Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks ago, my mission president asked all the missionaries to prepare a four-minute talk on the blessings of the Savior’s mercy and grace in their life. It took a while for me just to understand what the topic really meant. I was little confused, and I needed help. Knowing exactly what to do when I need help, I knelt down, prayed, and asked our Father in Heaven to help me to understand this topic and prepare the talk for the zone conference.
The Spirit of the Lord began to guide me. With the help of the Spirit, I searched the scriptures diligently to learn more about what the mercy and grace of the Atonement of Jesus Christ does for me and all those who have faith in him. After studying several scriptures, I paused and read the topic again. The last three words of the topic struck out to me: IN MY LIFE.
When I started to think about the blessings of mercy and grace because of the Atonement in my life, the following three questions came to my mind. First, what are the blessings you have received in the past? Second, what are the blessings which you are receiving now? Third, what are the blessings which you’re going to receive in the future because of his mercy and grace?
My dear brothers, sisters, and friends, I testify that it was because of the great mercy and grace of His infinite Atonement that my family was blessed with the restored gospel when I was 15 years old. And because of His mercy and love I was forgiven of all my sins when I took Christ’s name upon myself through the ordinance of baptism.
Though I was one of the weakest of the weak, because of His grace, I received strength to do more than what was expected of me in my callings from the day I joined the Church. As it says in Ether 12:27, His grace was and will be sufficient for me and you to overcome all our weaknesses. Jesus Christ made my weaknesses into strengths, little by little, because of His grace.
It was very painful to face failures in my life, especially in my studies. In twelfth standard, I failed in my subjects again and again and again. It was too hard for me to bear. I almost gave up. But the Savior indeed helped me to stay strong and showed His bounteous mercy and grace to me, which helped me not to give up. Having a great hope in my heart, I took a different course and chose to do a diploma in mining engineering in which I was able to succeed. In fact, I was one of the toppers of my college in all six semesters of my 3-year course. It may sound magical, but it was a miracle. How did this happen? I testify that it was because of Christ’s grace that I received light in my life which helped me to have success in my education.
Today, my family has been blessed with peace, love, joy, and unity. Though my dad is not with us, I know that he is resting in paradise because I was able to be baptized for him in the temple and we were sealed as a family to live together in eternity. This was made possible only through the grace of the Lord by His atoning sacrifice for all God’s children. Because of His tender mercy and grace, I’m able to be a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My heart and soul rejoice greatly to share the gospel.
I know for a surety that I’m going to receive many, many, many other blessings from our loving Heavenly Father through the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ.
Each time I have received a blessing in my life, I had to do something on my part. I would like to suggest three things you can do to access mercy and grace in your life and receive blessings. First, exercise your faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ by learning more than you know now about His grace and mercy from the scriptures and from the church magazines. Second, seek His help by praying more often and third, follow Him to the end and never give up.
I promise you that as you do these three things in your life, you will definitely see blessings and miracles. As President Gordon B. Hinckley said, “May we go with determination to try a little harder to be a little better” (Gordon B. Hinckley, “We Have a Work to Do,” Ensign, May 1995, 87; see also www.ChurchofJesusChrist.org/study/general-conference/1995/04/we-have-a-work-to-do?lang=eng).
I bear my witness that Jesus is the Christ who came down from heaven, lived a sinless life, and died to save you and me. I also testify that this is His church and He directs it through prophets and apostles. I know for myself that Joseph Smith was blessed to see Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ face-to-face and received divine help and strength to restore the fullness of the gospel. I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real and the only way for our salvation and exaltation. I know that families can live together forever in the celestial kingdom of God. In the name of the Lord and Savior, even Jesus Christ, amen.

It happened again when a man and his wife arrived back in town just after the dam had broken. They didn’t go to their home. They went first to find their bishop. He was covered in mud, leading his members in mucking out homes. They asked what he would have them do.
They went to work. Much later, they took a few minutes to check on their own house. It was gone. So they went back to work wherever their bishop asked them to help. They knew where to go to get the Lord’s direction for service in His Church.

When the stake president put forth a challenge, the Ventura [California] First Ward priests responded. Concerned about reverence at Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women activity night, President Joseph F. Chapman suggested that each of the priests come dressed in the Explorer dress uniform.

The priests gladly accepted the idea and planned projects to raise money for the navy blazers, center-crease gray slacks, white shirts, and polished shoes. Gone were the jeans-T-shirt-sneakers look and several inches of hair from the heads of many of the priests.

Explorer Matt Tonnies feels that “there’s been a lot less goofing around” since the uniforms have been worn. “We’re also singled out because of our dress. Other Scouts look at us and say, ‘Hey, why can’t we do something like that?’”

Matt says the foremost goal of the group is to fulfill honorable missions. There is one priest who isn’t sure if he wants to go on a mission, so the challenge of the rest of the Explorers “is to see that he makes this his goal,” said Matt.

Peace McBride, a seamstress’s helper in Philadelphia, is delivering a dress for her mistress, Mrs. Root, when a crowd in front of a large church piques her curiosity. Pushed inside the church by the surging crowd, Peace stays to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith deliver an electrifying sermon. The Holy Ghost reveals to her the truthfulness of the Prophet’s words, and afterward she asks about being baptized. Remembering her errand, she hurriedly delivers the dress, then returns to her mistress to confess her tardiness. Instead of anger, Peace’s mistress rewards her with kindness and has Peace sew while she reads to her from this “new” Book of Mormon.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Root said the next morning. “I just don’t think that you should be baptized without your parents’ permission.”
“It will be months before my regular summer visit,” Peace pleaded. “The elders will be gone by then. I might not have another chance to be baptized!”
“I just can’t let you do it. You’re still a child, my dear.”
“I’m twelve years old, old enough to be an apprentice.”
Mrs. Root sat with her head bowed, thinking. “You know, Peace, I promised your parents to take care of you as if you were my own child. If you were my child, I wouldn’t let you join a church that I know so little about.”
“But I know that it’s true,” Peace said earnestly.
Again Mrs. Root looked thoughtful. “How long will the elders be here?”
“I don’t know. I think a week or two.”
“How is the best way to learn about Joseph Smith and to know if he’s telling the truth?” Mrs. Root inquired.
“We could read more of the Book of Mormon together,” Peace suggested eagerly. “If it is true, then wouldn’t the prophet who translated it also be true?”
Mrs. Root smiled.
“Yes, I believe that you’re right. Therefore, I promise to let you be baptized if after we’ve read the Book of Mormon, I’m convinced that it’s true. Does that sound all right?”
“Oh, yes! But can we finish it before the elders leave?”
“We’ll take turns reading while the other works. That means that we’ll have to work twice as fast,” she warned.
“I will.”
From then on, whenever they could, they read aloud to each other from the Book of Mormon. It was slow going for Peace at first, but as they read, her ability increased. They laughed together as they struggled to sound out the new and strange names. They were touched by the hardships that Nephi endured because of his brothers. Their hearts ached at the wickedness of Alma the Younger and his friends, and they rejoiced when an angel helped the young men turn their lives around.
They eagerly read of the Savior’s visit to this new continent. They grieved as they read of Moroni’s sad plight. To be the last one of your people left on the earth! To be hunted by your enemies, never knowing when you would die! That took courage and conviction in what you believed. They wept together as they read Moroni’s last words.
“Mistress Root,” Peace said as they closed the book, “have you prayed about what we’ve read?” Hope filled her heart as she waited for the answer.
“Yes, my dear, but I haven’t had an answer yet.”
“We’ve finished the book now. Will you pray about it again? Surely after what we’ve read, you can see that it must be true. It sounds so much like the Bible. I felt even closer to the Savior as we read about His visit to the Nephites. I wish that I could have been there!”
“Yes. … I, too, begin to feel the truth of it. There is much wisdom in this book. I’ll pray again tonight, I promise.”
In her own prayers that night, Peace pleaded with Heavenly Father to grant Mistress Root’s request to know the truth. As she lay in bed before sleep came, she thought about how happy she was now that she knew her Heavenly Father and His plan for her.
Already up when the excited girl came downstairs the next morning, Mistress Root placed a plate of food in front of Peace, then sat down beside her. “Well,” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to ask if I prayed about the book?”
Seeing the glow on her mistress’s face, Peace knew the answer.
“I know that it’s true, dear Peace, and I want to be baptized too.”
On Christmas Eve, Peace followed Sister Root to a spot by the river where a small group of Saints had again gathered for baptism. It was bitterly cold, and fear clutched at the young girl as she thought of the dark, swirling river. Shivering, she remembered that she’d never learned to swim. Standing up straight, she shook off her fear, moved forward toward the river, and stood on the riverbank as Sister Root waded into the water.
When she emerged a few moments later, trembling, but radiant, Peace held out a warm cloak for her.
“Your turn now, Peace,” she said. “And may the Lord bless you for helping me to find such happiness.”
Wading through the slush at the edge of the river, Peace shook as the icy water closed around her. But when she clasped Elder Winchester’s hand, the shivering ceased. He pronounced the baptismal prayer and lowered her into the water. As she came up out of it, a feeling of light filled her from head to toe. She felt so warm that she didn’t even notice the cold as she walked barefoot back through the snow to where Sister Root waited for her with a thick, dry cloak.
In the warmth of the room above the shop, the elders confirmed Sister Root a member of the Church. Then they placed their hands upon Peace’s head, and, through the power of the priesthood, confirmed her a member of the Church and conferred upon her the gift of the Holy Ghost. As they placed their hands on her head, she experienced again that feeling of peace and light. She knew that what she had done was right.
Later, as Sister Root and Peace sat by the warm fireside, Peace felt a desire grow inside her. It was something that she had been thinking about all week. She had the truth, and so did Sister Root. Because they were blessed with that knowledge, they must now share it. “Sister Root,” she began timidly. “I have need to ask something of you.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to have a few days to visit my family in Chester Springs.”
Sister Root was pensive. Travel was hard in the winter and very expensive, and Peace’s family lived in a distant county. The older woman studied the solemn face before her. “I think that I could spare you for a time. Is something wrong?”
“Oh no,” Peace reassured her. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful! That’s just it, you see. I need to share my knowledge of the Savior and His gospel with my family. I want them all to hear what I’ve learned.”
Sister Root looked fondly at the girl before her. “It’s not easy to travel now, but I see that you must go. Since you’re set on this, I think I’ll give you your present now, instead of waiting for morning.” Walking over to the cupboard, she took a handkerchief-wrapped bundle out of hiding and placed it in Peace’s hands.
Peace unwrapped the bundle and found several small coins. It would be enough to pay for her trip! Hugging Sister Root, she began to cry. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start asking around,” Sister Root offered, as she wiped her own eyes. “Maybe someone is going that way. I’d feel better knowing that there was someone to watch over you.”
“Thank you,” Peace said, “from the bottom of my heart.”
A few days later, with a warm coat, a packet of food, and her precious coins, Peace rode a stagecoach to Chester Springs. She found her family and shared with them the story of how she had come to know that the Church was true.
Peace’s parents listened carefully. Her mother cried and her father asked many questions. Peace answered them as best she could and testified of the Book of Mormon and of Joseph Smith. Before long, her parents, too, were convinced.
They agreed to be baptized.
Peace rejoiced when she saw her family enter the waters of baptism, and she felt grateful that Heavenly Father had allowed her to help bring them the gospel. She knew then that the truth she had found was meant to be shared.

Since 1964, when missionaries first arrived in Bolivia, the Church has been helping Bolivian people make the transition from old ways to new. Carmen and Luis Molina were among the first to join the Church in Bolivia. “Two missionaries stopped at my door and invited me to Relief Society, which was held in a home,” explains Sister Molina. “I felt happy at the meeting. I went home and told my husband about it.” Luis was cautious at first, but the family joined the Church in 1965, and he became the first man to be ordained an elder in Bolivia.

“One of my earliest memories is of our family preparing for church,” recalls their son Rolando Molina, who today serves as president of the El Alto Bolivia Satélite Stake. “I loved Saturdays. We ironed; we prepared. And on Sunday we went to church. We walked slowly so all the children could keep up. It took an hour each way. I have fond memories of those walks together.”

That’s what impressed Aaron, 17, when he was investigating the Church. Aaron’s your typical high school senior. He’s into sports, “hanging out” with the guys, and reading the Book of Mormon. But if it hadn’t been for the love his friends showed him by inviting him to play on church athletic teams, to attend priesthood meetings, and to join them in family home evenings, he never would have realized there was more to life than friends and sports.

By the same token, a lack of that love is a major factor in keeping some people away from the Church. For example, Pam, 18, said, “The Mormon kids in the neighborhood used to make fun of my parents and tell me they would go to hell because they smoked. They said they didn’t want to play with me because my clothes and house smelled like cigarettes. Why would I be interested in a church where the parents teach the kids to be prejudiced like that?”

The problem with Christmas this year was what to do about Grandma. She’s usually the one to solve the problems, not cause them, so everyone was caught off guard when she made her announcement at Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t want anyone to give me any Christmas presents this year,” she said. “I don’t need anything, and I’ve run out of places to put things.”
“Oh, Mom,” Dad said, “you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “All my cupboards and closets and drawers are full. My china cabinet hasn’t one square inch in which to put another knickknack, and I have enough perfume to last until the millennium. I’m going on a diet, so I don’t want any fattening food around. When I say I don’t want any gifts, I mean it!”
We all knew she did. When Grandma got that tone in her voice, no one argued. She wasn’t angry, just firm.
The hard part was that everyone wanted to give Grandma something. She was one of our favorite people. If you had a wild wish for something silly, or frivolous, or just plain dumb, you could count on her to understand and come through with it. If you needed something comfy or cozy or cute, she made it for you. No matter what lopsided, glue-splotched project you brought home from school, she loved it, praised it, and hung it on her bulletin board. She had as many friends as a dandelion has petals, and she was always doing fun and thoughtful things for them. Everyone remembered her at Christmas.
When she said, “No presents this year,” everyone in the family recognized that Grandma was going to be a problem. They met at our house to decide what to do about her. As the oldest of the brothers and sisters, Dad led the discussion. “What are we going to get Grandma for Christmas this year?” he asked.
She said she didn’t want anything,” Mom reminded him.
“Surely she didn’t mean that,” Aunt Gracie said.
“I think she did,” Uncle Bob said.
“We’ll just have to think of something she will want,” Dad insisted.
“Why?” asked Uncle Jack.
“Because it’s Christmas, that’s why,” Dad answered.
Aunt Nan thought she must have some secret desire. Uncle Bob didn’t think she’d ever tell, if she did.
“Then we’ll have to figure it out,” Dad challenged.
“I know what it is,” I said.
No one heard me. They talked about microwave ovens, clock radios, and electric skillets.
I tugged on Dad’s coat. “Dad,” I whispered, “I know what she’d like.”
“Don’t bother me now, Janie,” he whispered back. “I’m busy.”
They talked about this and that and everything else and didn’t come even close to guessing the right thing. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, so in the middle of the confusion, I shouted, “She wants a red wagon!” Then I ran from the room before anyone could get mad at me for interrupting. When I listened through the heater to see what they thought of my idea, everyone was laughing.
“Well that’s one way to make sure there is something for Janie to play with when she goes to Grandma’s house,” Aunt Gracie said.
I gave up and went to play.
Later, when the uncles and aunts had gone home, Dad asked me what was the big idea shouting out like I had.
“Because Grandma does want a red wagon.”
“What makes you think so?” he asked.
“Because she always borrows mine,” I told him. “She comes over to get me to help her in her yard, and she says, ‘Can we use your wagon?’ and we put it in the back of her car and use it to haul plants or weeds or other things, and then she brings it back. The last time I was over there, she said, ‘I always wanted to have a wagon when I was little, but I never got to because I was a girl. In those days girls had their toys and boys had theirs. The only way I could take my dolls for a ride was to borrow my brother’s wagon. But it wasn’t mine, and I’ve always wanted one.’”
“Grandma already has that big wheelbarrow,” Dad reminded me. “Grandpa bought it for her birthday the year before he died.”
“But it tips the plants over, and when she gets to where she’s going, they’re all in a mess. Besides, it’s almost too big for her to handle. She’s tough, but she’s not very tall.”
“You have a point,” Dad said. “But a red wagon for a grandma?”
“Why not?” I wanted to know.
“It seems so silly.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it’s a neat idea.”
Well, everyone was supposed to watch Grandma and listen to her and see if they could figure out what she really wanted for Christmas. All they found out was that she didn’t want anything. She kept reminding them over and over again.
I couldn’t understand why no one took my idea seriously, because I could see more and more ways it would be convenient for Grandma to have that wagon she always wanted. She could take it to the grocery store on nice days when she wanted a little exercise, to the post office with packages, or just out to the street with her garbage can in it. And it would be perfect for her to pull along as she worked in the garden. I’d even figured out a little rack to hold her trowel, scratcher, scissors, and snail bait. The rack would fit in the front of the wagon and leave plenty of room for plants or weeds. I knew that she would love it.
Finally, because they really couldn’t think of anything else, the family members decided to chip in and buy the biggest, reddest, fanciest wagon they could find for Grandma. The handle was just the right length, and the wheels rolled along so easily that it seemed to be floating. It was beautiful!
They decided to leave it in the backyard because she was so determined not to have any presents under the tree.
“She’ll notice it out the window,” Aunt Nan said, “and if she doesn’t like it, we won’t be embarrassed, because she’ll think it belongs to one of the children.”
But I wanted to make sure that she knew the wagon was hers, so I painted “Grandma” on it in big white letters.
I was the one who got to sneak it out of the car and put it behind the house on Christmas Eve.
Christmas morning came, and I didn’t want to open my packages until I found out how Grandma felt about her present. It would be an awful day for her if she didn’t like it, because there wasn’t one gift wrapped up for her.
It wasn’t far to her house, so I hopped onto my bike and rode over. She saw me coming out the front window, waved, and threw open the door to yell. “Hurry, Janie! Hurry!”
She sounded so desperate that I wondered if she was having a heart attack, and when I got closer and saw the tears running down her cheeks, I felt terrible. She must be awfully sad or mad! I thought. But then I saw that she was smiling!
“You’ll never believe it, Janie!” she cried. “After all these years, I got my wagon! It was sitting right out there in the middle of the back lawn.”
“Wow!” I said, “That’s super!”
“I thought I didn’t want a thing this year,” she went on, “but someone knew exactly what I’d like.”
“I wonder who it was,” I said, trying to sound innocent.
She grabbed me in a big hug, and I snuggled close to her.
“Someone who prints just like you do,” she whispered.
I never could fool Grandma.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer. I wanted to do something to help, so I decided to grow out my hair and hold a sponsored haircut. My dad helped me arrange a free haircut and get the newspaper involved. I raised money for the children’s cancer ward at a local hospital and donated my hair to be made into a wig for a girl with cancer.
It felt great to do something for other children, especially something that would help a child feel more comfortable with a new wig.
I love serving people, and I think whenever we serve, we follow our Savior’s example and feel closer to Him.
Milla T., England

We had just moved to a small rural town where not many members of the Church lived. Our little branch was a friendly, close-knit group, and we enjoyed each Sabbath day and the opportunity to attend church. Our only concern was for our children, who had few playmates their ages in our branch. My husband and I decided to look for ways to make friends outside of the Church so our children could have new friends and get to know people from different faiths.
My hopes were soon dashed, however, when a local children’s group told me that because we were “Mormons,” we were not welcome in their group. I had belonged to similar groups in other areas where there weren’t many Latter-day Saints, and religion had never been an issue before. I assured the leaders of the group that I would not try to proselytize or force my religion on anyone; my family and I just wanted to make friends and meet new people. But they remained firm in their decision and did not allow us to join.
I decided that I would be kind, Christlike, and friendly to the people of this town so they would see that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are good people. We started inviting other children over to play, inviting neighbor families to dinner, and visiting with others in an effort to get to know people. I read conference talks, Church magazine articles, and scriptures about fellowship, kindness, and serving others. Then I worked to put these principles into practice in my life. I knew if I could show the people of this town how kind and loving Latter-day Saint families can be, this group would be sure to accept us in time.
Time passed, however, and although we were able to befriend the leaders of this social group, they remained firm in their “no Mormons allowed” position.
I decided then to continue being neighborly and kind to the people in my town, but I also decided to search out a similar social group in a neighboring town. But even there I was told that Latter-day Saints were not allowed to join their group. By then I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. What was wrong with the people in these two towns? Couldn’t they see that we were a kind, fun family?
I prayed for the Spirit to guide me and help me be as friendly and Christlike as possible. I prayed that those who knew me would feel in their hearts that we were good people. I prayed they would experience a change of heart that would lead them to accept us. Still, I felt as if my prayers weren’t being answered. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to soften their hearts.
Then one evening I received a phone call that shattered my hopes altogether. The leaders of the group called and told me once again that my family was not welcome in their group. They were concerned that we might be expecting to join in the future because we had made so many friends in the community. They said some very hurtful things, and I cried with a broken heart. All of the dinners, service projects, cookies, and sidewalk chats had meant nothing to these people. Where had I gone wrong?
That night I prayed a heartfelt and sincere request for help in dealing with those who had such strong feelings against the Church. I felt as if I were now entitled to their favor because of my efforts, and I explained this to my Father in Heaven.
The answer was stronger than any impression I had received for quite some time: “Follow Christ.”
It confused me at first. “Yes,” I thought, “but I already do.” The cookies, the friendship, the reaching out—I was being as Christlike as I could. Still, the only impression I received was “Follow Christ.”
I then realized that when my energies are focused on following Christ, I am not affected as much by the opinions of others. I serve them because it is right and not because it will help my image as a Latter-day Saint. I am friendly and neighborly because I feel friendly and neighborly, not because I have some self-centered reason for being friendly.
“Follow Christ” has become my motto whenever I am troubled by those who dislike us because of our faith. I now find joy in serving others regardless of their reaction to my kindness, and I am blessed for it. I did not come to earth to win the approval of others. I came here to prepare to return to my Father in Heaven, and the only way to get there is to follow the Savior.

In describing the last key to happiness, Elder Wirthlin told the story of one student in the graduating class, Emily Jensen. When Emily was 16, she was involved in a serious accident and lapsed into a coma. The accident and resulting coma changed her life. Emily, he said, had to relearn how to do everything—including how to eat, walk, and sit up.

By accomplishing her goal to graduate from college, Emily, Elder Wirthlin said, had demonstrated the fifth key to happiness: perseverance to the end. He said heroes are remembered because they persevere.

I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briancon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans felt through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the United States.
I eventually visited some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 100-kilometer-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was a spiritual “wind,” not physical. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

It was the very first day in December, and although there was a light blanket of snow covering the grass and fields, the sidewalks were bare and dry. The air was nippy, and anyone outside could see his own cloud of warmth dispel the chill when he spoke.
Down the large staircase, warm within the Johnson house, hurried Cindy. She was pulling on the red and blue striped stocking cap Grandmother had given her. As Cindy reached the landing, Mom greeted her from the kitchen doorway.
“Hi, Mom,” Cindy said. “Can I go out and make a snowman before breakfast?”
“You certainly may,” Mom said.
“Call me when Dad comes down for breakfast, OK, Mom?” With that, Cindy grabbed her blue parka from behind the door, put it on, pulled on her mittens, and disappeared out the door.
Cindy huffed and puffed as she pushed the fat middle section of the snowman up onto the bottom mound. As she stepped back, she saw a small boy standing near the hedge that divided her yard from the neighboring field. “Hello,” Cindy called, waving to him.
The boy threw a snowball that landed by the half-built snowman. Cindy noticed that he made his snowball with bare hands that were very red and that his jacket needed a few patches. He wasn’t wearing boots or any kind of hat.
“Come on over,” Cindy called out.
When the boy only threw another snowball, Cindy decided that she should reply. She tossed a snowball, and it hit the boy’s leg. He turned and ran away.
Cindy went back to her snowman and began to form its head. When she mounted the ball atop the others, she said, “Well, hello there, Mr. Snowman. I’ll be right back.”
Soon she brought a scarf and a hat and placed them on the snowman. Cindy could see the little boy peeking over the hedge again. She pretended not to notice him as she walked slowly around to the backyard, looking for rocks to use for the snowman’s nose, eyes, and mouth. When she returned with the stones, she saw a large red button pressed into the center of the snowman’s face. It made a splendid nose.
“Oh!” Cindy exclaimed loudly. “You already have a nose. If I give you a mouth, will you tell me where you got it?” She pushed in some small stones in a crooked row across the snowman’s face, forming a mouth. “Now are you going to talk to me?” she asked as she stuck in two larger stones for his eyes.
When she stood back to admire her finished product, a snowball flew over her head and hit the snowman’s hat, knocking it down over one eye. Cindy turned suddenly and ran after the boy. She chased him around the corner and down the block, until he ducked out of sight.
Cindy returned home to eat breakfast.
“Cindy, the snowman looks terrific,” Mother said, looking through the kitchen window.
“Yes, you did a great job on him,” Dad agreed. “By the way,” he added, “today’s the first day of December. That means that the Christmas season is upon us. Have you finished your Christmas wish list?”
“No, not yet,” Cindy replied as she picked up her glass of juice. “Dad, do you go home teaching to that family that just moved in on Second North?”
“Yes. The Smith’s moved here from Idaho, and they have a boy a year or so younger than you. Why? Have you met them?”
“Not really, but I think I’ve seen the boy. Are they very poor?”
“Well, their father was supposed to work for the college, but his job fell through. He hasn’t found any work yet.”
“That’s too bad,” Mom commented, “especially with the holiday season just about here.”
Thursday afternoon Cindy took the long way home from school. She walked slowly along Second North. There was a small house with large trees in front of it and a broken-down fence around the yard. When she came to a gap in the fence, she saw a small snowman with a large red button nose looking back at her. It had a crooked pebble smile, just like her snowman. The little boy was playing alone on the porch.
“Hello,” Cindy called out, but the boy turned and slipped quickly into the house.
Puzzled, Cindy walked slowly on down the street. When she was almost home, a snowball flew past her head. She spun around but couldn’t see anyone. She walked a little farther, and when a snowball hit her in the back, she kept walking. A third snowball whizzed past her arm. Cindy ducked out of sight when she reached the hedge, then watched the boy peer around cautiously as he came her way. Just before he reached the hedge, he stopped, stood still for a moment, then turned and started back. Cindy sprang from behind the hedge and grabbed his sleeve. The boy tried to run, but she had a firm grip on his jacket. He looked up at her, and his bottom lip quivered.
Cindy smiled at him. “My name is Cindy,” she said. “My dad is your home teacher. Do you want to come to my house for some cookies?” The boy nodded, and then he smiled too.
Cindy let go of his coat, and they went to her house together. Soon, full of cookies and milk, the boy was answering all of Cindy’s questions.
Later Cindy told Mom, “Jason’s five years old, and I gave him my last year’s galoshes.”
After she had made a friend of Jason, Cindy started walking the long way home from school every day. And Jason waited by the fence for her every day and walked partway home with her.
A few days before Christmas Cindy and Jason were playing together. “I’m going Christmas shopping with my mom this afternoon,” Cindy told her friend.
“Oh,” was all Jason said.
“What do you want for Christmas?” Cindy asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not completely Christmas this year,” Jason answered.
Cindy looked surprised. “But it’s nearly here. You’d better decide soon.”
“Oh, I guess I’ll ask for a new coat or maybe a truck, but Mom says that we won’t be having much Christmas this year. She’s sad that we can’t buy even a Christmas tree. Because it won’t be completely Christmas this year, I might not ask for anything at all.”
Later, when Cindy was shopping with her mother, she was drawn to a window display, where a train chugged past a pond and went through a tunnel. As she watched it, she remembered the look on Jason’s face when he’d talked about his mother and Christmas, and suddenly the toys and other things that she’d seen weren’t so important.
On the way home her mother asked her which things she had liked best. “I don’t know, Mom,” Cindy said slowly. “I saw toys and books and some neat T-shirts and a lot of things I liked, but what I want most is for it to be completely Christmas!”
“Completely Christmas?”
Cindy tried to explain. “It doesn’t seem as happy this year, because Jason isn’t having a real Christmas—you know, with a tree and everything.”
“I see,” Mom said. “Well, Dad and I would still like you to make out your wish list. We’ll work out some way so that Jason has a nice Christmas too.” She gave Cindy a squeeze.
When Cindy went upstairs to her room that night, she took some notebook paper from her drawer and wrote:
Christmas Wish List
A Christmas tree for Jason
A new coat and mittens for Jason
A train for Jason.
She took the list downstairs and said, “Mom, here’s my list.”
Mom read her list and smiled. “Cindy,” she said. “Your dad will be home soon, and I’m sure the two of you can go pick out a tree for the Smith’s.”
On Christmas day Cindy was awake soon after daylight. She put on warm clothes and went quietly down the stairs. On the chair where she always hung her stocking were two big boxes, wrapped just alike. One had her name on it, and Jason’s name was on the other box! She quickly opened hers and discovered the same train set that she had seen in the store window. Cindy hurriedly put on her boots and coat and hat. When she picked up Jason’s box, she saw something fall. Reaching down, she picked up two pairs of new warm mittens. One had a tag that read “Cindy”; the other tag read “Jason.”
“All right!” Cindy exclaimed. Looking up she saw her mother and father smiling at her.
Dad said, “Brother Smith said they’d managed to get a new coat for Jason, so we got mittens to match it.”
Cindy gathered up Jason’s gifts and scampered outside. When she got to Jason’s house, she put the gaily wrapped box on the front porch, placed the new mittens on top of the box, rang the doorbell, then raced home.
“Merry Christmas!” Cindy shouted, giving Mom and Dad both a big bear hug. As Cindy again opened and peeked into the box that held her new train, she imagined Jason’s face as he peeked into his box.
After Cindy and her parents exchanged gifts, she sorted through the goodies in her Christmas stocking. Then she heard her mother call, “Come help me stuff the turkey, Cindy. We’re having company for dinner.”
“Company?”
“It’s a Christmas present for all of us,” Mother said. “The Smith’s are coming, and we’re celebrating Mr. Smith’s new job!”
“Hurray!” Cindy shouted. “Now it really is completely Christmas!”

I remember distinctly the time and place I found my spiritual second wind, my more sure witness of the Book of Mormon. I was in Scotland in my first assignment as a missionary in a little town called Barrhead just outside of Glasgow. I had been challenged by a Scotsman asking me how I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It was at that point I realized I had never received a sure witness or even put the book to the test as Moroni challenges us in Moroni 10:3–5. You first have to have a sincere desire to read the Book of Mormon; then you study and ponder the message with real intent and pray in faith, asking the Lord if it is true—something I had not yet done.
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!

The day after my baptism, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was during a fast and testimony meeting, and I decided, for the first time ever, to bear my testimony. As I spoke, a wonderful, warm feeling filled my heart. It was a confirmation of the Spirit that joining the Church was the right thing to do. That warm feeling was the beginning of my small testimony, which grew as I grew older. I know that children can gain testimonies of their own and that even small testimonies are enough to help us choose the right.

Elder Peterson and I took the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island. From there we boarded a bus that would take us to our area on the back side of the island. Elder Peterson was a new missionary, and I wanted him to see, as soon as possible, how the gospel brings new joy into a person’s life. We chatted for a while; then we each drifted off in thought.
I don’t know what Elder Peterson was thinking about. Maybe the hot, humid August weather. Maybe the strange foods. But I clearly remember my thoughts.
Our pool of investigators was average in size, but we didn’t have anyone who was ready for baptism. As I prayed silently, I had a calm understanding within my heart that the Lord would guide us to people who were prepared for the truth. I hardly expected a miracle, though.
We set out that day tracting through Shek Pai Wan—one of the many government housing complexes that crowd entire families of six or eight people into one-room apartments the size of a small living room. For being in Hong Kong only two days, Elder Peterson did remarkably well speaking Cantonese during his door approaches. But we had little success.
The next few days we worked hard and followed the Spirit. Although we found one or two new investigators, no one seemed to really be catching fire.
Then it happened.
I was looking through the drawers in our bedroom and found an old notebook. I opened it and saw a book of contacts and investigators from years before. The pages were torn and soiled. The writing was faded. But the Spirit whispered that I should read through the scores of names. I sat on my bed and began reading the book. As I slowly skimmed the lists of faceless names, my eyes and fingers stopped at a Mr. Chan.
The notes indicated that he had been taught the first discussion but that he wasn’t interested.
The burning in my heart was distinct and comforting. At once I knew we should visit this man. That afternoon we found the apartment listed in the old notebook. I said a silent prayer as we knocked on the door. The burning of the Spirit deep within us intensified as we waited for Mr. Chan. We waited. No answer. We knocked again. Still no answer.
“I guess no one’s home,” I said to Elder Peterson. “Let’s try later.”
We were a few feet away when the door opened.
“Matyeh a?” The man was asking us what we wanted.
“Hou ma?” We responded with the traditional Chinese “How are you?” greeting.
A minute later, this man was introducing himself as Mr. Chan.
“May we tell you a little about our church?” we asked.
“Please do,” Mr. Chan said.
The Spirit of the Lord was with the three of us as we discussed the Prophet Joseph Smith and the First Vision. We testified of Christ and of His atoning sacrifice. As we testified, the Spirit told us Mr. Chan believed our words.
“How do you feel about what we’ve said?” we asked.
“I know what you tell me is true,” Mr. Chan replied. “Wait here a minute.” He walked to a chair and stood on it while reaching for some books on a shelf. Finally he found the Book of Mormon.
“This is your church, isn’t it?” he asked, handing us the book.
“Yes, it is. Where did you get this?”
“Some missionaries like you came to my home three or four years ago,” he explained. “I bought this book from them, but they never came back.”
Elder Peterson and I looked through the well-worn Book of Mormon.
“Have you read this book?” I asked.
“Yes, many times. It is the word of God. Can you baptize me?”
“Why do you want to be baptized?”
“So I may return to live with God and Jesus Christ,” he said.
The Spirit was strong as we knelt in prayer with Mr. Chan. He had truly been prepared by the hand of God for baptism into His kingdom.
The words of Alma to his son Helaman in Alma 37:9–10 now have more meaning to me: “These records and their words … brought them to the knowledge of the Lord their God, and to rejoice in Jesus Christ their Redeemer. And who knoweth but what they will be the means of bringing many thousands … to the knowledge of their Redeemer?”

Once there was an ordinary house, with an ordinary fence, an ordinary yard, and an ordinary car parked in the driveway. What went on in this house, though, was anything but ordinary.
Anyone who knew anything about the Pout family who lived in the house would tell you, “Don’t borrow sugar there,” or “Don’t sell cookies there,” or “Don’t throw your ball over that fence.” You see, everyone in this ordinary house was extraordinarily grouchy. Mr. Pout and Mrs. Pout were grouchy. Sue and Lou Pout, their daughters, were grouchy. Even their dog, Boo, was grouchy.
It all started on a very ordinary day. “Why didn’t you mow the lawn?” Mrs. Pout yelled at Mr. Pout. Mr. Pout huffed outside, mumbling something about Mrs. Pout’s dry meat loaf.
Seeing Sue Pout out in the yard, Mr. Pout frowned and angrily asked, “Why didn’t you pick up your toys? I have to mow, and they’re in the way!”
Sue got up with a groan, threw her toys onto the porch, marched into the house, and stomped up to her bedroom. Lou was on the floor, playing with blocks.
“Get out of my room!” Sue demanded sulkily. “And play with your toys in your own room.”
Lou scrambled out of Sue’s room and into her own. Boo was curled up on her bed.
“You’re getting hair all over my bed,” Lou complained loudly.
Boo jumped off the bed and ran out of the room with his tail between his legs. He went outside and lay in Mrs. Pout’s flower bed—on purpose!
Day after day their grouchiness got worse and worse, and everyone in town tried to avoid them.
One bright morning, a stranger with a wide, red hat came to town. She was going to visit an old friend but could not find her house. She walked straight up to the Pout’s front door and knocked. Mrs. Pout answered with a frown.
“Good morning. My name is Eva Smiley, and I am looking for the home of my friend Ava Twinkly. Do you by chance know where she lives?” Eva asked with a smile.
“Next block over, three houses down,” Mrs. Pout grumbled as she started to shut the door.
“Thank you so much,” Eva said. “By the way, you have the most beautiful flower bed I have seen. You must have put your heart and a lot of hard work into such a magnificent display.”
Mrs. Pout was not used to hearing such kind words and could not help but smile at the stranger’s compliment.
“Well, have a good day, and thanks again for the directions,” Eva said as she walked toward the street, her wide, red hat bouncing with each step.
That day, for the first time in a long while, Mrs. Pout hummed as she worked in her flower bed, carefully tending each delicate flower.
Later, she saw Mr. Pout outside and called to him, “Thank you for mowing the lawn yesterday. It looks so nice!”
Well, Mr. Pout could not help but smile at the kind words. All the rest of that day, he whistled as he cleaned out the garage.
That evening Mr. Pout found Sue watching a television show. “Thank you for washing the dinner dishes,” he said warmly. “I appreciate how you help out around the house.”
Sue could not help but smile at the kind words and hugged her father for the first time in a long while.
Before going to bed, she noticed a picture Lou had colored and hung on the refrigerator. She went up to Lou’s room. “The picture you colored of the mountains is great! You made the mountains look big and real!”
Lou could not help but smile at the kind words, and that night she had pleasant dreams.
The next morning, Boo was curled up on Lou’s bed. She petted him and got up to get him a dog bone. “You’re a good dog, Boo, and you keep me warm at night,” she said gently.
Boo had not had a dog bone in a long while. It made him very happy, and that day he did not lie in Mrs. Pout’s flower beds.
That morning at breakfast, Mr. Pout grinned and said, “Would anyone like to go to the lake today for a picnic? We could get some ice cream on the way home.”
Bright smiles lit all the faces around the table. Something amazing and almost magical had happened to the Pouts. They were no longer grouchy! And although they would always be the Pout family, their attitudes from then on were most unpoutlike.
And somewhere a smiling stranger walked away from another house, her wide, red hat bouncing from side to side.

One night when I was a new Beehive, I awoke from a bad dream. I didn’t want to wake my parents because I thought I was too old for nightmares, but this one really shook me up, and I was scared.
While I was sitting up, I remembered the lesson we had about the scriptures the previous Sunday. My teacher talked about how the scriptures can comfort us and guide us if we read them with the Spirit. So I took out my scriptures and looked up the term “fear” in the Topical Guide. I scanned a few scriptures and then Isaiah 41:10 popped out of the page at me. The words that caught my eye were, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee.” These simple words comforted me and made me realize that Heavenly Father was with me. He was there to comfort me, even for something as silly as a nightmare.

Recently, I went on a trek with our quorum members to the infamous Gantam Dora Trek Path in the Kambalakonda Wildlife Sanctuary. The trek was three kilometers long. At the beginning, everything was smooth; I was ahead of everyone. But after climbing for only about five hundred meters, my heart rate spiked. I was feeling breathless, dizzy, and nauseous. I regretted having climbed this far and was seriously thinking about quitting.
But then, I remembered hearing about the breathtaking view—a panorama concealed from all who never put in the effort. After taking a few minutes to rest and hydrating my tongue with a few drops of water, I resumed the ascent with the help of my friend, Raj Bangaram. And there it was, after another kilometer of effort: a beautiful, stunning vista. Every struggle we endured seemed instantly worth it. We had a wonderful time trekking, and once I got down, I could not help but compare the incident with the trials we face in life.

What about our children? Do they hear exclamations of joy and hope in the gospel? After a Primary lesson about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, the class was asked to draw pictures to take home and share with their families. The children had been taught about the darkness Joseph experienced before the appearance of the Father and the Son. A six-year-old girl picked up a black crayon and started to draw. She colored the bottom and up one side of the page as dark as she could. When her teacher asked her about the picture, she said she was drawing Joseph Smith in the darkness.

Her teacher inquired: “Do you know that when Heavenly Father and Jesus appeared, all the darkness had to leave? Heavenly Father and Jesus are always more powerful than Satan, and They will protect you.” The child turned back to her paper. In the top corner, she drew an outline of two figures; and then, trading her black crayon for a bright yellow one, she filled the rest of the page with light.

“Time to go, Jacob!” Mom called.
Four-year-old Jacob hopped off his bed and ran downstairs. “What are we going to buy? Can we get treats? Can I help you?”
It was Jacob’s turn to go shopping with Mom, and he was full of questions.
“We are going to buy groceries, and if you are a really big helper, we just might have time to make cookies for family home evening when we get home.”
Jacob smiled as Mom helped him into his seat in the car and buckled the seat belt. This was going to be great!
Mom pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles while Jacob held the shopping list. He helped organize the groceries and got to choose if they got red apples or yellow apples, and red potatoes or white potatoes.
When they were finished getting the items on the list, Jacob helped push the heavy cart up to the checkout line. He watched as Mom put the groceries on the conveyor belt.
Suddenly, Jacob noticed that the shelves he was standing by were full of candy and gum. Mom didn’t buy those things very often. Jacob saw a package of Blueberry Blast bubble gum and knew it tasted really good. He put the package in his pocket.
As they were driving home, Mom said, “You’re very quiet, Jacob. Are you tired?”
“No.”
“OK. Will you help me unload the groceries when we get home?”
“Sure.”
When they got home, they carried the bags of groceries inside and put them on the kitchen counter. Mom looked at Jacob carefully. “Where did you get that big piece of gum?” she asked.
Jacob shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor. Mom knelt down and asked him again.
“Where did you get that gum, Jacob?”
Jacob took the package of gum out of his pocket.
“Did you take that gum from the store?”
Jacob felt like crying. He nodded his head slowly. Mom looked sad.
“Jacob, when we do something that is wrong—like taking gum from the store without paying for it—it’s like digging a deep hole and standing in the bottom of it. We need to do important things to get out of the hole.”
“What do we do first?” Jacob asked.
“We need to know that we have done something wrong and feel sorry about it. I think you already know that taking the gum is wrong. Are you sorry?”
“Yes. I know it was wrong. I feel sad now,” Jacob said.
“Then we need to fix the problem the best we can. Since you already opened the package of gum and ate some of it, we can’t give it back to the store. What do you think we should do?”
“I have some money. I could go back to the store and pay for the gum.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll take you.”
Jacob ran upstairs and got his money jar. Mom helped him count out enough to pay for the gum.
When they got to the store, Mom held Jacob’s hand and took him to the manager’s desk. She told the manager that Jacob had something to tell her.
Jacob felt nervous. He pulled the package of gum out of his pocket and put it on the counter.
“Did you take that gum without paying for it?” the manager asked.
Jacob nodded.
“Would you like to pay for it now?”
“Yes.”
Jacob put his money on the counter. The manager printed a receipt. She put the gum in a bag, gave the receipt to Jacob, and smiled at him. “Thank you for being honest and coming back to pay for the gum,” she said.
Jacob felt much better as he and Mom walked back to the car.
“You are doing a good job climbing out of the hole, Jacob,” Mom said. “But there’s something else you need to do.”
“What?”
“You need to tell Heavenly Father that you are sorry, and promise Him that you will try to keep the commandments from now on.”
When Mom and Jacob got home, they went into a quiet room and knelt down together. Mom helped Jacob say a prayer. He told Heavenly Father that he was sorry and wouldn’t take anything from the store without paying for it ever again.
When the prayer was finished, Jacob was surprised that he didn’t feel bad anymore. Not bad at all! In fact, he felt clean and happy again—just like he had climbed out of a hole, and had a bath too!