Gospel Story Finder

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.”

In October 1848, Phineas Young visited the Cowdery family at their home in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, Brother Woods said. He escorted Oliver, his wife, and their only surviving child of six children to Kanesville, Iowa, to attend the local conference of the Church. There, Oliver addressed the gathering of nearly 2,000 people and requested membership in the Church. In subsequent weeks, he was received back into full fellowship and was rebaptized on November 12, 1848.

Nell of Branford Hall It is 1664. Nell’s parents see how intelligent she is and allow her to learn from books and her father’s microscope, a new invention then. When the plague comes, though she understands (from looking through the microscope) how even dead fleas can transmit the deadly disease, she doesn’t want to understand why she can’t save her best friend from it. A story of courage by an entire village.

In 1878 President John Taylor called Saints to settle in the southern part of the state of Colorado in the United States. Early in the 1900s, Pa moved our family to that desolate land.
Our new farm was littered with rocks. Before we could till the ground, we had to clear the rocks away. Ma and I hauled the small rocks away in a wheelbarrow, but there was only one way to remove the boulders—blow them up with dynamite.
When all the small rocks were gone and it was time to start on the big ones, Pa dug under each one as far as he could and placed the dynamite underneath. He carefully set the dynamite in just the right places so the blast would tear the boulders completely apart.
Finally everything was ready for Pa to light the fuse. Mama made sure we children were out of danger.
Boom!
The first boulder exploded into hundreds of fragments and a cloud of dust. When the dust settled, the boulder had disappeared. All that was left was a hole in the ground and many smaller rocks. Now it was my job to pick up the pieces of rock and fill the hole with dirt.
We repeated the process; Pa lit the dynamite and I cleared away the shattered rock. After the third explosion, I was growing tired of picking up rocks and wanted to do the “real” work—lighting the dynamite. I took a few steps toward Pa.
“Willard, stay back!” my mother called. I scowled. At nine, I was the oldest child and believed I was old enough to help.
As I started back to the house, I was filled with a sense of danger. A whispering in my heart warned me that something was wrong.
I didn’t understand. I wasn’t in any danger. I was far away from the blasting. Certain that I had imagined the warning, I concentrated on what Pa was doing. Maybe he would see that I was nearly grown and ready to work alongside him.
The feeling of danger grew.
I recalled the promise my father had made when he confirmed me a member of the Church: “I bless you with the power of discernment. Listen to the Spirit. It will guide you and protect you from harm.”
I tried to ignore the voice, but it wouldn’t be still. I could no longer pretend I didn’t hear the insistent whisper.
I bless you with the power of discernment.
The words were as clear now as they had been when Pa pronounced the blessing more than a year earlier. If I wasn’t in danger, maybe the voice was telling me that someone else was. Ma was hanging clothes on the line, my little sister pulling at her skirt. Then I realized I couldn’t see three-year-old Hyrum.
“Hyrum!” I shouted. “Hyrum!” Shading my eyes from the sun, I squinted into the distance. Then I saw him—heading toward the field, his chubby legs going as fast as he could make them.
I ran after him, praying and shouting all at the same time. “Pa!” I screamed, waving my arms to attract his attention.
His back was turned to me, and Pa couldn’t see or hear my warning—and he couldn’t see Hyrum toddling toward disaster.
I reached Hyrum just as the boulder exploded. Throwing my body over his, I shielded him the best I could. Sharp rock fragments rained down on me, hitting my head, back, and legs.
Hyrum began to squirm. “Heavy,” he said. “Get up.”
I rolled off. My body screamed with pain, but I didn’t care. Gently, I ran my hands over my little brother.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He wiggled away from me and stood. His chin wobbled and his eyes filled with tears, but he wasn’t hurt. “Scared,” he said.
“I was scared too,” I said as I hugged him.
By then Pa had reached us. Tears tracked through the dirt and grime on his face. His big arms circled us, squeezing tight. “How did you know your brother was in danger?” he asked me.
I hesitated, not sure how to explain. “A voice told me something was wrong,” I said. “I didn’t pay attention at first, but it kept poking at me until I had to listen.” Then I confessed the part that stung my conscience. “If I had listened the first time, Hyrum wouldn’t have wandered away. He would never have been in danger.”
Pa laid his big hand on my shoulder. “But you did listen. That’s the important thing.” Pa took a deep breath. “That was a brave thing you did, Willard.”
“I prayed, Pa. I was praying so hard the words nearly choked me,” I told him.
“So was I. So was I.”
Ma and my little sister came running. Laughing and crying at the same time, Ma hugged me and Hyrum. Soon all of us were hugging and crying.
A sweet feeling of peace settled around my heart as I knelt by my bed that night. My prayers took longer than usual as I thanked Heavenly Father for the whisperings of the Spirit in my heart.

A lovely young lady told the following story at a stake conference. She said, “I am a convert from upstate New York. My parents wanted their children to have eternal marriages. There were no Latter-day Saint members to marry in our little branch, so our family moved to Utah.
“Eventually I found myself a husband. He was the president of the local motorcycle club and wore a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots. We rode on motorcycles together—perhaps not what my mother had hoped, but by that time I had wandered from the Church.
“We moved into a house. Often our friends would gather there. I’m afraid our neighbors were quite uncomfortable with us. At least one neighbor took her children into her house when we were roaming about.
“But do you know what our neighbors did? They mowed our lawn because we didn’t have a mower. They brought flowers when one of us was sick, and quite often they brought food and fixed things up. Our little daughter was included in the activities of the other children in the neighborhood and was even given a party on her birthday. When we tried to thank our neighbors, they just said, ‘Well, we all like to help each other.’ They made us feel welcome there.
“About ten months later, we traded our black leather jackets and motorcycle boots for the white clothing and slippers of the temple. As we knelt across the altar from each other and looked around that room, there were our neighbors, those who had been mowing our lawn and making things better for us.”

During my early teenage years, I attended a youth leadership training camp. Throughout the week, one of my Young Men leaders, Bryan Thelin, found multiple notes written by his wife, Julie, that she had hidden away in his belongings. He shared some of those tender and faith-promoting notes with us. I was impressed and could sense the love that his wife’s simple and caring act fostered in their marriage. Although Bryan and Julie were not physically together during that week, their marriage was being strengthened.

When I went on that first mission, President Anthon H. Lund spoke to us missionaries before we left and he told us that the people in the mission field would love us. But he said, “Don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not realize just what that meant at that time, but before I left Holland to come home, I knew what Brother Lund had meant. I shed many more tears bidding goodbye to my friends and converts there than I had when I bid farewell to my mother and father and brothers and sisters.

For instance, over in Amsterdam where I finished my mission, I went into the home of a short little woman, the mother of eight children, to say goodbye. Looking up into my face, the tears rolling down her cheeks and down the front of her apron, she said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it is harder to see you go.” Then I thought I could understand what Brother Lund meant when he said that they would love us, because I was the first missionary that she had ever met, and her whole family had joined the Church. One of her boys returned from his second mission just a short time ago—but I had better not give you the history of the whole family.

Then I went to say goodbye to a man who stood erect in the uniform of his country—a tall man with a little Dutch beard. He got down on his knees, took my hand in his, and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. Then I thought I could understand what Brother Lund had meant when he said that they would love us because of what we brought to them.

This story took place in the USA.
Kevin turned around in the computer chair. He hit random keys on the keyboard.
“Mom, can I play the racing game yet?” he called.
Mom looked in from the kitchen. “After you finish your homework.”
Kevin sighed. How was he supposed to focus on homework? He was so close to beating the next level of his favorite computer game. And his homework was, well, homework.
He guessed he could at least start on it. He scrolled through a website. It sure didn’t look as cool as the racing game.
Then Kevin saw a link. He clicked on it. The link took him to a website with pictures of people wearing no clothes.
This is bad, he thought. I should leave it. Kevin looked over his shoulder. No one was watching him. He looked at a few more pictures. He was just curious.
Kevin started to feel a little sick inside. He quickly closed the website. He tried to go back to his homework. It’s OK, Kevin thought. I just saw just a few pictures. But the bad feeling didn’t go away.
Kevin felt like he should talk to Mom about the website. But he was scared. What if she got mad?
That night, after dinner, Kevin helped Mom wash the dishes.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
But he wasn’t OK. He felt like he was going to cry. The feeling that he should tell Mom came back. But Kevin was still scared.
Heavenly Father, please help me, he prayed silently. He felt a little better.
“Can I talk to you?” Kevin asked.
“Of course,” Mom said. “What do you want to talk about?”
Kevin looked at the floor. He wasn’t sure how to start. “When I was doing my homework, I looked at a site that had pictures of people without clothes. I was just curious. But now I can’t forget what I saw.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Mom said. She gave Kevin a hug. “Curiosity is normal. You know that those things are bad, and you shouldn’t be looking at them. But the good thing is that you were honest. You’ll feel better now because you told me.”
“You’re not mad?” Kevin asked.
“Of course not,” Mom said. “I love you. I want to help you. And so does Heavenly Father. He can always help you make things right.”
The sick feeling left Kevin’s stomach.
“I was scared to tell you,” he said. “But I felt better after I said a prayer.”
“It sounds like the Holy Ghost helped you be brave!” Mom said.
Kevin had felt calm and peaceful when he prayed. But even before he prayed, he had felt like he needed to talk to Mom.
“I think the Holy Ghost helped me the whole time,” Kevin said. “He told me the pictures were bad. And He told me I needed to tell you what happened.”
“I’m always here if you need to talk about things like this,” Mom said. “I won’t get mad. Let’s work together to make a computer safety plan.”
Kevin smiled. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”
Illustration by Laura Catrinella

“Sarah, would you like to sing in a program?” asked Ms. Gardner, Sarah’s voice teacher.
“I’d love to!” Sarah said.
“It will be good for you to sing in front of others,” Ms. Gardner said, writing in her notebook. “The program is at the end of August, so you’ll have all summer to get ready.”
Sarah told her parents about the program as soon as she got home. She called her grandparents right after dinner. She was so happy!
At her next lesson, Sarah and Ms. Gardner picked out two songs for the program. One song was from an opera, and the other was from a musical play. Then Sarah got to work.
She practiced her songs with Ms. Gardner. And she practiced at home every day. Soon she had her songs memorized. Still, she kept working.
Finally, the day of the program came. Sarah got ready. She put on her blue dress. She brushed her hair. Then she knelt by her bed and asked for Heavenly Father’s help.
Soon they were on their way to the program. “Are you scared?” her mom asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I know the songs so well I could sing them backward!”
Mom smiled. “You’ve practiced really hard this summer.”
When they got to the program, Sarah sat next to her parents and grandparents. Her friend Megan was the first to sing. Evan sang next. Sarah and the rest of the audience clapped after each song.
When it was Sarah’s turn, she took a big breath and walked to the microphone. She sang the first song perfectly. Ms. Gardner smiled at her. Then Sarah started the second song.
It was all going well until she got to the chorus. And then it happened. She forgot the words! Her mind went completely blank. She looked nervously at the audience and motioned to the pianist to stop.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’d like to start again.”
Her hands were a little sweaty. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She took another deep breath, nodded to the pianist, and began again.
This time, she remembered all the words. The audience clapped when she finished. Sarah smiled, but she was embarrassed.
After the program, Sarah found her teacher.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gardner,” she said. “I really messed up.”
“Not at all, Sarah,” her teacher said. “You lost your place. That can happen to anyone. The important thing is that you carried on.”
“That’s right,” Grandma said, joining them. “We’re so proud of you.”
That night, Sarah thought about the program. She still felt bad about messing up. But Ms. Gardner was right. Sarah had carried on. She could be proud of that.
It’s a lot like repentance, she thought.
“Hey, Mom!” Sarah called, running to her parents’ bedroom. “I figured out that the program is like life.”
“How’s that, sweetie?” Mom asked. Sarah flopped onto the bed next to Mom.
“I made a mistake in my solo, but I fixed it and moved on. In life, when I make a wrong choice, I can fix it by repenting. Then I can move on and do better.”
“You know, that sounds like a great theme for home evening,” Mom said. “Want to give the lesson?”
“Sure!” Sarah said. She couldn’t wait to share what she had learned.
Have you set a goal to learn something new?
If you make a mistake, keep trying!
This story took place in the USA.

My little brother, Jacob, and I do everything together. We are two years apart but almost the same size. People always ask if we are twins.
One day when we were playing, Jacob cut his finger really bad. We rushed inside to run water on his finger. While Mom checked his finger, I put my arm around him to make him feel better. He was really scared.
Mom decided that Jacob needed to go to the hospital so that they could treat his finger. Our neighbor offered to watch our little sister and asked if I wanted to go with them. I looked at Jacob. He begged me to go with him. Even though I knew it would be a long wait at the hospital, I decided to go with him. He needed me.
On the way to the hospital, Mom had me say a prayer for Jacob. When we arrived, I tried to make sure he was comfortable. We brought a water bottle with us, and I made sure I offered him lots of drinks to take his mind off his finger.
When we finally saw the doctor, I was a little scared. I didn’t know if my brother would need stitches. I knew it might hurt.
While they worked on Jacob’s finger, he screamed and cried. Mom didn’t want me to watch, so I stayed in a corner of the room while she held Jacob’s hand. Seeing him in pain made me cry, too.
Soon Jacob’s finger was bandaged and we were able to go home. Mom told me that I had been “my brother’s keeper.” She said that in a small way, I had felt how Jesus feels about us when we are sad and hurting. I am glad I was able to be there for my brother when he needed me.

“Hey, Sofía! Wanna go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”
Sofía felt her cheeks turn red. She didn’t know what to say. Kyle Thornton was one of the cutest and nicest boys in the seventh grade, and here he was asking Sofía to the dance! Sofía knew she shouldn’t date until she was 16, but part of her really wanted to go. It would be so much fun! And besides, the dance was at school, so meeting Kyle there wouldn’t exactly be a real date. …
But Sofía didn’t feel super comfortable with the idea.
“Um … can I tell you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem.” Kyle smiled and walked to class.
After school, Sofía’s best friend, Ashley, ran up to her. “I heard Kyle asked you to the dance!” she said. “That’s so great!”
Sofía shrugged.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Ashley asked.
“Well, my family is going to make cookies and take them to a care center that day,” Sofía said. “I’m probably going to go with them.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ashley said. “You can do something with your family any day. This is important, especially since Kyle asked you!”
Sofía knew lots of girls liked Kyle. What would they think if she said no? But how could she tell Ashley she couldn’t date yet?
“I gotta go,” Sofía said. “Mom needs me home right away to watch the twins.”
“OK,” said Ashley. “Let me know what you decide.”
When Sofía got home, Mom gave her a quick hug before hurrying out the door to go visiting teaching. Sofía and her eight-year-old twin brothers, Mateo and Leo, spent the time building block towers and cities.
As she played with her brothers, Sofía thought about the dance. All of her friends were going. She thought about Kyle and smiled. It would be fun being at a dance with him. But she knew what the prophets had said—kids shouldn’t date before turning 16. She wanted to be obedient. As fun as the dance might be, Sofía knew what she had to do.
At school the next day, Sofía saw Kyle in the hallway. She took a deep breath and walked up to him. She had practiced what to say all morning.
“Thank you for asking me to go to the dance with you,” she said. “But I can’t go.”
“Why not?” Kyle asked, his smile fading.
“I’m not going to date until I’m 16,” Sofía said. “But we can still be friends.”
Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “OK. I guess I understand.”
They said goodbye, and Sofía walked to class. She hated seeing Kyle so sad. But she also felt OK about her decision.
On Friday after school, instead of picking out an outfit and doing her hair for the dance, Sofía frosted heart-shaped cookies with Mom and Dad and her brothers. Instead of going to the school gym, Sofía went to a care center to pass out the cookies.
In the main room at the center, Sofía noticed a piano in the corner. She knew several Primary songs by heart, so she asked her family to sing along while she played. People sitting nearby clapped at the end of each song. When she and her family finished singing “A Child’s Prayer,” Sofía saw that several people had tears in their eyes.
“Thank you!” one lady said. “That was even better than the cookies! Will you come back?”
Sofía smiled. “Of course!” Maybe she could even invite her friends and Kyle next time.

I conclude with an experience that has helped me to deal with unanswered questions. A few years ago, my husband and I were invited to a gathering of many experienced Church leaders. A new presiding officer had recently been called, and at the end of the meeting a very difficult and contentious question was asked. Realizing the difficulty of the question, my husband and I immediately offered up our sincere prayers to Heavenly Father on behalf of this new leader. As he came to the pulpit to respond to the question, I witnessed a change in his countenance as he stood majestically, squared his shoulders, and spoke with the power of the Lord.

His response was something like this: “Brother, I do not know the answer to your question. But I will tell you what I do know. I know that God is our Eternal Father. I know that Jesus Christ is the Savior and Redeemer of the world. I know that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, and was the instrument through which the power of the priesthood was restored to the earth. I know the Book of Mormon is true and contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know we have a living prophet today who speaks for the Lord to bless our lives. No, I do not know the answer to your question, but these things I know. The rest I take on faith. I try to live this simple statement of faith I learned years ago from Marjorie Hinckley, wife of President Gordon B. Hinckley, who said, ‘First I obey, then I understand.’”

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been of their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As I was a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, my prayer one evening is especially sacred to me. I pleaded for these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, because they had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word: “Wonderful!”
The wife of that generous businessman is today a widow. I know the decision her husband and she made has brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.

The plaintive strains of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” floated out of the jail on the warm June air. The three prisoners listened intently as John Taylor, the singer, again sang the prophetic words, “In prison I saw him next, condemned to meet a traitor’s doom.”
Two evenings before, on June 25, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith, falsely accused of treason and inciting a riot, had been taken to the Carthage Jail. A number of friends went with them to give help and comfort; four of the group remained. These four were John Taylor, Dr. Willard Richards, Dan Jones, and Stephen Markham.
All the next day the men had read and prayed together. They had written letters to their loved ones back home in Nauvoo and to government officials, pleading for their safety and for a fair trial.
Now it was the second afternoon of their imprisonment. As John Taylor finished singing, he saw a number of armed men with painted faces rush around the jail. They were followed by a mob who pushed up the stairs, firing shots to break the lock of the door, then shooting bullets into the room. Hyrum was struck in the face and fell to the floor, mortally wounded.
John tried to ward off the attackers with a heavy walking stick, but could not. He turned and ran to a window, but before he could leap out, a shot struck him in the thigh and another came through the window, headed for his chest. It was stopped by a gold watch in his vest pocket. According to Dr. Richards, who later wrote of the tragic afternoon, it “smashed into ‘pie,’ leaving the hands standing at 5 o’clock, 16 minutes, and 26 seconds, the force of which ball threw him back on the floor, and he rolled under the bed which stood by his side, where he lay motionless.” Meanwhile, the Prophet Joseph had been murdered by the angry mob.
Dr. Richards dragged the injured John into an inner cell and covered him with an old mattress for protection.
Because of the gold watch and the care of Dr. Richards, John Taylor lived to become the third president of the Church. He was born at Milnthorpe, Westmoreland County, England, on November 1, 1808. While still a young man, he immigrated to Toronto, Ontario, Canada, where he first heard the gospel.

Let me begin with a simple story of a pioneer girl named Agnes Caldwell. Agnes told of her experience in the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. At the time, she was only nine years of age. She related:

Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me—the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.

She goes on to share:

Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver . . . called to me, “Say, sissy, would you like a ride?” I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.” At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived. . . . Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.3

Agnes Caldwell and her family arrived safely in the Great Salt Lake Valley November 9, 1856. They settled in Brigham City, Utah, where Agnes met and married Chester Southworth. They became the parents of thirteen children [and] helped settle an LDS colony in Cardston, Alberta, Canada.4

Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway.

I have also had to repent. Before I repented, my friends all knew what was going on, and I felt like I was letting everyone down. My family relationships were bad too. It helped to talk to my parents. They were upset, but they supported my decision to change. I lost a lot of friends, but the ones I have now love me even though I made some bad choices. It helps to pray to Heavenly Father. He knew what I was going through and helped me through the trial. He will help anyone who asks for help.
Allisyn G., 16, Utah, USA

“Yes, I watched that show! I loved it! There wasn’t anything concerning in it—just some bad language.”
I was recommending a show to a friend. Because I’d enjoyed the story so much, I hadn’t thought twice about the amount of profanity in each episode.
It wasn’t until later that I thought about what I said and gave myself a spiritual facepalm.
“Since when is profanity not a problem in the shows I watch?” I thought.
As a disciple of Jesus Christ, I have always tried to be mindful when it comes to the media I enjoy. However, profanity was becoming common in the shows and books I consumed. I had started to become numb to it.
This led me to ponder on what other less-than-wholesome content I was allowing into my life.
Was I letting things slide in the music I listened to? Was I batting an eye when explicit content appeared in my books or crude reels on my Instagram feed?
I think you know the answer.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”
I could see how easily media was interrupting my connection with the Holy Ghost each day. I needed to “resensitize” myself to the Spirit. But when inappropriate media is a constant in this world, how do we do that?
For a more specific example of this realization, not too long ago, I was reading books that my friends (many of whom are members of the Church) were reading.
Often, I would be enjoying the stories, only to be unexpectedly jarred by profanity or sexual content.
For a while, I convinced myself this wasn’t a big deal. They were just books, right? Everyone from the millions of readers on social media to my friends seemed to be reading them with no complaints.
So how could I not agree?
I enjoyed these books and wanted to be part of conversations about them! Deep down, though, they were affecting me and my outlook on life and relationships. But I was afraid to stop reading them because I didn’t want to be seen as prudish or immature.
The Lord offers this warning: “The weak things of the world shall come forth and break down the mighty and strong ones, that man should not counsel his fellow man, neither trust in the arm of flesh” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:19).
This helped me realize I needed to be honest with myself.
I was justifying my behavior by following everyone else’s choices. I was fearing their judgment and ignoring the Spirit’s red flags instead of heeding His warnings.
A few years ago, President Nelson invited us to fast from social media for 10 days. While studying his challenge recently, I noticed that in addition to social media, he included “any other media that bring negative and impure thoughts to your mind.”
So I started taking note of what content I am sensitive to. I’ve tried to establish better habits with the media I consume. Media use isn’t inherently bad, but it’s always important to make sure we pay attention to the Spirit when consuming it.
If you are having trouble knowing where to make changes in your media habits, try asking yourself questions like these:
Are you feeling uplifted and inspired? Or numb and lonely?
Have you felt any discomfort that might be prompting you to step away from certain content?
Are you feeling a need to “fit in” with others by watching or reading certain media?
Are you being honest with yourself?
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently taught, “It takes a courageous and a willing heart to pause and pursue an honest and meek introspection to acknowledge the presence of weaknesses of the flesh in our life that may impede our ability to submit ourselves to God, and ultimately decide to adopt His way rather than our own.”
And he’s right. It can be hard to acknowledge our weaknesses and make changes that align with God instead of the world. I still have a lot of work to do when it comes to my media choices (and all my choices), but I’m striving to do better each day.
We have the beautiful promise of having the Spirit as our constant companion as we renew our covenants through the sacrament each week and through the gift of repentance. As we do this—and are truly honest with ourselves—we can “resensitize” our hearts to His guiding influence.
I know that we can always try again when we don’t always make choices that align with the Lord’s commandments. But by focusing on Jesus Christ, we can increase the Spirit’s influence in our lives and limit the world’s.

One of Néstor’s students there, Carolina Urrutia, was particularly impressed by him. She felt that he was different, somehow, from other gifted people—so much so that she decided to find out why. Néstor was very willing to tell her about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and as a result, he had the privilege of baptizing her. Subsequently, she and Néstor were influential in the conversion of another of his students, an actress and teacher named María Reiñanco.

As a child, I was never taught to read the Bible. I went to church on Sundays, but I contributed nothing and felt nothing in return. I was disillusioned by my religion. I remember having serious arguments with my mother over a metal object called the Santísimo that my parents worshiped. They expected me to worship it as well. I could not. I searched for a better alternative, wanting to find God—wanting to know if He even existed. I thirsted to know Him and His words. But I could not seem to find what I sought.
There were moments when I felt close to quenching my thirst. When I held my first child, a daughter, in my arms for the first time, I had a feeling that God really did exist. Many years later, when her sister was born, I experienced the same feeling. Once I told my cousin that I felt in my heart I was somehow going to become a priest with real authority from God. She said that was impossible because I had a family to take care of.
Most of the time, however, an inexplicable tiredness weighed upon my soul. I was spiritually thirsty and could find no place to drink.
In April 1994 I was living in the city of Monterrey, México, earning a living as a taxi driver. One day it rained for hours, sending water cascading down the mountainsides. After driving around in the rain for hours, I found myself in a little town about eight kilometers from Monterrey. It was about 9:30 P.M., nearly time to go home. Suddenly I saw two young men on foot. They were wearing dark trousers and white shirts, and they were drenched from head to foot.
I opened the door of the taxi and called out, “Get in! I’m going to Monterrey.”
The taller one, who had a very fair complexion, replied, “We don’t have any money.”
“No charge,” I replied.
As I drove, we talked. They asked if they could share a message about Jesus Christ. I agreed and gave them my address.
When I got home, I woke my wife and told her about the two young men. “What a coincidence,” I said. “One is Mexican and the other American, and they are both named Elder.”
“Elder means missionary,” my wife answered, knowing just a little about the Church.
From deep within me, I felt something stir. These young men had left a feeling of exquisite wonder in my heart. I felt close to finding the water that would quench my thirst.
The missionaries came to our home, and I was happy to listen to them. Two weeks later, I was baptized. My wife was baptized four months later. Our oldest daughter had been receiving religious training at school. When she went to the LDS Church for the first time, she cried, “Papá, this is so much better than what I am learning at school!” She too was baptized.
In December 1995 we were sealed as a family in the México City México Temple for this life and for eternity. Now as a family we enjoy harmony, peace, and happiness. We know whom we worship. We know where we came from and where we are going. We love God’s holy word, especially the Book of Mormon, and we love His Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through these gifts we have found that well of living water the Savior spoke of to the woman of Samaria: “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 4:14).

Mother couldn’t help noticing the serious, thoughtful look on Eric’s face as they drove home from church. “How was Primary today, Eric?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn today?” Mother asked.
“We talked about choosing the right in our class, and Sharing Time was about temples.”
“I can’t think of anything more special to talk about than temples,” Mother cheerfully replied. But she noticed that the faraway look was still in Eric’s eyes as they pulled into the driveway. “After you change your clothes, would you please help me set the table for dinner?” she asked.
As they were setting the table, Eric asked, “You and Dad were married in the temple, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I’m sealed to you for eternity?”
“Right again,” Mother replied.
“I won’t get to go inside the temple until I’m grown up, will I?”
Mother reminded Eric that his brother, Nathan, who was twelve and a deacon, had gone to the temple the month before and had been baptized for the dead, and how he, Eric, could do that, too, when he was twelve and held the Aaronic Priesthood. She also told him that when he was nineteen and ordained an elder, he could go through the temple for his own endowments before leaving on his mission.
Eric smiled at Mother, “I’m really looking forward to doing both of those things, but it’s not the same as what Joey did. When Sister Jones asked today in Sharing Time if anyone had a special experience to tell about the temple, Joey told about the missionaries teaching his family and about their baptism. He said that a year after they were baptized, they went to the temple as a family and were sealed together. He told about how beautiful the temple is inside and about how special it was to be dressed all in white and kneel down by the altar with his mom and dad and brothers and sisters.
“Mom, that sounds so exciting! I wish I had a story about the temple that I could share.”
Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You do, Eric. I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
Mother always fixed someone’s favorite dinner on Sunday, and of course the best part was dessert. Today, though, Eric was anxious for a different kind of after-dinner treat. It made his day when his older sister, Angie, and Dad volunteered to clean up the dishes so that Mother could tell him the special temple story right away.
They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”
“Wow!” Eric exclaimed. “He had an important job, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mother said, “but sometimes it was dangerous, not only for him but for his family. One time while he was away on guard duty, a mob went to their home and told his wife that if there was anything in the house that she wanted, to get it out before they burned the house down. Sick at heart, she got everything out while the mob looked on. The cupboard was so heavy that she couldn’t move it alone, so one of the men helped her get it out. Then, while she and the children watched, the mobbers burned the house to the ground.
“Welcome and his family passed through many of the trials, persecutions, and other hardships that fell upon the Church and its members at that time.”
Eric had heard stories about the pioneers before, but he had never imagined that his very own grandparents had been some of them. It was exciting to picture Grandpa Welcome with the Prophet Joseph Smith. He also felt bad for their losing their home and having been treated cruelly. But he wondered what Mother told him had to do with the temple.
“You see,” she continued, “Welcome was a stonecutter, so when he was living in Kirtland, he was called to cut stone for the Kirtland Temple. Later, when the Saints were building the Nauvoo Temple, he cut stone for it. And it was in the Nauvoo Temple that many Saints, including Welcome, received their endowments.
“The Saints were driven out of Nauvoo in the early spring of 1846, and they began their long trek westward. Welcome and his family spent the first winter at Winter Quarters. That next spring, Welcome was appointed captain over the fourth company, which arrived at the Salt Lake Valley in the late summer of 1847.
“In 1849, Chief Walker, the Ute Indian chief, met in council with President Brigham Young. He requested the Mormon leader to send colonists to settle on their land. Welcome and his family went to help settle the town of Manti in the Sanpete Valley.
“On July 27, 1854, Welcome was sustained as the Manti Stake president. That afternoon, as they were baptizing some settlers who had been converted, a large crowd gathered. Among them was Chief Walker and many of his people. Welcome asked the chief if any of his people would like to be baptized. The chief replied that he did not know but would ask them. That day many Indians were baptized there.
“After serving as Manti Stake president for eight years, Welcome was called by President Young on a mission to cut stone for the Salt Lake Temple, which he did until he was seventy-five years old.”
Eric looked up at the picture on the wall of the Salt Lake Temple with a new feeling of reverence. He felt proud that one of his ancestors had cut stone for the beautiful temple. He also felt proud as he thought of the good and faithful life Welcome had lived.
Eric gave Mother a big hug and kiss and thanked her for telling him about Grandpa Welcome. “You know, Mom, not only do I have a temple story to share, but I also have a neat Grandpa that I didn’t know about before. I want to live my life like Grandpa Welcome did and do what Jesus wants me to do so I can go to the temple someday too.”