Gospel Story Finder

When Sister Burton and I were first married, we lived in the southeast part of the Salt Lake Valley. On occasion, as we purchased groceries from a small neighborhood store, we observed President and Sister Joseph Fielding Smith in the same store making their purchases. After several such observations, I finally mustered the courage to inquire of President Smith why it was he traveled all the way from downtown, past a dozen grocery stores, to shop at this particular store. Looking over the tops of his glasses he emphatically said: “Son! [He had my immediate attention.] Sister Smith and I patronize establishments that keep the Sabbath day holy.”

Fortunately, there are seldom-reported but marvelous-to-consider stories of great patience. Recently I attended the funeral of a lifelong friend. His son told a beautiful story of parental patience. When the son was in his youth, his dad owned a motorcycle dealership. One day they received a shipment of shiny new motorcycles, and they lined them all up in the store. The boy did what every boy would like to do, and he climbed up on the closest one. He even started it up. Then, when he figured he had pushed his luck far enough, he jumped off. To his dismay, his dismount knocked the first bike down. Then, like a string of dominoes, they all went down, one after another. His dad heard the commotion and looked out from behind the partition where he was working. Slowly, smiling, he said, “Well, son, we had better fix one up and sell it, so we can pay for the rest of them.”
I think my friend’s response personifies parental patience.

Ralph Foster Diston was born at Trimdon Grange, Durham, England, on the 24th of October 1912. His parents, Ralph and Elizabeth, were Latter-day Saints and he was brought up in the faith. In 1921, at age 8, he was baptised and confirmed. He had grown up as a member of the Sunderland branch, but by 1939 he had moved to Newcastle where he worshipped with the Saints. For employment he had worked at a colliery before joining the army. In 1933 he married Francis Bransby and in 1938 they had a son, Francis. He was an ordained Deacon.
During the Second World War he served as a Company Sergeant Major (CSM) in the Durham Light Infantry (DLI). Brother Diston is remembered for his extraordinary bravery and leadership, particularly during the Battle of the Mereth Line near Wadi Zigzaou, Tunisia, on the 21st of March 1943.
During this battle, Ralph was ordered to capture a redoubt (a fortification). He led his men through intense combat, showing a complete disregard for danger and demonstrated ‘magnificent leadership’. His actions included leading assaults on enemy fortified positions, clearing trenches, and rallying his men under heavy fire. After capturing the redoubt they secured 120 Italian prisoners. His courage and determination were instrumental in the DLI’s success, and he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, with commendations from General Bernard Montgomery.
Despite the overwhelming odds, Brother Diston continued to inspire his men. The next day, German tanks and infantry approached the redoubt on three fronts. His cool leadership helped his company hold their position until they ran out of ammunition, after which he guided them to safety. In a nearby anti-tank ditch they armed themselves with more ammunition and continued their defence.
After recovering from wounds he incurred during the defence, he continued his military service and was involved in the Allied Invasion of Sicily. In July 1943 he led his soldiers into battle and was involved in the Assault on Primosole Bridge which spanned the Simeo River near Catania. This time, however, there was a resolute German defence and he was injured during the assault. He died of his wounds on the 18th of July leaving behind a wife and young son.
Although Ralph was only 30 years old at the time of his death, he showed immense bravery and leadership. Brother Ralph Diston is buried at the Catania War Cemetery in Sicily, Italy. On the 22nd of August 1943, a one-minute’s silence was held in honour of Ralph in the Newcastle branch.

One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.

Annette Aagard was in the middle of a bad week. She felt overwhelmed. She did not need one more thing to do. Then why was she rushing off to become—of all things—a volunteer?
A couple of months earlier it had seemed like a good idea. She had signed up to donate a few hours each week to Great Oaks Village, a residential school for abused children in Orlando, Florida. She had been through orientation to assist girls between the ages of six and twelve. And now she faced her first assignment—all alone.
As soon as she walked into the dorm at Great Oaks, she heard someone say, “Hey, the new volunteer’s here!” Several anxious, wide-eyed little girls ran up to her and asked, “Are you our new volunteer?” And someone said, “Better be good or she won’t talk to you!”
By the end of that first evening in March of 1989, Annette knew why she had rushed off to become a volunteer. She learned that the word volunteer is like magic to these youngsters. It means that for a little while, someone has come to be family; someone has come to give love.
Annette loves to be a “big sister” to the little girls. She loves to walk and talk with them. “I not only learn from the things they say, but from the quick and easy way they trust, accept, and believe,” she says.
She tells about one particular evening. It was very quiet—most of the girls were restricted to their dorm rooms. So she took one little girl, Stosha, outside. It had just rained and the air was clean and quiet. They rode bikes for a little while and later went to the playground.
Annette explains, “Stosha is small and energetic and talkative. She loves the monkey bars. She would go across the bars and then expect me to follow her, which I had a hard time doing! I asked Stosha if she was going to try and skip every other bar the next time. She said, ‘Nope, I’m not going to try, I’m going to do it!’ This incident reminded me of President Spencer W. Kimball’s motto, ‘Do it!’ Sometimes we find excuses and whine and say ‘if … , but … , maybe … ,’ when we just need to believe in ourselves and do it.”

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just as Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.

That night he had a dream. In his dream he was fishing from a boat with Jed as they had done many times. It was the same lake in the mountains that they had been to that summer. At first he was catching fish, laughing with Jed, having a good time. Then the dream changed, and he was alone in the boat. The boat was leaking, and all he had was a plastic drinking cup. At first he was able to stay ahead of the water, but then it got worse. He bailed furiously to keep the boat from sinking, but he could see the water filling the boat. When he looked up, he saw Kim and Fitzie on the shore laughing at him, yelling for him to let the boat sink.
Suddenly he wrenched free of his dream. He was sweating, and his covers were in disarray. He got out of bed, turned on his light, and looked at the time. It was 12:30.
He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. All the offending thoughts poured down upon his mind in rapid succession.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. Putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, he walked outside on his front steps and sat down. The sky was free of clouds, and he could see the stars clearly. He found himself identifying some of the constellations that he had learned in Scouting.
Sitting there, he relived in his mind what Jed and he had gone through in order to both earn their Eagle Scout rank. He remembered how Jed was always in front, leading the way.
Suddenly he found an answer to his problems: “I’ll call Jed and ask if I can move out with his family!” His mind raced, picturing himself back again with his friends.
He hurried inside and went into the family room where there was an extension phone. He dialed the number of Jed’s home.
The sleepy voice of Jed’s mother answered the phone. He apologized for calling so late and asked if he could talk to Jed.
Jed answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes about small things. Then Jed asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“I want to move back there. Do you think your parents will let me move in with your family? I could get a job and pay them for room and board. My parents would probably help too.”
“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Jed answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it here. The people are really different.” He told Jed about the drugs and loose morals, painting it in as bad a light as he could.
Jed was unimpressed. “So what? I can find the same attitudes back here in our high school. Have you forgotten?”
Kevin felt as if his last hope was being yanked away. “No! It’s different. I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll end up being just like them.”
“Why don’t you try to set a good example?” Jed asked.
“I can’t. They’ll laugh at me. Let me come back.”
“Okay, if you need to, we’ll work it out. But Kevin, maybe you’ve got some missionary work you can do there.”
“No, not me. How can I convert them? They’ve nearly converted me.”
“Look,” Jed continued, “since we were in grade school, you’ve been somebody I’ve looked up to for help. You practically dragged me through to become an Eagle. You were always the one who was out ahead yelling for us to catch up.”
Kevin was stunned to hear Jed say that. “No, not me. You were the leader.”
“I had to hustle to stay up with you,” Jed insisted. “Didn’t you know that? Now find some friends there who will lift you up the way we helped each other.”
Kevin pictured in his mind the way the halls overflowed during a class change. “How will I find them? There are 2,000 kids in the school.”
“I don’t know. You’ll find a way. You always have before when you faced a challenge.”
They said good-bye, and Kevin hung up. He walked slowly to his room, lost in thought. Kneeling down by his bed, he began a long prayer: “Father in Heaven, I’ve got a problem …”
The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

After graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“When I heard this, I was crushed,” remembers David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” Even though David had given it his best, he felt strongly he must continue to pursue a mission. An interview was arranged with Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve, who lovingly assured David there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George. Nothing had prepared him for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed.” But he kept hearing these words to the song, “I will go, I will do,” run through his head and knew the Lord wanted him there.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.

Since both Jacob and Jeff are living at home, they have been able to serve as home teachers with their father. They have also helped in the ward nursery and in the ward library. And they are also able to bless the sacrament regularly. “Jacob and Jeff take about three minutes longer to say the prayers,” Bishop Nye observes, “but they are so sincere that the spirituality is augmented immeasurably.” With tears in his eyes, their father talks about the example older brother Jeremy set by walking Jacob and Jeff through their sacrament assignments as deacons until they understood how to pass, as teachers until they understood how to prepare, and as priests until they were comfortable saying the prayers and distributing the trays.
Just as Jacob and Jeff have looked to older brothers as an example, they are now passing on that same legacy of priesthood service to their younger brother, Jesse, 19, now serving in the New York Utica Mission, and their youngest brother Jason, 17, who is also preparing for a full-time mission.
“Without Jacob and Jeff, I wouldn’t be who I am,” Jesse says. “They prove that there’s something good out there for every person to do.”

When I was 11, I helped my ward build a new Church building. The members helped build them in those days—pounding nails, painting walls, and doing all sorts of things.
President David O. McKay was the ninth President of the Church and served from 1951 until 1970.
When I heard that President David O. McKay (1873–1970) would dedicate the building, I really wanted to be there. My parents said that I could go. I went early and sat on the front row.
I remember seeing President McKay up close. I saw the way he stood, how he talked to people, how he treated people. He had bright blue eyes and white hair. He looked like a prophet. When I heard him speak and say the dedicatory prayer, I knew in my heart that this was God’s prophet.
I had a powerful spiritual impression from Heavenly Father: “This is My prophet.” Heavenly Father was telling me through the Holy Ghost that President McKay was His prophet.
Once I knew that President McKay was God’s prophet, I knew that the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I knew that the Book of Mormon and the Restoration of the gospel were true. I also knew that all the prophets, from Joseph Smith to David O. McKay, were God’s prophets too.
Now every time a new prophet is called, I’ve had that same confirmation come from Heavenly Father: “This is My prophet.” It all started when I was a boy.

I worked on the old car with grandpa that whole week. And as we worked, he would tell the stories I had heard so many times. The years seemed to turn backwards and sweep us away with them.
I was cleaning the carburetor when grandpa said, “Bobby, did I ever tell you what happened when I first got this old car? I’ll never forget the look on your grandma’s face when I took her for her first ride.” He chuckled to himself, then went on. “Bobby, you’ve never seen a woman more scared in all your life. The whole time I was driving she was yelling. ‘Look out for that fence! Look out for the ditch!’ Sometimes I thought she’d yell herself hoarse. I’d swerve all over the place, and she’d scream like a baby pig caught in a fence. I learned my lesson though. The next time I tried to scare her, she gave me one. She reached over and grabbed the wheel! That woman nearly ran me into the barn!”
He laughed out loud as he remembered. Then, eyes twinkling, he was off into another story. This time it was about how he had won the motorcar race at the county fair three years in a row. Then another about how some city slicker had tried to con him out of his car and how he had “showed him a thing or two.”
The week passed quickly, too quickly in fact, and it was soon time for the fair. I picked Margie up early; I was showing a calf, and I had to be there as soon as possible.
I won a blue ribbon and was pretty proud of myself, but when I showed it to Margie, all she did was smile that same smile she had given the kids at the dance the other night. But now I knew what it was that bothered me so much about it. Her smile was one of polite disinterest, as if to say, “You guys are nice and everything, but you’re so different, so uncool.” My stomach lurched inside me and my heart sank down to my toes. The old Margie was gone, gone forever. Somehow, she had gotten lost in the city.
We didn’t talk very much on the way home. She hadn’t had a good time (she’d nearly been kicked by a cow and run over by a Tennessee Walker), and I was depressed by my discovery.
I never saw Margie again after that. I saw her grandfather in town a few days later, and he said that she had gone back to the “big city.”
The days dragged by, even though I was working on the car with grandpa. He saw by my halfhearted enthusiasm that something was wrong and tried to cheer me up with his funniest stories. I listened and slowly began to feel better.
That week we finished the work on the engine. Grandpa was excited and wanted to take her for a trial run before we started on the body. So, I opened the barn doors up all the way and stood back to watch. He got in and gently ran his hand over the seat. The gleam in his eye reminded me of the excitement of a father watching his only child take its first few steps.
He tried to start it up, but the engine just sputtered and fell silent. He tried again, and again it died.
“Third time will be the charm,” grandpa yelled.
But as he tried to start it, a terrible rasping noise came from inside along with billows of black smoke and a deafening crash.
I ran to the car. Grandpa, coughing from the smoke, got out and sat on a bale of hay. I opened the hood and peered down into the remains of the engine, all black with burnt oil and grease. It was hopeless to think of fixing it again, and I knew it would hurt grandpa deeply when I told him.
But as I glanced over at him, I knew he already knew. His face trembled as he buried it in his hands. His back was bent, like a crooked cane, and he looked so old, so lost, so alone.
I went and sat next to him with my arm on his shoulder. Looking up, he mumbled, “I only wanted to bring it back, make it new, make it the way it was when grandma and I went riding in it.”
He sat there shaking, his heart crying out for the days of the past, somehow thinking that they could be brought back, rebuilt like an old car, this old Ford.
Gently I shook his shoulder.
“Grandpa,” I said. “Grandpa. Sometimes things just can’t be brought back or rebuilt. Sometimes we can only call back the memories.”
I sat there a while longer, then left him alone to sift through his days long past. Walking out of the barn, I could hear the cows softly mooing in the pasture and the hens clucking to their little ones. The sun was warm on my face, and suddenly I knew that everything would be all right for the both of us.

It was a beautiful day in the hills of Tennessee, and I was on a two-hour training ride for cycling with my uncle. For the first half of the ride the wind was at our back, and we flew right along without any difficulty. When we changed direction, however, we found out why our ride had been so easy. Now the wind, which was blowing hard at about 20–30 miles an hour, was in our faces.
In cycling there is a technique, called drafting, where one person rides in the front and uses the most energy to break the wind for the person who rides right behind.
My uncle is a big guy—about 6 foot 3 inches tall and 240 pounds—so he was having a horrible time trying to keep up with a little 17-year-old on a road bike. About halfway home the wind was at its worst, so I accelerated ahead and slid in front of my uncle.
The next day at church he talked about how much of a difference it made. “You’re little, but the amount of wind you blocked made such a significant difference.” He then made a comparison that has changed my life. He said, “It’s almost like when you are having trouble in life, you let the Savior slip in front of you and you get behind Him. You still have to work to stay behind Him, but the wind He blocks makes a world of difference.”
After that ride I was worn, hurting, and beat, but after hearing my uncle, I realized that all I have to do is let the Savior lead and then do the work to stay behind Him, and He will take the wind for me.

I met my husband when we were both EFY counselors. I was impressed by his strong testimony and the way he taught and interacted with the youth.
When we started dating, we felt like the Lord expected something from our relationship. As our relationship progressed, however, he became more insistent in the way he showed affection. I started suspecting he had difficulties with pornography, but when we talked about it, he denied that he had any problems with it.
We started setting stricter rules to protect ourselves. When he proposed, I accepted and things got better—until one day when, once again, he started insisting on showing me he loved me in ways that made me uncomfortable.
I still had my suspicions about his pornography use, so one day I told him about one of my mission companions who had struggled with pornography before her mission. I did my best to sound understanding, loving, and nonjudgmental, because she truly is a good person. I then asked him again if he had a pornography addiction, and he finally told me he did.
At first, it was hard for me to talk to him and look him in the eyes. My feelings were almost unbearable because I felt that the Lord had told me that this man could be my eternal companion. But even though I was hurt, I knew I needed to work toward forgiving him, and I felt prompted to not give up on our relationship.
I prayed a lot and studied talks about forgiveness and pornography use. I read a lot of articles and testimonies of married people whose spouse had struggles with this poison. As I read, I felt the Savior’s love for me and my fiancé, and I received another confirmation that this man was truly my eternal companion. I also learned a different aspect of the Savior’s Atonement—how He can heal a repentant soul (my fiancé’s) and a bruised heart (mine).
An important factor in our journey was talking to my fiancé’s bishop. His guidance helped us to heal and grow closer as a couple. He was very patient when my husband relapsed, and his Christlike, loving example inspired and helped me to forgive and work through this problem with my fiancé.
For a while, it was so hard for my fiancé to see me suffer because of his choices that he almost didn’t want to marry me anymore! But after working together for months for him to be clean, he finally felt that both the Lord and I had sincerely forgiven him.
Eventually, we got married, and our relationship is now stronger than ever. This experience has helped us not be ashamed to talk to each other about our problems. And although he is no longer involved with pornography, we still remain very attentive and accountable to each other.
If your relationship is being poisoned by the effects of pornography, know that it’s possible to forgive. It’s possible to continue to love each other and work together to find solutions and overcome it. We are all entitled to the healing of the Savior’s Atonement. We have to accept that we are hurt and that only with the Savior’s help can we be fully healed.
Every person’s story is unique, and every relationship is unique. For some people, ending the relationship may be the right thing to do. But I hope our story can help others in similar circumstances. Because I received that confirmation from the Holy Ghost, and with the help of the Savior and His Atonement, I was able to forgive my fiancé and continue our relationship. I know that it was the right choice for me.
If you’re facing a similar situation, prayerfully consider your current circumstances and what the future could potentially hold. If you receive confirmation from the Spirit that continuing your relationship is the right thing to do and you feel confident, know that with effort from both of you and reliance on Heavenly Father, your relationship can work.
My husband is a wonderful man, and I love him more than ever! I can’t thank the Lord enough for helping us heal and making it possible for us to get married. The Lord has helped us grow together as a couple that is ready to face whatever He has planned for our lives together.

In 2009, shortly after Bro Beharrell’s passing, June records. “I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, but instead of shedding tears, I thought, ‘I am going to the market on Saturday, and I am going to collect for the Severn Hospice just as Gordon would have done.’”
From 2009, June continued to collect donations in Shrewsbury Market by sitting in the hall entrance from 9 am until 2:30 pm almost every Friday and Saturday, whatever the weather or temperature. In the winter, when the cold wind would blow through the entrance, June would take a rug to keep warm. In 2020, amidst the COVID-19 national lockdown, June was not able to collect in the market, so her family helped her set up an online fundraising account which proved very successful.
Now that things have been returning to normal, June has returned to the market to continue collecting donations. Kate Gittins, Shrewsbury’s market hall manager said: “The market’s customers love her; for some, she has become their confidante, for others, particularly those visiting the market for the first time, she provides a warm welcome with her charming smile and generosity of spirit.” The Shropshire Star reported that “her fundraising over the years has helped to fund the general running costs of the hospice and enhanced the care of thousands of people over the years.”

A member of our ward had to be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. I had an idea that our family could take care of her son a couple of days a week. My brothers and sister and I helped watch him and make sure he was having fun when he wasn’t with his mom. It was so fun to have him come over and to know that we were helping his family.
Mason, Cooper, Weston, and Ellie T., ages 10, 8, 5, and 3, Georgia

“I love to do the dishes!” Brother Eves announced each week in our Sunday School class. He was in his 60s and taught our class of 14- and 15-year-olds. I was doubtful about learning from someone who was so far removed from my own age. He always shared his testimony and stories of faith. Each lesson ended with a challenge for all of us to go home and learn to love washing the dishes, or to learn to love some other chore that we didn’t enjoy.
I didn’t believe Brother Eves could really love to do the dishes. I figured he was just saying that to inspire us to go home and do the dishes for our parents. I listened each week as he repeated this to us, and I decided to put his words to the test.
I had moved into Brother Eves’s ward because of my parents’ divorce, and at the time I was embarrassed and sad. My mother, my sister, and I had moved from our comfortable family home into a little trailer that was several decades old. I was scared of the changes that lay in front of me, and I was ready to cast a negative attitude on my new situation.
We did not have a dishwasher in our new home, which meant we had to wash all of the dishes by hand. While I completed this chore, I repeated over and over in my head that I too loved to do the dishes. A few weeks went by, and I continued my experiment. I was shocked to discover that doing the dishes did actually become more enjoyable.
I felt this pattern of work and positive attitude growing inside of me. I began thinking positively about all the good things that I had. I quit focusing on what I didn’t have and put my energy into making ordinary daily tasks into something that I enjoyed. My faith increased. I prayed for guidance to face each day’s challenges. I began reading the scriptures with more purpose. I felt my own testimony grow to a firm belief in the truth of the gospel.
Like Moroni, Brother Eves taught that faith needs work (see Ether 12:29–30). The fruit of my faith and work was the attitude I needed to be successful in life. I will always be thankful for that.
See “What I Learned as a Corn Dog,” New Era, July 2006, p. 24.

For some time I was active in doing family history and temple work. As I progressed in my research, though, I knew I would have trouble finding information about one person—my maternal grandfather.
My mother was not raised with her father and had lost contact with him, her siblings, and all her father’s relatives. She didn’t have anything to confirm his birth date or birthplace, and she wasn’t sure where or when he had died. I wondered if I would ever find the necessary information.
One day as I was looking through my mother’s diary, I noticed a photograph of my grandfather. As I turned it over, I saw that he had signed and dated the photo and indicated how old he was at the time. I now had an approximate date for his birth! I excitedly searched his name and the dates on FamilySearch. To my great astonishment, I saw that his ordinances had already been done. Who could have done my grandfather’s temple work?
I soon discovered that the work had been performed by one of my long-lost maternal uncles. I searched for his contact information and eventually found his telephone number.
I was nervous about calling him because he had met me 30 years before—when I was one. I didn’t know how he would react.
Still, I decided to call. When he answered, I explained how I had found the information about my grandfather—his father—and told him that I was his niece.
I will always remember his response: “You could never know the sadness I have felt about having lost contact with your mother. Now you have removed that sadness from me!”
We learned that his family and mine, though separated, had been baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints around the same time, and both families were firm in the gospel. It was a joyful, emotional moment for us.
I had long understood that family history and temple work can connect us to our deceased ancestors, but I had never considered that it could connect us to our living relatives as well. I am grateful that I have been able to help unite our family through family history—not only in the spirit world but also during our earthly life.

Cancer? Me? I thought only people in big cities got cancer. After biopsies and close examinations by competent specialists, I learned the problem I was having with the swelling in my right forearm was an osteogenic sarcoma. Translated, it meant I had a type of bone cancer which, in those days, was nearly always fatal, even with the amputation of the affected limb.
Fatal! I was 19; having something fatal had never crossed my mind. I was excited to serve my mission, marry in the temple, have a great family, and enjoy a wonderful life. Still I loved the Lord, and I knew He loved me. Whether He allowed me to remain here or leave this life, it would be OK.
The immediate outcome was the loss of my right arm. The extended outcome has proven to be a lifetime of adventure. As I look back, I can honestly say the loss of my arm, rather than being a tragic experience, has been one of my greatest blessings. I have learned and gained so much from it.
The adjustment was interesting. I had been working in logging and road-building operations in the Pacific Northwest woods, so my body was strong. But I was extremely right-handed, and that greatly-depended-upon arm was truly missed. Although I could formerly throw a baseball farther than anyone on the team, with my left arm I could throw a ball only a short distance. Writing was really interesting. My penmanship could have been improved on by almost any preschool child. Everything was a challenge: tying shoes, buttoning shirts, carrying large objects, driving, shaving, drawing, eating, being stared at, enduring phantom pain, and so on.
Very quickly I came to realize I had much to get used to, to learn, and to relearn. I also realized there was very little I could do about the fact that I had only one arm, and my attitude about that fact—and in life in general—was totally up to me. I was at a crossroads. It was apparent I could cry if I wanted to, or I could handle this and all other challenges with faith and a positive attitude. My happiness and eternal well-being were dependent upon my choice.
The decision was simple. I chose to be positive, creative, very active, and to do everything possible to fulfill my destiny as a son of God, sent to grow from an earthly experience. Once made, this choice was firm and I never looked back.

Nita Blackwing dragged her bleating one-year-old sheep across the corral. “You’re going to get your first shearing,” she told him. “But don’t be afraid—it won’t hurt.”
Mother and Granny were shearing the whole flock that spring day. Some of the sheep belonged to Nita’s older brothers and sisters. This was Nita’s first sheep. With a pair of big hand shears Granny expertly sheared the wool from Nita’s sheep in one whole piece.
“How skinny he looks!” Nita declared. “Poor thing!” She wished she could wrap his woolly coat around him and make him a baby lamb again.
Feeling a bit sad, Nita walked home with Granny as the glowing sunset turned the earth and rocks of the Navajo reservation red.
Running ahead of the older woman, Nita shouted, “The cactuses are in bloom, Granny!” Nita kept a safe distance from the spiny pads of the prickly pear cactuses as she stroked the dark pink petals of a colorful blossom. They were big and as shiny as wax. “I wish I could take one home,” she said.
“A cactus flower lives only a short while,” Granny cautioned. “Let it turn into a fruit that we can use.”
The Blackwing hogan was a round house made of logs and bark, plastered with mud the same color as the rocks around it. The boys helped their father with the horses and ponies and the crops of corn and squash. The girls herded the sheep and helped prepare the wool for weaving. Mother wove good blankets and rugs, but Granny was known far and wide as one of the best weavers among the Navajos.
Nita and her sisters spent the hot summer days in front of the hogan, beating the wool with sticks to make the burrs and dirt fly out. Then they carded it into strands by combing it with metal-toothed paddles. Nita carded her own sheep’s fleece especially well so that Granny would want to use it in her rug.
Every night Nita watched Granny spin the wool into yarn on a spinning stick. “Why do you whirl it around so many times?” she asked.
“The more you spin, the finer the yarn,” Granny explained. “The finer the yarn, the better the rug.”
Mother, who liked new ways and bright colors, bought the dye for her yarn in paper packages at the trading post. One night when they were all snuggled down under their sheepskins, the children chose the colors they wanted for their wool.
“Turquoise!” said Maria. “Like the sky.”
“Yellow!” said Jolie. “Like the sun.”
“Red—bright red!” Ben shouted.
Those three colors would go into Mother’s rug.
“My sheep is black, so I don’t have to choose,” said Ramon.
“I want mine to stay white,” said Johnny. “And my wool will be twisted with Ramon’s to make gray.”
Both Mother and Granny used the three natural colors—black, white, and gray. But Granny wouldn’t use dyes from the trader. She made her own by boiling roots, bark, fruit, and leaves from plants.
“I guess you’ll have to choose brown, Nita,” said Maria. “That’s about the only color Granny ever makes.”
But brown was dull, and Nita like bright colors too.
One day Nita went with Granny to the nearby mountains to find plants for making dye. The trees and shrubs were turning red and yellow in the frosty air.
“What a pretty tree,” said Nita as they dug up roots of a mountain mahogany with reddish bark and leaves. “Does this make red dye, Granny?” She hoped it did.
But Granny replied, “No, Brown,”
On the way home they came to the prickly pear cactus, now bearing dark red fruit. “We’ll pick some of these to make rose-colored dye,” said Granny.
“You’ve never woven a rose-colored rug before!” Nita said excitedly.
“I mix it with brown to make a good Indian color—the color of the earth that takes care of us.”
Nita looked toward the hogan framed against the rocks. It was a kind of rosy brown in the setting sun. “Like that?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes. I see a design in my head that has many squares of the Indian earth color at sunset.”
“Then I want that for the color of my sheep’s wool,” Nita declared.
When the snow came and the coyotes howled, Nita sat in front of the loom and watched Granny weave her rug. It had a gray background and a black border and a design in squares and rectangles of white and black and the rosy Indian earth color.
When the frozen ground thawed and the snowstorms were replaced by dust storms, Granny took the rug off the loom and laid it on the floor. Nita touched the rosy brown squares.
“There is my sheep’s wool,” she said. “And there are the colors from the prickly pear flower and the mahogany tree.”
Granny began to roll up the rug. “Now I must take it to the trading post. We need flour, sugar, and canned food, and some cloth for blouses and skirts.”
Tears came into Nita’s eyes as she thought about the beautiful rug that must be traded for supplies.
“Come,” said Granny. “Your father will drive us to the trading post in his truck. The trader will give you a peppermint stick.”
Nita smiled. “It’s almost time for the ewes to have new lambs, isn’t it? Will I get to choose another one to be mine?”
“Of course,” said Granny. “You will have a new lamb, and your old sheep will have new wool. The cactus will bloom again, and we will go again to the mountains for our plant dyes. That is how the earth takes care of us.”
“And I will learn to weave rugs full of beautiful things like yours,” said Nita

These young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, many of whom are assembled here tonight, have a vital interest in athletics. The Church recognizes this fact and provides through its activities and athletic programs an opportunity for participation and growth. The enormous financial investment in physical facilities made by the Church, with the anticipation that all may benefit, can provide fellowship and brotherhood as well as the development of athletic skills. These goals, however, are defeated if winning the game overshadows participation in the game. Young men come to play—not to sit on the bench. Ours is the privilege to provide this opportunity.
I remember in my youth a basketball team from the Twenty-fifth Ward of the Pioneer Stake that had ten young men participating. A wise leader decided not to play just the five best, with the other five substituting here and there. Rather, he formed two teams with balanced ability and age. One team of five played the first and third periods, while the remaining team of five played the second and fourth periods. It was not a contest between bench warmers and active players, but a situation where morale was high, playing time was equal, and games were played and won in the right spirit. No participant in Church-sponsored athletic contests should warm the bench for the entire game.