true. Still, I loved going to Primary and singing the hymns. I also enjoyed when my mother read the scriptures to me, and little by little I began to develop my own testimony.
When I joined Young Women, one of the first goals I made was to share my testimony every fast Sunday. Bearing my testimony became a habit for me and strengthened my desire to increase my knowledge when I was able to enroll in seminary.
My first seminary class covered the Old Testament. That year I not only grew to appreciate and value the Old Testament, but I also learned the importance of temples and genealogy.
I joined together with other students from my ward and got involved in family history work. We extracted hundreds of names and developed an enormous love for people we knew almost nothing about—just their names and other limited data. Even though I knew that the work we were doing was important, I sometimes felt discouraged and frustrated. I was working so that ordinances could be done for people I did not know, yet I could not reach my own father. He did not understand the importance of what I was doing. I continued praying and fasting that he would be touched.
The following year in seminary we studied the New Testament. One morning after I woke up, I began to read about the Savior in Gethsemane. Tears flowed from my eyes as I realized that the drops of blood He shed were for me. How I wished I had never sinned! The words of Isaiah that I had studied the previous year came into my mind: “He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him” (Isaiah 53:5). As I read about the Crucifixion and the Resurrection, my mom came into my room. I shared with her my feelings, my testimony, and my desire for my father to know what I had learned in seminary.
My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.
I knew that studying the Book of Mormon during my final year of seminary would also fortify my testimony. As I truly studied, I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me. The stories inspired me to the point that all I wanted to do was read the Book of Mormon. I began to take the Book of Mormon to school and would read it during my free time. I also began to discuss what I was reading with my father.
One day after a long conversation with my father about the gospel, I challenged him to read all of the Book of Mormon. I testified that, like me, he could receive a testimony.
I am happy to say that my father read the Book of Mormon. When he did, he knew the Church was true and was eventually baptized! My family is now preparing to be sealed in the temple. I know that attending seminary and reading the scriptures helped me develop my own testimony, and I know that they bless families.

Fifteen-year-old Renata Araujo’s footsteps echoed forlornly as she walked down the cold tile floor. Renata knew that when she reached the end of the hallway and entered her Young Women class, she’d be the only one there. The formation of her new ward had made her the only active girl in the Young Women program. “I felt very lonely,” she remembers.
Renata isn’t lonely anymore. The once quiet and all-but-empty classroom now reverberates with the enthusiastic voices of 10 active young women of the Botafogo Ward, a change that took place over only a year. The story of these young women of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, illustrates what can happen when Church members follow President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel (included throughout the article) to reach out to new converts, less-active members, and nonmembers.

Casey had his bath and put on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth. He was all ready for bed. Daddy read him a story and helped him with his prayers. Mommy came to tuck him in. But something was wrong. “This bed is scary,” Casey said to himself after Mommy left. “I don’t like being here all by myself. I’d better sleep somewhere else.”
He got his pillow and quilt and went looking for a bed. He climbed up beside his brother Mike, who was in his bed reading. Casey wriggled under the covers and closed his eyes. He was very warm. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed back out. Mike’s bed was too hot.
His other brother, Josh, was at the desk doing homework. Casey climbed into Josh’s bed and closed his eyes. He shivered between the cool sheets. He wiggled his toes. He stuck his head under the covers and breathed in the little air pocket. He curled up into a ball like a cat. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed out. Josh’s bed was too cold.
Casey looked in the bathroom. The streetlight shone through the window. He threw his pillow and quilt into the empty tub and climbed in. He rolled up in his quilt and closed his eyes. Drip, drip, drip. Casey felt something wet on his toes. Drip, drip went the tap. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed out of the bathtub. It was too wet to sleep there.
Next he tried under the kitchen table. The tablecloth made a good tent, and he crawled inside, fixed his quilt and pillow, and closed his eyes. He lay on his side. He turned on his back. He rolled on his tummy. Soon his eyes opened. It was no use. The floor was much too hard.
Casey dragged his pillow and quilt from the tent and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He wandered into the family room, lay on the couch, pulled his quilt over him, and closed his eyes. Mommy was talking on the phone. His sister, Jana, was practicing the piano—up the scale, down the scale, up, down. Daddy was mending a broken chair—bang, bang, bang—and listening to a ball game. Casey put the pillow over his head. Soon his eyes opened. He was sure he could not sleep here. It was too noisy. He sat up and yawned.
Suddenly Casey thought of the best place to sleep. It was not too hot and not too cold, and not wet at all; it was nice and soft, and very quiet and cozy. He gathered up his pillow and quilt and went right back to his own bed. He knelt to ask Heavenly Father to help him not feel alone and scared. When he got up, he felt something soft under the bed. It was Old Brown Bear, his favorite stuffed animal. They snuggled under the covers together, and Casey closed his eyes. This time, they didn’t open till morning.

For a long time, whenever I searched the Topical Guide or the index of the scriptures to write a talk, I preferred finding scriptures in the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and even the Old Testament over scriptures in the Doctrine and Covenants. Sure, a lot of the information in the Old Testament has old book names and seems hard to understand, but the Doctrine and Covenants has just numbers—no interesting book names at all.
My feelings about the Doctrine and Covenants changed when we studied it in seminary. I had already tried to read through the entire standard works during my personal scripture study, which I had started when I was eight, but I had skipped the Doctrine and Covenants. The Doctrine and Covenants seemed to be just tedious numbers and instruction—no storylines, no main characters, no wars, no challenges. How could it mean something to me?
So the Church history and Doctrine and Covenants year of study came. During my previous two years of seminary, I had fulfilled my goal to read the entire book of study (the New Testament and then Book of Mormon) as we studied it in seminary throughout the school year. I couldn’t skip that goal just because of a bunch of boring numbers, so I took up the challenge.
Throughout the year, my seminary teacher taught us the historical context of each section in the Doctrine and Covenants. This instruction really helped me understand what I read on my own. The greatest thing I learned that year in seminary was that I was wrong—the Doctrine and Covenants is not a book of boring numbers that doesn’t apply to me. On the contrary, I found that I connected to this book of scripture in a special way because the people the Lord talks to in the Doctrine and Covenants are a lot closer to me in lifestyle and time period than the people in any other book of scripture.
My experience with the Doctrine and Covenants taught me that if, for whatever reason, I feel uninterested in any type of gospel instruction, I’m usually missing out on something great. With patience and a sincere desire to learn, I came to appreciate the Lord’s revelations to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Doctrine and Covenants, as well as all the writings of ancient and modern prophets. Through this experience the Holy Ghost touched me and the gospel blessed my life every day.

In high school I tried rowing. It sounded easy enough—sit in a boat and move the oar blades to go fast on the water. I had no idea what I was in for.
For a while, I couldn’t keep the boat balanced, and my use of the oars caused me to stop instead of sail smoothly on the water.
Over time, I changed how I balanced the boat and handled the oars. I slowly made other changes and improved—often without realizing. Then rowing became fun! I loved the soothing motion of rowing as I glided quickly and quietly across the water.
I had to make changes if I wanted to get better at rowing. Only then could I experience the joy rowing offers.

Allie carefully placed the jars of freshly canned pears in the canning cupboard. All summer she’d helped Mom can fruits and vegetables. Only the shelf for peaches remained empty, but it would probably stay that way because they didn’t have any peach trees and money was too tight to buy any peaches. Closing the cupboard, Allie raced up the basement steps. She still had time to go over to Kim’s to help get the horses ready for the horse show tomorrow. Kim had promised to let her ride in the rescue race.
Mom was talking on the phone when Allie reached the kitchen. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” her mom was saying.
“Where are you going?” Allie asked the minute her mom hung up.
“Aunt Trudy is in the hospital, and Uncle Eric wants me to come right away. Will you run up to the attic and bring down the brown suitcase while I call your father? Please hurry—I have a dozen things to do before I leave.”
The next hour flew by in a flurry of packing and last-minute decisions. When Dad arrived with Allie’s brother, Rod, they sat down to a hurried meal.
“Who’s going to take care of things here while you’re gone?” Rod asked when he heard the news.
“Allie can manage the housework and cooking,” Mom answered.
Allie dropped her fork. “Does that mean that I can’t go to the horse show with Kim tomorrow? Kim promised that I could ride Socks in the rescue race.”
Rod rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Are horses the only thing that you ever think about?”
“That will do,” Dad said sternly as he pushed back his chair. “I’m going to drive your mother over to Randell. I’ll be back around eleven.”
Mom gave Allie a quick hug. “I’m depending on you to take care of things while I’m gone. You may go with Kim tomorrow if you finish your chores first.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Allie watched her parents drive away, then dashed out of the house, past the empty stables, and across the back pasture to Kim’s house to help her get ready for the next day.
The next morning Allie leaped out of bed and fixed breakfast.
“Dad, will you drop me off at Pringles on your way to the mill?” Rod asked as he ate the last slice of toast. “I finished at the Kellys’ yesterday, and Mr. Pringle hired me to mend his pasture fences.”
“Sure,” his father said, reaching for his hat. “They’re talking about closing the mill again this winter, so every extra job you can get will help out here. Let’s go.”
Allie rushed through her housework, then dashed upstairs to change clothes before Kim came. She had just finished fixing her hair when she heard a truck pull into the yard. She was out the back door before she realized that it wasn’t Kim.
“Morning, Allie,” Mr. Kelly called. “Rod said that you folks could use some peaches. We had a good crop this year, so I brought you some.” He lifted two large boxes from the truck and stacked them on the porch. “Tell your mother that she’d better can them today, or they’ll be too ripe.”
A mouth-watering smell rose from the boxes. What a waste! Too bad Mom isn’t here to can them, Allie thought. Then she remembered what her father had said a few days earlier: “If the mill closes again this winter, we’ll need all that Mom has canned and more.”
When Kim arrived a short time later, Allie had changed back into her old clothes and was washing jars.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Kim asked.
“I’m not going.” Allie shook the soapy water from her hands. “I tried to call you.”
“Not going! Why not?” Kim demanded. “You can’t miss this competition. Diane Pringle is going to be there with Shalazod. It’s the last time we’ll see her gorgeous horse before she goes away to college. And what about the rescue race? I thought that you were dying to be in it.”
“I’m sorry,” Allie said, motioning toward the back porch. “Mr. Kelly brought us some ripe peaches. I can’t go off and let them spoil.”
Three quick blasts on a horn put an end to the discussion. “Mom’s getting impatient. See you later,” Kim called as she ran down the steps.
Allie rushed to the back porch. She wanted to yell to Kim to wait for her. But she caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned back to the kitchen. As she got out the canning equipment, she tried not to think about the horses and all the fun that she was going to miss.
It was past noon when Allie finished the first box of peaches. She was hot and tired. Peach fuzz made her arms itch, and the floor and stove were sticky with juice.
“Mom always makes it look easy,” she grumbled as she started on the second box of peaches.
Allie was lifting the last rack of jars from the canner when her father and brother came home from work.
“What’s all this?” her father asked. “I thought that you were going to the horse show with Kim today.”
Allie added the hot jars to the ones already covering the counters. “I was, but Mr. Kelly brought us two boxes of peaches this morning, and they needed to be canned before they spoiled.” She looked at the cluttered kitchen. “Sorry—I haven’t had time to start dinner yet.”
“I think that we can make do with soup and sandwiches,” Dad said. “Rod, give Allie a hand while I make a phone call.”
When dinner was over, Allie was almost too tired to move, but she felt a surge of pride when she looked at the rows of bottled peaches.
“How about taking a walk with me,” her father said.
“Right now?” Allie didn’t want to get out of her chair.
“If you’re too tired, I guess I’ll just have to pick out the best stall for Shalazod by myself.”
“Shalazod?”
Dad nodded. “Mr. Pringle asked me today if we could board him while Diane is away at college. Diane likes the way that you handle horses. At first I had decided to say no because I figured that you’d spend all of your time with the horse and neglect everything else. But after what you did today, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh, Dad!” Allie threw her arms around his neck. “It’s a dream come true! It’s almost as good as having a horse of my own.”
“Come on, let’s go pick out his stall. Shalazod will be here the day after tomorrow.”
Allie didn’t feel tired at all as she raced her dad to the stables.

The Accra Ghana Temple is the most beautiful building in Ghana. We were excited about the open house knowing that many would come. We knew that those who came would be impressed with the beauty of the building and the well-manicured grounds; we prayed they would also feel the spirit of the temple. We invited the president of Ghana, President John Kufor, for a private tour of the temple. He is not a member of our faith, but had good feelings toward the Church. He wanted to keep his visit as low-key as possible and indicated that he could spend 15 minutes in the temple.

As we escorted him through the various rooms we knew our prayers had been answered. He was not only impressed with the beauty of the temple, but he also felt the Spirit. He remained asking questions and making comments for nearly an hour. As we walked out of the temple we realized that his visit had not been kept a secret. The temple steps were filled with the media with their cameras and microphones, all wanting to get the president's impression of the building. One of the reporters asked President Kufor what he thought of the Mormon temple. President Kufor commented on its beauty and then stated, "This temple will raise the spiritual level of our entire nation."

It’s difficult to work eight hours a day in the extreme conditions of a desert in the same two-by-two-foot hole of dirt with someone from a completely different cultural and religious background without coming to know and appreciate his uniqueness. The gospel suddenly became more significant to me as I realized the contrasting way of life it offers. As I sat with my equally tired and thirsty German, Israeli, Indian, or Dutch brother who had dumped those last hundred buckets I had filled, and he thanked me for the drink from my canteen, the words of the Savior filled my mind: “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” (John 4:13–14.)

One day I was waiting outside the First Presidency boardroom. I had been invited there to take part in a meeting to discuss temple matters. I sat quietly outside the room, alone. I thought the First Presidency was already meeting and that I would be invited to join them in a few minutes.
As I sat there, I could hear someone walking down the hall whistling. I thought to myself, “Someone doesn’t understand proper protocol. You don’t go walking around whistling outside the office of the President of the Church.”
A moment later the whistler walked around the corner—it was President Monson. He was happy, and he was positive. He greeted me warmly and said, “I guess we’ll start the meeting in a couple of minutes.”
Even with the weight of the whole Church on his shoulders, he is an example of happiness and he always has a positive attitude. We should be that way.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit with a humble mother and her daughter who had particularly difficult financial problems and were asking for assistance from their ward leaders. As I talked with them, I felt inspired to invite them to live the law of fasting. I asked them to read with me the proper way to fast, as written in Isaiah 58. “Is [the fast that I have chosen] not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? When thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?”3
Then I pointed her to the blessings promised by the Lord Himself: “Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily . . .
“Then shalt thy call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and He shall say, Here I am.”4
As I watched her read the remaining verses, I saw her eyes marvel at the promises. I then asked her if she would like these blessings to be hers. “Yes,” she said. I invited her to fast during the upcoming fasting day and promised her that if she does, she will see these blessings from the Lord in her life.
I know that the Lord keeps His promises, for I have seen them in my life. I have seen blessings bestowed, testimony strengthened, health recovered, revelation revealed, and prayers answered. In addition, there are numerous needy members who have felt relief from the welfare assistance directed by bishops. Surely, the law of fasting blesses both givers and receivers. May we all better live this precious law, receive the wonderful blessings promised by the Lord, and provide blessings to those around us.

Both of these sisters know firsthand the religious confusion and uncertainty some of their investigators are feeling. Sister Pálinkás Bernadett is from Dunaújváros, a factory city built by Joseph Stalin as a model Communist city. For many years, there were no churches at all in the city. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to Him and felt that He loved me.
“I often thought about what I was doing here on earth, what the purpose of life was, why I was born here in Hungary and not somewhere else, and why now and not earlier or later. Something was missing in my life, but I didn’t know exactly what.”
When Bernadett was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers. “There was something shining from their eyes that made me very curious as to who they were and what they were doing here in Hungary. I felt that they could show me something that I didn’t know—something that I needed to know.”
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting alone the following Sunday and was baptized a month later, on 22 August 1992. A year and a half later, she became a full-time missionary. None of her family has yet been baptized.
Bernadett’s parents are not happy with either decision—to be baptized or to serve a mission. “It hurts them because they don’t understand what I’m doing and why, even though I’ve tried to explain it to them. When I decided to be a missionary, my first goal was to somehow bring my parents closer to the Church. Now I recognize that each person has to personally walk the road to get to God, and it takes some people longer than others. I write to my parents every week and pray for them always.”

Later he served in the Ecuador Guayaquil Mission. Just three months into his mission, while serving as branch president in the town of Jipijapa, he mourned with branch members and others after an 11-year-old boy drowned while participating in a Church activity.
As he pleaded with Heavenly Father in the weeks and months that followed, he gained an unshakable testimony of the plan of salvation. He also witnessed the Lord’s compassion as others in the community embraced the gospel. Together they came to understand the sacred nature of life and the power of the Lord’s grace.

One day at recess my friends and I were picking flowers off a tree. Some girls came up to us and told us we weren’t supposed to pick the flowers. We stopped picking the flowers and walked away. I told my friends we should tell the truth. We told a teacher that we had been picking the flowers for our teacher. The teacher said we could pick the flowers as long as we didn’t pull on the branches. I’m glad I told the truth.