Gospel Story Finder

My sister and I were no doubt the envy of many during the great economic depression in the United States during the 1930s. We grew up in a comfortable home. Our father had a job and provided well for the family. Our mother put meals on the table, shopped with us for clothes, and routinely visited her aged mother. I did not know what the Depression was until I studied it in school as a teenager.
Nevertheless, my sister and I felt deprived—emotionally deprived—by our mother. As adults, we have endlessly discussed the lack of warmth, approval, constructive criticism, moral training, and hospitality in our home. Why had Mother seemed so uncaring, critical, and self-centered?
After I joined the Church, I “adopted” someone else’s tender, loving mother as my own. However, it still didn’t salve the hurt. Even Mother’s death provided no healing. It meant only that the yearning for her love and approval could not be fulfilled in mortality.
One day, I drove alone to the temple to be baptized for Mother. As I drove, I prayed for her. Hot tears stung my eyes, and choking sobs welled up inside me.
The sorrow and hurt I was feeling continued all the way to the temple and even into the baptismal font. But when I rose up out of the water, a healing balm enveloped me. It washed away all my bitterness and longing.
I saw Mother, stalwart and whole. The Holy Ghost filled me with the awareness that my mother had been handicapped in mortal life. She had had an emotional handicap, the source of which remains a secret to me. But she is handicapped no longer. And neither am I.
How thankful I am for the Savior and for his love, which extends to me and to my now-whole mother, who is learning the lessons she could not learn in mortal life. I am eager to meet her and to share the love with her that we both were deprived of on earth.

Three Christmas trees stand out in the memory of Elder Gary B. Sabin.
The first was a beautiful Christmas tree of his youth. When Gary scaled the tree trying to reach a candy cane, the entire tree crashed to the ground.
The second was an evergreen branch he found as a missionary while serving in Belgium and the Netherlands from 1973 to 1975. Elder Sabin and his companion took the branch home to their apartment and propped it up around the Christmas cards they had received from home.
The third was a tree made of Christmas lights strung on the IV stand next to his daughter’s hospital bed. One of three Sabin children to suffer from cystic fibrosis, his daughter had received a double-lung transplant one year after the death of her brother from the same disease.
“We have learned a lot more from our children than they have learned from us,” says Elder Sabin.
As a General Authority he will remember the Christmas trees and the lessons he learned from them. Each tree highlights portions of his journey—from a young boy wanting a candy cane to a missionary teaching the plan of salvation to a father who relied on the plan and the Savior’s love to sustain his family through mortal trials.
Gary Byron Sabin was born in Provo, Utah, USA, on April 7, 1954, to Marvin E. and Sylvia W. Sabin. He married Valerie Purdy in August 1976. They are the parents of five children; a sixth child was stillborn.
After graduating from Brigham Young University in Provo, Elder Sabin earned a master’s degree in management from Stanford University.
Elder Sabin has served in numerous Church callings, including as bishop, stake president, and Area Seventy. He has worked as a founder, chairman, and CEO of several companies, including Excel Realty Trust, Price Legacy, Excel Realty Holdings, and Excel Trust.
In 1993, Elder and Sister Sabin formed Sabin Children’s Foundation, an organization dedicated to addressing the medical needs of children.

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.
We can experience that burst of confidence. We can feel that pride of performance. A three-word formula will help us: Never give up.

During the difficult economic conditions of postwar Germany, opportunities for education were not as abundant as they are today. But I always felt an eagerness to learn. One day, while I was out on my bike delivering laundry, I entered the home of a classmate of mine. In one of the rooms, two small desks were nestled against the wall. What a wonderful sight that was! How fortunate those children were to have desks of their own! I could imagine them sitting with open books studying their lessons and doing their homework. It seemed to me that having a desk of my own would be the most wonderful thing in the world.
I had to wait a long time before that wish was fulfilled. Years later, I got a job at a research institution that had a large library. I remember spending much of my free time in that library. There I could finally sit at a desk—by myself—and drink in the information and knowledge that books provide. How I loved to read and learn!

I have thought recently of one of the finest missionary companions I was ever privileged to work with. He had singular gifts and was an inspirational leader in our mission. He had such unusual skills that everyone wanted to learn from him.

He returned from his mission and made some excellent choices which resulted in him marrying a wonderful girl for time and all eternity in the Los Angeles Temple. They were blessed with four outstanding children.

Part of his law enforcement and legal work included some close contact with drug enforcement and other promiscuous behavior. He was caught in Satan’s subtle snare. One bad decision lead to another and then another. Within a short period of time he was caught in a spiritual free fall. He lost his fine wife and children in the process. Today he lives without the benefit of the Priesthood or his temple blessings. His life has been one of sadness, of anger and frustration. These seemingly small decisions which resulted in the spirit being doused have now caused him to be bitter toward the very things which were at one time his powerful strengths.

My heart is troubled because of his present condition without the blessings of the Gospel in his life.

History repeats itself as spiritual laws are violated.
"Oh ye fair ones, how could ye have departed from the ways of the Lord! O ye fair ones, how could ye have rejected that Jesus, who stood with open arms to receive you! Behold, if ye had not done this, ye would not have fallen. But behold, ye are fallen, and I mourn your loss. Behold, ye are gone, and my sorrows cannot bring your return."
S. Lewis wisely observed, "It does not matter how small the sins are, provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out in to the nothing. Indeed, the safest road to Hell is the gradual one. The gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts." I believe that my friend is saddened with all he has lost by taking this unmarked trail of destruction. I marvel that one of the very elect of God with a spiritual destiny of excellence has now fallen prey to the wicked influence of the adversary. It makes me sad to think that his wife to whom he was once sealed, and those beautiful children born under sacred covenant will not be his eternally. Oh, how I mourn his loss.

My trusted friends, be so very cautious to not allow even a slight deviation from your course of happiness. If you think you can procrastinate repentance or if you are of the opinion that personal prayer and daily scripture study are not important, just remember what happened to my finest missionary companion. I assure you that there is no happiness in what he is now going without.

Young Women in the Shoreline Ward, Richland Washington Stake, found an unusual way to learn about genealogy research. They pieced together a history of a six-day-old baby that had been buried in their city’s cemetery in 1909.
Not much was known about the baby’s family, and the grave didn’t have a headstone. Starting with the name “Baby Boy Lair” and a few fragments of information about the baby’s life, the girls and their adviser, Maureen Hales, found living family members (a nephew and his children and grandchildren), got information for a small headstone, and made arrangements for a short graveside service. The service was open to the public and all the youth in the stake were invited. The youth say that doing the project has changed their ideas about doing genealogy.
“At first, the baby seemed like a story from a book. Finding some of the details about the baby’s family and learning about his short life made it more realistic. There were no pictures of the baby, and I wonder what he looked like,” says Laurel Mindy Lee. “I’m now working on learning about my own ancestors, especially my great-grandmother.”

My wife and I had been married less than two years; we were caring for a newborn; and, like typical struggling student families, we were stretching our finances trying to make ends meet.
Graduation was still a few years away, and we were trying to make the best of the Christmas season. I had several part-time jobs, and my wife, Lisa, was working as a secretary. We didn’t have a lot of extras, but we were happy.
A few months before Christmas, I was still getting to know the families I was recently assigned to home teach. One family in particular stood out because of the adversity they had recently faced. Two of their children had died in an accident from which the father was still recuperating, and the mother suffered from a crippling illness that had left her physically impaired. Despite these challenges, this family had a great spirit about them, and they set an example by the way they followed the commandments.
During my home teaching visit in December, I saw that they did not have a Christmas tree. My heart sank for their children. Knowing of their physical, spiritual, and financial struggles, my wife and I decided to do something for them.
We had saved enough money to buy a Christmas tree, so we decided to go out on Christmas Eve, buy the biggest tree we could afford, gift wrap it, and anonymously leave it at this family’s home. Fortunately, no one was home as we dropped off the tree. As we drove home afterward, we anticipated the joy they would feel upon returning home and finding the tree waiting for them. This small sacrifice added a spirit of peace and joy to our holiday that I had not felt before.
When we arrived at our apartment, we had our own surprise waiting for us on the doorstep: a beautifully decorated Christmas tree! My wife wept as she beheld this anonymous gift of love given to us in our financial need.
We later found out that this gift was given to us by the same family to whom we had given our tree. Even in their dark hour, this family had sought to bless others. Our hearts were filled with the true spirit of Christmas that year. It was a Christmas we will never forget.

I caught the vision of family history by realizing I’m not so different from my ancestors. My great-grandma and I have always had a really special connection, so for a Personal Progress project, I decided to compose a family history book dedicated to her. Writing this book was such an amazing experience because it created a closer bond to my ancestors. I’m so grateful for this new perspective of family history work.
Ashley N., 16, Utah, USA

A home teacher I know relates an experience that gave him a feeling of success that has since carried him through many difficult times: “I was working with a family that was reasonably active, but just didn’t seem to have enough commitment to living all of the gospel principles. I prayed to know what I should discuss with them that would be of most value at the time, and I felt inspired to talk about the principle of fasting. I found that they had been discussing this very principle among themselves, and I was able to answer some of their questions and give them some encouragement to use this principle. One of their children who had never fasted before committed to try fasting on the next fast Sunday, and afterward she beamed as she reported that it had been a wonderful experience.

“Just that one successful experience encouraged me and motivated me to try for other successes as a home teacher. And each subsequent success renewed my feelings that I was truly engaged in a worthwhile work. To this day, some of those early successes help to keep me motivated and inspired as a home teacher, and I truly enjoy that calling as a result.”

Many years ago I had an experience with being unforgiving. I felt I had been taken advantage of, and I did not like the person. I did not want to be around him. I would pass to the other side of the street if he came down the side I was on. I wouldn’t talk to him; and long after the issue should have been closed, it was still cankering my soul. One day my wife, who is very astute and knows when I’m not doing everything I should, said, “You don’t like so and so, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” I said, “but how could you tell?”

“Well, it shows—in your countenance it shows. Why don’t you do something about it,” she said.

“Well, like what?”

“Why don’t you pray about it.”

I said, “Well, I did pray once, and I still don’t like him.”

“No,” she said, “Why don’t you really pray about it?”

Then I began to think, and I knew what she really meant. So I decided that I was going to pray for a better feeling about this person until I had one. That night I got on my knees, and I prayed and opened up my heart to the Lord. But when I got off my knees, I still didn’t like him. The next morning I knelt and prayed and asked to have a feeling of goodness toward him; but when I finished my prayers, I still didn’t like him. The next night I still didn’t like him; a week later I didn’t like him; and a month later I didn’t like him—and I had been praying every night and every morning. But I kept it up, and I finally started pleading, not just praying, but pleading. After much prayer—and I can’t tell you a specific time because it didn’t happen like that—the time came when without question or reservation I knew I could stand before the Lord, if I were asked to, and that He would know that at least in this instance my heart was pure. A change came over me after a period of time. Now that stone of unforgiveness needs to be removed from all of us, if it happens to be there, and I suggest that persistent prayer might be a way to remove it.

The Filipino lawyer’s residence at 23–24 Higashicho, 2-Chome, Kichijoji, Musashimoshi, 25-minutes away by commuter train from Shibuya station in Tokyo, could have been merely one of many typical Japanese bungalows in the area were it not for some aspects.
His was the only Filipino family in the area. What made it more interesting was the proximity of his home to an institution for Catholic nuns and its sprawling grounds across the street (where his three daughters and a son played after school), to a Protestant minister’s residence at the rear, and to a Mormon chapel a block away where, two years before, his children were invited to front row seats in the cultural hall of the meetinghouse for a live performance of the Osmond Brothers.
With these religious influences in the immediate vicinity of his home, the Filipino was determined to celebrate Christmas Eve, which then fell on a Sunday, in a Christian manner he had not observed for a long time. He was going to erect a big Christmas tree with multicolored lights inside the living room, which could be seen from the outside through huge picture windows facing the street.
That particular Sunday, the lawyer feverishly worked on his indoor Christmas tree, at intervals playing indoor golf practice, drinking, smoking and listening to stereo music. His wife, Alice, had gone to market for the week-end specials she loved to prepare for the family. By lunchtime the “masterpiece” was completed.
As darkness fell, he switched on the colored lights and went outside to assess his handiwork. It was beautiful! His Christmas tree was a spectacular display all the passersby admired. It was like a huge beacon that brightened the entire neighborhood, and his face beamed with pride over the thought that his masterpiece would be the focal point of his best Christmas ever, over a period of eight years living in different places in a foreign country with a different culture.
Later in the evening, as they were about to partake of the traditional Filipino noche buena, his children (Jacqueline, Janette, Jonathan and Jean-Marie) excitedly announced the presence of persons outside. “They are only admiring my Christmas tree!” their father proudly explained.
Suddenly, a superb blending of voices singing in English a hymn unfamiliar to them filled the air like angelic voices in the night. They all rushed to the door. This was the first time in their lives to hear such a beautiful song—harmonizing from the lips of about 16 people, six of whom were American young men. The group had seen the Christmas tree. They were Mormons from the chapel a block away! It was a heart-warming scene as the Filipino family listened to the group, enraptured by a hymn that expressed words of “love at home”.
Suddenly, in the lawyer’s mind, his masterpiece of a Christmas tree had paled in comparison with the heavenly voices of the Mormon group. Suddenly, Christmas Eve for the family was the best ever, as angelic voices were heard in Kichijoji!—Posidio Ocampo, Jr.
Notes: If they get the chance to read this piece, the Japanese members of the group and the six American missionaries who had long returned to the U.S. will fondly recall that, on December 24, 1972, a Filipino family living near the Mormon chapel in Kichijoji opened their home and their hearts to them, and that through their song they planted the seed of the true Church in their hearts.
The Filipino family returned to the Philippines 4 years later and on September 3, 1977 husband and wife (Bro. Adaucto P. Ocampo and Sis. Alice Reyes Ocampo) were baptized in the Marikina chapel.

That Sunday, summer did not keep her promises. Instead of sunshine, menacing clouds promised rain for the day of our son’s baptism.
“It sure doesn’t feel like August,” murmured David as he climbed into the car to go to the lake. But when all the members were gathered on the beach, we all forgot that the sun had backed out on our celebration. Smiling proudly, my husband, Jose, led David into the still water.
I watched as my husband said the baptismal prayer and gently lowered our son into the water. I too smiled as I watched David rise out of the water to a new life.
My little son paddled to the bank, where he acknowledged his friends’ congratulations and allowed us to fuss over him with towels. He seemed to be lost in thought. Then he lifted his eyes to meet mine, gave me a big smile, and said proudly, “Wow, I’m finally a member of the true church!”
Now, as I looked down into his beaming face, I feel the Lord has a very special task planned for my son. David often speaks of his future mission. But, for now, his being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has made us the happiest parents in the world.

One of my good friends asked me to go to our Senior Ball, and I was really excited to go with him. I wanted to look nice, and I knew I wanted to wear a modest dress. My mom and I shopped at a few stores, and I found a beautiful, modest dress that I was excited to wear.
A group of four couples had decided to go to a nice restaurant for dinner before the dance. My date and I and another couple arrived at the restaurant first. We chose to be seated at a table while we waited for the other two couples to join us.
About five minutes after we were seated, our waiter came over to our table and asked for our order. Since we were waiting for the other couples to arrive, we were not ready. Our waiter paused and said, “There is someone in this restaurant who would like to pay for your dinner, and they need to leave soon.” My mouth dropped open. The four of us were astounded. We placed our order but asked our waiter to bring our food when our entire party had ordered. After the other two couples arrived, we told them that our meal had been paid for by an anonymous patron of the restaurant.
After we ate our dinner, our waiter brought us the folder for the bill. My date picked it up and, with the other young man watching, opened it. They both looked up at each other and then looked at me and the other young woman. “This isn’t for us. It’s for you ladies,” my date said. I opened the folder and read a note that was left inside. It read, “Thanks for dressing modestly! You look great!”
We never figured out who was kind enough to pay for our dinner, but it made our dance even more memorable. I had never thought that wearing a modest dress would be noticed by anyone, but I am glad that I made the choice. Dressing modestly is a choice, and this experience made me want to continue to dress modestly.

I was a student when I decided to get married. My wife loved me as I was and not because of what I had. Surely, I did not have anything materially—but I had faith in our Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ, and I worked hard every day to provide for myself and my family.

Over the years, Nathalie and I have worked together, and she has made me into the man that I am. We are truly the fruit of our faith and of our daily efforts.

One day at recess, my friend Brooklyn and I saw a younger girl from another grade sitting next to the wall, crying.
“What’s wrong?” Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t have any friends to play with,” the girl sniffed.
She told us her friends had moved away. Now she didn’t know anyone in her grade to play with. I felt bad for her. I knew how it felt to lose a friend.
“We know how you feel,” Brooklyn told the girl.
“Maybe after school you could talk to your mom,” I said.
The girl nodded.
“Do you have a journal or diary to write in? It helps,” I said.
We spent the rest of recess talking and giving her tips on how to make new friends.
The bell rang, and we had to leave to go back to class. I felt the Spirit helping her, and I knew I did what Jesus wanted me to do.

Shortly after Edward was born, Mary Ann moved with her children to Salt Lake City and took work as a midwife, cook, and cleaning woman. Since her meager income could not support the needs of her family, Edward left school when he was twelve and went to work on the night shift at the Salt Lake Tribune.
A few months later Mary Ann had saved five dollars from Edward’s earnings for tithing. “Eddy,” she told him, “I have not paid your tithing yet. I know that you have no overcoat, and you must walk many miles to and from work each might. With winter coming on, it’s going to be bitter cold when you return home at four or five o’clock in the morning. So I’ll give you this money, and you can either pay your tithing or buy an overcoat. I’ll leave the decision up to you.”
He did exactly what she knew he’d do. Edward later recorded, “I took the money, ran immediately over to the bishop’s home, and paid the tithing.”
A week later his Aunt Mary came to visit, and brought with her an overcoat that one of her sons had outgrown. It fit Edward perfectly and “was a better overcoat than [he] could have purchased for five dollars.” After that day, Edward recorded, he was always generous in paying his tithes and other Church offerings.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Note from police officer Michael Terry: On an early fall morning, while I was on patrol, I received a call that would profoundly alter my life. It became a defining moment, molding my perspective on the kind of priesthood holder I aspired to be—always in a state of worthiness to uphold the priesthood and always prepared to serve the Lord. The following story is a testament to the blessings the Lord provides when we have faith in Him and trust His will.
After yet another marathon day at the office, I made my way home as the city’s lights dimmed. Pausing at a stop sign, lost in thought, I was jolted back to reality with a thunderous BOOM—the sharp impact of a car crashing into mine from behind.
Fortunately, both I and the man who hit me seemed unharmed. We called the local police to file a report, and some caring friends happened upon the scene to check on us. After exchanging our information, the other driver and I went on our way.
As I drove away from the accident site, I didn’t realize I wasn’t just leaving behind shattered glass and metal. The life I had known—my daily routines, household tasks, work projects, and the simple joy of moving without restraint—was about to shift dramatically. This would become my most profound trial of faith, challenging me like nothing had before. While the path ahead was unknown to me, my Heavenly Father had seen it all along, and I was about to discover what lay in store.
The next day, a quiet Saturday, found my husband at work, leaving just the children and me at home. They lost themselves in their play, while I grappled with a persistent headache. Yet the responsibilities of motherhood don’t pause for discomfort. That day, I seemed to be on a mission of some sort: every corner of the house was cleaned, every pile of laundry tackled. Looking back on that day, I realize it was the hand of the Lord guiding me, pushing me to prepare and fortify my family for the challenges ahead.
Sunday’s dawn brought with it a stillness. As my husband, Don, headed out to work at Temple Square for his Church security detail, he gently kissed me goodbye, perhaps not realizing that I was anchored to the bed. As the morning wore on and the time for church drew near, a growing alarm took hold of me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t sit up, roll over, or even shift my position. I was paralyzed in place.
What I didn’t know was that the minor fender bender had caused a carotid dissection—a tear in the lining of my carotid artery, which led to the formation of a blood clot. A day or so later, that clot traveled to my brain, causing a stroke. My right side was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move at all. I didn’t realize at the time I had suffered a stroke; I thought I had simply slept on my arm the wrong way.
That Sunday morning, my children were getting ready for church, and they assumed I was just sleeping in. My two daughters, Ashlee and Alyssa, came to my bedroom, expecting to see me preparing for church. Instead, they found me lying on the floor, stuck between the bed and the night table, unable to move or speak. While I was trying to talk, nothing came out. In my mind, I was telling them I was OK, but no sound escaped my lips.
In that terrifying moment, they realized the severity of the situation. I heard the sharp, terrified cries of my daughters: “Call 911!” Their panic mirrored my own internal turmoil as I grasped the gravity of their concern.
The terror evident in their voices pierced through me, causing an ache deeper than any physical pain. To them, the sight was terrifying: their mother, usually strong and responsive, now rendered motionless and mute. Inside, I tried to reassure them, silently pleading, “I’m OK; it’s going to be all right. Please don’t cry. I’m here.” But my attempts at comfort remained silent.
Familiar faces soon filled the room: the paramedics, recognizable figures from our tight-knit community; my soon-to-be son-in-law, Trevor Brady, whose concern was palpable; and a young police officer, Mike Terry. Mike is a longtime family friend who, by divine intervention, had been dispatched to the scene. They were frantically trying to lift me from the floor, where I had collapsed in my attempt to rise from the bed.
Despite their help, the gravity of the situation made me feel isolated and overwhelmed. But suddenly the room settled into a hushed calm. These two devoted men, Trevor and Mike, stepped up to their sacred duty. In the exercise of their priesthood authority, they laid their hands upon my head and gave me a blessing. As they began, a profound sense of peace enveloped me, a tranquility I hadn’t felt until that point. I recognized this as the special role and spiritual power given to them from a loving Heavenly Father. Their actions reminded me of the words from Doctrine and Covenants 42:44, 48, reinforcing my belief in the potential for healing:
“The elders of the church, two or more, shall be called, and shall pray for and lay their hands upon them in my name. …
“… He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed.”
While the words they uttered have since faded from my memory, one thing remains clear: the moment they began the blessing, the atmosphere in the room transformed. The weight of anxiety lifted, and it was as if a divine assurance whispered that everything would unfold as it should. I felt immensely grateful to these two selfless servants of our Heavenly Father, whose sincere and worthy actions bestowed upon me a blessing filled with profound love and hope.
I felt assurance that my Heavenly Father was in control. I sensed the love, concern, and compassion coming from these two Melchizedek Priesthood holders, empowered with the authority to bless. From that moment, I relinquished my worries and concerns, entrusting them to my Father in Heaven, confident in His divine guidance and protection. This blessing became a beacon, guiding me to surrender my worries to the Lord, secure in the belief that He would oversee everything.
“Masarvelous” was the first thing Amy said upon regaining the ability to speak and taking a sip of soda. The term has since become a symbol of faith and gratitude for the family.
After three months in the hospital, supplemented with rigorous therapy, I gradually regained my ability to speak and walk, albeit with the aid of a cane and a leg brace.
Today my right arm is still paralyzed, and I have limited functionality in my right leg. Yet in the grand scheme of things, these challenges seem minuscule compared to the overwhelming gratitude I feel for simply being alive. The car accident and resulting stroke have undeniably altered the course of my life, bringing about growth and deepened appreciation for each day.
I attribute the progress in my recovery to the divine intervention of my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, and of course to the two devoted men who, in their worthiness, exercised priesthood authority to bless me. This blessing not only shifted the trajectory of my health but also enriched my life in ways I never could have imagined. My heart swells with gratitude, a sentiment that I hope to carry with me for a lifetime.
Officer Michael Terry greeting Amy Casey.
The author lives in Utah.

The very next day, he went missionary hunting. “You know how missionaries hunt for nonmembers or less-active members?” he explains. “I was hunting for missionaries—looking for them.” Tyreece started by asking his schoolmates and discovered that one of his friends, Siale Aloua, was a member of the Church. Siale confirmed that Tyreece should definitely talk to the missionaries, but in the meantime, he was happy to answer any questions Tyreece had.
One day, while heading home from school, Tyreece spotted, far in the distance, two young men in white shirts, walking together down the road. “Straightaway I ran after them!” Just as Tyreece was catching up, the missionaries entered a house. “So, I waited outside, across the road, for nearly an hour just to talk to them.”
When the missionaries finally emerged from the house, Tyreece rushed over and introduced himself, then told them he wanted to join their Church. The missionaries were understandably stunned and excited, but they told Tyreece that he had a lot to learn first. Less than 24 hours later, they taught him the first missionary discussion at a nearby park.
“I really wanted that lesson, ASAP, because the only thing on my mind was to become a returned missionary. So, I was trying to become a member as fast as I could.” But things didn’t work out the way he hoped. Heavenly Father had a different plan.
Around this time, Tyreece’s relationship with his parents was difficult, and he acknowledges his part in the problem. “I was like, talking back, disrespectful and all that, and my parents threatened to kick me out because they couldn’t handle me.”
When Tyreece returned home from his first lesson with the missionaries, he found all his belongings strewn about. “That’s how bad my parents wanted to get rid of me,” he says. But he thought about the pamphlet the missionaries had just given him about the gospel of Jesus Christ; and remembered the invitation they had extended to him: to go home and pray to Heavenly Father. Instead of reacting to the circumstances, Tyreece says, “I just ignored it all and I just did a prayer.”
He immediately felt the Holy Spirit. The feeling came with a sense of clarity, even at such an unsettling time for him. He stayed with a friend for a few days, then decided to reach out to the missionaries, to explain his home situation and ask for advice. Within five minutes, the missionaries found him board with a family in their ward. It was then that Tyreece knew in his heart that Heavenly Father is real, and that he could put all his trust and faith in Him.
“I ended up staying with the family for a while,” Tyreece says. During his time with them, he continued to receive lessons from the missionaries, participated in the Church’s youth and then young single adult programmes, and was able to learn the routines of a Latter-day Saint home. He began to truly study the scriptures, and when he discovered the Lord’s commandment to honour our parents, Tyreece knew he had to make things right with his own family.
He and his parents started talking again and slowly rebuilt their relationship. His mother even started attending Church with him—she wanted to know the cause of her son’s change of heart. Around this time, Tyreece witnessed his friend Siale prepare for and be called to serve in the Brisbane Australia Mission. His testimony of the Church continued to grow and to strengthen. He just knew that all the blessings pouring into his life came from his choice to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.
Over a year after his first meeting with the missionaries, with his parents in attendance to support him, Tyreece entered the waters of baptism and became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is currently preparing to serve a mission, but more importantly, Tyreece can confidently declare: “Even though I started this journey for someone else, my testimony of the gospel is now my own.”
Tyreece’s progress in the Church has not gone unnoticed. At the end of 2022, he was asked to speak at the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake conference, where he bore his testimony:
“I know this Church is true. I know that when your faith in Heavenly Father is strong, He will bless you and your family for all eternity. I know that when you follow Heavenly Father’s commandments, He will guide you and your family to the right path . . . I have seen it with my own eyes and through experience. Now I want to help guide families towards Heavenly Father, so they can be together forever for all eternity.”

Our ward has spent the past several months working hard to educate our young women about the importance of modesty. We started with an evening devoted to fashion. Our Young Women leaders showed us clothes that cover but still look good and flatter us, and we were told where to shop for modest clothes that are cute and fun. They also taught us how to get a more natural look with our makeup.
One Young Women leader surveyed some of the members of our stake, asking their opinions about how girls dress. For example, one of the young men surveyed said, “I don’t respect girls who dress immodestly.” Another said, “I don’t care about girls who dress like that [in revealing clothes].”
One comment from a priest spelled out what most of the young men seemed to feel. He said, “There’s a line between suggestive and attractive. A lot of young women try to play the line, not just in their clothes, but in their makeup and attitude, too. It’s unattractive when they look suggestive and act stuck up.”
The young men’s responses consistently showed they were unimpressed by and uncomfortable around young women who wear revealing clothes.
At the end of the evening all of the young women signed a modesty oath card.
Each time we dressed modestly for a Church function, we got a check mark on our cards. After the 12th check mark, we got a gift certificate for a juice smoothie, which really gave us something to look forward to. We keep the cards with us now as a reminder to stay modest.
A couple of weeks after our modesty night, one of our Young Women leaders set up a photo shoot for our Young Women activity. It was so much fun! She took pictures of us, and we got to show off our modest attire. It is exciting to look at all the fun pictures we took and the cards we completed and to know that we accomplished our goal.
You may be wondering how well we have been doing with our modesty program. Well, I can say we are sticking strong to staying modest. All of the girls in my ward have completed their oath cards, including one girl who isn’t a member of the Church yet. Though we’ve finished the program, we continue to dress modestly, even at school, which is amazing since my school has no dress code. The students can wear whatever they want. But our girls choose to dress modestly and stand as witnesses at all times and in all things and in all places.