Gospel Story Finder

The McDowell family moved into Mr. Capper’s house nearly six months ago. They sure are different from the rest of the families in the neighborhood! The first McDowell I met was Nephi, the family’s eleven-year-old son. Nephi told me that his parents named him after an ancient American prophet. I’d never heard of any ancient American prophets, but he showed me a book where his name was written—a book called the Book of Mormon.
My family goes to church, and sometimes we read the Bible, but neither my parents nor I had ever heard of the Book of Mormon. Nephi called it a second testament of Jesus Christ, and said that it was an ancient record of the Lord’s dealings with people in the Americas. That was my first clue that Nephi and his family were “different.”
Next, I met Nephi’s older sister, Glitchen. She wasn’t named for a prophet, but for her great-grandmother, Glitchen Kelly, who came to America from Ireland a long time ago. Glitchen’s great-grandmother had red hair and married a man from Poland named Alex. Glitchen knows all this because her family studies their family history.
All I know about my family is that my parents were born in Mexico and grew up in Arizona. I’d like to know more, but I can’t imagine spending the time that Glitchen’s mother does researching their ancestors, or “growing the family tree,” as she calls it.
When the McDowells first moved in, the whole neighborhood changed. For one thing, it looked better. Mr. Capper hadn’t kept up his house too well, but not long after unloading their furniture, the McDowells set to work repairing their new home. They put a fresh coat of paint on the house and fixed the front gate on the picket fence. Then Mr. McDowell put Nephi to work in the old garden plot, clearing weeds and tilling the soil.
Back then, no one in the neighborhood cared much for gardening, but Nephi said that their prophet wanted them to grow a garden and be as independent as they could. At first I thought he meant the same prophet Nephi was named after, or maybe Moses or Abraham. But Nephi said that he meant the living prophet, the one that stands at the head of their church today. A man who speaks for God down here on earth. After all, he said, the world needs a prophet today as much as ancient Israel needed one in the Bible.
When I told Mom about this living prophet, she didn’t laugh, like I thought she might. Instead, she sighed and said that she prayed that such things were true. That evening we went into our own abandoned garden plot to pull weeds.
So Mom, Dad, and I grew our garden, and the McDowells grew theirs. In the fall, Mom and Mrs. McDowell swapped zucchini recipes, and Mrs. McDowell taught Mom how to bottle fruit and freeze corn. Then Nephi’s dad and my dad began fishing together on Saturdays and sometimes on Friday evenings—but never on Sundays. We learned fast just what the McDowells would and would not do on Sundays.
“It’s our Sabbath,” Nephi told me. They didn’t fish or hunt or have birthday parties or go boating or shopping or do anything but spend family time together and do church stuff. I really felt sorry for Nephi and Glitchen, but they didn’t seem to mind, even when I heard Nephi’s stomach growling one Sunday when he’d been fasting all day.
Now, believe it or not, after all I’ve seen of the McDowells, I still like them. Maybe it’s because they laugh a lot and seem to enjoy each other. Or maybe it’s because Nephi throws such a mean fastball. Or maybe it’s because I just feel good when I’m with them.
Tonight, after dinner, the McDowells are bringing over some missionaries to tell my parents and me more about their church. Mom has cleaned the house and made cinnamon cake, and Nephi and Glitchen are bringing a Book of Mormon just for me.
I’ll soon know all about Nephi the prophet, and about family history stuff and gardens and the Sabbath day, plus a whole lot more. I’ll even learn what it means to be different, like the McDowells. Sometimes different is good.

It was a bitterly cold February night—so cold the Mississippi River had turned to solid ice, a blue and white highway. With the river frozen, there were no river barges, no ferryboats, no boats of any kind. Thick ice made it possible to walk out on the river, perhaps to walk all the way to the far bank.
The city of Nauvoo, resting quietly on the banks of the Mississippi, was dark—but four people were still moving about, shivering on shore, about to test the ice. Would it be strong enough to support them? Was it possible to drive a team of horses pulling a wagon across?
Kayla Walker followed in her father’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. Even though she was excited to make the crossing, Kayla was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them that if they felt the ice begin to crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. “He told us to try to stay above the ice,” Kayla says. “If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed the ice of the Mississippi, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla, her father, and a friend had received the necessary authorization to be on the ice and reenact the pioneers’ departure.
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck shirt, and a sweater. Then I had on a big coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of socks and a pair of hiking boots, and I was still cold,” Kayla recalls. “It was –30° Celsius. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 45 centimeters down. I could see cracks in it, but all you could see was more ice because it was so thick.
“It was dark. It was slippery, but we kept a steady pace. There was snow on top of the ice, so we did have some traction. We hit some slick spots where it was hard for me to keep up. I just didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get across. It took us 18 1/2 minutes.
“Brother McLeod’s wife met us on the other side in her van and drove us back home. I was very glad to get in that van with the heater on high and hot chocolate waiting. It was neat to think about my ancestors making the same crossing. Only they did it with long dresses and their children and some people who were sick. They did that, with no questions asked, because they believed in the Church. What strong testimonies they had! I think I would have gone hesitantly. I would have been asking, ‘Why can’t I just wait?’ Just doing what they did so long ago was a big testimony builder.”

“I was excited for my 12th birthday,” says McKell C., 12. “My family had plans to go to the temple that day. But the morning before, my mom woke me.”
“Get up!” Mom said in a frantic voice. “We have to get up!”
“Mom told me there was a fire coming, that we needed to pack our things and get out,” McKell says. “We evacuate a lot. We thought we’d be coming back soon, so no one really packed anything. But the Holy Ghost definitely knew that we weren’t. He prompted me to grab some of my special stuff. We stayed at my grandparents’ cabin that night.
“The next day, we still went to the temple. I was really excited. I have always wanted to go to the temple. That day, everyone was on their phones texting each other to know what was happening and to make sure people got out alive. There was a lot of stress.
“Right as we walked in the temple, my dad got a text from someone saying, ‘Sorry, we just drove by your house and it’s gone.’
“The Holy Ghost definitely helped me that day. I had a happy, relieved feeling in the temple. My cousin baptized me, and when I came out of the baptismal font, my jumpsuit was super heavy, but I actually felt really light. I forgot about how my house had burned down.
“Today, if something bad happens, I know that when I go into the temple, it’s easier for me to move forward. It strengthens me every time.”

When I was about 11 years old, I was exposed to pornography. That one instance developed into a greater problem that became the defining struggle of my teenage years. By the time I was in high school, I had turned away from pornography and toward Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Although I experienced a miracle in having the filth erased from my mind, I still felt overwhelming guilt in my heart.
Around this time, my grandma lent me my great-great grandmother Thea’s handwritten autobiography. Within days I felt deeply connected with Thea Martina Waagen (1883–1967). Thea’s father tragically died just a few months before her birth, so she was raised by her widowed Norwegian immigrant mother. Growing up was difficult, but she found joy in picking wild strawberries and playing the organ at her local Lutheran church. Thea’s mother remarried, and with her stepfather’s help, she attended college. Later in life, Thea and her family converted to the Church and moved to Utah, USA. Things weren’t easy for Thea. She and her husband divorced. She experienced great heartache and severe depression, yet she remained true to her testimony.
As I learned about Thea and her choice to persevere through adversity, I was overwhelmed with an intense love that reassured me of my worth and helped me overcome my paralyzing guilt. I realized that if she could do hard things, I could too.
I went on LDS.org and requested Thea’s patriarchal blessing. I was further touched when I read, “The seed of thy womb shall rise up and call thee blessed among the women in Zion.” I realized that my profound respect for her was a fulfilment of that simple sentence. Thea’s love helped heal my heart of guilt and turn my heart to my ancestors. This was my first witness of Elder David A. Bednar’s promise that by participating in family history work, I would “be protected against the intensifying influences of the adversary” (“The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 27).

Thank you so much for printing the article “Leaving Home” (May 1999). I was at a five-day camp without my family or friends, and I only knew two nonmember boys from my school. I was in a cabin with all nonmember girls who were cussing, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and not dressing modestly. During free time I was reading this story, and I realized I wasn’t alone. It also helped me to try to find some LDS kids at camp, which I did. After that, I enjoyed the rest of camp with my new friends.
Adrianna CurtisPayson, Arizona

I think my young son understood this when he was only three. One morning I stepped to our back door to see the children off to school. Our little three-year-old son followed the children to the edge of the yard and watched them as they cut across the grass of a newly moved-in neighbor. Enraged, the neighbor called out, “Don’t you kids ever cut across my lawn. Don’t you dare step one foot on it again.” He couldn’t see me, but I could surely hear him, and so could every other mother that was out to see her child off to school. As sweetly as three-year-olds can talk, ours turned to this angry neighbor and said, “You can step on our lawn if you want to.” The next day that neighbor came out with a big smile and a darling teddy bear, and he gave it to our little son. There was never again a problem over that lawn.

Having a strong testimony is the bottom line for Kate. She is always excited to go to young women camp and youth conference with her stake. When asked about her favorite scripture, Kate mentions an experience she had while attending Especially for Youth. She hadn’t planned to bear her testimony, but then she had a feeling that someone there needed to hear what she had to say. She had been reading in her scriptures and had come upon Mosiah 8:18: “Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings.”

Kate says, “I stood up and talked about my patriarchal blessing where it says I would be an example to others and people would be watching me. Now it’s my favorite scripture because it came as an answer to me.”

Lily S. of Utah, USA, had a busy ninth grade year. As a cheerleader, she participated in parades, football games, basketball games, and cheer camps and clinics. But the path to Lily’s cheerleading career was not an easy one.
As soon as Lily found out about her junior high school’s cheerleading tryouts, she knew she wanted to be a part of the team. For three weeks, Lily practiced with a former cheerleader to learn cheers and dance routines. She also spent hours making up her own cheer. After weeks of practice and a tough audition process, Lily made the team—and the Young Women Personal Progress program had helped.
Because of Personal Progress, Lily has participated in many activities where she learned to set goals and work hard to achieve them—skills that definitely helped her reach her cheerleading goals.

Teresa Perez had had the same dream for three nights in a row. In her dream, she saw a small room filled with white clothing hanging from a line.
Could the dream have something to do with the lessons she and her family had been taking from the Mormon missionaries?
Elder Nichols and Elder Benjamin had started teaching her family three weeks ago and challenging them to read the Book of Mormon and to pray.
She and her parents had started reading the Book of Mormon and praying together. Teresa knew that her parents were struggling with the decision to accept the gospel that the American missionaries taught and to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In their small town outside of Madrid, Spain, nearly everyone belonged to the same church. Some family members and friends had made unkind remarks about the “Mormons” and ridiculed Teresa’s family for even listening to the missionaries.
Teresa didn’t understand everything that the missionaries taught, but she liked the warm feeling she had as she listened to them. They spoke of Jesus Christ and of His love for all children. Teresa liked that. In her old church, she rarely heard about Jesus’ love.
She saw love for the Savior and His gospel in the elders’ eyes. She heard it in their voices when they spoke of Him.
When the missionaries arrived that day, Teresa told them of her dream.
“Can you describe the clothes?” Elder Nichols asked.
“There were lots of white clothes hanging from a line. Pants. Shirts. Dresses. Some were little and some bigger.”
Elder Nichols looked at Teresa’s papa. “Can you meet us at the church tomorrow evening?”
Papa nodded. “We will be there.”
The lesson continued, but Teresa barely heard what the young elders said. Her dream and Elder Nichols’s request filled her mind.
That night, the dream came once more. The beautiful white clothes were so white that they shined.
Teresa and her parents made the hour-long trip by bus to the chapel. Elders Nichols and Benjamin met them at the door and led them down a hallway to a small room.
“Is this what you saw in your dream?” Elder Nichols asked.
Teresa looked at the white clothes of all different sizes hanging from a large rack. There were dresses, pants, shirts, just as in her dream! “Yes. It is just as I saw in my dream.”
“These are baptismal clothes.” Elder Nichols explained, “When a person gets baptized, he or she wears all white. It’s a symbol of purity.”
A frown crossed her papa’s face. “We have been baptized. When we were babies. For Teresa, that was only ten years ago.”
“We understand,” Elder Benjamin said. He pointed to the scriptures he always carried. “We learn from the prophets that those who take upon themselves the name of Christ must be baptized by the proper authority.”
Teresa remembered that from the discussions. “The priesthood.”
Elder Benjamin nodded. Then he bore his testimony. Elder Nichols followed. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke of his love for Jesus Christ and of his gratitude for the priesthood which he held and which included the proper authority to baptize people.
Teresa heard the truth in the testimonies. Even more, she felt it. She turned to her father and mother. “It is good, what we hear. I feel it.” She placed a hand on her heart. “I feel it here.”
Elder Nichols smiled. “The word gospel means the good news.”
Teresa’s papa wiped tears from his eyes. “Good news. You have brought us very good news.”
“Always we search for something,” her mama said. “Now we have found it.”
“When can we be baptized?” Teresa asked.
Elder Nichols’ smile widened. “How does Saturday sound?”

One of my favorite childhood stories happened when I was about three years old. I don’t remember the experience, but my mother has often told me about it.
My father had been called to serve a mission in the Southern States Mission. At the time, my parents and I were living in southern Nevada. Although they knew that it would be difficult to be separated, my mother and father were thrilled with the opportunity it gave my father to serve the Lord.
So my father left his wife and only child at home and headed for Salt Lake City for initial training and instruction before he left for the mission field.
The day after he left, my mother was washing clothes. In those days water had to be heated on a stove, after which it was poured into the washing machine. She had just picked up a bucket of boiling water and was carrying it over to the washing machine when I scurried past her. She tripped, and the scalding water poured all over me.
Priesthood holders were called in to administer to me. Before they began, my mother gave them strict instructions: “Bless this child that he will be healed so that his father won’t have to interrupt his mission.”
After the blessing, the pain ceased, and in a short time I was healed. I was promised that I would have no scars, and I have none.
My father was told about the accident, but he was assured that I was well on my way to recovery. In the meantime he had been set apart by a General Authority and was given the promise that his wife and son would be blessed while he served the Lord and that all would go well with them. He took the Lord at His word and went on with his mission.
My father died when I was six, leaving me with almost no memory of him and leaving my mother a young widow with two babies. But my mother never expressed regret for the time that my father had spent on his mission serving the Lord. To this day she still speaks of his mission as a blessing in our lives. She always taught me how important serving a mission is.
I have always insisted that missionary work be part of my life and part of my family’s lives. I have told this story many times to my children and to their children to help them understand the importance of serving the Lord and to teach them that a mission comes first.

Bermi was a teenager taking the missionary discussions in Colombia. His sister was already a member of the Church, and he knew the discussions almost as well as the missionaries because he had been studying with them for so long. When asked why he had not yet been baptized, Bermi replied, “I have a desire to believe, but I don’t know that I have a testimony yet.”
One of the elders had been studying in Alma chapter 32 and asked Bermi to turn to verse 27: “But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.”
As Bermi read those words, the Spirit confirmed to him that his desire to believe was enough for him to say that he had a testimony—a small testimony, but a testimony nonetheless. The elders reassured him that not everyone needed to have an experience like Joseph Smith or the Brother of Jared to say that they had a testimony. Even a desire to believe was the start of a testimony. Bermi prayed and expressed his desire to believe to the Lord. A short time later he was baptized and confirmed.

Ever since Jeff had moved to St. Anthony the beginning of their freshman year in high school, Jeff and Brett had been friends, almost brothers. There had been a bit of animosity in the beginning when they had both ended up on the football team vying for the same position. Both had had dreams of being great quarterbacks, but there could only be one starter and both of them were too good as athletes for a team like St. Anthony to allow one of them to sit on the bench. The conflict was solved when Brett finally decided to be a tight end. Suddenly this daring duo became the hope of the small town of St. Anthony. From the time Jeff and Brett Baker were juniors until they graduated, St. Anthony never lost a football game.

Their friendship wasn’t restricted to the football field. They were in the same ward. Those who didn’t know them well, just assumed that they were brothers, since they both had the same last name. But blood couldn’t have made their friendship more solid. They had dreamed together. They were both going to go to a semester at Ricks, where they had both received scholarships to play football, and then they were going to leave on missions. That was just the beginning. After that their whole lives lay before them.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Fourth, give your children the opportunity of having a joyful, happy childhood. The priesthood manual a few years ago quoted a story written in 1955 by Bryant S. Hinckley. It is as follows:
“‘Three hundred twenty-six school children of a district near Indianapolis were asked to write anonymously just what each thought of his father.
“‘The teacher hoped that the reading of the essays might attract the fathers to attend at least one meeting of the Parent-Teacher’s Association.
“‘It did.
“‘They came in $400 cars and $4,000 cars. Bank president, laborer, professional man, clerk, salesman, meter reader, farmer, utility magnate, merchant, baker, tailor, manufacturer, and contractor, every man with a definite estimate of himself in terms of money, skill, and righteousness. …
“‘The president picked at random from another stack of papers. “I like my daddy,” she read from each. The reasons were many: He built my doll house, took me coasting, taught me to shoot, helps me with my schoolwork, takes me to the park, gave me a pig to fatten and sell. Scores of essays could be reduced to “I like my daddy. He plays with me.”’
“Not one child mentioned his family house, car, neighborhood, food or clothing.
“The fathers went into the meeting from many walks of life. They came out in two classes: companions to their children or strangers to their children.
“No man is too rich or too poor to play with his children.” (The Savior the Priesthood and You, Melchizedek Priesthood Manual, 1973–74, p. 226.)

Ever since I started running track, it has been a dream of mine to break the school record in the mile run. Then towards the end of this season I ran the mile in five minutes flat, breaking the record by more than three seconds.
The next day, though, we found out that my mile had not counted. The officials explained that I’d taken three steps on the inside of the track, which disqualified me from the race. My coach argued that I only stepped out because I was pushed by another runner. The official said, “It may not have been her fault that she was pushed out, but it was her fault she was so close to the line.” I walked away feeling like my accomplishment had been wrongly ripped from me.
The next Sunday in Young Women class, we watched a video that compared staying in the lines in sports to keeping the commandments.1 Throughout the lesson I sat there, angry at the reminder that I had failed.
The next day as I ran around the track, I looked down and noticed I was running right on the inside line. And every once in a while, I would step inside, just as the official had said. I immediately stopped running, humbled. I had become so comfortable with where I was running that I didn’t see the dangers in it anymore.
Luckily, I was given a second chance a few weeks later. I distanced myself from the center line and broke the school record, this time while staying in bounds.
That experience made me think about how close to the line I was running with some of the commandments. But because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, I am always given another chance as I repent.
When it comes to the commandments, we should distance ourselves from the line and do our best to stay inbounds. But I’m grateful that when we do make mistakes, the Savior allows us to repent and try again.
Raygan P., Utah, USA

I was one of only four Spanish-speaking missionaries in the New England Mission. We worked hard to learn the language and share the gospel, but we met mostly with rejection.
One day we knocked on the door of Hugo and Niza Diaz, a couple in Providence, Rhode Island. After they invited us into their apartment, I asked how long they had lived there.
“We just moved here from New York,” they said. “The Lord told us to move to Providence and He would send us messengers to teach us the truth. Are you the messengers?”
We responded assuredly, “Yes, we are the messengers.” We taught Hugo and Niza about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they readily accepted our message and were soon baptized.

Joe’s sister Sariah was sick. Not the kind of sick where you cough or have a stomachache. Mom and Dad said she might have diabetes.
Joe didn’t know what diabetes was, but it sounded scary. Then Mom and Dad explained that it’s when people’s bodies have trouble using sugar from the food they eat. Sariah had to spend a few days in the hospital to find out if she had diabetes.
Sometimes Sariah got on Joe’s nerves. She tried to play with his friends. Once she even lost his video-game controller. But he loved her so much. I don’t want her to be sick, he thought as tears came to his eyes.
Joe’s sisters helped Sariah get ready for the hospital. Mary got out Sariah’s backpack. Hannah helped pack her pajamas. Lilly added a fuzzy blanket. Joe wanted to help too, but he didn’t know how.
Soon Sariah was all packed.
“Let’s pray before we go,” Dad said. “Joe, would you say the prayer?”
Joe nodded. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began. “Please bless Sariah to not have diabetes. Please bless her to be OK.” As he prayed, Joe felt a little better.
As the family came together for a hug, Joe had an idea.
He went to his room and grabbed the portable music player he got for his birthday. He checked to make sure Sariah’s favorite songs were on it.
“Here,” he said, handing it to Sariah. “You can take this to the hospital.” She smiled and held it tight as she walked to the car.
The next day, Mom took Joe and his sisters to the hospital to visit Sariah. Joe was nervous as they walked down the hall. Please bless her to not have diabetes, he prayed for what felt like the hundredth time.
When they got to Sariah’s room, she was sitting up in bed with tubes attached to her arms. She smiled a little when she saw everyone.
“We just got the tests back,” Dad said. “The doctors say Sariah has type 1 diabetes. We’ll have to help her with her medicine. But she’ll be OK.”
Joe’s stomach dropped. He went out into the hallway and sat down next to the door. He buried his face in his arms.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” Mom said as she looked out the doorway.
“I prayed that Sariah wouldn’t have diabetes,” Joe said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?”
Mom put her arm around him. “Heavenly Father always answers our prayers. But it’s not always in the way we want. Sometimes, instead of taking something hard away, He answers by giving us peace and helping us be strong. I know Heavenly Father will help Sariah.”
Joe nodded slowly. He didn’t feel peaceful or strong right now. But he remembered the good feeling he had during their family prayer.
Together they walked back into the room. Joe’s sisters were playing a card game, just like they did at home. And they all looked happy, even Sariah.
Then Joe noticed something. Sariah had headphones around her neck and his music player in her lap.
“She keeps listening to the music you brought her,” Mom said. “It really helps her feel calm.”
Joe felt warm inside. He knew that Heavenly Father was already helping his family.

3 Second, the prophet. Our prophet continues to testify of Jesus Christ. When President Hinckley was here in Atlanta, I listened to his words and felt the Spirit strongly. Afterward, I got to give him a picture and shake his hand. He said thank you to me and continued to shake other people’s hands. When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he was a prophet of God. The day I met him will be one I will remember forever and will share with my children.
In the April 2000 general conference, President Hinckley gave a whole talk on his testimony of Jesus Christ. He said:
“He is my Savior and my Redeemer. Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty where we may go forward on the road that leads to eternal life. My gratitude knows no bounds. My thanks to my Lord has no conclusion.
“He is my God and my King. From everlasting to everlasting, He will reign and rule as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. To His dominion there will be no end. To His glory there will be no night.
“None other can take His place. None other ever will.”*
When President Hinckley bears testimony of Jesus, I believe in Jesus, because I know he speaks the truth.

I descended at my own pace. Five feet (1.5 m) … I felt a current jostle me. Now ten feet. Suddenly it became dark. I felt my breaths shorten. This freezing, murky ocean was nothing like the pool we had practiced in. Scared and claustrophobic, I darted up to the water’s surface.
“What happened?” the instructor’s assistant asked me. Tears welled up inside my mask. I was in the middle of my scuba-diving certification exam, performing a 30-foot (9 m) descent, one of the necessary skills to pass the exam. The assistant saw my panic and assured me I would be OK. He was encouraging, yet not prodding. At one point he told me, “You don’t have to do this.” It was then I realized that I wanted to.
I realized that although this was hard for me, I wanted to accomplish it; I wanted to gain my certification. So I bridled my fear and completed the remaining skills with the class to pass the exam. It was hard, but with some encouragement I was able to do it.