Gospel Story Finder

After the initial strain and misunderstandings that stemmed from my conversion to the Church, my family members and I learned to apply tolerance and respect in our relationships with each other. For example, once I became a Latter-day Saint, I participated in different Sunday activities. Instead of playing soccer, I attended church. When my family members realized why I changed my Sunday activities, they showed understanding and respect. In the same way, I was respectful of their traditions. For instance, I did not criticize my parents for not having family prayer. Mutual respect has been very important in our family.

Consider Girish Ghimire, who was born and raised in the country of Nepal. As a teenager, he studied in China, where a classmate introduced him to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Eventually, Girish came to Brigham Young University for graduate work and met his future wife. They settled in the Salt Lake Valley and adopted two children from Nepal.

Years later, when more than 1,500 refugees from camps in Nepal were relocated to Utah,1 Girish felt inspired to help. With native-language fluency and cultural understanding, Girish served as an interpreter, teacher, and mentor. After resettling in the community, some of the Nepali refugees demonstrated interest in the gospel. A Nepali-speaking branch was organized, and Girish later served as its branch president. He was also instrumental in translating the Book of Mormon into Nepali.

Can you see how Heavenly Father prepared and is using Girish?

Allie looked around Grandfather Snow’s office in the Salt Lake Temple. “It’s late! We’re the only ones here.”
“Sorry, my dear,” her grandpa said with a smile. “I’ve been telling you too many stories.”
“Please don’t apologize. I’ve always loved your stories.” Allie hugged her grandfather, Lorenzo Snow, the fifth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I’ll walk you to the front entrance and let you out,” he said. “The night watchmen haven’t arrived yet, and the doors are all locked.” They walked out of his office into the hall.
Allie had married Noah Pond in a nearby room in the temple just three years ago. Now Noah was away in Sweden serving a mission. Allie missed him. But she knew he was serving the Lord, just as she and her family had done in Hawaii.
“Wait a moment, Allie,” Grandpa said. “I want to tell you something. Do you remember when President Wilford Woodruff died?”
Allie remembered well. It had only been a year ago, and Grandpa Snow had been worried about the responsibility of being the next President of the Church. He had prayed that President Woodruff would not die. When President Woodruff passed away, Grandpa had come to the Salt Lake Temple as soon as he heard the news.
To succeed means to be the next in line to fill a position. Ever since the deaths of the Prophet Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, the Lord has chosen the man who has been an Apostle for the longest time to become the next President of the Church.
“It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me. He told me to go right ahead and reorganize the First Presidency at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff,” Grandpa said.
Grandpa held out his hand. “He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.”
Allie stood very still as she felt the Spirit confirm the truth of these words. The Savior had appeared in this very spot in the temple and told her grandpa about his calling as President of the Church! Grandpa continued to describe the Savior’s hands, feet, face, and beautiful white robes. He said they were so white and bright that he could hardly look at the Savior.
Then Grandpa put his hand on her head. “Now, Granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with Him face to face.”
Allie hugged Grandpa at the door and quietly made her way home. Her heart felt warm, and she knew that Jesus Christ really had appeared to Grandpa. The Savior lived, and He was the head of His Church. This was truly a night to remember.

Seventh, don’t complain. Life isn’t always fair. That’s a fact. But it’s always charged with marvelous opportunities if you know how to find them. I remember once when I was working as hard as I knew how. I happened to be working for a man who took all of the ideas and suggestions and work that I did and passed them on to his superior as though they were his own suggestions. For a while I was really upset about that. As I pondered it, a thought came to me, and I decided from then on I would write reports to him of everything that I was doing or trying to do, and I sent a copy to his boss. He didn’t like that, but it worked beautifully.

It was 7:45 a.m. on a rainy August morning here in Freetown, Sierra Leone, West Africa. We (the full-time missionaries in the Freetown District) had planned a baptismal service and were determined to hold it, rain or shine. It was then I received a call from Brother Allieu, a member from our branch, but I could not totally understand what he was saying, as he was speaking rapidly in Krio, the local language. I told him to take a deep breath and speak slowly. He did so and said, “Elder Naeata, there is no water for the baptismal font. I am sorry. There is no water.”
I thanked him for the call and then announced the bad news to the other elders. Immediately we began to think of how we could still perform this sacred ordinance. It was then that Elder Agamah reminded us of the waterfall and pond up the mountain nearby in a place called Mellow. The elders all agreed we should try and hold the baptism there, so we obtained permission to do so.
As everyone gathered later that morning at the bottom of the mountain, the group came to a stark realization of the formidable task looming ahead. However, the determined company had no sign of hesitation to press forward. Men and women and even children walked and talked happily up the wet and slippery trail. Gradually ascending, we took a short detour to cross the river.
As we hiked, the zeal of some in the party began to fade when the rain picked up, but we pressed forward with hope. Still, the rugged path seemed to have no end. Finally we arrived at our destination. Our hearts were happy, but the rain persisted to beat down upon us. As we prepared for the baptismal service, we took refuge from the rain under a large mango tree.
We opened by singing the hymn “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). After the opening devotional we went to the baptismal site. The water was rushing off the falls and into the pond where we would perform the sacred ordinance.
A father entered the pond and helped his son into the water when, suddenly, the rain stopped. The rays of the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the pond. We could feel the presence of the Spirit. After the father baptized his son, a husband baptized his wife, and then the elders baptized their investigators. The sun continued to shine, as did the smiles on our faces.
We closed the service by singing “Come, Follow Me” (Hymns, no. 116). Yes, indeed, we did follow Him. We followed our Savior up and down the mountain, across full, flowing creeks, up the steep and wet trails, and through the rain. And those who were baptized truly followed the Savior’s example as they entered the waters of baptism.

Lately our family had been praying to strengthen the family bond. The answer to our prayer really came in a shocking way. Can you imagine this? Three teenagers and a nine-year-old down with the chicken pox the last week of summer vacation. We had to live together 24 hours a day in the same house for a week and a half straight. That was a trial! We all learned to get along. Each day we compared our skin to see whose was worse. My oldest brother won. We made this awful experience fun. We talked about walking down the beach looking like this in our swimsuits and other crazy ideas that made the situation seem funny. Unfortunately it did not ease the itch. We decided to be more specific when we prayed. We are all involved with each others’ lives and feelings. We are now closer than ever.

As I pray for the Lord to open my eyes to see things I might not normally see, I often ask myself two questions and pay attention to the impressions that come: “What am I doing that I should stop doing?” and “What am I not doing that I should start doing?”

Months ago, during the sacrament, I asked myself these questions and was surprised by the impression that came. “Stop looking at your phone when you are waiting in lines.” Looking at my phone in lines had become almost automatic; I found it a good time to multitask, catch up on email, look at headlines, or scroll through a social media feed.

The next morning, I found myself waiting in a long line at the store. I pulled out my phone and then remembered the impression I had received. I put my phone away and looked around. I saw an elderly gentleman in line ahead of me. His cart was empty except for a few cans of cat food. I felt a little awkward but said something really clever like, “I can see you have a cat.” He said that a storm was coming, and he did not want to be caught without cat food. We visited briefly, and then he turned to me and said, “You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but today is my birthday.” My heart melted. I wished him a happy birthday and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not been on my phone and missed an opportunity to truly see and connect with another person who needed it.

On your mark, get set, go!
And the winner is …
… Nathan!
You get to go to the Provincial Track Meet! You’ll race against the fastest kids in British Columbia.
No way! I can’t wait.
Later that week …
Your coach just sent over the schedule for the meet.
Oh no … the meet is on Sunday!
Should I go? What if this is my only chance? I might not make it again next year.
Sorry, Coach. I don’t do races on Sunday. I want to keep the Sabbath day holy.
I’m glad I put Christ first. I know I made the right choice.

The first Sunday I attended church with the missionaries, I recognized people I had grown up with and knew from the community. I saw one of my best friends from school, the elementary and high school secretaries, a girl I had not been exceptionally nice to in the past, and even a young man I once had a crush on.
Each of these individuals had a lasting impact on me. My best friend was a young woman of great integrity, and because of her I chose to continue investigating the Church. The secretaries who remembered me from school helped me know that I am important. I learned about godly love and charity from the young woman who embraced me despite my less-than-kind behavior toward her in the past. My early teenage crush set such a good example, I recognized his light and wanted to be around him.
These experiences helped me learn that, even before my first exposure to the missionaries, Heavenly Father had prepared me to receive the gospel through the people He placed around me. From them I learned that the small things we do can have great effect. Most important, I have learned that missionary work starts with me.

But just like the pioneers, I had to adapt to the place where I had arrived. It was a world unknown to me—wonderful, but unknown. The way people dressed, the way they talked, the way they acted were all new to me. I didn’t always understand the meanings of the phrases commonly used in the Church. For example, when talking to people who had been members for longer than I had, they might talk about someone whom they described as a “powerful member,” meaning someone who was righteous and a good example to others. My idea of power was different. These things were common knowledge to the rest of them, but I had to learn them.
This period of transition from investigator to active member was not easy. Fortunately, like the pioneers, I was never alone. Sandro and other understanding members were always close by to answer my questions, simple as they were, and to guide me on the path I had undertaken. My leaders were concerned enough to see that I remained worthy and received the priesthood, and later I was able to serve as a counselor to the bishop. My teachers always took care to see that I was nourished by the good word of God. I realize now that through these good people, the Lord helped me stay strong in the Church.

By Francisco Lázaro Campos de Sousa, Brazil

During an elders quorum presidency meeting, I felt a desire to meet a quorum member who wasn’t active, someone I hadn’t met. One day after shopping I felt an urge to go to his home. I hesitated, but the feelings to meet him intensified. I introduced myself and said things that came to mind. I told him that the Lord needed him, and he needed the Lord.

He shared his pain of loneliness and other difficulties. “You’ll find friends in the quorum who will help and support,” I told him. He readily accepted my invitation and attended Sabbath meetings.

I didn’t know him at first, but the Lord did and felt his heart. My conviction was reaffirmed. As we minister to our Father’s children and pray to know their needs, the Lord leads us to them. We share in the joyful experience of “lift[ing] up the hands which hang down, and strengthen[ing] the feeble knees” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).

As we minister to our Father’s children and pray to know their needs, the Lord leads us to them.

My family recently moved to a branch in a neighboring stake. Being the only branch member who can play the piano, I was called as pianist for sacrament meetings. Up to this time, I’ve only played classical and popular tunes. The challenge to learn hymns quickly has been a struggle. Now, rather than hearing applause for my playing, I hear the beautiful voices of the branch members as they sing the hymns in praise of our Heavenly Father.
Robyn P., 18, Tennessee, USA

“I love the Personal Progress program. I have learned to do things I never knew I could,” says Mindy Sutton of the Twenty Wells Ward. Mindy believed a choir experience would help the youth in her Grantsville Utah Stake feel the Spirit in their lives, and Mindy needed a Laurel project. So she organized and directed a choir for stake Standards Night.
But the task wasn’t easy. Mindy says although she loves music, she has no natural ability. In fact, she was very discouraged after the first practice. “It was so hard to be in front of my peers trying to tell them what to do. But my stake leaders encouraged me to pray for help and promised the Lord would bless me.”
She went home and fasted and prayed. Her prayers were answered when the choir’s outstanding performance two months later not only brought the Spirit into the choir members’ lives but inspired those in attendance.
“I feel a lot closer to my Heavenly Father and know He has helped me so much,” Mindy says.

I’d have to say that it all started with a bad attitude. When I was about ten years old, I formed the opinion that most people around me weren’t as “good” as they thought they were. This feeling of disillusionment grew as I grew.
While there were other youth in the ward, even others my age, who enjoyed church and got something out of it, my friends and I became the group that caused so many problems for their Sunday School teachers that the teachers would quit. And we were proud of making them quit.
The members of the ward really didn’t approve of our attitude toward them and toward life, and some of them just gave up trying to help us. Some did not. We had a very patient bishop and some great leaders. Most of them, however, we considered to be hypocrites, and we used what we saw as their weaknesses as an excuse for our own behavior.
In my early teenage years, this same group of boys and girls excelled in scholarship, athletics, and popularity. We had a lot of fun and decided we didn’t need and didn’t want the Church. When “forced” to enroll in seminary, most of us managed to get ourselves expelled.
We didn’t really give in to peer pressure—we exerted it. We were among the first of our age group to start drinking. We were the first to smoke marijuana and experiment with other drugs. We saw the chance to make some money in it, and so we involved others to increase our own profits by dealing in drugs. We were living a life of luxury. Immorality also became a part of our lives.
Some of my friends resisted. They said we were stupid, that there was no way they’d get involved. But by the time we got out of high school a few years ago, only one hadn’t given in. He took a lot of verbal abuse and pressure, but he remained strong. I have more respect for him than for any other guy my age.
We went to more parties than anyone else in the school. The scriptures say, “Ye shall know them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:16). I don’t know all the fruits of our behavior, and I’m thankful for that. I do know many of them, though. Many of my friends that I grew up with, even some top students, leaders, and athletes, quit school. One committed suicide. Most have spent time in court, and some in jail, for a variety of things. I knew a lot of girls who had babies or abortions while in high school. Others became prostitutes.
I quit taking drugs when I had some serious health problems. I almost died a few times—many times actually, both from overdosing on drugs and driving while I was unable to control my actions. One night I was bored, so I took every kind of stimulant I could find and then I sat and watched television while my pulse dropped to 20 beats per minute. I forced myself to stay awake, because I felt that if I went to sleep I wouldn’t wake up.
In order to take control of my life, I had to leave my friends. Afterwards I tried to help them quit too. A few of my old friends came with me, but most really didn’t care anymore.
After I quit drugs, I turned to alcohol. I can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t—at least not by myself. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active Latter-day Saint girl. She couldn’t understand what I was experiencing, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the mess I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back into my bad habits. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I couldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except with ones as good as my Latter-day Saint friend.
I hadn’t prayed for years, but I finally had to go to my knees. I was afraid to, because I knew my guilt. That first time, honestly wanting to change and repent, was the biggest turning point in my life.
I tried to pray, but I couldn’t. I started to cry, the first time in years, and I felt like I was being torn apart inside. I fell over, still in a kneeling position, and my body went into convulsions. I kept praying in my mind, “Please help me!”
I almost fell unconscious. Then the physical pain passed, and I just lay there crying. I had a long way to go to clean up my life, but I knew that the first step was the hardest. I didn’t understand the Atonement, but the feeling of peace and comfort that engulfed me left no doubt that it was real.
There was a lot more. You see, chemical substances that are used to cover or bury emotions tend to cripple a person emotionally, because you stop growing. I recovered pretty well physically and mentally. I started progressing spiritually. But emotionally I was a mess. The girl who helped me so much for so long didn’t understand that, and I lost her as a friend while trying to overcome the scars of the past. She saw the outward changes and thought that was the hard part. The hardest struggle was inside me, emotionally. My pride was a fierce adversary, and the painful memories sometimes sent me into depression.
I still have a long way to go, and a lot of work to do. I am now trying to help other people with similar problems. It has taken a few years so far to get to where I am, and I’ve done a lot of fasting and praying. When I look back, the memories hurt. I know now that we learn through experience, from our successes and our mistakes. I just wish I could have learned more without the burdens and scars that came with my method of learning—mostly from my mistakes.
I put myself through a lot of pain, and my spirit cries out in pain when I see others following me. Young men, young women, think about yourselves and your friends. Before you give in to temptation—and believe me, pride and a bad attitude are temptations—think about the effect your actions will have on others, and on yourself in the years to come.
It is always possible to repent and come back. But it is so much better not to begin. Please, please, don’t give in. You will never regret staying pure, keeping the Word of Wisdom, coming home on time—the rules are there for a reason. I have seen the results of ignoring the rules, of saying, “That won’t happen to me.” My friends and I knew that no matter how clean a girl was morally, if we could get her drunk or get her to use drugs, she would eventually give in.
The first step down is the easiest, and the first step back is the hardest. When you’re on your way down, there are a lot of people who are eager to help you, but the farther down you go, the more alone you will be when and if you start back.
I have gained a strong testimony of the truth of the gospel. My fellow Latter-day Saints are still not perfect, but I finally realized that their imperfection doesn’t make the gospel any less true. It just shows that they, too, are human.
I know the power and reality of the adversary, but now I know the power and reality of the Lord and of the priesthood, and I know that “they that be with us are more than they that be with them” (2 Kgs. 6:15–17).
Never be ashamed to be innocent. I admire and envy people who still have their innocence. Once innocence is lost, it is gone. Please, be strong. More people than you will ever know are counting on you—your friends, family, and unborn children. Don’t disappoint them.

As early Saints reached Utah, President Brigham Young issued calls to some of them to serve missions to many nations of the world, to others to colonize areas outside the Salt Lake Valley. George Careless was prepared to accept any call he received.
“Brother George,” President Young said, “I have a mission for you. … I want you to take the Tabernacle Choir … and lay a foundation for good music in Utah.” Brother Careless accepted the call.
Born in London on September 24, 1839, George displayed musical talent early in life. His father, a woodcarver, berated his son for “wasting time” with music and told him to learn a trade. George went to work in a shoemaking company, but his heart wasn’t in it. The plant foreman, a music lover who collected violins, loaned him one of them, and George soon learned to play it.
When he was ten years old, he was offered a place in a London choir school, where boys earned their academic and musical education by singing in a church or cathedral. It was a wonderful opportunity, but George turned it down. He had recently joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was eager to participate fully in it.
George’s father never accepted his devotion to music and told him to either give it up or leave the family. So when he was thirteen, George left home.
Later, the shoe factory foreman loaned George the money to attend the Royal Academy of Music. After graduating in three years rather than the usual four, he was hired as a member of an orchestra that gave concerts in the Crystal Palace, England’s showplace for the arts. With his first earnings, he repaid the foreman.
At the same time, George worked to improve the musical activities of the Church in England. He directed a London Conference choir, earning it such a high reputation that it was invited to perform at several of London’s leading concert halls.
His career was progressing so well that Elder William C. Staines encouraged him to move to Utah before he became so famous that it would be almost impossible to leave those who went to hear him. Six weeks later, George sailed for America. On his ship, the Hudson, he led a choir composed of Saints who were immigrating to Utah. He arrived in New York City on July 19, 1864. From there he suffered illness and hunger much of the rest of the way.
Arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, George was given the depressing news that the few professional musicians already there were unable to make a living with their music. Even so, he was determined to teach music even if he starved. By the end of the next month, he had twenty-four paying pupils. The going rate for a series of lessons in the Salt Lake Valley was a hundred pounds of flour.
When President Young called him to his musical mission, George replied, “I will do the best I can with the material I can get.”
The prophet responded, “You will have to make that.”
Organizing a choir in the rough conditions of frontier living took determination and grit as well as talent. At his first rehearsal of the choir, only forty members were present. The Tabernacle, still under construction, had no heating or lighting. Choir members held a candle in one hand, their music in the other.
On October 8, 1873, the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir joined with choirs from fourteen surrounding communities to perform at General Conference. Some of the choirs had to travel several days to reach Salt Lake City.
When Brigham Young died in 1877, George assembled a 220-member choir to perform a hymn he composed for the funeral.
After serving eleven years as director of the Tabernacle Choir, George resigned his post in 1880. His mission was to continue, though, when President John Taylor asked him to head a committee to write music for all the hymns to be included in The Latter-day Saints’ Psalmody, published in 1889. The Psalmody contained 330 hymns, three-fourths of them set to music by Mormon composers. One of Brother Careless’s compositions is the well-known sacrament hymn “He Died! The Great Redeemer Died.”
George Careless fulfilled his mission to lay a foundation for good music, not just in Utah but in the whole Church.

I took a poetry class where a poem was due every Friday. Several times I was so busy, or I procrastinated, and I didn’t even think about the poem all week. So come Thursday night I sat down at my desk and waited—nothing came. There was no burst of inspiration, no sudden enlightenment, and the poem had to be written! The ideas couldn’t mull around in my head for days. In frantic desperation I got out the dictionary and began to work. I scribbled, crossed out, scribbled some more, and searched the dictionary and thesaurus for the exact word. The lines didn’t come easily; every word came from tediously toiling and sweating and worrying. My pencil was half-chewed and rejects lay scattered over the floor a foot high. Yet, those poems were some of the best poems I’ve ever written. If you don’t feel inspired—write anyway.

In 1978, shortly after returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to take the first of several trips to Italy to work with my father and grandfather carving statues from the crystalline-white marble quarried in the mountains above Carrara. On weekends we visited the great cathedrals and museums in Italy. One of the first cathedrals we visited was Santa Maria Novella, a quiet cathedral near the train station in Florence. As we entered the cathedral, the morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, projecting colored light along the walls and pews. I was drawn to a large fresco painting of the Trinity by the early Italian Renaissance painter Masaccio. The painting depicts the three members of the Godhead: God the Father at the highest point, His hands supporting the cross that bears His Son, and the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove immediately above Christ’s head. As I gazed on the painting, a strong spirit of reverence came over me. I remained there quietly admiring it, pondering the concept of the Godhead.

In the years that have passed since that time, the image of this painting has often come to mind, and each time I feel the same warm reverence that I felt that day. At the time I was 21 years of age and knew very little about the history of art. I later learned as part of my studies that this painting was among the most important in art history because it was the first use of scientific perspective in Western art. I also learned that Masaccio was only 21 years old when he painted the work. This masterpiece was one of only a few works that he completed before his untimely death at the age of 27. As I learned more about the technical details and historical significance of this work, my admiration for the painting, and its spiritual message, grew.

Jill Read’s daughter would be a Laurel right now. She’d be learning to drive a car, going on her first date, and thinking ahead to high school graduation. But sadly, Sister Read’s baby girl lived only a short while before dying of sudden infant death syndrome more than 16 years ago.
When Sister Read was given the chance to hold her baby one last time, the baby’s tiny body was wrapped in two large, crisp hospital sheets. “I couldn’t feel her; I couldn’t see her,” says Sister Read.
Easing the pain of losing a child is difficult, if not impossible. But after hearing Sister Read tell her story during a youth conference meeting, and hearing another talk given by Kevin Capener, a young father who lost an infant son, the youth in the North Ogden Utah Ben Lomond Stake were eager to do anything they could to help. So, as a youth conference activity, they decided to “blanket” a local hospital with service.
The nearly 400 young people attending the conference spent an afternoon making more than 500 infant quilts to be given to parents whose newborn babies have died. After the parents have held their baby in the blanket for the last time, the blanket can be kept as a reminder to the parents.
“I hope that this blanket will be used, held, and cherished,” says Mark Miller, a priest. “I want [the parents] to know that there is someone out there who cares about them.”
In just a few short hours, the youth had a stack of quilts ready and waiting to be presented to a representative from Ogden’s McKay Dee Hospital.
It may seem a little thing, making tiny quilts for parents to use after the loss of a child. But sometimes the things people do aren’t measured by the size of their service, but rather, by the size of their hearts.

Good people around you will try to understand your grief at the passing of a loved one. They may feel grief themselves. The Savior not only understands and feels grief but also feels your personal grief that only you feel. And He knows you perfectly. He knows your heart. So He can know which of the many things you can do that will be best for you as you invite the Holy Ghost to comfort and bless you. He will know where it is best for you to start. Sometimes it will be to pray. It might be to go to comfort someone else. I know of a widow with a debilitating illness who was inspired to visit another widow. I wasn’t there, but I am certain that the Lord inspired a faithful disciple to reach out to another and thus was able to succor them both.
There are many ways that the Savior can succor those who grieve, each fitted to them. But you can be sure that He can and that He will do it in the way that is best for those who grieve and for those around them.

“I had been inactive for at least six years when my husband and I moved to a new town. My new Relief Society president visited me, asking if she could send a sister to visit me. With some trepidation, I agreed. This sister visited me every month, despite her allergy to dogs—and I have a very affectionate dog! Her ministering continued for two years, and it had an enormous impact on me.
“Though her visits were usually purely social, occasionally she asked me questions that led us to spiritual conversations. These made me a little uncomfortable, but they prompted me to decide whether to go forward in the gospel or stay where I was. This decision was a struggle for me, but I chose to visit with the sister missionaries.
“On the day I went to attend sacrament meeting for the first time in six years, I was scared to go inside. When I walked into the church, my ministering sister was waiting for me, and she walked with me into the chapel. Afterward, she walked me back to my car, asking me what she could do to help me best as I grew closer to the Savior.
“My ministering sister’s time and love helped guide me back to activity, and I hold her efforts as one of the greatest gifts ever given to me. I’m so grateful she was there at my side on my journey back to the Savior’s Church.”
Name withheld, British Columbia, Canada