Gospel Story Finder

Trent sat high in the oak tree, dangling one leg over a thick branch. When Jared and Tom called to him from below, he didn’t even hear them. He was daydreaming about a book he had been reading. His Grandma Jessop had given him Pioneer Children for his birthday. After reading the book for a while, he had left it on his bed and climbed the tree to think about the pioneer children and their amazing experiences.
One boy in the book had saved his two little sisters when their house and fields caught fire. Another had found food for his family because his father was away fighting in a war.
The stories told about the many dangers that the pioneer children faced—bears, coyotes, starvation. Trent wished that he had lived then. He would have met the challenges! He could scare away coyotes and bears. He had learned in Scouts how to make a cave in learned in Scouts how to make a cave in the snow where he could keep himself and his little brother warm if they got lost, just like a girl had done in one of the stories. He would share a piece ot bread with a hungry child, even if it were all he had.
But it would never happen to Trent. His mother could buy him anything he wanted in the market—any type of bread, fresh fruits and vegetables throughout the year, even treats.
Finally, the voices below broke through Trent’s reverie.
“Trent! What’s the matter with you?” Jared called. “Have you gone deaf or something?”
“No. Why?”
“We’ve been shouting at you to come down,” Tom said.
“What for?”
“Who knows? We’ll just walk around till we find something to do.”
I’m sure you will, Trent thought. Jared and Tom were his best friends, but lately they were often into some kind of mischief. Trent climbed part of the way down the tree and then dropped to the ground.
“What were you doing up there, anyway?” Jared asked.
“I was thinking about this book I’ve been reading,” Trent answered. “It’s all about—”
“A book!” Jared sneered. “Don’t you have anything better to do than read books?”
Trent looked searchingly at Jared, trying to see beyond the dark eyes and freckles that he had come to know so well. Tom, too, was almost as familiar as a brother, although he had moved into the neighborhood only six months ago.
“What’s wrong with you, Jared?” asked Trent. “You used to like to read. You used to like the other things I like too.”
Jared just ignored Trent’s question.
“Hey, look,” Tom said, pointing. “Here comes Reggie. Let’s have some fun with him.”
Trent winced.
Reggie was working hard to pedal his bicycle up the hill, sweat gathering on his forehead, a paper sack held tightly in one hand. Reggie tried his best, but he just couldn’t do a lot of things very well, and he attended a special class for slow learners.
“Hey, you,” Tom said as Reggie neared them, “stupid kids like you aren’t allowed on this street. You’ll have to go back around the other way.”
Reggie stopped pedaling and put his feet to the ground. He looked around, confused.
“What’s the matter?” Tom went on, “Don’t you know the way?”
Jared giggled. Reggie was older than they were. He was bigger, too, but he looked afraid.
“What’s in the sack?” Tom asked.
“Candy.”
“Oh, let’s see,” Jared said, grabbing the sack away from Reggie. “Maybe you have my favorite kind of candy in there.”
Jared dumped out the candy, and he and Tom began dividing it between them.
Reggie blinked a few times, and Trent saw tears in his eyes. “My daddy gave me the money,” Reggie quavered. “I earned it.”
“Ha!” Tom jeered. “What did you have to do to earn it? Tie your own shoelaces?”
“Button your own shirt?” Jared added.
Trent felt tears starting in his own eyes. He didn’t want to go against his two best friends, but he knew what he had to do. “Stop it!” he shouted.
Tom and Jared looked at him, surprised. Even Reggie looked surprised. Trent grabbed the candy out of his friends’ hands.
“Come on,” Tom said. “We’re just having a little fun.”
“Well it’s not much fun for Reggie, is it?” Trent asked as he handed the sack with candy back to Reggie.
“No,” Reggie said, wiping the tears off his cheeks.
“Come on,” Trent said, his hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “I’ll walk with you.”
As they walked, balancing the bike between them, Trent and Reggie talked. They talked about bicycles, and Reggie told Trent about his new puppy.
When they waved good-bye, Trent felt good about what he’d done. He realized that although he hadn’t faced starvation or bears, as the pioneer children in his book had, by acting against his friends to help Reggie, he had acted with courage too. It was just another kind of courage.

I found the first when I was welcomed into a priests quorum, with the bishop as our president. That may seem a small, unremarkable thing to you, but it gave me a sense of power in the priesthood that has changed my service in the priesthood ever since. It began by the way he led us.

As near as I could tell, he treated the opinions of young priests as if we were the wisest men in the world. He waited until all who would speak had spoken. He listened. And when he decided what should be done, it seemed to me that the Spirit confirmed the decisions to us and to him.

I realize now I had felt what the scripture means when it says that the president is to sit in council with the members of his quorum.1 And years later as I was a bishop with my priests quorum, both they and I were taught by what I had learned as a young priest.

In 1945 President of the Church, George Albert Smith, called Elder Kimball into his office. “I want you to look after the Indians,” he said. “They are neglected. Take charge and watch after the Indians in all the world.”
Elder Kimball traveled thousands of miles to visit the Indians, to teach them, and to bless them. Discovering they needed and wanted more schools, he tried to help. Finding them sick or sad, he blessed them and taught them how important they were to their Father in Heaven. Finding them cold and hungry, he went to those who could help.
Traveling throughout the world to help these people he loved, Elder Kimball also spent weeks and months visiting Lehi’s children in Central and South America and in the Pacific Islands. He taught them about the Savior, Jesus Christ, and helped them with their problems. No matter how tired he was, he was never too tired to help.

Later, when I was a young married man, another person who influenced me for good was Elder L. Aldin Porter, formerly a member of the Presidency of the Seventy. I served as his executive secretary for three years. After our meetings each week, we would often talk about the prophets and their lives. President Spencer W. Kimball was the prophet at the time, and a book about his life had just been published. Elder Porter encouraged me to read it. I did. As I read, I came to realize what it means to have a prophet on the earth. My testimony grew. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is led by living prophets.

As a part of the Yefis’ goal of building an eternal family, they have eagerly shared the gospel with their extended family members. Brother Yefi’s father, Prudencio Yefi Calbucan, was the first relative to listen to the gospel message. Next his brother, Segundo Prudencio Yefi Aguilar, his brother’s wife, Maria Isabel de Yefi, and one of their daughters became interested. Then his brother-in-law, Jose Nolberto Miranda Diaz—who we had met at the lakeshore—his wife, Maria Francisca de Miranda, his oldest son Juan Heriberto Miranda Yefi, and two younger daughters wanted to learn more.
Brother Yefi taught them all the missionary discussions. Then they all made the journey to Puerto Varas to be interviewed by the full-time missionaries. After the interviews, Brother Yefi baptized them. He also challenged them to receive the temple endowments which he and Sister Yefi had already done. (The Mirandas’ oldest son was serving in the Chile Vina del Mar Mission at the time of our visit.)

Several years later, I volunteered for service in the United States Marine Corps. At the beginning of basic training, I found myself standing at attention in front of my barrack’s bunk along with 54 other Marine Corps recruits. I met my drill instructor, a battle-hardened veteran, when he kicked open the door to the barracks and entered while screaming words laced with profanity.
After this terrifying introduction, he started at one end of the barracks and confronted each recruit with questions. Without exception, the drill instructor found something about each recruit to ridicule with loud, vulgar language. Down the row he came, with each marine shouting back his answer as commanded: “Yes” or “No, Sergeant Instructor.” I could not see exactly what he was doing, because we had been ordered to stand at attention with our eyes looking straight ahead. When it was my turn, I could tell he grabbed my duffel bag and emptied the contents onto my mattress behind me. He looked through my belongings, then walked back to face me. I braced myself for his attack. In his hand was my Book of Mormon. I expected that he would yell at me; instead, he moved close to me and whispered, “Are you a Mormon?”
As commanded, I yelled, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
Again I expected the worst. Instead, he paused and raised his hand that held my Book of Mormon and in a very quiet voice said, “Do you believe in this book?”
Again I shouted, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
At this point I was sure he would scream disparaging words about Mormons and the Book of Mormon, but he just stood there in silence. After a moment he walked back to my bunk and carefully laid down my Book of Mormon. He then walked by me and went on to ridicule and disparage all the remaining recruits. I have often wondered why that tough drill instructor spared me that day. But I am grateful I was able to say without hesitation, “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” and “Yes, I know the Book of Mormon is true.” My testimony of the special messages found in the Book of Mormon is a precious gift given to me through the Holy Ghost.

She catapults helplessly through darkness and she is screaming, screaming, screaming. “Wake up, Amy!” Scream. “Wake up! You’re having a bad dream.”
Amy struggles to look at her father who is smiling even though it’s the middle of the night. She feels beads of sweat, newly formed along her brow, trapping her hair. Her voice trembles, “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty.”
“I’m sorry I woke you, Dad.” Amy frowns as she slides back under the covers.
“Don’t worry. I was getting up at four anyway.” Amy’s dad goes to the flower mart early so he can choose the freshest blooms for his shop himself. “Looks like I’ve got some free time; want to talk about these bad dreams you’ve been having?”
“I’m pretty sleepy, Dad. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” he says, watching Amy rub her eyes. “Okay,” he sighs, “after school then.” He kisses Amy’s cheek. “Pleasant dreams.”
Amy stays awake. Pleasant dreams, sure, she thinks.
Later that morning at the breakfast table her little brother makes slurping noises. “Can’t you be a decent human being?” Amy asks.
Her brother, Markie, opens his mouth to defend himself, but Amy’s mother interrupts their morning ritual with one word: “Amy.”
Amy reads the ingredients on the cereal box. “Yuck, this cereal is full of poison! I can’t eat this stuff.”
“Amy,” her mom strains to speak patiently, “you need to eat something. The cereal is not poisonous.”
“It’s full of chemicals and preservatives. It’ll give me some incurable disease or something.” With that, Amy grabs her books and heads out the door for school. As she walks, a passing car reminds her of a recent nightmare. She was in a car and there was a horrible accident.
At school Becky invites her to go snowboarding Saturday on the last spring snow. “It’ll be great and I’ve got a snowboard you can borrow.”
“I can’t.”
Becky squeezes her face into an expression of disbelief. “Why not?”
Amy doesn’t want to go because she has never done it before and she’s afraid she’ll break a bone, probably an important one. “I have to finish my research report this weekend.”
“All you need to do is type the bibliography, remember?”
“I, uh, you know, had to make some major changes in it.”
“Okay, suit yourself. I’ll just ask someone else.”
Amy watches Becky walk toward a group of girls. She decides this would be the ideal time to finish her current events assignment. After a while the news stories begin to bear a striking resemblance to her nightmares. There are shootings and stabbings, drunk drivers killing innocent people, kidnappings, and tornadoes tearing apart entire communities. The bell rings and Amy nearly hits the ceiling.
Walking home after school, she takes a detour to see if her dad’s truck is at the flower shop. Seeing it, she goes inside the shop and sees the manager. “Hi, Amy, how are you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Jepperson. I’m okay.”
Mrs. Jepperson looks up while filling some balloons with helium. “Just okay?”
“Yeah.” How can anyone be any more than that? she thinks. There’s a horrible war on the other side of the ocean and there are town-eating tornadoes. No one has a right to be anything more than okay under the circumstances. “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s probably at your house by now. He ran out for a while. Oh, before you go, take these.” Mrs. Jepperson reaches for a scrambled bunch of flowers, the leftovers she would soon throw out.
“Thanks, but no.” Amy pushes through the door. “They’re just going to die.” That’s the trouble with flowers, Amy thinks as she walks up the hill to her house. They always turn brown and shrivel up.
Her dad is drinking ice water in the kitchen. “Amy, I need to go back and get the truck. Why don’t you come with me?” Amy knows what that means. He wants her to run with him, so she begins to formulate her excuse-for-the-day, but remembers that it won’t do her any good. She could give a hundred good reasons why she can’t run with him, and he’ll give her two hundred reasons why she should. It’s another family ritual.
“Okay,” she sighs, and goes to her room to change.
As they start down the hill he asks about her day. She tells him about all the horror stories she read in the newspaper and about how she couldn’t go snowboarding. Then he asks her if she knows why she’s having nightmares. “I really don’t know,” she says. “I just wish they’d go away.”
“Keep running hard and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
“But babies wake up crying every few hours.”
“Okay, I’ll think of another comparison,” he says as he playfully shoves his daughter into the grass.
“Dad! You got grass stains on my shorts!” They walk in silence the rest of the way to the shop.
She waits outside in the truck while he talks to his employees. When he comes out he’s carrying the armload of leftover flowers. He doesn’t even put them in the back; he just climbs into the driver’s seat with all the flowers. Some fall over onto Amy’s lap; they feel cold. “Dad, how can you see to drive?”
“I’m just going to breathe these in for a moment.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Ah, that’s wonderful.”
“But they’re not fresh. They’re going to die, like, probably tomorrow.”
Her dad opens his eyes and looks at her for what seems like hours. He puts the flowers down and begins to drive. “They’ll be gone, maybe tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them today.” He doesn’t drive toward home.
She wishes he’d take her home. She’s in grass-stained shorts and a sweaty T-shirt. What if someone sees her? Her dad turns on the radio. It’s his favorite program, some old-fashioned comedy. He’s laughing hard. When the commercial comes on she switches the station to the news. They hear reports of a capsized boat and how the coast guard is looking for survivors. They hear about some famous couple getting divorced, and then they hear reports of atrocities in a war-torn country.
“Can I switch it back to my station now?” he asks Amy.
“It’s the news, Dad. It’s reality. We can’t bury our heads in the sand.”
“That’s true. But we don’t have to wallow in misery,” he says as he pulls over.
“Who’s wallowing in misery?”
Amy looks up to see pink and yellow flowers as far as she can see. “I’m just aware of what’s going on.”
“Being aware is one thing, but you can’t let it get to you.”
“Why not? It’s a miserable world. I have reason to be miserable.”
Amy’s dad gets out and opens Amy’s door. She gets out reluctantly. He takes her arm and leads her toward the rainbow of endless flowers. They stop at a patch of ground surrounded by flowers, and he digs into the dirt. Yuck, Amy thinks. Mud covers his fingers and an earthworm squirms away.
“Imagine,” her dad says, “if flowers decided that since they only live a short time they shouldn’t bother being beautiful and fragrant.”
“Yeah, but how can we go around being happy when so many people are suffering?”
“Does being unhappy help the people who are suffering?”
“Well,” Amy turns toward the truck.
“Does being unhappy help you in any way?”
Amy tries to think of a response. She looks at her dad for a clue. He isn’t even paying attention. In the middle of his lecture he’s stooping over, smelling flowers.
“Do you remember that scripture about ‘Man is that he might have joy’?” He stretches his arms out and looks like he is offering some kind of salute to the flower kingdom.
“But that’s for after we get through all the misery of this earth.”
“Is it? Amy, I have two assignments for you. One is for Saturday while you’re sitting around with nothing to do when you could have been snowboarding. I want you to answer the following question using your scriptures and other Church books. Think about this. Could it be that it is a good thing to be of good cheer?”
“And the other assignment?” she asks.
“Race me to the car!”
They run all the way, the colorful images of the flowers flashing past in such a blur that Amy almost laughs out loud, especially when her dad passes her along the skinny path looking like some kind of hairy gnome in running shorts. The fragrance is energizing, and she wonders if the things her dad said are true.
That night she helps her mom fold towels and asks her, “Why is Dad always so happy? Hasn’t he ever experienced anything really hard?”
Her mom stops folding and looks at the towel she is smoothing. “Oh, he’s had some hard times. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Your dad’s mother—your grandma—died when he was 12. That was really hard. He lost the first business he started. Then he was diagnosed with a liver disease and diabetes all in the same year.” She pauses, begins to lift a stack of towels, puts them down, and continues. “He was sent to fight in Vietnam when he was 19. He’s told me some about that, but I know he hasn’t told me everything. His brother was killed there. That was probably the hardest for him; he used to wake up with nightmares.”
Amy doesn’t say a word. The rest of the weekend she hardly says anything at all until her research is finished. On Sunday her dad asks her to sit down and make a report to him.
“Dad, terrible things happened to Christ, but he spent his time lifting others. And there are others who were like that too. They did terrible things to Joseph Smith and his family, but even though he had the right to be really miserable he still found time to arm wrestle and play with the kids and things like that.”
“So, did you learn from your research that it’s okay to be a happy person?”
“It’s more than okay. I think Heavenly Father wants us to find joy in our lives while we’re here. Maybe it’s like a skill. If we learn it here we’ll be better at it in eternity.”
He smiles. “So your research really helped.”
“Actually, I think I learned the most from example. There’s this man, you see, and he’s had some hard things happen to him. But he likes to get up early every morning and go to the flower mart, he listens to corny comedy on the radio, and he’s been teaching me all along that being happy is an important skill.”
Her dad isn’t smiling anymore. She doesn’t remember ever seeing him look this serious. “We have our agency,” he says. “We choose how to react to the hard things in life. We can grow and have gratitude for our blessings, or we can be miserable and stagnate.”
“Dad, will you lighten up!”
“Here, let’s give these to your mom.” He takes an armload of wilted flowers from a large grocery bag, and the two of them carry the gift. Amy fully breathes in their fragrance.

“How do you know when the Holy Ghost is talking to you?” Carver looked up from his scriptures.
Dad smiled and put down his Come, Follow Me book. “The Holy Ghost can talk to you in lots of ways. Sometimes it’s a feeling, or an idea that pops into your head.”
Carver frowned. “But how do you know it’s the Holy Ghost?”
“Maybe we can say a prayer to help us find the answer,” Mom said.
One of Carver’s sisters said the prayer. Then they headed off to school. Carver thought about his question all day.
When he got home, the house smelled delicious. “Bread!” Carver shouted.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “I made some bread for us to share with others.”
Carver looked at his sisters. Eva scrunched up her nose. Jane raised her eyebrows. “You mean we don’t get to eat it?” Jane asked.
“We wanted to practice listening to the Holy Ghost,” Dad said. “So Mom came up with an idea.”
They would each pray to ask Heavenly Father who might need to feel loved today. Then they would give that person some bread.
Carver knelt by his bed. He wanted to hear the Holy Ghost, but what did the Holy Ghost sound like? He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Heavenly Father, who needs bread today?”
Carver tried to listen for the Holy Ghost, but he didn’t hear anything. Then he remembered passing Sister Smith’s house on the way home from school. She always waved at him. Maybe she liked bread. Perfect!
Mom handed out cards to write notes for the people they were going to visit. Carver wrote, “Dear Sister Smith, I said a prayer to see which person I should give this bread to. I waited for a prompting, and POP! you came into my head. Love, Carver.”
When Mom drove up to Sister Smith’s house, Carver grabbed his loaf and walked to the front door. He felt nervous. What if Sister Smith didn’t like bread? What if visiting her was just his brain’s idea and not the Holy Ghost?
Then Carver remembered something else Mom had said. She said that if it’s a good or kind idea, you don’t need to worry about whether it’s just your own thought. Nice things are always good to do! Carver took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Sister Smith opened the door. “Hello, Carver! What brings you here?”
Carver handed her his loaf. He looked at his shoes, then back at Sister Smith. “Do you like homemade bread?”
“It’s my favorite!” She smiled. “Thank you very much.”
Carver smiled too. “You’re welcome!” Then more words popped into his head. He followed the prompting right away. “Heavenly Father knows it’s your favorite. He loves you a lot!”
Sister Smith’s eyes started to look shiny. “I’m glad He can count on you to hear Him.”
Carver felt as light as a balloon. He waved to Sister Smith and walked back to the car. Now he knew that giving Sister Smith the bread was a prompting from the Holy Ghost. He was excited to listen to the Holy Ghost again!

When my mom and I were shopping, she said I could buy something with my own money. I had 10 dimes. I found a bottle of bubbles and was excited to buy it. When we got to the checkout my mom paid for everything, even the bubbles. I didn’t give the dimes to my mom, and she didn’t ask for them. Later that week my mom asked me to do some extra chores. I did them, and my mom gave me two quarters for doing a good job. When I went to put away my new quarters, I saw the 10 dimes. I took them out of my bank and gave them to my mom. I told her they were for my bubbles she bought at the store. I felt good inside for choosing the right by being honest, and doing what Jesus would want me to do.

I was in the country only two months and I already had the first chapel under construction—the Quezon City Chapel. This first project was bid November 19, 1970 during the week of Typhoon “Yoling.” But it had to be rebid due to the difficulties caused by the typhoon. Ground breaking was done January 4, 1971 and work was started by the contractor, Juanito Gutierez who was not a Church member at that time. In fact he did not know what a “Mormon” was.
But with all these construction works, the highlight of my stay in this country is seeing the baptism of two fine men who worked with me—Juanito Gutierrez, my first contractor who is now Bishop of the Marikina Ward, and Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio who is now Governor Elect of the Kiwanis of Luzon. I will cherish my association with many wonderful people and friends especially my efficient secretary, Miss Nilda Austria.

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

When I was 15, I was invited to live with a Latter-day Saint family. Their daughter, slightly older than I, took me to Mutual. Everyone there welcomed me and paid attention to me. For the first time in my young life, people treated me with love and kindness.
I was introduced to the missionaries, who began teaching me. Soon I realized that I had a loving Heavenly Father, who had protected me throughout my life. I accepted the gospel and was baptized on Christmas Eve 1978. That evening I received my first and still most cherished Christmas gift: membership in the Lord’s Church.

Growing up, living the gospel felt simple. I trusted my parents and leaders, and they guided me and helped me make good choices.
But as I’ve reached young adulthood, I’ve learned that we can often face difficulties and challenges in life that will test our faith.
When my grandmother passed away unexpectedly, my family and I faced one of these difficult times. It made me stop and question, “If God is good, why would He take someone good from our lives?”
My grandma was our pillar. She was kind, caring, and charitable—a mother to everyone. She welcomed everyone into our home. Neighborhood kids who played in the street in front of our house would eat dinner with us because she had a plate of food for everyone.
So when she died, I struggled with my faith.
Amid all my grief, even though I wasn’t looking to find answers in the gospel or in God, I still prayed every day. At first, my prayers were monotonous. I asked for the same things. I was grateful for the same things.
But as time passed, there was one question in my heart that I finally asked Heavenly Father:
“How can I find peace?”
A friend was the answer to that sincere prayer.
Thanks to him, I started attending church again. He invited me to come with him, and I agreed to go, just because he was my friend. I wasn’t interested in participating.
But little by little, just because I was there, the gospel messages began to enter my heart. I saw that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. President Russell M. Nelson taught:
“Eternal perspective provides peace ‘which passeth all understanding.’ (Philippians 4:7.) …
“Life does not begin with birth, nor does it end with death.”
Though I still mourn for my grandma, the gospel of Jesus Christ provides me with peace and the reassurance that we will one day be reunited.
I also learned that it takes constant and daily effort to remember my baptismal covenant and listen to the guiding voice of the Spirit. I began to treasure the gift of the Holy Ghost in my life. I know He is always with me, through every difficulty I face.
I’m so grateful for a friend who noticed I was pulling away from the gospel and reached out to support me. As I continued attending church, institute, and other young adult activities, I grew closer with more young adults in my area who were all seeking to love one another and live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
President Nelson also taught:
“Latter-day Saints, as with other followers of Jesus Christ, are always looking for ways to help, to lift, and to love others. They who are willing to be called the Lord’s people ‘are willing to bear one another’s burdens, … to mourn with those that mourn; … and [to] comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ [Mosiah 18:8–9].
“They truly seek to live the first and second great commandments. When we love God with all our hearts, He turns our hearts to the well-being of others in a beautiful, virtuous cycle.”
Helping me bear my burdens was exactly what my fellow disciples in my ward did for me and what they continue to do for one another. I sincerely love those in my ward! We get together often, we support each other, and we minister to one another. When someone needs a job, we help each other look for opportunities. When new people visit our Sunday meetings, we welcome them and try to make them feel included.
Good friends have helped me grow strong in the gospel, and together, we are strong against the trials and temptations of life.
And just as good friends supported me when I needed it most, I now have the opportunity to be that friend to others. At times when I’ve noticed people I love are struggling or have been distancing themselves from the Church, I do what I can to keep supporting and inviting them—to remind them that the Lord loves them and is waiting for them to return to the covenant path.
I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without my wonderful friends and ward members who helped me have the courage to stay faithful when I was feeling so much grief.

In Act One by Moss Hart, the author tells of a particularly difficult experience he had one Christmas. His father was working several jobs, his mother had taken in renters, and still they were barely making it.

“Obviously Christmas was out of the question—we were barely staying alive. On Christmas Eve my father was very silent during the evening meal. Then he surprised and startled me by turning to me and saying, ‘Let’s take a walk.’ He had never suggested such a thing before, and moreover it was a very cold winter’s night. I was even more surprised when he said as we left the house, ‘Let’s go down to a Hundred Forty-ninth Street and Westchester Avenue.’ My heart leapt within me. That was the section where all the big stores were, where at Christmastime open pushcarts full of toys stood packed end-to-end for blocks at a stretch. On other Christmas Eves I had often gone there with my aunt, and from our tour of the carts she had gathered what I wanted the most. My father had known of this, of course, and I joyously concluded that this walk could mean only one thing—he was going to buy me a Christmas present.

“On the walk down I was beside myself with delight and an inner relief. It had been a bad year for me, that year of my aunt’s going, and I wanted a Christmas present terribly—not a present merely, but a symbol, a token of some sort. I needed some sign from my father or mother that they knew what I was going through and cared for me as much as my aunt and my grandfather did. I am sure they were giving me what mute signs they could, but I did not see them. The idea that my father had managed a Christmas present for me in spite of everything filled me with a sudden peace and lightness of heart I had not known in months.

“We hurried on, our heads bent against the wind, to the cluster of lights ahead that was 149th Street and Westchester Avenue, and those lights seemed to me the brightest lights I had ever seen. Tugging at my father’s coat, I started down the line of pushcarts. There were all kinds of things that I wanted, but since nothing had been said by my father about buying a present, I would merely pause before a pushcart to say, with as much control as I could muster, ‘Look at that chemistry set!’ or, ‘There’s a stamp album!’ or, ‘Look at the printing press!’ Each time my father would pause and ask the pushcart man the price. Then without a word we would move on to the next pushcart. Once or twice he would pick up a toy of some kind and look at it and then at me, as if to suggest this might be something I might like, but I was ten years old and a good deal beyond just a toy; my heart was set on a chemistry set or a printing press. There they were on every pushcart we stopped at, but the price was always the same and soon I looked up and saw we were nearing the end of the line. Only two or three more pushcarts remained. My father looked up, too, and I heard him jingle some coins in his pocket. In a flash I knew it all. He’d gotten together about seventy-five cents to buy me a Christmas present, and he hadn’t dared say so in case there was nothing to be had for so small a sum.

“As I looked up at him I saw a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes that brought me closer to him than I had ever been in my life. I wanted to throw my arms around him and say, ‘It doesn’t matter … I understand … this is better than a chemistry set or a printing press … I love you.’ But instead we stood shivering beside each other for a moment—then turned away from the last two pushcarts and started silently back home. I don’t know why the words remained choked up within me. I didn’t even take his hand on the way home nor did he take mine. We were not on that basis. Nor did I ever tell him how close to him I felt that night—that for a little while the concrete wall between father and son had crumbled away and I knew that we were two lonely people struggling to reach each other.

“I came close to telling him many years later, but again the moment passed.” (From ACT ONE, by Moss Hart. Copyright 1959 by Catherine Carlisle Hart and Joseph M. Hyman, Trustees. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc.)

Hilary Ashford knows how hard it is for a teenager in Wales to find a job. It took her a long while.

“I was walking in Cardiff one day thinking, ‘I need some money.’” She even said a little prayer. “Then I saw this craft shop, and I just went in and asked them if they had a Saturday job where I could help out.” They took her name and phone number, but never called. “Six weeks later I went back and asked again.” Again, no call. So Hilary went back a third time. “And they said, ‘We’ve been thinking about you. Come Saturday and you can start.’”

Patience and perseverance paid off. That’s part of belonging—creating a place for yourself, helping others get used to having you around. It’s a lesson that would continue.

“They had hot drinks—every few minutes, it seems. There’s a good stock of coffee and tea downstairs,” Hilary explains. “It was only natural that they noticed I was drinking chocolate instead. I got to explain why I couldn’t drink tea and coffee because it’s against my religion. And they were fine about it. I found I can have my standards and fit in just fine.”

Sometimes people won’t understand your actions, but if you follow the Holy Ghost, you will always know that you are doing the right thing. When I received my mission call, I had finished two years of schooling at Stanford University. I announced that I was dropping out of school for two years to serve a mission, and soon afterward, my advisor asked to meet with me. When I walked into his office, the first thing he said to me was, “Robert, are you crazy?” He told me that I was making a mistake and that the university might never let me back in. He encouraged me to finish my schooling and then serve a mission.
Many years later, I received a call from the prophet asking me to retire and serve as a General Authority. At the time, I had a responsible position in the United States government. I accepted the call, just as I had accepted the mission call when I was nineteen years old, and I announced my retirement. Soon afterward, a senior official walked into my office. The first thing he said to me was, “Robert, are you crazy?” I said, “I think I’ve heard this before.”
I wasn’t crazy when I served a mission, and I wasn’t crazy when I retired to serve as a General Authority. No matter what else is going on in your life, when the call to serve comes, that is the moment to do it.

A true story from Indonesia.
Harvey sat squished in the back of the taxi with Ibu (Mom) and Bapak (Dad). They were on their way to the church for Harvey’s baptism.
“Bapak, how did you feel when you were baptized?” Harvey asked. Bapak got baptized a few months ago. Now that Harvey was eight, he was going to be baptized too!
Bapak thought for a minute. “The water was so cold!” he said with a laugh. “But I also felt a lot of love. Even though most of our family are not members of our church, I felt their love and God’s love.”
When they got to the church building, some other people from church helped them fill the font with water and get ready.
“Harvey, it’s time to change into your baptism clothes,” Ibu said. Harvey nodded and found the bag with his clothes. But only his white pants were in the bag. He couldn’t find his white shirt! He checked the other bags and looked around the church.
“Ibu, my shirt isn’t in here,” Harvey said.
Ibu frowned. She checked a few bags too. “We must have left it in the taxi.”
“We have some extra baptism clothes in the closet,” Sister Putri said. “I’ll go get them.”
But the only baptism clothes from the closet were too big for Harvey. Ibu looked worried. The baptism would start soon. A lot of people were already here, and Harvey didn’t have his shirt.
“Maybe we can say a prayer that the taxi driver will bring the shirt back,” Harvey said. “But if he doesn’t bring it, I can just wear a shirt that’s too big. I don’t care what I wear. I just want to be baptized.”
Ibu and Bapak nodded. Together they went to the kitchen, where it was quiet. Then they folded their arms and bowed their heads.
Harvey said the prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank Thee that I can be baptized today. Please help the taxi driver to bring back my shirt. But if not, that’s OK too.”
After their prayer, Harvey went to change into the shirt that was too large. It reached all the way to his knees.
“Harvey!” Sister Putri called from the hallway. “The taxi driver is here.”
Harvey and Ibu found the taxi driver by the front door. He was holding Harvey’s shirt!
“I looked back and saw it on the seat,” he said. “I thought it might belong to you.”
“Thank you so much,” Ibu said.
Harvey took the shirt from the man. “Thank you.”
The man smiled and waved goodbye.
Soon, it was time for the baptism to start. Harvey changed into his shirt. It fit perfectly! And it was white and clean.
When Harvey walked into the font, the water was freezing! Bapak said the prayer and baptized Harvey. When he came out of the water, he felt fresh and calm inside.
Bapak led Harvey out of the font and wrapped a soft towel around Harvey’s shoulders. Harvey thought about all the people who helped and supported him. Ibu, Bapak, the taxi driver, and his family. And Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ too.
Harvey gave Bapak a hug. “You’re right. The water was cold!” They both laughed. Then Harvey looked into Bapak’s eyes. “But you were right about something else too. I feel a lot of love.”

I also knew that I felt at peace with myself when I did what was right. I learned when I was in the third or fourth grade how it felt to make a wrong choice. The rules at school were that we could not throw snowballs and that we could not go off the school grounds. One day I got in a snowball fight and crossed the street to get the advantage in the fight. Afterward I felt bad because I knew I had done something wrong.

One young woman had an experience soon after President Hinckley’s fireside when she began to question her friendship with some people.
“As I approached this group of people that I called my friends and that I had spent half my life with, their aura seemed different, confusing, and unappealing. They were taking turns telling bad jokes and the spirit that I encountered there was one I did not want to be a part of. I hesitated to leave my friends and stayed for half a joke and then made up my mind to not be a part of this demeaning situation.”
She went on to explain that although it was difficult leaving her group of friends, it was well worth it.
“As I look back on that minute in time, that thought of walking away was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Now I find it to have been the single most important event in my life. I am now in a different crowd of people.
I think differently, and most importantly I act differently because of my change of friends.”

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
C. You all three go back to the tire swing and have a lot of fun. After a while, Julie’s mom picks her up and Tasha walks home. You’re glad that she and Julie have become friends too.
This is the end of the story—unless you want to do a little more missionary work. If you do, go to G.