Gospel Story Finder

Sophie loved to sing. She sang at school, at her friends’ houses, and at home. Her favorite place to sing was at church.
“Mom,” Sophie asked one day, “I want to learn to sing better. Do you think I could take lessons?”
“That sounds like a fun idea,” Mom said. “Let me see what I can find.”
Singing wasn’t always easy for Sophie. She was deaf and couldn’t hear most sounds on her own. She had a special little device behind her ears to help her hear. Things sounded a little different to her than they did to other people. But Sophie still loved to sing.
“Good news, Sophie!” Mom said a few days later. “I found a class you can join. It’s a choir with other children who are learning to sing together. The teacher said you could start tomorrow!”
Sophie did a little dance. She was so excited!
But that night, she started to get nervous.
“Are you excited for your class tomorrow?” her big sister Kayla asked.
Sophie nodded. “Yes. But I’m also a little scared. I wish I didn’t have to go by myself.”
“You can do it!” Kayla said. “But would it help if I came with you? We can learn to sing together.”
Sophie hugged Kayla. “That would be awesome.”
The next morning, Sophie and Kayla got up early to go to their singing class. Nervous thoughts ran through Sophie’s head as she climbed into the car. What if she couldn’t understand the teacher? What if she didn’t make friends? What if people stared at her?
Mom pulled the car into the parking lot and turned around to look at Sophie. Sophie slid down low in her seat.
“I’m not sure I want to go anymore,” she said.
“What happened?” Mom asked. “You were so excited before.”
Sophie didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the ground and kicked her feet back and forth.
Mom smiled. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But if you get nervous, you can pray to Heavenly Father, and He will help you! Plus Kayla will be there too.”
Kayla held Sophie’s hand. “We’ve got this!” she said.
Sophie gulped. Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies, but she climbed out of the car anyway. She held tight onto Kayla’s hand as they walked into the classroom.
For the first few days of class, Sophie always sat by Kayla. Then one day Sophie noticed a girl who always sat by herself. Maybe she was scared too. Sophie went and sat next to her.
“Hi!” Sophie said. “Can I sit here?” The girl nodded. Soon they were laughing and singing together. Sophie was glad she had been brave enough to make a new friend.
Singing with the group was so much fun! Sophie loved learning the notes and tapping her foot to the beat of the music. She was even able to teach some of the other kids how to say the words in sign language.
One day the teacher had an exciting announcement. Everyone in the class would get to sing three solo parts in a special program. At home, Kayla and Sophie worked hard to practice their solos. Soon Sophie could sing her first two solo parts. But the last one was really hard! She couldn’t hear all the notes. How would she be able to sing it by herself in front of so many people?
Sophie remembered what Mom said about praying to Heavenly Father for help. She got down on her knees. “Heavenly Father, this last song is very hard for me. Could you help me find a way to sing it and not be so nervous?”
At her next singing class, Sophie’s teacher came up to her. “I know you’re nervous about your third solo. Would you like to sing that one with Kayla? It could bea sister solo!”
Sophie smiled. She felt warm and happy. She knew Heavenly Father was answering her prayer.
At the performance, Sophie sang her first two solos with confidence. When it was time for her third solo, she jumped up and grabbed Kayla’s hand. They walked up to the stage and sang the sister solo loud and proud. Sophie didn’t feel nervous or scared at all! Heavenly Father had answered her prayer in a way she didn’t expect, but she was so thankful that He always heard her.

The group leader of my high priests quorum is a solid and stalwart Latter-day Saint who was recently visited by a young returned missionary who came to sell him some insurance. Cashing in on his training in the mission field, the fellow assured the brother that he knew that he had the right policy for him just as he knew the gospel was true. Whereupon my friend, without further ado, ordered him out of the house. For one with a testimony should hold it sacred and not sell it for money. The early Christians called Christemporoi those who made merchandise of spiritual gifts or Church connections. The things of the world and the things of eternity cannot be thus conveniently conjoined, and it is because many people are finding this out today that I am constrained at this time to speak on this unpopular theme.

I moved away from home and went to college when I was 18 years old. I was not raised in the church. I felt like a stranger in the world. I felt the world was cruel and growing evermore increasingly wicked. I became anti-social and felt I could not trust anyone. I felt alone. I began to study4 at the university. It was there that I began to search5 diligently6 for answers about life: Where did we come from? Where are we going? Why are we here? I took classes in psychology, philosophy, science, and religion, looking for answers. I asked everyone I knew to explain the meaning of life. Some people would entertain my questions while others thought that I was strange for wanting to know, saying, "You think too much!"7

I was not satisfied with the answers I encountered among the philosophies of men.8 I wanted to know the truth9, and I began to look inside10 myself to find the answers. I began to trust the whisperings of my own conscience11even though it contradicted what the world12 had taught me. My father had taught me to trust my intuition and to listen inside13, that it would always guide me to truth. My father told me, as good fathers do, that I was unusual14, and that I was gifted15. My father told me that many people do not seek to know16 the meaning or the mysteries of life.

But, I also quickly became tempted by the adversary hearing him say things like "Surely there is no God17; that doesn't make any sense18; those are the things of a child19. You are not a child; you are a man20; men prosper by their own strength21, and when they die that is the end thereof22." And being deceived23, I decided not to believe in God24. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life25began to seduce me; and I was ignorant in unbelief26. Wherefore men are free to choose liberty and eternal life, or to choose captivity and death, according to the power and captivity of the devil27.

And I chose sin. And the wages of sin is death28. The great dark abyss29 of the adversary had blinded my mind30.

Thus we see how subtly31 and carefully32 the devil does lead away the hearts of the children of men. For behold, he shall rage in the hearts of the children of men, and stir them up to anger against that which is good. And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security—and thus he cheats their souls, and leads them away carefully down to hell. And behold, others he flatters away, and tells them there is no hell; and he says unto them: I am no devil, for there is none—and thus he whispers in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance.33

During that depressing period of my life I truly mourned34. My sorrow had made me meek35, humble, and teachable. As a result, I diligently hungered and thirsted after righteousness36. If I had never suffered, I would never have had the desire to find a better way. My trials prepared me to look for God. So, as it happened one day, as on many other occasions, I lay flat on my back and stared at the ceiling while considering my miserable state37. For so long, I had been buried under the oppressive weight of a guilty conscience. With no one to turn to, I poured out my whole soul to God38. I wept, and being in an agony, I prayed more earnestly. I begged God for forgiveness and pleaded with him over and over again to save my soul from hell40, saying, “God, save me¬—please God, save me.”

For a man sometimes, if he is compelled to be humble, seeks repentance. And whosoever repents shall find mercy; and he that finds mercy and endures to the end the same shall be saved.41

I was proselyted by many faiths. I briefly attended a number of different churches. I remember the pastor in a certain church was friendly and gave me a Bible. He outlined the passages of scripture that I should read to begin to establish a relationship with the Lord. The pastor invited me to read and pray on my own, privately, to know whether or not the things of the gospel were true42. The pastor explained the function of the Holy Spirit43, that it is a witness for the truth. He explained, "The Holy Spirit is like a light44 that is born at the very center of your heart45 ." I began to feel the burning sensations in my heart46 when we would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt overwhelmed and inspired by the Holy Spirit47 as I read the scriptures. I prayed sincerely48 to ask God about Jesus Christ49. Is Jesus Christ the Savior of the world? “Never man spake like this man.”50 As I humbled myself to pray, I felt like a little child51 who was asking his father about the world for the first time. To whom shall we go?52 And Father in Heaven53 revealed54 the truth to me55. “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leads unto life, and few there be that find it.”56

During that period while I was struggling to find my way in life, my father told me that the way he overcame his difficult times was through practicing the teachings of certain self-help books. My father had given me many of the same books to read in an attempt to help and inspire me. Out of all the books that my father had given me to read regarding self-help and success, one stood out above the rest: you guessed it,
"The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People." I read the book several times and also listened to it on tape and compact disc. The first time I read the book and finished it, something touched my heart.57 I knew it was true. There was something different about the book. It gave me hope that there were upright and honest people in the world who wanted good for others and lived by principles. I wanted to know more about Stephen Covey, who he was and where he got his information for his book. I would go to the Franklin Covey store to buy new books. While there, I inquired of the employees and manager about who Stephen Covey was, where he was from, and what he was like. I wanted to find the source58 of the information.

I discovered that Stephen Covey was from Utah and that he was an active member of the Mormon Church. I knew nothing about the Mormons. I had heard the word Mormon59 but didn't know what it meant. I figured that Stephen Covey must have gathered a lot of the information from his religion to write the book, even though the author makes no direct reference to the Church. Consequently, I thought that if Stephen Covey was any good representation of who a Mormon is, then I wanted to know more about the Mormon religion, deducing that it must teach similar values. Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them.60 All of the employees that worked in the Franklin Covey store were members of the Church, and I became friends with them. One day during a religious discussion in the Franklin Covey store, my new friends invited me to attend church. I said that I would consider it. After an hour of contemplation, I returned to accept the invitation to attend the Mormon church for the first time the coming Sunday. “Thus we see that by small and simple means great things are brought to pass.”61

On March 7, 1999, I attended the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time. One month later on April 4, I was baptized. I received the gift of the Holy Ghost and was confirmed a member of the Church. On May 8, 1999, I was ordained to the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. On March 5, 2000, I was ordained to the office of elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. One month later, I received my patriarchal blessing. I completed the yearlong membership requirement and submitted my mission papers. Three weeks later, I received my own temple endowments. And a week after that, I received my mission call to serve in the Panama City, Panama – Spanish-speaking Mission. On July 5, 2000, after one year and three months of membership in the church, I entered the MTC in Provo. In 2002, I returned home honorably from my mission. In 2005, I was sealed to my wife for time and all eternity in the San Diego Temple. On September 2, 2009, I became a father to my son Wyatt. On August 28, 2011, my wife gave birth to our daughter Saatchi, and we are expecting our third child in January. There is no greater joy in life than having your own children.

If Heavenly Father through his infinite mercy was willing to make something out of my life, he will certainly make something out of you. You are so much further ahead than I was at your age. “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”

In September 2020, with the declining health of our parents and the instability of the COVID-19 pandemic, we relocated my sweet 83-year-old parents from their home of 45 years in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Cedar Hills, Utah, to be closer to family, making it easier for us to help care for them.
As you can imagine, this move was difficult for them on many levels. Residing in Las Vegas for most of their married years, they enjoyed their independence and the relationships they built there. They owned a lovely home and prided themselves on having an open door when family passed through. Giving up home ownership after 66 years and downsizing into a small rental home in a new state was challenging. Now they had to say goodbye to everything familiar to them, including friends they’d shared years of memories and experiences with and people they’d grown close to while serving in various callings.
At the time of the move, Church meetings were held remotely. Our parents worried how they would be able to get to know the people of their new ward when there was no opportunity to go to church and build new friendships. How could they possibly feel at home in these circumstances?
We found them a small rental home in a neighborhood in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward, unaware of what a special place it would turn out to be.
Because we had simplified their belongings for the move and didn’t need assistance with moving bulky items, we hadn’t contacted the ward leadership to announce their arrival. That didn’t matter. Within five minutes of our pulling in with the moving van, neighbors arrived at the door, gloves on, asking how they could help. Homemade muffins were delivered and cold drinks offered to our family members helping with the move.
On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.
Later that month the youth of the ward secretly covered their front door with notes of welcome and love. The first week of November, some deacons asked if they could come by and meet Mom and Dad. About seven young men and their leaders spent time with them, introducing themselves through get-to-know-you topics such as favorite foods, where they went to school, and what they did for after-school activities. The deacons followed up by asking our parents questions about how things were when they grew up and how they met.
These youth continued to come by at least monthly, sometimes just to drop off a treat or to check in. They caroled at Christmastime and brought a lovely holiday basket of food and treats. Because of these simple kindnesses, Dad could call the boys by name when he saw them and had a sense of familiarity with the ward, even though they weren’t able to meet in person for Sunday meetings.
A girl in the ward was invited in her home evening to say hello to someone new, and she chose Mom and Dad. She proceeded to build a relationship with them, coming over almost every day with a treat or to drop off a flower she had picked from her yard.
Our parents were asked to create a short video introducing themselves that was shown at the ward Christmas party. Every time there was a ward activity or gathering, our parents were reminded and offered a ride by someone. Special treats and hand-colored cards were delivered on their birthdays and holidays, and kind neighbors shoveled their driveway, sprayed the lawn for dandelions, and pulled their trash cans in every week. The ward members made a special effort to call them by name, recognized them at the grocery store, and helped them feel like they belonged.
Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.
With Mom’s dementia, one activity she was drawn to was sweeping. A kind neighbor recognized this and allowed her to come and sweep around them as they pulled bushes from their front yard, all the while making Mom feel like she was the one providing the service.
Dad was invited to participate in the ward choir and made to feel he was a valued addition. At age 84, he was called to work in the Young Men organization as a specialist with the deacons, gaining a feeling of relevance and contribution.
After only a year, they felt at home, that they mattered, that they could still make a difference. They were never made to feel like they were a burden or just “another renter” in the neighborhood. My heart is full as I contemplate the Lord’s words in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Well done, Cedar Hills Sixth Ward!

The family’s next stop was Norway. The fjords along Norway’s jagged coast were magnificent. Milo learned that scientists believed the coastal valleys sank and were flooded by the ocean during the ice age more than one million years ago. The steep cliffs went straight down into the cold blue water. The inlets looked like long slim lakes even though one end opened into the sea.
The rocky islands called skerries interested Milo too. They jutted out of the sea along the shore, taking the brunt of the wind whipped up on stormy seas.
Milo read the old Viking tales about their ships, and he saw them come to life at the harbor in Trondheim.
One day Milo went skiing with his father, a sport that originated in the Telemark region of Norway.
“Come along, Milo,” said Father. “Let’s try the Norwegian ski slopes.”
Milo checked his gear, pushed off, and called, “See you later, Dad.”
It was clear and crisp as he went skiing down the mountain. What a great sport! “Hooray for Norway!” he sang out. “Hooray for Norway!”
Suddenly he saw two dark figures against the white snow on the trail ahead of him. But Milo tried to turn too sharply and found himself upended in the snow. A man and a boy came over to see if he was all right.
“I’m Chris,” said the boy, helping Milo up. “Why didn’t you call out?”
“Call out?” Milo said, rather puzzled. “What do you mean? Should I have said, get out of my way?”
“No,” said Chris, “but if you had called av vei (clear of the course) when you left the hill, the echo would have carried down here. We would have been prepared for you and could have made room for you to go by.”
“Is this a custom like calling ‘fore’ in golf?” asked Milo’s father, who had followed his son down the hill.
“Something like that,” the man answered.
“Well,” said Milo’s father on the way home. “You have learned something new today.”
“I have learned two new words,” said Milo.
“You’ve not only learned the words,” said his father, “but when to use them.”

Scripture chasing is a popular pastime in many seminaries throughout the Church. In most cases seminary students learn to find scriptures within seconds after being given a clue or situation. Competition is intensified when youth are put on teams and given points for their speed and accuracy. And in the Champaign Illinois Stake, even the media took notice.
The students were given the challenge to memorize 40 scriptures in the Old Testament. The objective was to learn to locate the scriptures and then apply them in daily life. During practice sessions the students were given (1) a short clue, usually one word, (2) a verbal description of a life situation, or (3) a picture of some event. They then had to find the specific scripture in 15 seconds. The time was gradually reduced until each student could find every scripture in just a few seconds.
Out of 250 home-study and early morning seminary students in the Champaign Stake area, 15 became finalists in a run-off competition. In May 1976 the students with the fastest times formed three teams of five members each. Final competition between the teams was telecast over commercial television. The winning team, Robert Woolley, Carol Burdock, Deann Veach, Sue Ellen Emery, and Carol Retz, were given award plaques for their accomplishment.

One of the greatest gifts I ever received from my father is one I don’t even remember. He never talked about it. That was Dad’s way. I learned about it many years later from my mother.
Both my mother and father had been raised as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but Dad’s habit of smoking had kept them from being married in the temple. The loving bishop who performed my parents’ civil ceremony encouraged them to set a goal to marry in the temple before their children came. They were still working on that goal when I joined the family.
By the time my second birthday was approaching, my parents still had not been to the temple. Mom really wanted to be sealed as a family before a second child came, but Dad was still using tobacco.
Sometimes I wish I could remember what happened on my second birthday, because that’s when I received the gift. My father came home from work that night in early November, and after setting aside his lunch bucket and taking off his coat, he picked me up. “Gary,” he said, “I have a special birthday present for you.” Mom said she was surprised because she knew Dad didn’t have extra money to purchase a gift for me.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, Dad took out a partially used packet of cigarettes and handed them to me. Mom started to object, but Dad held up his hand as if to say, “This is between my son and me.”
Quietly, he then said to me, “I have thought about this for several days. I have decided I don’t want you, my son, to ever remember your father smoking. My gift to you today is that I am giving up my cigarettes, and I will never smoke again.”
And that was the end of his tobacco habit. He must have struggled to quit smoking so abruptly. Although I don’t remember it, that was his special gift to me. But it was more than that.
A few months later, with my mother pregnant with my brother, we made our way to the Logan Utah Temple, where we were sealed together as a forever family.
I am truly grateful for that gift given many years ago from my loving and caring father.

David Whitmer, in 1878, told Joseph F. Smith and Orson Pratt a story that includes three more visits, the fifteenth through seventeenth. He was traveling with Oliver Cowdery and Joseph Smith to Fayette, New York to finish the translation when “a very pleasant, nice-looking old man suddenly appeared by the side of our wagon and saluted us with, ‘good morning, it is very warm,’ at the same time wiping his face or forehead with his hand. We returned the greeting, and, by a sign from Joseph, I invited him to ride if he was going our way. But he said very pleasantly, ‘No, I am going to Cumorah.’ This name was something new to me, I did not know what Cumorah meant. We all gazed at him and at each other, and as I looked around inquiringly of Joseph, the old man instantly disappeared, so that I did not see him again.
“Joseph F. Smith: Did you notice his appearance?
“David Whitmer: I should think I did. He was … about one and one-half meters tall … ; he was dressed in a suit of brown woolen clothes, his hair and beard were white. I also remember that he had on his back a sort of backpack with something in [it] shaped like a book. It was the messenger who had the plates, who had taken them from Joseph just prior to our starting from Harmony. Soon after our arrival home, I saw something which led me to the belief that the plates were placed or concealed in my father’s barn. I frankly asked Joseph if my supposition was right, and he told me it was.” (Minutes of the School of the Prophets, Salt Lake Stake, 3 October 1883.)

The pulpit in the Conference Center has a unique story. Following is President Gordon B. Hinckley’s account:
“I love trees. When I was a boy we lived on a farm in the summer, a fruit farm. Every year at this season we planted trees. I think I have never missed a spring since I was married, except for two or three years when we were absent from the city, that I have not planted trees. …
“Some 36 years ago I planted a black walnut [tree]. It was in a crowded area where it grew straight and tall to get the sunlight. A year ago, for some reason it died. But walnut is a precious furniture wood. I called Brother Ben Banks of the Seventy, who, before giving his full time to the Church, was in the business of hardwood lumber. He brought his two sons, one a bishop and the other recently released as a bishop and who now run the business, to look at the tree. From all they could tell it was solid, good, and beautiful wood. One of them suggested that it would make a pulpit for this hall. The idea excited me. The tree was cut down and then cut into two heavy logs. Then followed the long process of drying, first naturally and then kiln drying. The logs were cut into boards at a sawmill in Salem, Utah. The boards were then taken to Fetzer’s woodworking plant, where expert craftsmen designed and built this magnificent pulpit with that wood.
“The end product is beautiful. I wish all of you could examine it closely. It represents superb workmanship, and here I am speaking to you from the tree I grew in my backyard, where my children played and also grew.
“It is an emotional thing for me. I have planted another black walnut or two. I will be long gone before they mature. When that day comes and this beautiful pulpit has grown old, perhaps one of them will do to make a replacement. To Elder Banks and his sons, Ben and Bradley, and to the skilled workers who have designed and built this, I offer my profound thanks for making it possible to have a small touch of mine in this great hall where the voices of prophets will go out to all the world in testimony of the Redeemer of mankind.”

I was baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my mid-20s in London, joining a host of new young single adult friends in my newfound faith. During the first sacrament meeting following my baptism, I was asked to come to the front of the chapel, and the congregation was invited to raise their hands as a sign of welcome to the ward and to the Church.
This was an unfamiliar practice to me. But I looked into those smiling faces, and I felt as if they were cheering me on, genuinely thrilled that I had discovered faith in Jesus Christ and a desire to follow Him. Many of my new friends had recently experienced this same welcome and transition into a life of faith.
A week later, I was invited to meet with the bishop. He had taken time to get to know me when I was being taught by the missionaries. He rocked back in his chair, thwacking a ruler into his palm, and told me that we were meeting because he had a calling for me. He had prayed—about me—and he told me the calling would be of benefit to me and my future service to the Lord in His Church. He extended the calling of assistant ward clerk. The reaction in my mind was, “Assistant ward clerk? Well, that is not me!” Fortunately, a little grace intervened, and I responded with a “thank you” and that I would endeavour to learn what was involved. I did not have a clue.
At church the next Sunday, I was asked to stand as my calling was announced. My ward family was invited to raise their hands if they agreed to sustain me. Comfortingly, I saw those same raised hands and smiling faces surrounding me in the congregation, reassuring me that these new friends would support me with their goodwill, patience, and faith.
The ward clerk I was to be “assisting” came straight to me at the end of the meeting and said, “Come on, Patrick. I’ll show you how this works.” Over the coming months, he did show me how everything worked, sitting side by side, often for hours—in the small clerk’s office. (To be clear, that’s a small office for clerks, not an office for small clerks.)
Other callings followed. My bishop kept a loving eye on me and eventually shared that he had felt prompted by the Lord to extend callings which would be stretching for me but, he trusted, not overwhelming. I came to see purpose and power in each calling I received, and with hindsight, the bishop’s inspiration came to make sense to me.

Once there was a man who dreamed that he was in a great hall where all the religions of the world were gathered. He realized that each religion had much that seemed desirable and worthy.
He met a nice couple who represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked, “What do you require of your members?”
“We do not require anything,” they replied. “But the Lord asks that we consecrate all.”
The couple went on to explain about Church callings, home and visiting teaching, full-time missions, weekly family home evenings, temple work, welfare and humanitarian service, and assignments to teach.
“Do you pay your people for all the work they do?” the man asked.
“Oh, no,” the couple explained. “They offer their time freely.”
“Also,” the couple continued, “every six months our Church members spend a weekend attending or watching 10 hours of general conference.”
“Ten hours of people giving talks?” the man wondered.
“What about your weekly church services? How long are they?”
“Three hours, every Sunday!”
“Oh, my,” the man said. “Do members of your church actually do what you have said?”
“That and more. We haven’t even mentioned family history, youth camps, devotionals, scripture study, leadership training, youth activities, early-morning seminary, maintaining Church buildings, and of course there is the Lord’s law of health, the monthly fast to help the poor, and tithing.”
The man said, “Now I’m confused. Why would anyone want to join such a church?”
The couple smiled and said, “We thought you would never ask.”

I was dealing with some personal issues. One day I wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t really want to go to seminary. But I thought, “It’s my last year, and I’ve got to take advantage of it.”
So I went, and we talked about how Jesus Christ knows each of us by name. We read Doctrine and Covenants 18:10: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” I started to get emotional as I highlighted the verse. When I get emotional, I cry a lot, so I didn’t want to read it again in class.
Later the teacher asked, “What interested you the most, and why?” I didn’t want to talk, but a friend of mine mentioned that scripture. She bore her testimony that God isn’t going to leave us alone, that sometimes we’ll forget, but He knows us and He’ll be there for us.
When I heard that, it felt like it was Heavenly Father speaking to me through my friend. It was like He was saying, “Don’t turn from me—I’m here.”
Afterward I went to dry off my face, and my friend came over to me. She said, “I wasn’t going to share, but I felt I needed to because it would help someone. I didn’t know that someone was you.” That confirmed to me even more that Heavenly Father is mindful of me.
After seminary, I went home and prayed. Normally, I give thanks and ask for things. But that prayer—I think it was the most grateful prayer I’ve ever said. I felt the Spirit in my room, and I felt that Heavenly Father was there with me.

Carlos knows that sacrifice brings blessings.
“My brother Set and I have autism. This made it really hard for me to study in school. Then my mom invited us to read the scriptures in the mornings as a family, and it helped me so much. It gave me a boost in school and helped me be self-sufficient.
“Another time, I didn’t want to go to a youth conference because I was really busy with a class in school. But I went, and I felt like I was blessed to do better in the class than I thought I would. Because of these experiences, I postponed my university studies and am preparing to go on a mission. I know that sacrifice will help me again.”

I was stumped by the question. A night at the movies with a friend had somehow turned into a one-hour discussion about religion. We’d discussed our beliefs and read Bible verses, and now my friend had posed this question:
“Why are you going to serve a mission?”
I’d been preparing for my mission all my life, and now, somehow, I couldn’t come up with a good answer. Why would I give up two years of my life—college, scholarships, friends, family—for a mission? It didn’t seem logical from a worldly point of view.
I don’t remember my answer from that night, but whatever it was, it didn’t satisfy me. I pondered the question over and over again for the next several months.
One day I was chatting online with a friend. She’d met with the missionaries but wasn’t really feeling the Spirit, and another friend of ours kept encouraging her to listen to the missionaries. She asked me why our friend was so eager, and I told her, “Well, if you had something in your life that meant everything to you, you would be a pretty bad friend if you didn’t try to share it with others!”
Suddenly, my answer started to come to me. As I lay in bed that night, I remembered a time when I’d felt the Holy Ghost very strongly. I’d been struggling with a decision; I’d finally prayed about it and felt an overwhelming sense of joy and peace, knowing that everything would work out. I realized how much I wanted everybody to feel that same feeling. I thought about how if you discovered a cure for cancer, you wouldn’t just hide it in a laboratory—you’d share it with the world! I understood that the gospel was a “cure” for all of life’s problems, so why wouldn’t I want to share it with others? I realized that nothing the world offers can ever measure up to the wonderful opportunity of serving the Lord and sharing the gospel with others.

Some years ago I heard a story about a little boy in Primary class who was asked to say the opening prayer.
“Heavenly Father,” said the boy, “I thank thee for the letter A. I thank thee for the letter B. I thank thee for the letter C.”
The teacher realized this could be a very long prayer, but she restrained herself from stopping him.
He went on to give thanks for every letter of the alphabet through Z. Then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for the number one. I thank thee for the number two.” And so on he went.
His teacher nearly panicked. She didn’t know how high the boy could count. She felt she had to stop him, but again something seemed to restrain her. The boy kept on praying until he reached the number twenty. And then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for my Primary teacher, who is the only grown-up that ever let me finish my prayer.”

I had found the path I had been looking for. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who had given me talents and wanted me to develop them. I found myself loved by people who accepted me the way I was and who taught me how to grow as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I knew that I had a Father who expected something from me and that I could no longer hide behind my shyness.
I began to learn and progress. I fulfilled several callings in the Church. Through the Relief Society, I learned many things that have helped me grow materially and spiritually. I have participated in dances, theater, and choir. I have organized programs. I have learned several crafts, and now I am studying music.
Today I am nearly 60 years old and currently serve as education counselor in the stake Relief Society presidency. My husband and I also serve in the São Paulo Temple. I am still shy, but I don’t hide myself when I am doing God’s work. The Church has taught me that in the eyes of God there are no inadequate people.

When Steve and I were dating, I used to go sit on the beach while he would surf, often with a book in my hand to pass the time. Once, when the surf was really big, I climbed up into a platform that had been built into a tree so that I could see better. It was 12 to 15 feet at Sunset Beach, and Steve was practically beside himself with excitement.

The next couple of hours were some of the worst of my life. I don’t know how close any of you have been to 15 foot waves, but these were huge and close to closing out the break—which means unsurfable. You also have to keep in mind that Hawaiian surfers measure from the back of the wave, which means that the face of the wave, what you and I see from the beach, is double the size of the back of the wave.

For most of that time, I couldn’t even see him. I would see him catch a wave and then disappear into the huge crashing white wash. Then I would search desperately until I saw him catch the next wave. It was not fun. I kept thinking, “Is he going to make it back out? Am I going to lose him? What if he doesn’t come back up after this one?”

When he finally paddled in, I scrambled down out of the tree and ran to meet him. He was grinning ear to ear and totally pumped. “Steven,” I said, “don’t ever bring me to watch you in surf that big again.”

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have gone to watch him. I’ve lived on islands all my life. I know what big surf looks like, and I know the dangers involved. This was just the first time that someone I loved was out there in that crazy stuff! Steve and I worked out a compromise—he continued to surf big waves, and my rule of thumb as a spectator became 8 feet or under.

We must be careful of the misuse of credit. The use of credit cards in many places has increased consumer debt to staggering proportions. I am reminded of the story of “an elderly farmer [who] wrote to a mail order house as follows: ‘Please send me one of the gasoline engines you show on page 787, and if it’s any good, I’ll send you a check.’
“In time he received the following reply: ‘Please send check. If it’s any good, we’ll send the engine.’”

While I was on a Navy ship headed toward Japan, I attended Church meetings. Only a few Church members were on that tour of duty, but they could always answer my questions. When you are raised in the Church and hear the gospel, the Holy Ghost will help you remember what you’ve been taught so that you can teach other people.
I decided I wanted to be baptized. Back then a person usually investigated the Church for a year. Although I had only been investigating it for five months, the members on the ship felt that I was ready to be baptized. So on February 25, 1952, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because it was February, it was extremely cold outside where I was baptized. In fact, there was a layer of ice on top of the baptismal font!

This question from Sister Yee reminded me of a lesson learned from my daughter. When she was small, Paige used to hate Band-Aids. Some kids run to their moms for a Band-Aid for every little owie, but Paige never wanted one. To her, needing a Band-Aid meant that she was really hurt. As long as I didn’t offer her one, she would bravely handle all the scrapes and cuts that came her way. But the minute I insisted that she needed a Band-Aid, she would get upset and, I believe, actually feel more physical pain.

Are we like this when we have need of the spiritual Band-Aid of daily repentance? Do we avoid repentance as much as possible, thinking that surely this little thing in our lives is not big enough to require repentance? Instead, let us become like the little child who quickly runs to our Father every time we have a tiny bump or bruise. Let us come to Him each night and morning and ask for His healing balm to bind up our wounds. Making repentance a daily practice will prepare us to receive ordinances and to make and keep covenants with our Savior.