Gospel Story Finder

To celebrate the rededication of the Laie Hawaii Temple, more than 2,000 youth gathered in November to present a program titled “The Gathering Place.” At the beginning of the event, the youth stood shoulder to shoulder in the Cannon Activity Center of the BYU–Hawaii Campus as they heard President Thomas S. Monson speak.
“Today will be a night you will never forget,” he said.
The participants danced, sang, and presented a visual display of island history and culture. It also celebrated Laie, Hawaii, as a “gathering place” for early Church members and others.
“It was the most amazing thing,” said Briana Garrido, 15, of Wahiawa, Hawaii. “I have never been so thankful.”

As a young boy I was out on a farm away from our home waiting for my father to finish his day’s work. I was playing about, manufacturing things to while away the time, when I saw over the fence in the neighbor’s yard some broken-down buildings with the sheds caving in and with rotting timbers. I imagined as a young boy that that might be a castle I should explore, so I went over to the fence and started to climb through.
Then I heard a voice as distinctly as you are hearing mine: “Harold, don’t go over there.” I looked in every direction to see where the speaker was. I wondered if it was my father, but he couldn’t see me; he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no one in sight. I realized that someone was warning me of an unseen danger—whether there was a nest of rattlesnakes, or whether the rotting timbers would fall on me and crush me, I don’t know. But from that time on, I accepted without question the fact that there are processes not known to man by which we can hear voices from the unseen world, by which we can have brought to us visions of eternity.

“Three days!” Willis exclaimed. “They’ll be here for three whole days? But Alan wants me to go to the lake with him.”
“Willis,” Mom said sternly, “you knew last month that your cousins were coming. I expect you to be here and to show them a good time.”
“All right,” he said unhappily. At first he’d been pretty excited to learn that his cousins were coming. He hadn’t really cared that he would have to give up his room for the older girls to sleep in. But since then he had made other plans, and now he was going to have to give up a weekend at the lake too.
When his Uncle George stopped the car in front of the house, Willis couldn’t believe what he saw—a battered blue trailer hitched to an ancient station wagon. An unbelievable number of bags and boxes were haphazardly tied to the top of the rusted station wagon, and from every window appeared arms, legs, and smiling faces. The sagging vehicle seemed to sigh with relief as his aunt, uncle, and seven cousins tumbled from the car. Instantly the house and yard overflowed with people.
“How tall you’ve grown!” Uncle George cried, slapping Willis on the back.
Everybody’s grown, thought Willis as he looked up at fourteen-year-old Greg.
“Why don’t you show Joe and Greg your new game,” Mom suggested.
“Sure,” Willis said. “Come with me.”
The boys started to play, but Joe, who was the same age as Willis, lost interest after his older brother blew his star destroyer off the game board.
“How about a game of softball?” suggested Greg.
“Then everyone can play.”
“Even the girls?” Willis asked.
“Sure, Willie, it’ll be lots of fun,” said Greg.
“My name is Willis,” he said, thinking that Willie was a dumb name to call a person.
“You’d be surprised at how good Mary is at baseball,” Joe said as they collected a bat and ball and went outside.
There Willis was horrified to see one of his little cousins sitting on the tetherball and swinging around the pole. “Hey, get off there!” yelled Willis. “You’ll break the rope.”
“Oh, she’s not very heavy,” Mary said and swung her little sister off the tetherball and onto the ground. “C’mon Susan, you can be on my team. We’ll knock their socks off.”
The cousins divided into two fairly even teams of older and younger players. In spite of himself, Willis almost enjoyed the softball game. Almost.
“Let’s go, Willie,” yelled Joe. “Hit a homer!”
“Don’t call me Willie!” Willis shouted as the ball was pitched to him. SMACK! He hit a long, towering fly ball that sailed straight toward Greg.
“Run, Jennie,” Greg called to his little sister, who stood on first base. Willis watched in disgust as Greg fumbled his catch on purpose.
“Some baseball game,” he muttered as he jogged behind Jennie around their makeshift diamond.
“Safe,” Mary called as she dropped the ball Greg threw to her just as Jennie touched home plate. “Out!” she yelled, snatching the ball and tagging Willis about two feet from home plate.
“Lunch is ready, children,” Aunt Helen called from the patio.
That’s a relief, Willis thought.
“Great game, Willie.” Joe clapped him on the back.
“Don’t call me Willie,” he said again, shrugging the friendly hand off his shoulder.
After lunch Willis went upstairs to get away from all the people for a while. As he walked down the hall, he heard giggles coming from his room. He was about to stomp away, but he peeked inside, instead. Mary was sitting on his bed, surrounded by his little sisters and several young cousins.
“This poor fairy godmother was having some troubles.” Mary’s voice was woeful. “What would you do if you found Cinderella talking politics with the king instead of dancing with the prince?” Her question was greeted by more giggles. Willis smiled to himself and tiptoed away. When he walked downstairs, Joe saw him.
“Hey, Willie—sorry, Willis—I’ve been looking all over for you. Greg and our dads are unpacking the car. You and I have to sleep in the trailer tonight, but Greg has this terrific army hammock that you just have to see. It has a roof and everything!”
Willis followed the tug on his arm, curious about the hammock.
In the backyard they found Greg unrolling a dark, olive green roll. Uncle George and Dad showed the boys where to attach screw eyes on the corner of the garage and the trunk of the elm tree.
“This is neat!” Willis said with excitement as the double rope supports were tied securely in place. It looked like a small houseboat suspended between the garage and the tree. The sides were made out of green netting, and a sturdy canvas cover served as the roof.
“Try it.” Greg unzipped the netting and showed Willis where to climb in.
“It’s snug and warm, and the canvas roof keeps off the rain,” Joe explained enthusiastically.
“This is great!” Willis said, slipping into the hammock and zipping himself in. He looked out through the netting. “It must be fun sleeping in here.”
“Why don’t you find out,” Greg suggested. “Sleep in it tonight.”
“Really?” Willis couldn’t believe it. “Thanks!”
“It’s time to make ice cream,” Mom called, then came over and peeked through the netting. “Willis, come and help Joe and Greg crank the ice-cream freezer.”
“Crank?” asked Willis as he climbed out of the hammock. “Our ice-cream freezer’s electric.”
“Ours is,” Mom said, leading the way over to the patio. “Aunt Helen and I already have that one going. But we need more than two quarts of ice cream for this crew.”
“We take our hand-crank freezer when we go camping,” Joe said, “because you can’t plug a cord into a tree for electricity.”
Uncle George and Dad each took a turn cranking, but soon the three boys were competing to see who could crank the longest.
“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine …” All the cousins gathered around the patio to watch the boys.
“Sixty!” yelled Greg, collapsing onto the grass.
“My turn,” said Joe. And he began counting. This time, though, the ice cream was thicker and the crank was harder to turn.
“Fif—teen, six—teen, …” Mary led the count.
“I can’t turn it much more,” Joe said, turning the crank with both hands.
“We need more muscle than that,” chided Aunt Helen with a smile. “It’s not ready yet.”
“Willis,” Joe said, “come and help me turn. We’ll show ‘em!”
Together the two boys turned the crank. “Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one … eighty-nine, ninety …”
“Nobody will beat our record,” Willis puffed, out of breath.
“We’re almost there,” Joe gasped triumphantly.
“One hundred!” The cousins yelled together.
That night as Willis snuggled down into Greg’s army hammock, he grinned and thought, That was the best ice cream that I’ve ever eaten. And today has to be the best day of my summer vacation—the day the cousins came!

I conclude with an example in my own life. Once I had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital, terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether Hyrum Adams might be a patient there. Long years before, I had learned never, never, to postpone a prompting from the Lord. It was late, but a check with the desk clerk confirmed that indeed Hyrum was a patient.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Why, Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that this is my birthday?” I smiled but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Hyrum, remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.’”

As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”

As prophet, President David O. McKay traveled the world. He encouraged the Saints to be faithful and made friends with many government leaders.
During a visit to the Netherlands, the queen agreed to meet with President McKay for half an hour. He watched the clock carefully and stood to leave when the 30 minutes were up.
President McKay: Your Highness, thank you for visiting with my wife and me. It has been a pleasure.
Queen: Mr. McKay, sit down! I have enjoyed this 30 minutes more than I have enjoyed any 30 minutes in a long time. I just wish you would extend our visit a little longer.
President McKay agreed. Soon a servant wheeled in a table, and the queen poured three cups of tea.
Queen: Won’t you have a little tea with the queen?
President McKay: Thank you, but Latter-day Saints don’t believe in drinking coffee, tea, or alcohol.
Queen: I am the queen of the Netherlands. Do you mean to tell me that you won’t have a little drink of tea, even with the queen?
President McKay: Would the queen of the Netherlands ask a church leader to do something that he teaches his people not to do?
Queen: You are a great man, President McKay. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.
Throughout his presidency, President David O. McKay set a great example and earned the respect of leaders all over the world.

I got baptized when I was a teenager, and I loved the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, over time, I felt less motivated to live the gospel because none of my family were members and it was hard to keep up with my spiritual habits all on my own.
I always knew that the Church is true, but I didn’t want to give my full heart to it, because it was such a commitment. My church attendance became inconsistent. Then I started prioritizing my social life rather than living the gospel, and eventually I stopped living the commandments. I justified my actions by saying that it was fine to do whatever I wanted, as long as I tried to be a good person.
But that decision cost me a lot.
After living outside the Church for a long time, I tested positive for human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). This condition is chronic, progressive, and has no cure. I was devastated.
I asked the same questions I’m sure a lot of us ask when faced with crippling diagnoses or other chronic challenges: How was I supposed to ever enjoy life again? How could I have hope for anything?
The answer?
Jesus Christ.
In that moment of darkness, when I received my diagnosis and pleaded for relief, I felt like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were fully aware of how I was feeling. The Spirit offered me clarity that helped me reflect on my decisions.
I realized that I needed to invite the Savior into my life again if I was going to find lasting peace. So, I made an appointment with my bishop and stake president to begin the repentance process.
As I worked with these wonderful leaders, I felt their love and support, and the enabling power of Jesus Christ entered my life again. My leaders helped me make goals. I began progressing on the covenant path. I put my whole heart in the gospel for the first time in my life, and I could see the difference in myself when I put my relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior first.
This truth of joy has manifested in my life as I have continued focusing on Him and, once again, holding fast to the iron rod—the word of God—each day (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24).
As I continued to find solace and cope with my illness, my bishop directed me to the Church’s self-reliance course “Finding Strength in the Lord: Emotional Resilience.”
I believe that this course is God given, inspired, and miraculous. I learned how to transform this illness, which was making life look bleak, into a learning experience. This course taught me how to develop deep faith in the Savior, learn healthy thinking patterns, manage stress and anxiety, and ultimately move forward in my life with hope.
Even with materials like this, some days are hard and tiring. The anxiety and the sadness that sometimes accompany those moments are crippling. But following the counsel of the prophet has helped me find my path in these hard times.
So, following President Nelson’s counsel, this is what I do to help my mental health—I focus on the good. I do my best to take care of my mental health through both spiritual and temporal resources. I look at the big picture—the eternal perspective. I remember and keep my covenants.
Most of all, I look to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for hope and strength.
I thank Heavenly Father every day for helping me become more resilient in my chronic health struggles. I never thought I would give thanks for a challenge like this, but I am grateful that this struggle helped me realize how much I need my Savior in my life. I feel my heart becoming more aligned with His every day.

Lillie Anne is our older sister, but usually Jason and I feel like big brothers to her because she has Down’s syndrome, which sets her back a little.
Lillie Anne loves everybody, and all those who really know her love her. She loves Heavenly Father, too, and always tries to do what’s right and what she thinks will please Mom and Dad. So nobody was prepared for the problem we had with her.
It started because Lillie Anne likes animals so much. She likes to hug and kiss cats and dogs, despite our warnings about germs and the dangers of strange animals. We’ve never had a pet because Mom and Jason are allergic to many animals. So whenever Mom goes to the store, Lillie Anne stops and visits Mr. Osterloh and plays with his animals. Mr. Osterloh is Lillie Anne’s friend.
One day in June, Mr. Osterloh came to the door with an onion sack in his arms. When I answered the door, I thought he was bringing us some vegetables from his little garden. But he asked for Lillie Anne. After I called her to the door, he handed her the sack. She was grinning from ear to ear as she opened it. A little floppy-eared black rabbit was inside. She hugged it tight, her face beaming like it was Christmas. The rabbit just sat there in her arms, twitching its nose.
So that’s how we got Harry. Even though they’d agreed to having the rabbit, Mom and Jason sneezed quite a lot at first because Harry ran all around the house. Then Dad bought a little cage for Lillie Anne to keep Harry in when he was inside. She carried Harry around in it all the time. She took him outside to run and play on the grass, but he slept in his cage at night in her room. They were pretty much inseparable.
There was one problem. Not what you’d think. Not the allergies or the kissing (though she does kiss Harry’s nose). You’d never guess. Lillie Anne wouldn’t go to church without Harry! She flatly refused. And when Lillie Anne flatly refuses, there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it.
Mom and Dad talked to her a lot about how we can’t take pets to church. They explained how it would disrupt the reverence. The home teachers came and talked to her about how animals belong at home. Jason and I pointed out that Harry might get hungry or thirsty, but she didn’t see why that was a big problem. She just wouldn’t go without him.
We had a family council and decided that we’d have to take turns staying home with her until we found a solution. For the next two Sundays, Lillie Anne looked pretty sad and miserable as the rest of us left for church. But she still wouldn’t go without Harry.
Then on Wednesday, I came home from soccer practice to find her sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. This is unusual, because Lillie Anne is still struggling with picture books. Her face was all lit up like she was looking at an angel or something.
“Michael!” she cried. “Look! Look at this boy!” I looked at the newspaper and saw a picture of a boy with very thin arms and legs holding the harness of a big black Labrador retriever. “Read it, Michael. Read it to me.”
I read the article to Lillie Anne. It was about a boy named Abram who didn’t have as many muscles as other people. He had a dog, Tacoma, that went everywhere with him. The dog helped him up if he fell, carried his books to school, and helped in many other ways. I thought Lillie Anne was just interested because she loves dogs, but I was wrong.
“A helper dog, a helper dog,” she kept saying. “Abram has a helper dog. The dog goes everywhere with him.”
Then she laid it on me. “Harry is a helper rabbit. He goes everywhere with me.”
Once she started on this, there was no getting it out of her head. Mom and Dad explained that the dog in the article had been trained for months and the boy had to leave home for a while and be trained along with the dog. Lillie Anne took a lot of interest in all this, but it didn’t change her mind. Jason pointed out that the dog wore a harness, and when he was working, people couldn’t pet him and play with him, unlike a rabbit.
“How is Harry a helper rabbit?” I asked. “How does he help you?”
She thought for a minute. “He makes me happy. He is my very own friend every minute.”
That Sunday Mom stayed home with Lillie Anne. As we left for church, my sister stood at the front gate with Harry draped over her arm. She watched us go with a sad and teary-eyed face. I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something. As we walked to church, I figured out a plan. After sacrament meeting, I found Bishop Lyman and asked if we could talk. When we went into his office and sat down, I was a little nervous.
“Michael,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“Bishop, if someone in our ward were blind, would you let him bring a guide dog to church?”
“Well, of course. A guide dog can go everywhere.” He smiled at me in a puzzled way.
“Well, what if a person had a different problem,” I continued. “What if they couldn’t walk very well, and they had a helper dog. Could that dog come?”
He thought for a minute. “Oh, I’m sure it could. It would be trained to lie quietly during meetings.”
I squirmed a little. I felt silly comparing a little black rabbit to an intelligent, trained dog, but I could see Lillie Anne’s sad eyes in my mind, so I said it, anyway. “If someone like Lillie Anne has a rabbit that she thinks of as a helper rabbit, would it be all right if she brought it to church?”
Bishop Lyman smiled and said, “A helper rabbit. I’ve never heard of that.” Then he became serious, looked at me very kindly, and said, “Michael, I’m afraid a rabbit would hop around and distract people and make a mess on the floor.”
“Lillie Anne carries him around in a small cage, so that wouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “She hasn’t been coming to church because we told her Harry couldn’t come. But don’t you think people would get used to seeing him with her and then not take much notice after a while?”
“Hmmm.” Bishop Lyman thought for a few minutes. “Your mother and father have told me how Lillie Anne is refusing to come to church without him.” He thought some more. “Well, Michael, animals are important to us. The pioneers wouldn’t have made it across the plains without their animals. We’ll have to make sure the other children understand that Harry isn’t just a pet, that he helps Lillie Anne with her special circumstances. If we do that, we could try it.”
“Thank you!” I jumped to my feet. “It’ll work. You’ll see.”
The bishop smiled at me as I bolted out of his office and home as fast as I could to tell Lillie Anne.
The next Sunday, Lillie Anne was dressed and ready to go to church. She carried Harry in his cage as we walked to church. That really happy look was back on her face again—and on all our faces too.
At first, the kids wanted to pet Harry, but Lillie Anne explained that he was a helper rabbit and couldn’t play during churchtime. Then she told them that if they wanted to pet him, they could come over to the house sometime and play.
It wasn’t long until everyone accepted that, and now Harry sits quietly in his cage on the seat beside Lillie Anne through all the Church meetings every week. Lots of kids come to our house to see Lillie Anne and Harry, the helper rabbit. Harry loves the attention, and Lillie Anne is very happy. We’re all happy.

Years ago one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles asked me to read a conference talk he was preparing for general conference. I was a junior member of the quorum. I was honored by his confidence that I might help him find the words the Lord would have him speak. He said to me with a smile, “Oh, this is the 22nd draft of the talk.”

I remembered the counsel a loving and kind President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) had given me earlier with great emphasis: “Hal, if you want to get revelation, do your homework.”

I read, pondered, and prayed over that 22nd draft. I studied as best I could under the influence of the Holy Ghost. By the time that quorum member gave his talk, I had done my homework. I am not sure I helped, but I know that I was changed when I heard the talk given. Messages came to me far beyond the words that I had read and that he spoke. The words had greater meaning than the ones I had read in the draft. And the message seemed to be meant for me, fitted to my needs.

The servants of God fast and pray to receive the message He has for them to give to those who need revelation and inspiration. What I learned from that experience, and many others like it, is that to gain the great benefits available from hearing living prophets and apostles, we must pay the price ourselves of receiving revelation.

Two years ago Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and I had the opportunity to go on a canoe trip into the Quetico wilderness area in Ontario, Canada, portaging from lake to lake. As we reached the halfway point across one of the larger lakes, the weather turned very bad, and the once tranquil water turned angry and perilous, tossing our little canoe to and fro.

We had a decision to make. Do we try to reach our planned destination, or do we head for the nearest island and wait for the storm to pass? The answer seems obvious now, but at the time it was not an easy decision to make. By carrying on, we might arrive at our planned campsite. By delaying our journey, we would arrive very late and may have to travel in the dark. As we pondered the options, we had the impression to head to the nearest island quickly. As we did so, a much worse-than-anticipated storm rolled by us. Had we elected to continue canoeing, we would have put our lives in great peril.

Here in mortality we are called upon to make serious decisions, the outcome of which can have a lasting effect upon our spiritual future. I encourage you to always be worthy to seek for the Spirit to help you always choose the right.

In the Book of Mormon, Nephi tells us: “Then are ye in this strait and narrow path which leads to eternal life; yea, ye have entered in by the gate; ye have done according to the commandments of the Father and the Son; and ye have received the Holy Ghost” (2 Ne. 31:18).

As our family concluded the 225-mile bicycle journey, we learned that no matter how difficult things can become on this road we call life, great happiness is waiting for those who keep the commandments and endure to the end.

Young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, you have a responsibility to remain firmly focused on your eternal destination. Yes, life’s journeys can have many ups and downs. Yes, there will be days when you will feel the going is tough. But as you stay on the right path, the reward at the end of life’s journey is well worth the moments of adversity you experience along the way.

Again, from the For the Strength of Youth booklet, the First Presidency writes: “May you keep your minds and bodies clean from the sins of the world so you can do the great work that lies before you. We pray that you will be worthy to carry on the responsibilities of building the kingdom of God and preparing the world for the Second Coming of the Savior” (page 3).

My young friends, please know the importance of being wise by following the counsel of our prophets, and happiness will be yours throughout life’s journey.

Of this I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had always planned to go on a mission. In the spring of 1950, I was eighteen and finishing my sophomore year at the University of Utah. I was studying for my final tests when my father, who was also my bishop, came into my room and asked me, “Are you ready to go on your mission?”

I said, “Yes, Dad, I am.”

He asked, “Is your life in order?”

I said, “Yes, it is.”

“Good,” he said. “You’ll leave in two months.”

I immediately submitted my papers and soon received my call from President George Albert Smith. Before I reached the British Isles Mission two months later, the Korean War had started and there were restrictions on the number of young men who could serve missions. If I had waited to go, I might not have been able to serve a mission.

Illustration by Jim Madsen
In October 2011, my bishop heard a talk by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the Spirit of Elijah and the responsibility the youth have to serve through family history. My bishop was inspired by this talk and decided to have the bishopric youth committee watch it in their meeting. He asked the youth what they wanted to do to follow Elder Bednar’s instruction, and they told him they wanted to set up a summer indexing project. Together with the bishop, they set a goal of 50,000 names and invited my whole ward to help with the project.
I was asked by Brother Watts, a member of our bishopric, to serve as an indexing specialist. I accepted, but I had no idea what indexing was or how to do it. I was very confused and just a little bit nervous.
Brother Watts showed me how to use the indexing program on FamilySearch.org. He told me that he was absolutely confident we were going to reach our goal. Even though it was my first official assignment as a young woman, I was determined to learn how to do what I was asked to do by my priesthood leaders, no matter how hard it was.
I soon learned that indexing is part of family history—typing people’s names from records into a database so their family members can find them. I knew this effort was important, and so did my whole ward, especially my bishop.
To serve in this project, I showed many different people how to index and contribute names. By the end of the summer, the youth alone had finished 25,000 names! Before we knew it, we met our goal 100 percent.
I know that every one of my leaders is called of God to serve and direct the Church, and that when I listen to them, I’m not only doing what they ask me to do but also what God asks me to do. When I listen to and follow my leaders, I’m serving too—participating in the work of the priesthood, the work of salvation.

Recently I went to church with my sweet mother at our old rock chapel. Drawn to little voices coming from the same Primary room I attended decades ago, I walked in the back and observed caring leaders teach this year’s theme: “I Am a Child of God.” I smiled as I remembered patient and loving teachers who, during our singing time back then, would often look at me—that rambunctious little boy at the end of the pew—as if to say, “Is he really a child of God? And who has sent him here?”
I invite each of us to open our hearts to the Holy Ghost, who “beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.”
President Boyd K. Packer’s words are plain and precious: “You are a child of God. He is the father of your spirit. Spiritually you are of noble birth, the offspring of the King of Heaven. Fix that truth in your mind and hold to it. However many generations in your mortal ancestry, no matter what race or people you represent, the pedigree of your spirit can be written on a single line. You are a child of God!”
“When you … see our Father,” Brigham Young described, “you will see a being with whom you have long been acquainted, and he will receive you into his arms, and you will be ready to fall into his embrace and kiss him.”
Moses learned of his divine heritage talking with the Lord face-to-face. Following that experience, “Satan came tempting” with subtle yet vicious intent to distort Moses’s identity, “saying: Moses, son of man, worship me. And … Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God.”
This great war over divine identity rages fiercely as Satan’s proliferating arsenal aims to destroy our belief in and knowledge of our relationship with God. Thankfully, we have been blessed with clear vision and understanding of our true identity from the beginning: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,” and His living prophets proclaim, “Each [human being] is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny.”
Coming to know these truths with certainty helps us overcome trials, troubles, and afflictions of every kind. When asked, “How can we help those struggling with [a personal challenge]?” an Apostle of the Lord instructed, “Teach them their identity and their purpose.”
These powerful truths were life-changing for my friend Jen, who as a teenager caused a serious car accident. Though her physical trauma was severe, she felt exquisite pain because the other driver lost her life. “Someone lost their mom, and it was my fault,” she says. Jen, who just days before stood and recited, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us,” now questioned, “How could He love me?”
“The physical suffering passed,” she says, “but I didn’t think I would ever heal from the emotional and spiritual wounds.”
In order to survive, Jen hid her feelings deeply, becoming distant and numb. After a year, when she was finally able to talk about the accident, an inspired counselor invited her to write the phrase “I am a child of God” and say it 10 times daily.
“Writing the words was easy,” she recalls, “but I couldn’t speak them. … That made it real, and I didn’t really believe God wanted me as His child. I would curl up and cry.”
After several months, Jen was finally able to complete the task every day. “I poured out my whole soul,” she says, “pleading with God. … Then I began to believe the words.” This belief allowed the Savior to begin mending her wounded soul. The Book of Mormon brought comfort and courage in His Atonement.
“Christ felt my pains, my sorrows, my guilt,” Jen concludes. “I felt God’s pure love and had never experienced anything so powerful! Knowing I am a child of God is the most powerful knowledge I possess!”
Brothers and sisters, how can each of us experience the power of understanding our divine identity? It begins by seeking to know God, our Father. President Russell M. Nelson testified, “Something powerful happens when a child of God seeks to know more about Him and His Beloved Son.”
Learning of and following the Savior helps us come to know the Father. “Being … the express image of his [Father],” Jesus taught, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” Christ’s every word and deed reveals the true nature of God and our relationship to Him. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught, “With blood appearing at every pore and an anguished cry upon His lips, Christ sought Him whom He had always sought—His Father. ‘Abba,’ He cried, ‘Papa.’”
As Jesus earnestly sought His Father in Gethsemane, so young Joseph Smith, in 1820, prayerfully sought God in the Sacred Grove. After reading “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God,” Joseph retired to pray.
“I kneeled down,” he later wrote, “and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. …
“… I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head. …
“… I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—[Joseph,] This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
As we follow the examples of the Savior and the Prophet Joseph in earnestly seeking God, we will come to understand in a very real way, as Jen did, that our Father knows us by name, that we are His children.
To mothers, especially young mothers, who often feel overwhelmed and underwater while striving to raise “a sin-resistant generation,” never underestimate your central role in God’s plan. In stressful moments—perhaps when you are chasing little ones and a charred smell from the kitchen informs you that your lovingly prepared dinner is now a burnt offering—know that God sanctifies your most difficult days. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee,” He peacefully reassures. We honor you as you fulfill the hope of Sister Joy D. Jones, who stated, “Our children deserve to understand their divine identity.”
I invite each of us to seek God and His Beloved Son. “Nowhere,” President Nelson directed, “are those truths taught more clearly and powerfully than in the Book of Mormon.” Open its pages and learn that God does “all things for [our] welfare and happiness”; that He is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, long-suffering and full of goodness”; and that “all are alike unto [Him].” When you feel hurt, lost, scared, upset, sad, hungry, or hopelessly abandoned in life’s extremities—open the Book of Mormon, and you will come to know that “[God] will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character [to do so].”
Coming to know our Father changes everything, especially our hearts, as His gentle Spirit confirms our true identity and great worth in His sight. God walks with us along the covenant path as we seek Him through prayerful pleadings, scriptural searchings, and obedient strivings.
I love the God of my fathers, “the Lord God Almighty,” who weeps with us in our sorrows, patiently chastens our unrighteousness, and rejoices when we seek to “give away all [our] sins to know [Him].” I worship Him, who is ever “a father of the fatherless” and a companion to the companionless. Gratefully, I testify that I have come to know God, my Father, and bear witness of the perfections, attributes, and “excellency of [His] character.”
That every one of us might truly understand and cherish our “noble birthright” as a child of God in coming to know Him, “the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom [He] hast sent” is my fervent prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Then came that great and important day in my life. I got my driver’s license. Who better than a teenage boy can savor the thrill of holding in his hand the piece of paper that says he can now drive a car?
When I sat down with my parents and requested permission to drive the family car, I expected some opposition, or at least a sermon on safe driving, but I was pleasantly surprised to find they were nice people. We worked out a schedule for when I could take the car—special events such as school dances or a date but not for just joy riding to burn up gasoline. Dad did give me a few pointers on safe driving and the results of not doing it.
“Okay, dad, okay,” I thought to myself. “I drove well enough to get my license, didn’t I? I don’t need any advice on how to drive.”
Things went along pretty well for the balance of my senior year. The smoking habit did not develop, and my relationship with my parents was pretty good. However, there was one incident that changed the entire course of my life. One Saturday night I took the family car, and a companion and I went to a movie. Afterwards I drove to a local drive-in for a malt. In the parking lot we met three of my schoolmates. They were acting so jovial that I should have guessed something was not just right. It was Saturday night, and I wanted to be a good sport, so when they invited us to go for a ride with them, I agreed. My companion and I climbed in their back seat, and we all headed for the canyon.
Before long the driver was gunning the car up the narrow, windy road with reckless abandon, and I could see that they had all been drinking. There were times when I wanted to caution him to slow down, but I didn’t want to appear to be chicken.
We went several miles up the canyon, then turned around to come back. I learned the true meaning of fear as the driver began taking hairpin curves at an unsafe speed. Then it happened. The car flew off the road at high speed and struck a concrete abutment. As the car flipped over on its side and then onto its roof, we skidded down the road in a mixed-up bundle of humanity.
As I watched the sparks flying from the roof of the car, I reviewed my life—down to the last wasted opportunity and foolish act. I prayed too. I don’t remember what I prayed for, but it must have been a prayer of desperation, a plea for life and a chance to change. After skidding down the road for several hundred feet, the car came to a jarring stop against a large cottonwood tree that stood above the river.
Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt. Suddenly sober, the driver and his companions began concocting a story to make the accident look less incriminating. It was agreed that the driver had swerved off the road to avoid hitting a deer. To my shame, I agreed to this lie, and later that night I told it to my parents. They believed their son.
The next day dad insisted we go to the scene of the accident. When he saw where the car had struck the abutment, he knew at once that the story of the deer was pure fiction. Back home, dad sat me down across the table from him. He was very serious.
“Son,” he said in a voice that was touched with emotion, “the night of the accident your mother and I kneeled at your bedside and your mother asked the Lord to protect you and your companions. She said she had a feeling you needed help.”
It took him a few moments to control his emotions; then he continued. “Today we thank God for preserving your life, and we have come to the conclusion that he has a mission for you. This could have been a day of sadness for us; instead, it is a day of rejoicing. Our family is still together, but only by the grace of God.”
I went into my room and lay on the bed. “Okay, dad, okay,” I thought, only this time I thought it with love and appreciation. “You have put something into my heart that was never there before—an understanding of your love and the love of my Heavenly Father.” I spent that night riding upside down, watching the sparks fly up from the road, and feeling the closeness of death. I was glad when morning came with its warm sunshine.
After I graduated from high school, the bishop called me into his office. “I want you to prepare for a mission,” he said. He looked me in the eyes, and the word prepare was there.
At supper I told my parents and saw the light in their eyes. “If you decide to go, we will support you in every way.”
There was no pressure. As usual the decision must be mine.
At the mission home in Salt Lake City, the General Authority who set me apart placed his hands upon my head and called me by name. Then, as if he were looking into the windows of my life, he said, “As of this moment, all of your sins are forgiven you.”
I served my mission and am now married to a wonderful woman. We have a little boy and have already started a missionary fund for him. I am sure that as he grows older there will be times when he will say, “Okay, dad, okay.” I will understand, and I will pray for the faith and understanding of my own dad and mother.

After college I finally found my first job as a music therapist at a large institution for the mentally handicapped. My first day on the job was memorable. After a quick tour, my supervisor handed me a long list of patients I was assigned to work with. First on that list was a 12-year-old girl named Bonnie.
When I walked into her room for the first time, I saw Bonnie staring back at me from her hospital bed with bright eyes. Her smile set off an explosion of warmth in sharp contrast to the collection of plastic tubes, blinking lights, and gray machines surrounding her. It seemed odd that Bonnie would be placed in an institution for the mentally handicapped. She seemed so bright and full of life. I was puzzled.
Bonnie’s story was sad but eventful. Born with a rare terminal illness involving her lungs, she needed life-support machines in order to breathe. Even though her intelligence appeared normal, the doctors encouraged her family to have Bonnie institutionalized so that she might receive the best medical care possible. A short time later, her family was forced to move across the country due to a work transfer. Then, much to the surprise of everyone, she survived her first year. She also pulled through a second; then 5, 10, and now a full 12 years. Bonnie’s will to live was extraordinary.
Over the weeks, we became best friends. I learned of her affection for turtles, calico kittens, mysteries, stuffed animals, and strawberry ice cream. Above all, Bonnie liked to sing. Her voice was like a bell, ringing a message of joy to all who heard it. She learned to read music, play the autoharp, and harmonize when we sang together.
Bonnie had spent her entire life inside the hospital. She longed to find out what wind and rain might feel like on her face. She dreamed of walking barefoot and picking pretty flowers. Her greatest wish was to be free from the noisy, sterile machines that kept her alive.
About Thanksgiving time, Bonnie took a turn for the worse. Her breathing became labored. Now she was only able to sing for short periods of time or not at all. I tried to cheer her up by asking her to choose a favorite song. Her answer that day, however, had nothing at all to do with singing.
“I’m going to die soon,” Bonnie said, “and I’m afraid. What do you think death will be like?”
I tried to explain the plan of salvation. I told her that she had been sent to earth for a special purpose—to obtain a body, to experience the joys and pains of life, to learn about keeping the commandments, and to learn about God’s plan for her.
I also explained that she didn’t need to fear death. When it was her appointed time, our Heavenly Father would send for her. Peacefully, her spirit would leave her body and be ready to return to his presence. When she arrived, there would be loved ones to welcome her. In her new heavenly home, she would be strong and healthy, with no pain, tubes, or machines.
Bonnie looked at me with piercing eyes, thinking. A feeling of peace filled the room. She heard and believed. It reminded me of the Primary song “I Am a Child of God.” I sang it to her. She was so touched by the words that she refused to let me leave until I taught it to her.
Over the next few weeks, this song became her own special anthem. When the pain was terrible, she sang this song to herself. She said she could feel Heavenly Father’s arms around her whenever she sang it.
One chilly morning in December, I entered her room and suddenly knew that Bonnie had died. I saw an empty bed with clean folded sheets and blankets stacked on top of it. The machines had been turned off. Bonnie’s journey to her heavenly home had finally come.
I was stunned. Then sadness began to consume me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was afraid. What if there was no life after death? If there truly was a God, then why did children like Bonnie have to suffer and die? My soul hurt.
Then I remembered Bonnie and her sweet voice, pure and true. I saw a young face racked with pain, clinging to hope with eyes full of faith. She was singing to me with all her heart, pushing away all doubts and fears. She knew of God’s plan for her.
Peace then came, replacing my doubts and fears with truth. I knew then that Bonnie had not only found the way but also helped me find it again.
Bonnie’s funeral was two days later. I was asked to sing. When I walked into the room, one of the nurses whispered that Bonnie’s family was sitting on the front row, having just flown in. The funeral service was simple. Some doctors, nurses, and therapists spoke of the special times they had shared with Bonnie.
When it was my turn to sing, I walked to the front with a prayer in my heart that the words to the song, Bonnie’s anthem, would be a source of comfort to her family.
Lead me, guide me, walk beside me.
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.
(Hymns, no. 307).
I could almost hear Bonnie singing along with me. Then the meeting closed. I stood in line to pay my respects to the family. As I stretched forth my hand, Bonnie’s mother took me aside. With emotion in her voice, she asked, “How did you know?”
I answered softly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She spoke again, “How did you know we were members of the Church?”
I was left speechless as she explained that their family had been taught the gospel during the past few months. They had been baptized only the month before.
I told Bonnie’s mother of her daughter’s questions regarding the plan of salvation. I told them how the song had comforted her in difficult times and how she had felt the Spirit of the Lord bear witness to her of the truth. While her family had been studying and praying to know if they should join the Church, Heavenly Father had provided a way for Bonnie to learn those same principles. The Lord had begun to prepare them to become an eternal family.
We hugged one another and cried as we realized the magnitude of what had just happened. They talked of plans to go to the temple and have Bonnie’s work done. Then their entire family could be sealed in the temple.
I know that Heavenly Father loved Bonnie, his precious daughter, whose simple short life had brought so much joy to those she knew. He knew her as an individual. He was aware of her suffering, trials, even her innermost fears. In her time of need, she heard the peaceful voice of the Spirit of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of God’s glorious plan of salvation, along with her own family, even across an entire continent.

The Young Women of the Orem Aspen Fifth Ward, Orem Utah Aspen Stake, chose to forego their traditional Christmas party and donate the money earned at a bake sale to the general missionary fund. In conjunction with this activity, each girl wrote her testimony and placed it in a Book of Mormon to be used for distribution in the mission field. The girls felt this was an especially worthwhile project and enjoyed participating.

When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.

Most of our missionaries come into the field because they love the Lord Jesus Christ and they desire to serve him and bring souls unto him. There are a few, however, who rationalize themselves out of a call or try to justify poor performance in the mission field—like the man who received his pay envelope and noticed that he had been shorted five dollars. He went to the paymaster and said, “You shorted me five dollars in my pay envelope this week.”
The paymaster responded, “Well, I have been expecting you. I noticed you didn’t come in complaining last week when I overpaid you five dollars.”
The fellow said, “Well, I can tolerate one mistake, but not two in a row.”

by Vickie L. Barnes
Bang! The runners spring into action in response to the starter’s signal. Tiffany is ahead in a second. Her feet pound the soft pavement of the track. She sets her pace, expecting to be passed by the other runners. As she runs, she looks over her shoulder. They are all there—all six of them—their faces strained in their effort to maintain the pace Tiffany has set. She looks forward again, her mind now racing faster than her feet. She is ahead! She has never raced before, so she really doesn’t have anything to compare the experience to, but she feels as if she can go the distance at this pace. The realization that she is ahead seems to give her an extra boost—a little extra energy.
Members of Tiffany’s ward track team line the inside of the track, calling her name, shouting their enthusiasm and encouragement. Tiffany takes one more look over her shoulder. With an exhilaration she has not experienced before, Tiffany bursts through the ribbon at the finish line.
Tiffany won first place in the 12- to 13-year-old division of the 880-yard race in the annual West Jordan Utah South Stake Youth Track Meet. She was one of 200 participants in 11 track and field events. But victory at the finish line was only the beginning of Tiffany’s story. In all her 12 years, Tiffany had never won anything and had never felt that she excelled in anything. She had been an average student because she lacked the self-confidence required for achievement. During the track meet, Tiffany learned she has a physical prowess not enjoyed by many young women. She now trains at least once a week with her Beehive leader, a former high school coach, in preparation for participation in high school and college track.

Louis ran shouting down the hall. “Mommy! Mommy! Guess what!”
“What?” Mommy bent down and hugged him.
“I’m supposed to give a talk next week in Primary. Just like the big boys and girls!”
“Your very first talk!” Mommy said. “You certainly are growing up!”
“Let’s work on it today, OK?” Louis asked.
“OK.”
When lunch was over and the dishes were washed, Mommy and Louis sat down at the table.
“What do you want to talk about?” Mommy asked.
Louis thought hard. He remembered some of the things that he learned in Primary. He remembered some of the stories that Mommy told him. “I know!” he said. “I’ll talk about the prophet Abinadi warning the people and about wicked King Noah.”
“That would be a good story to tell the other Primary children,” Mommy said. “Let’s read the story again, and maybe we can draw a picture for you to show the children while you tell the story.”
“Yes! Let’s do,” Louis said happily.
After they read the story in Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, Mommy got a large piece of paper and the crayons. She and Louis drew a picture of the brave prophet Abinadi standing before King Noah. Louis used lots of red and blue, his favorite colors.
“There!” he said when he had finished.
“That’s a good picture,” Mommy told him. She propped it up on the windowsill, where Louis could see it every day.
Louis practiced telling the story of Abinadi all week long. On Saturday he stood straight and tall in the living room and held up the picture, as if he were already giving his talk in Primary. Mommy sat in front of him on a chair, pretending to be all the Primary children.
Louis used a good, loud voice. He held the picture high. He told the whole story, and he remembered to say “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen” when he finished.
Mommy kissed him. “That was wonderful!”
On Sunday Louis sat up in front in Primary because he was giving a talk. He held his picture carefully. Mommy sat in the back row. She had come to Primary especially to hear him.
Finally it was his turn. Louis got off his chair and stood up. He held up his picture, just as he’d practiced at home. He looked at all the boys and girls. They all looked back at him. Louis looked at the picture. Then he looked at the boys and girls again. He opened his mouth but couldn’t remember how the story began.
“Louis!” someone whispered. It was Mommy. She gave him a big smile. Louis smiled back. He held the picture up again so that everyone could see it, and he talked in a loud voice so that everyone could hear him. He told the whole story exactly right.
When he finished and sat down, the Primary president stood up and said, “Thank you, Louis. That was an excellent talk.”