Gospel Story Finder

Lindsey Lawrence (below right) wanted to meet Jamie Gregory. Lindsey had seen her in the halls at school in her home in Woodstown, New Jersey, but wasn’t sure how to approach her because Jamie is deaf, and all Lindsey knew was finger spelling. Communicating was a potential problem.
“And I didn’t want to approach her because I didn’t want her to think I was stupid if I messed up or something,” says Lindsey.
Eventually she did approach Jamie, she learned American Sign Language, and now Lindsey and Jamie are fast friends.
“Jamie’s a good example for me. I’ve always felt close to her. When I first saw her, I knew she was one of those people you’re going to absolutely love.”

On a cool, misty morning in northeastern Tongatapu, the main island in Tonga, Filimone Tufui Pasi dresses for a day “in the bush”—the Tongan expression referring to working on his farming plot. To get there he will pass through the swampy land surrounding his cinder-block home and then walk beneath the tall coconut trees and among the broad-leaf taro plants.
On this day, however, President Pasi, a counselor in the stake presidency, never makes it to the bush. Members of the Church have come seeking his assistance. A humble man of few words, President Pasi nods quietly, walks back inside his home, and explains the situation to his wife, Ana Malina. She and their daughter will spend this day making tapa cloth to raise money for school and sending the Pasis’ children on missions.
Within a few minutes President Pasi returns to the group, now dressed in a white shirt and tie, prepared to help. The decision will cost him a full day of his livelihood. But the smile of satisfaction on his face, knowing he is doing the Lord’s work, makes up the difference. “I’ve tried to live my life this way,” he says. “I think that’s why the Lord has blessed me so much.”

At age eight, LeGrand contracted some type of hip bone disease. For nine months he wore a plaster cast on his leg from shoetop to hip and around his waist, during which time he used crutches and missed a year of school. Later that year, still in the cast, he was attacked by a vicious ram. The animal came at him time and again as he braced against the fence and tried to ward off its attack with his hands. It was the plaster cast around his waist that is thought to have saved LeGrand’s life.

The second thing you can do is to be a friendshipper. A friendshipper is a person who tries to be a friend to people and invite them out to church activities. Sometimes it’s hard to go to a new place when you don’t know anyone there. But if you have a friend, it makes it much easier. This lesson I learned with one of our daughters.
As school was about to begin for the year, she was a little nervous because she had to go to a new school. Sister Dunn and I told her everything would be fine, but on the morning when she had to go she was frightened. She didn’t know if she would be accepted or if she would make new friends or if her teacher would like her. She announced, “I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She answered, “I think I’m going to get sick.”
We decided that it would help if I took her to school. But when we got there she didn’t want to get out of the car, so I helped her out. As we walked up the sidewalk she grabbed my leg, and by the time we were inside she had both legs. She was really scared. Then a wonderful thing happened. Along came a friendshipper. She saw my frightened daughter and came running up and said, “Hi, Kellie. How are you?” And in about five seconds my daughter forgot all about being afraid. I remember that as she left me she stopped a few paces away and said, “You can go now Dad—I don’t need you anymore.” This wonderful little friendshipper took Kellie’s hand and now everything was all right.

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. … She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, “How many of you have read the Bible through?”
I think I was about fourteen years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, the funny papers, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, “You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?” I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking, but I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. When the meeting closed, I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home a block east of the chapel; and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, “I will. I will. I will.”
Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil and had a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter and first verse, and I read well into the night with Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel, and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.
Note: Young Spencer went on to finish the Bible. Since then he has read it and all the scriptures many times.

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

The girls learned self-defense while the fellows considered career opportunities. Not your typical youth conference—but there’s nothing typical about Malibu, California, either.
The youth of the Los Angeles California East Stake spent their youth conference at a Malibu ranch. They began with get-acquainted games and films of the 1973 Southern California Dance Festival in which many of them had participated.
The three-day conference included a prebreakfast hike; instructions in macrame, soap carving, and decoupage; rowboat races; an obstacle course; football; volleyball; softball; self-defense for the girls; and a career workshop for the fellows. Even after all that they weren’t too tired to enjoy a session of ballroom dance instruction followed by a dance.
On the serious side the young people enjoyed guest speakers, a scripture chase, group discussions, and a testimony meeting.
Also included in the conference activities was a tug-of-war over the lake, and the losing team went for a swim. Later there was a panel discussion in which all the bishops in the stake fielded questions from the young people. It was a great success for the 150 youths who attended.

Illustration by Matt Smith
Liza stared out the window as the rain drizzled against the glass. She felt as glum as the dark clouds outside. She pictured the warm beach near her grandparents’ house and how she and her cousins always went swimming in the ocean on Thanksgiving—it was their tradition. She thought about her aunts’ pies lined up on the kitchen counter, ready to be eaten. She thought about her grandparents’ big smiles when her family pulled into the driveway.
Liza squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying not to cry. This year there wouldn’t be any of those fun things. Dad had been out of work, and even though he had just started a new job, they couldn’t afford to make the drive to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Liza’s family would be spending Thanksgiving on their own.
“Time for dinner, everyone!” Mom’s cheerful voice called out.
Liza turned away from the window and trudged to the dining room. She got there as Dad set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. Her brothers, Mike and Justin, slid into their chairs.
“Smells great!” Mike said.
“Yeah, those potatoes look awesome!” Justin added.
The delicious smells of Thanksgiving dinner didn’t tempt Liza’s nose. “I don’t see what they have to be so happy about,” she grumbled to herself.
“Liza, are you all right?” Mom asked.
Liza shrugged. “Sure.”
“Even though we can’t be at Grandma and Grandpa’s this year, I’m grateful we can still be together as a family,” Dad said.
Everyone smiled—everyone except Liza.
Dad said a prayer, and they passed the food. Justin and Mike eagerly began eating the turkey, potatoes, and stuffing they had piled onto their plates, but Liza nibbled at her yams and thought about her cousins having fun without her.
Dad cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking we should start a new tradition, since it’s just us this year,” he said.
I bet it’s not as good a tradition as swimming in the ocean, Liza thought.
“Let’s go around the table and each say something we’re thankful for,” Dad continued.
Liza couldn’t think of anything she was thankful for right then.
“I’m thankful I was able to find a new job,” Dad said. “I’m glad I can provide for our family. How about you, Justin?”
Justin stopped eating his mashed potatoes long enough to say, “I’m thankful for good food!”
Everyone laughed, and even Liza managed a small smile.
Mom said, “I’m grateful that we all have healthy bodies and that we are able to do so many things.”
Liza started to feel a little less gloomy, but she still couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I’m glad I can go to college next year,” Mike said.
Now it was Liza’s turn. She squirmed in her chair. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
During dinner Liza thought about what everyone had said. She was glad that Dad had found a new job and didn’t look worried anymore. She was grateful for the good food Mom cooked for them. She was happy that her body could run and dance and swim. And even though she would miss Mike when he went to college, she was glad he could go. Liza’s heart felt lighter. She missed being with her grandparents and cousins, and she missed the traditions they had together. But maybe new traditions were good too.
“I’m thankful for all of you,” Liza finally said.
“We all have wonderful things to be thankful for,” Dad said.
“Maybe we could go around the table again,” Justin said, spooning up some more mashed potatoes. “We can always have seconds on gratitude!”

One snowy night in January when I was in high school, I was at a friend’s birthday party. Giggling girls were sprawled all over the living room, chatting and eating cake. I sat in the middle of the group with my back against the couch.
“My sister moved out of the side house this week,” one girl remarked with a grin. “From now on it’s going to be the perfect spot for the weekend! I think our class would become so much closer if we all partied together. Like Jeremy. He is so much fun to be around when he’s drunk.”
I stared at the girl, shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth. To my great surprise, everyone else joined in, offering names of other people it would be fun to party with. I looked around in disbelief. An icy feeling crept into my heart. Already? My friends? Drinking? I had known that some in my group of friends drank, but all of a sudden everyone seemed to be in on it. I lowered my head, feeling isolated among my best friends.
“Of course I’ll be there,” said a friend between bites of cake. “But I think I’ll just be the designated driver. I don’t really want to drink.” She smiled at me. “Gillian, you can come too. We’ll keep each other company!”
I relaxed a little. That sounded okay. “I could go,” I thought. “I could make sure all of my friends got home safely. I could just be there and not drink or do anything wrong. I could still be included.”
“Sounds great!” I heard myself say. “Sure! I’ll be there. We’ll get everyone home safe and sound.” Everyone nodded enthusiastically, and the conversation shifted to other subjects.
The next evening I attended a stake youth fireside. The stake president spoke. “My young brothers and sisters,” he began, “you are at a stage in your life where you are under tremendous pressure to succumb to temptation. My best advice to you is this: Don’t even come close to the edge. Don’t go to the party and say you won’t drink. Don’t go to the party as a designated driver. Don’t even put yourself in that situation. Once you walk in the door, you are vulnerable. I have never counseled with someone who suddenly became an alcoholic or suddenly had a huge morality problem. It comes bit by bit, step by step. Don’t take the first step. I guarantee that you will never have a problem with the Word of Wisdom if you never put yourself in a situation where you might be tempted to take your first drink.”
I sat stunned by his words. He had spoken directly to my problem. Then I knew that it was not enough to go to a party and say I wouldn’t drink. That evening I decided I would never set foot in a party where alcohol was being served.
Through this experience, I learned that the Lord understands our problems and that one of the ways He guides us is through our leaders. Perhaps if I had gone to parties without drinking alcohol, I would have made it through high school okay. But I know the Lord blesses us when we keep His commandments, and I was able to follow His guidelines by staying away from the edge.

One of the most serious deterrents to any success is that we spend too much time practicing those things that we don’t want to be. We might learn a great many important lessons from the story told many years ago by Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick entitled “On the Wrong Bus.” It tells of a man who got on a bus with the intention and desire of going to Detroit, Michigan. But when he arrived at the end of a long trip, he found himself in Kansas City, Kansas. At first he would not believe it. When he asked for directions to Woodward Avenue and was told there was no Woodward Avenue, he was indignant—he knew there was. It was some time before he could face the fact that in spite of his good intentions and his earnest desire, he was not in Detroit at all but in Kansas City. Everything was fine except for one little detail; he had just caught the wrong bus.

For the next couple of months I was able to pay all of my expenses after paying my tithing. Then came another month when there was again not enough money to cover both rent and tithing. I paid my tithing. I knew that Sister Knight did not have any more trees to be cut, and I was concerned that I should pay the rent promptly. On the Friday evening before the rent was required, a local radio station in Provo announced a program called “Movie Merry-Go-Round” in which a prize would be offered to anyone who could answer questions regarding one of the movies then playing in Provo. I listened to the program and thought I might try to win the prize. That evening, the radio announcer offered $18 and two free movie tickets to the first person who could give the license number of a car that had been used in a brief scene in a recent movie. Miraculously, or at least so it seemed to me, I saw clearly in my mind’s eye the scene that the radio announcer referred to. I saw it with such clarity that I could read the license number. Once again I had sufficient funds to pay my rent.

Alexander had curly red hair and 122 little round brown freckles all over his face.
Sometimes Alexander did things that he knew he wasn’t supposed to do.
One day Alexander caught a frog and hid it in the kitchen. The frog got out of its hiding place and leaped into the pudding Alexander’s mother was making for dinner.
“Alexander! What on earth am I going to do with you!” his mother cried.
“It’s not my fault,” Alexander told her. “You see, there’s a naughty little fox inside my head. He told me to bring the frog into the house. He said that if you didn’t see it, it would be OK.”
“I see,” said Alexander’s mother. “Well, where do you suppose the little fox got the idea? Do you suppose that you could have given him the idea?”
“Me? Oh no! Well … I mean … I don’t know.” Alexander gave his mom his best crooked grin, but it didn’t help.
“Well then, why don’t you just go to your room and think about it for a while,” she said.
Later that day Alexander sneaked six cookies out of the cookie jar. At dinner he ate one bite of meat, two bites of potato, and three peas.
“Why aren’t you eating your dinner, Alexander?” his mother asked.
“Well,” Alexander said, “there’s a big lion in my tummy. He growled at me this afternoon and told me that if I didn’t feed him six cookies right away, he would bite me. So, you see, it’s really not my fault that I’m not hungry anymore—except for dessert.”
“I see,” said Alexander’s mother. “Since you’ve already fed the lion in your tummy, I don’t think that he needs any dessert. Besides, I don’t think tummy-lions like apple pie—especially apple pie with big scoops of vanilla ice cream on it. So you may be excused from the table now.”
The next day was rainy; Alexander brought out his train set. He very neatly laid out the tracks with a mountain tunnel, a switchover track, and a big loop-the-loop track. Just as Alexander started his train for the very first ride, his little brother came skipping into the room and tripped on Alexander’s train tracks. The tunnel turned over, the switchover track came apart, and the loop-the-loop track lopped sideways.
“You clumsy little kid!” Alexander screamed at his brother. “Just look at what you did!” When Alexander made a fist and started to run after his little brother, he ran right into his mother.
“I’m sorry about your track, Alexander,” she said softly. “I’ll help you put it together again. But you weren’t really going to hit your brother, were you? You know it was just an accident.”
“I know,” said Alexander sadly, “but if I’d hit him, it wouldn’t have been my fault. You see, there’s a big dragon inside me. Most of the time he just sleeps, but when he wakes up, he opens his fiery mouth and lets out mean words. And when someone makes him angry, sometimes he makes me hit that person. I think he’s angry now because he wanted to see the train go.”
“I see,” said Alexander’s mother. “Well, I don’t blame him for being angry. But there is a better way to take care of those feelings. Do you think that your dragon can count? Tell him to count to ten before he says anything. Then if he still feels angry, I think that he will be able to say how he feels without mean words or hitting.”
“I don’t know,” said Alexander doubtfully, “but I’ll tell him.”
The next day was bright and sunny. It’s a perfect day to finish building my hideout, thought Alexander. All I need is something to cover it so that it will be cozy and cool inside.
Alexander ran into the kitchen, snatched a tablecloth off the kitchen table, and was headed back outside when he spied this note taped to the screen door: “Alexander, please don’t listen to the fox!”
So he didn’t. Alexander put the tablecloth back on the kitchen table. Then he just stood there for a moment and thought.
Suddenly Alexander tore through the house, threw open his bedroom door, and scrambled inside his closet. He pulled out tennis shoes and slippers. He pulled out rain boots and snow boots. Finally he pulled out an old sheet that he and his brother had used last fall as a circus tent. It would make a perfect cover for his hideout! Alexander grinned his crooked grin.
Pretty soon Alexander’s tummy began to make funny sounds. Uh-oh, Alexander thought. The lion must be hungry. I think he wants some cookies. Alexander went back into the kitchen. He was just reaching inside the cookie jar when he noticed this note taped on it: “Alexander, please don’t feed the lion!”
So he didn’t. Instead, Alexander went to find his mother. “I’m hungry, Mom! When’s lunch?”
“I’m glad that you asked,” his mother said. “I was just about to make it. Maybe you’d like to help me.”
Alexander ate all his sandwich, all his soup, two helpings of potato chips, and some chocolate pudding. “Now both of us feel better,” Alexander told his mother. “I guess the lion likes sandwiches too.”
“Even tummy-lions need a change from cookies,” agreed his mother, smiling.
Later that day Alexander and his little brother were playing with their building blocks. Alexander had built a monster-size castle with towers, thick walls, and a drawbridge. His little brother was working on a mouse-size house.
“I need one of these red blocks,” his little brother said, and he reached over and took one from the bottom of one of Alexander’s towers.
The tower started to topple, and suddenly, right before Alexander’s astonished eyes, his whole beautiful monster castle was in ruins.
His little brother got up and ran. Alexander ran after him. Just as Alexander grabbed his little brother by the arm and opened his mouth to shout angry, mean words at him, an arm appeared in the doorway, holding this large sign: “Alexander, please ask the dragon to count!”
So he did. Alexander helped the dragon count to ten; then he smiled his crooked grin, hugged his little brother, and asked him to help rebuild the monster castle. And it was bigger and better than before.

Sunday, March 27 [1836].—The congregation began to assemble at the Temple, at about seven o’clock … to witness the dedication of the Lord’s House. …
Presidents Rigdon, Cowdery and myself seated the congregation as they came in. …
At nine o’clock a. m. President Sidney Rigdon commenced the services. … He admitted there were many houses … built for the worship of God, but not one except this … that was built by divine revelation. …
I then made a short address. …
[The dedicatory prayer was offered next—see D&C 109.]
The assembly dispersed a little past four o’clock. …
I met the quorums in the evening. …
Brother George A. Smith arose and began to prophesy, when a noise was heard like the sound of a rushing mighty wind, which filled the Temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power; many began to speak in tongues and prophesy; others saw glorious visions; and I beheld the Temple was filled with angels. … The people of the neighborhood came running together (hearing an unusual sound within, and seeing a bright light like a pillar of fire resting upon the Temple), and were astonished at what was taking place. This continued until the meeting closed at eleven p. m.

John usually raced downstairs when Mom called him for family home evening, but tonight he was already sitting on the couch when Mom came in the living room. The smell of Dad’s brownies had teased him in, but that wasn’t the only reason for his smile. Every week at family home evening, Mom read the latest e-mail from John’s brother David, who was serving a mission.
“Did David talk about his wrist this week?” John asked. Last week, David had mentioned that he had been in a bike accident and might have broken his wrist.
“Let’s find out,” Mom said.
“Dear family,” she read. “The doctor says my wrist is definitely broken. The broken bone is pushing other bones in my wrist out of alignment. I will probably need surgery. I am not in pain, and it is not swollen. It just is very broken.”
Mom kept reading. David had written about his companion and the people he had taught, but John’s mind was still on his brother’s wrist.
“Mom? Can I say family prayer tonight?” he asked when Mom finished.
“Sure,” Mom said.
The family knelt for prayer, and John made sure he prayed extra hard for David.
When they had brownies, John felt a little better, but he was still worried about his brother.
During the next week, John spent a lot of time praying for David. The next Sunday at dinner, Mom had an announcement.
“David is going to have surgery this week,” she said. “But the doctors are concerned because this type of injury is difficult to heal. They aren’t sure it will heal properly after the surgery.”
“Will David be able to finish his mission?” John asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dad said.
John stared at his plate. As much as he missed his brother, he didn’t want David to have to come home from his mission.
“Dad and I have an idea,” Mom said. “I know we’ve been praying for David, but we’d like to have a special fast for him.”
“A special fast?” John asked.
“It wouldn’t be on fast Sunday, and we would ask our friends and family to fast and pray that the surgery will go well.”
“We think you’re old enough to fast, so you can fast with us if you’d like,” Dad said.
“I like that idea,” John said.
A month and a half later, after a difficult surgery and several weeks in a cast, David sent an e-mail.
“Dear family, my wrist is an interesting story, especially the reaction from my doctor. He couldn’t find any sign of the fracture! He took lots more X-rays and told me that the bone had completely healed and that he didn’t need to put me back into a cast. My doctor isn’t a member of the Church, but he said my healing was a miracle. It’s incredible how all those prayers really worked.”
John leaned over Mom’s lap to read the e-mail for himself. “The fasting helped cause a miracle, didn’t it?” he asked.
Mom nodded. “The fast and all those prayers.”

Giselle
After we were sealed in the temple, a lot of things were not working well.
After September 11, 2001, it was hard for us to renew our visas. I was sad because I had just graduated from a community college and applied for a full scholarship at the University of Maryland. I didn’t get the scholarship, and the lab André worked for was closing.
We thought that maybe the time had come for us to go back to Brazil.
André
Our bishop told us we could help a lot of members in Brazil and grow in ways we might not in the United States. He counseled us to stay close to the Church.
“Go to Brazil and serve the Lord,” he said.
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!
Around the time I was released, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf was released from the First Presidency. I remember President Russell M. Nelson saying that President Uchtdorf had new and important responsibilities in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Three months later, I was called as first counselor in the mission presidency. I didn’t serve a mission, but I love my calling. I love working with the missionaries. The Lord knows me. He knew I needed to be released as bishop so I can serve in the time and place that is right for me now.

One way that he showed his love is particularly special. At the beginning of each school year, at the request of the schools, my parents would meet with my teacher to talk about me and the coming term. Every year during these visits, my dad would find out from the teacher where my desk was. He would then take a few of his business cards and carefully hide them throughout my school supplies, where I would be sure to find them.
Every year it was a surprise, since I would forget about the cards from the year before. After I found the first one, it would become a game to search for the others. The best part about these little treasures was that my dad had personalized each one. On the back of every card was a message from him—things like “Have a good day, Justin. Love, Dad” or “I pray for you every day. Love, Dad.” My favorite was a simple and perfect “I love you, Justin. Love, Dad.”

A few years ago, my wife and I were struggling with one of our young single adult children. A long series of events had left us emotionally drained. I regrettably remember saying, “I’m over it. I’m turning off the ‘I care’ switch.” For a few days, I felt better, detached, less stressed, and I thought I had found peace.

But then came Sunday.

I had recently read Elder Peter F. Meurs’s 2016 general conference talk, “The Sacrament Can Help Us Become Holy.” He offered five ways to deepen our worship:
Prepare in advance
Arrive early
Sing and learn from the sacrament hymn
Participate in the prayers
Remember Jesus as the emblems are passed

I tried to apply those teachings, but my heart was still heavy. Then came the opportunity to learn from the sacrament hymn. Verse 2 pierced my heart:
As now our minds review the past,
We know we must repent;
The way to thee is righteousness—
The way thy life was spent.
Forgiveness is a gift from thee
We seek with pure intent.

Immediately my heart turned not just to the Saviour but to my child. The Spirit whispered to me, “Call him and tell him you are sorry. Let him know you love him.”

After the meeting, I messaged: “I’m going to call you this afternoon, I need to talk. Please answer. I promise I won’t hassle you.”

I called and said, “I love you, Son. Please forgive me.” There was a period of silence, then his voice: “Aw, is that it? All good, I love you too. I’m sorry. How was your day?”

That moment was sacred. It was healing. It was the Saviour’s balm, and it came because I tried, however imperfectly, to build on the rock.

In this childhood setting—one he later often called “ideal”—Ezra Taft Benson learned how to sacrifice to reap a spiritual harvest. He was just twelve when his father, George Benson, was called to serve an eighteen-month mission in the midwestern United States. There were seven children in the Benson home when their father left for the mission field, with the eighth soon to be born. And Ezra, as the oldest son, had to carry much of the responsibility for the farm. One of President Benson’s most vivid memories of his father’s absence was of gathering around the kitchen table to hear his mother read her husband’s weekly letters. “There came into that home a spirit of missionary work that never left,” recalled President Benson. All eleven Benson children later served missions.

When I was 15, I had an interaction at church that left me feeling hurt. I never wanted to go back after that day. My early faith and hope crumbled as I slowly lost my focus on my divine identity. I felt a lot of doubt and couldn’t find any answers.
So, I tried to find meaning outside of the gospel. I fell further away as many of my loved ones watched with concern. My parents tried to help in every way. Many friends included me in activities. But I had not had “a mighty change wrought in [my] heart” (Alma 5:12). But, over time, as people in my life shared Christlike love and provided good examples, I learned the meaning of God’s plan for me.
If you have a loved one who is struggling with their faith, you might be wondering how you can help them. In my case, my loved ones acted as the Lord’s servants. It was their love and devotion that brought me back to the gospel.
And you can do the same for someone you love.
Here are three principles my loved ones practiced that helped me see Heavenly Father’s love for me:
“For I remember the word of God which saith by their works ye shall know them; for if their works be good, then they are good also” (Moroni 7:5).
My bishop, a great friend and example to me, continually invited me to minister with him even when I was no longer attending Church. He was such an important person to me that I couldn’t refuse his invitations. We had countless wonderful experiences serving those whom we visited, and he always offered to share gospel insights with them so that I would not be uncomfortable.
He served me while also inviting me to serve others, and that made a huge difference in coming back to Christ.
“And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil … [Charity] beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things” (Moroni 7:45).
My father is a great example to me of charity. He has always shown me charity, regardless of my beliefs or choices. During a very dark time in my life, I spoke to my father, and he met me with the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47). He listened to my concerns without judgment and gave me simple and invaluable advice.
One of the most powerful things you can do for your loved ones is to show them Christlike love, no matter what their choices are.
“But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing” (James 1:4).
I returned to the Church after ten years of not attending, and my mother went above and beyond with Christlike patience. She never pushed me or grew frustrated toward me. She loved me, remembered my worth, and knew that the Spirit and Heavenly Father were influencing me.
We can’t rush the Lord’s work or force another person’s agency. Instead, we can stay close to the Spirit to know when it is time to invite or serve those we love.
When others chose to serve, love, and be patient with me, I was blessed with opportunities and relationships that wouldn’t have been possible without their help. It is the Savior’s light, especially when it is exemplified in our actions, that guides others back to the joy of His gospel. My humble witness is that God loves all of us no matter where we are in life or what we have done, but He can bless us even more when we come unto Him. I’m so grateful for the gospel, and I testify that it was truly through the Christlike examples of those in my life that I was able to return.

A few years ago I stood on the spot where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Young Joan of Arc, one of the great heroines in history, became the unlikely standard-bearer for the French army in the Dark Ages, long before the gospel was restored. Joan had the Light of Christ and also the courage to follow its promptings and make a difference. Joan was a peasant girl who could neither read nor write, but she was bright. Long years of war with the English had impoverished and divided her country. At 17, sensing her life had a purpose, she left home, determined to help liberate her oppressed country. Naturally, people scoffed at her ideas and thought she was a little crazy, but in the end she persuaded them to let her have a horse and an escort to go and see the king.

Young King Charles VII of France had heard about Joan and decided to test her. He slipped into the ranks of the army and let one of his trusted associates occupy the throne. When Joan came into the room, she barely acknowledged the man on the throne, but promptly walked up to Charles and curtsied to him as her king. This so impressed the king that he gave her command over his 12,000 troops. At first the French soldiers did not want to obey her, but when they saw that all who followed her succeeded and all who disregarded her failed, they came to look upon her as their leader.

Clad in a suit of white armor and flying her own standard, Joan of Arc liberated the besieged city of Orleans in 1429 and defeated the English in four other battles. Twice she was wounded, but each time she recovered and went on fighting. Her orders seemed to be those of a military genius. She marched into the city of Reims and stood with sword and banner in hand while Charles was crowned king. She fought in the Battle of Paris until she was captured at Compiègne by English allies, who sold her to the English for 16,000 francs. She was imprisoned, tried as a heretic, and then burned at the stake in 1431.

Although this is a sad ending, it does not take away from Joan’s greatness. She was courageous enough to follow the personal inspiration to which all of us are entitled. As the Lord said to the Prophet Joseph Smith, “I am the true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”