Gospel Story Finder

“I know why they’re going to tear the old Bently place down,” Troy announced late one afternoon as night was starting to creep around us. “It’s because it’s haunted!” he said in a whisper.
“Everybody knows that,” Shane muttered, swallowing hard and glancing down the street toward the Bently house.
As long as I could remember, we had all been afraid of the old Bently house. Nobody had lived in it for years. Most of the windows were boarded up, the paint had peeled off, and the doors that were left sagged and squeaked on their hinges.
Dad said that he could remember when there had been tall oak trees, green lawn, and trimmed bushes all around the house. The oak trees were still there, standing like big bushy giants around the old house to guard it and keep snoopers away. But the lawn had been taken over by weeds, and the bushes were nothing but tangles. Every time I had to pass the Bently house, I shuddered and tried not to look as I sprinted past it.
“Do you figure any ghosts live there?” I asked, glancing first at Troy and Shane and then at Justin, who was sitting beside me.
“The place is packed with them,” Shane answered.
“Once, I walked up on the front porch and peeked in the window,” I bragged.
Troy, Shane, and Justin looked at me. I could tell that they didn’t believe me. “It was afternoon, though,” I explained, shrugging my shoulders, “and I was with my Uncle Dan. But it was still kind of scary.”
“What did you see, Jimmy?” Shane wanted to know.
“Nothing. It was too dark, and something started banging on the side of the house. I was halfway home in about three steps. I didn’t want to go back, even with Uncle Dan.”
“I wouldn’t just go up on the Bently porch,” Troy said in his cocky way. “I’d go right inside!”
We stared at Troy. He was the biggest kid in the neighborhood, the strongest and the bravest too. If anybody would dare go into the Bently house, Troy would.
“I would too,” Shane boasted.
I licked my lips and added, “Me too.”
We looked at Justin, waiting for him to make his brag. He just sat there, his eyes wide and his face looking a little white. He swallowed and rasped uneasily, “Mom and Dad told me to stay away from the Bently house.”
“Don’t blame your mom and dad,” Troy scoffed. “You’re just chicken.”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t believe in ghosts. My dad said that I could get hurt in there because it’s falling apart. And that’s why they’re going to tear it down—not because of ghosts.”
Troy jumped to his feet, stuck out his chest, and put on his toughest look. “Jimmy and Shane and I are going in there right now,” he said. “If you don’t come, you’re just chicken.”
I felt my heart flip-flop in my chest, and it felt like someone had sucked all my breath away. Mom and Dad had told me to stay away from the house too. I just didn’t know how to tell Troy and Shane that. I slowly got to my feet and stood next to Troy, and Shane followed me.
We looked at Justin, who was looking at the ground. For a long time he didn’t say anything. Finally he looked up and said, “I’m not afraid—well, maybe a little—but the main reason I’m not going is that Mom and Dad told me not to.”
Right then I was wishing that I could tell Troy and Shane that I couldn’t go either, for the same reason, but I didn’t have the nerve.
“You’re just a chicken!” Troy sneered at Justin. “But if you want to hang around with us any more, you’d better come with us.”
“You could get hurt in that old house,” Justin insisted.
Troy laughed, and Shane and I joined in. “What a chicken!” Shane gave Justin a little shove. “Go on home to your mommy so that nothing will get you.”
“Yeah,” I said, wishing that my mouth wasn’t so dry and my heart wasn’t beating so fast. “Go home and let your mom tuck you into bed.”
Leaving Justin standing there, the three of us started toward the Bently house. We laughed and bragged all the way, telling each other that we weren’t afraid of anything. But every time I laughed, I got a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach.
Outside the Bently house we stopped. Shadows were lurking everywhere, making strange, scary shapes.
“Do you think we ought to get a flashlight?” Shane asked. His voice cracked, and he coughed to cover it up.
“We don’t need a flashlight,” Troy muttered. “Flashlights are for sissies like Justin.”
I wanted a flashlight. I wanted one bad! But I didn’t want to be called a chicken, so I just looked over at Troy and asked, “How are we going to get in?”
“In back. Just to the side of the big oak tree, there’s a window that we can squeeze through. The boards have fallen off.”
We found the window that Troy had told us about, and we had to pull off two more boards to make a hole big enough to climb through. Shane and I helped Troy through first; then he helped pull us up into the house.
A few gray bars of light streaked across the room from cracks in the windows. It smelled musty, and when we moved, the boards under our feet creaked and groaned. And when we just stood still, the house made creaking, groaning noises all by itself.
“Well, we’re inside,” I squeaked. “Now we can say that we’ve been in the—”
“We’re not going to just stop here!” Troy broke off my sentence with contempt. “Just coming in the window’s nothing. We need to explore.”
“Shouldn’t we have a light, though?” I asked.
“Are you chicken like Justin?”
“Yeah,” Shane joined in, “are you chicken too?”
I shook my head—not that they could see it—and wished that I was with Justin.
“Let’s go,” Troy ordered.
We started shuffling forward. I could barely see Troy and Shane as we left the first room and tiptoed down a long, dark hall. Cobwebs brushed against my face, and dust filled my nose. Suddenly the flooring beneath our feet began to shudder. We all froze, not knowing which way to go. Then the floorboards buckled. Before we knew it, we were falling into a deep, dark hole with dust and boards tumbling about us. I heard somebody scream. It seemed like we were going to fall forever. Then my feet jarred against something solid, and I sprawled forward on my face.
I lay still, wondering if I was still alive. My arms felt like they’d been scraped half off, and my side burned like it had the time I fell off my skateboard onto the pavement. I was just getting ready to try to move, when I heard a groan.
“Oh, my arm!” someone whimpered. “My arm’s killing me. I can’t even move it.”
“Is that you, Troy?” I heard Shane ask.
The only answer from Troy was more moaning and groaning.
“Where are we?” I called out. “I can’t see anything.”
“Probably in the cellar,” Shane answered. “We shouldn’t have come into this creepy old house,” he sobbed. “I didn’t really want to come here. It’s all your fault, Troy. It was your great idea!”
Troy’s only answer was, “Oh, my arm. I think I broke my arm.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked, sitting up. I was sore, but I didn’t have any broken bones.
“I hope somebody finds us,” Shane whimpered.
“Who’s going to find us?” I snapped. “Nobody even knows we’re here.”
“Justin knows,” Shane said hopefully.
“But we sent him away,” I reminded him. “He won’t know we’re missing until tomorrow. Besides, after calling him a chicken, he won’t want to help us, anyway.”
Shane and I managed to get to our feet, and we started yelling, hoping that someone would hear us. But the sound seemed to stay down in the hole with us.
Finally we sat down quietly, breathing hard and staring into the blackness. Then we heard footsteps. They were faint at first, and I wondered if I was just hearing the creaky sounds of the house. Then they got louder and louder and closer and closer.
“What’s that?” Shane rasped.
“Can you hear it too?” I whispered.
Even Troy stopped his moaning as the footsteps came closer. Then a dim, yellowish light shone above us, and Justin called out, “Jimmy! Is that you?”
“Justin!” I started to breathe again. “How’d you find us?”
“I waited. When you didn’t come out, I ran home and got a flashlight.”
“Get us out of here,” Shane whimpered. “We’re stuck.”
“And Troy’s hurt,” I added. “He thinks that his arm’s broken.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get help.”
It seemed like Justin was gone forever. But finally we heard voices. Justin’s dad was there, and so were Shane’s dad and Brother Richards and Rusty Hammond and my dad and Troy’s dad. They had ropes and a ladder and had us out of there almost before we knew it. Everybody was pretty sure that Troy’s arm was broken, so his dad hurried him off to the hospital.
That very night our dads boarded up the Bently house tighter than ever. Shane, Justin, and I just stood out by the curb and watched them work.
“I’m sorry for calling you a chicken,” Shane mumbled to Justin.
“Me, too,” I said.
Justin shrugged. “It’s OK.”
“No it isn’t,” I added. “We were wrong. We said that you were afraid because you wouldn’t go into the house with us, but we were the ones who were really afraid. At least I was. I was the real chicken.”
Justin stared at me, not quite understanding.
“I was afraid to say no. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to go into that old house, but I was afraid to tell Shane and Troy no. I was afraid that they would call me a chicken too. I was afraid to do what was right.”
Shane nodded his agreement.
I thought a moment. “I guess a lot of times it takes more courage not to do something than it takes to do it.” I smiled over at Justin. “Thanks for saving us. I don’t know what Troy or Shane think, but you can be my friend anytime.”

One Sunday after returning home from church, I fell asleep for most of the afternoon.
It was dark when I woke up. I started my weekly planning with a prayer to ask how I could best serve the Lord. I felt impressed to go home teaching. It was already 8:00 p.m., so I told myself that I would go the following Tuesday, but the impression to go that night became stronger.
I was reminded of the counsel I heard Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give at the missionary training center in Lima, Peru, while I was a teacher there: “Follow the first impression.” I immediately called my home teaching companion, but he did not answer. I decided to go anyway.
I left the house and noticed a young priest in my ward walking down the street. I approached him and asked if he would accompany me. He agreed. At the first home, the brother opened the door. I told him I felt I needed to see him. He smiled and told us he was having an operation the next day and would appreciate a blessing. I gave him a blessing, and we left for our next visit.
It was 8:40 p.m. when we arrived at the next family’s house. They were surprised to see us because it was so late. We entered their home and noticed that the father was sick. I offered to give him a blessing.
As we returned home, I shared Moroni 7:13 with my young companion: “Every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.”
I told him that what had just happened was no accident because I had received a prompting. He said he believed it because before I approached him, he had prayed to know how to recognize the Spirit.
I don’t know if the impression to go home teaching was more for my families or for this young priest, but I am grateful I listened. I know great blessings come as we follow the first impression of the Spirit.

When we stopped at the O’Briens’, there was only a small pile of newspapers, hardly enough for the stop, but before we left, Mrs. O’Brien came out and asked, “Is there a little girl in this family?”
“Trina’s four,” Jason replied.
“I have a doll—one I bought years ago, thinking I’d have a girl. I had five boys instead.” She smiled shyly. “Boys don’t take to dolls. I’ve been meaning to do something with it.” She left and came back with the biggest, prettiest doll I’d ever seen in my life. “It’s never been used,” she explained.
“Gee!” we gasped. “Are you sure you want to just give it away?”
She looked at the doll for a moment and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I would have just given it to one of my girls had I had one.” She sighed. “If Trina will like it, I want her to have it. I would like to see her face Christmas morning when she sees it.” She took a deep breath and flashed a weak smile. “Oh, well. I guess Christmas morning I’ll have to imagine what Trina is doing.”
By the end of the day the old truck had made six trips and was about to die a second time after our rigorous demands, but we had collected just under 150 dollars worth of newspapers, not to mention the donated gifts we had received. We bought shoes and coats for the kids; a gift certificate for Sister Bradley; and two boxes of groceries, candies, and nuts for the stockings and Christmas dinner.
Christmas Eve everything was ready. Dad helped us fire up the old truck one more time. Jason and I filled it to overflowing and sputtered down the street to the Bradleys’, coasting the last block so as not to announce our arrival.
It was starting to snow as we climbed out of the truck and sneaked to the Bradleys’ front steps with our arms bulging with gifts. We could hear Sister Bradley and her three kids singing Christmas carols, and we paused for a moment in the shadows to listen before returning to the truck for the trike, the rocker, and the table and chairs.
When we had placed the last box of groceries on the step, we rapped loudly on the door and then sprinted to a clump of bushes where we could observe unseen. Sister Bradley opened the door and peered into the darkness. She was beginning to close the door when she spotted our Christmas project all over her front steps. She gasped and looked up and down the street, then back at the pile of presents. Slowly she dropped to her knees and began to cry.
My vision blurred with tears, and something swelled up inside of me until I could hardly breathe. Starting from deep in my chest and finally reaching to the tips of my fingers and toes, a gratifying warmth overwhelmed me. Never in my life had I felt such an all-consuming fulfillment. I was sure I would burst, and I wondered why I had waited so long to discover this side of Christmas.
When we returned home, all the lights were off except those on the tree, and everyone but Dad was in bed. He was there waiting for us in the dim light next to an enormous package—addressed to Jason and me!
“Where’d that come from?” I asked as soon as I saw it.
Dad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Someone left it on the doorstep while you were over at the Bradleys’.”
“Left it for us?” I groaned. He nodded. “You mean a Christmas package for us?” He shrugged again, obviously amused. “Well, we don’t want it!” I flared. “That’s exactly what we didn’t want.”
“They can just keep it,” Jason rebelled. “I’m not opening it.”
“It’s an insult,” I added. “I’m not taking anybody’s care package.”
Dad held up a restraining hand. “Talking isn’t going to change a thing,” I insisted, anticipating his argument. Dad motioned for us to sit down. We did, grumbling irritably. He waited for our protests to subside, and then he asked quietly, “Has this been a good Christmas?”
I looked over at Jason and he at me. “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the floor but avoiding the package.
“Why? What’s so special about this Christmas?”
“Because … because we were giving something. We were making somebody happy.”
“Does taking this package change that?”
“It’s charity,” I flared. “We don’t want charity.”
Dad nodded. “Do you know what charity is? Real charity? Love, pure love. This package is a token of someone’s love, not of their ridicule or pity. It is the offspring of charity, of love, just as your gifts to the Bradleys sprang from love.”
“But Dad,” I protested.
Dad shook his head. “How would it have been had the Bradleys reacted to your gifts like you’re reacting to this one?” He looked at Jason and me and waited for an answer, but all we could do was shrug our shoulders and stare at the anonymous package. “You know, sons, there can never be a giver without a receiver. Both are necessary and good.”
He paused a moment. “When Luke went on his mission, I wanted to support him all by myself. I thought it only right that a father support his own son. My pride had a lot to do with it. I was being a little selfish. I didn’t realize until I started getting secret contributions that there were those who wanted to give also. I came to understand that I didn’t have the right to deny them the opportunity.”
He looked at our package. “I don’t know who left this for you. I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. But whoever it was has as much right to the joy of giving as you two. Unless you accept the gift, they can’t enjoy the full satisfaction of giving.” He placed his hands on our knees and concluded, “At Christmas time we give generously and receive graciously. That’s the spirit of Christmas. When you can do those two things, equally well, you will have taken a giant step toward manhood.”
Long after Dad went to bed, Jason and I stayed by the tree contemplating our unexpected gift. It was the hardest gift for us to accept, but we knew Dad was right.
“I wonder what’s in it?” Jason finally mused.
We glanced at each other. A spark of curiosity glowed in our eyes. I looked around to determine whether we were alone. “We could always peek,” I suggested furtively.
Jason nodded. “I never could wait till Christmas morning.”
We both grinned, nodded our agreement, and then eagerly pulled the package toward us and began peeling off the wrapping.

“Fam’lies can be together forever through Heav’nly Father’s plan” (“Families Can Be Together Forever,” Hymns, no. 300). I love this Primary song, which teaches that families can be sealed for eternity. I prayed that this could be true for my family, especially after my father passed away.
Recently the Lord answered my prayer. My mother, my two brothers, and I were able to travel to the Manila Philippines Temple to be sealed together and to my father. It was our first time in the temple together, and I can still remember the happiness I saw in my mother’s and brothers’ eyes. There was a great feeling of joy there.
I know the temple is the house of the Lord and that those in the temple have the proper authority to perform sacred ordinances. I’m so grateful that through these ordinances, my family can be with my father again. Since going to the temple, we try to be a stronger family and do all we can to keep our covenants so that we can be together forever.
Crisanto Coloma, Philippines

“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little boy?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the finest experiences your old dad has ever had.”
He looked thoughtful, frowned a little, but it was a pleasurable frown somehow. “I can’t exactly remember,” he said slowly, “but, well, I sort of do in a way, like I can still feel it.”

In 2018, following an 18-year absence from the Church, I felt prompted to have our three young children blessed. Following their blessings, I experienced recurring thoughts to find the Savior and that something bigger was coming on the horizon. Slowly—and painfully, I might add—Jason, with our children, joined me in a journey back to the Church starting in early 2019. With encouragement from friends placed along our path by God, we took baby steps in gentle progression toward the Savior. We did this through small, incremental goals over a two-year process.
Come 2021, my conversion to the gospel felt sturdy. I was committed to prayer, scripture study, and attending virtual church during COVID to propel my ongoing transformation. Yet I still didn’t have the power of God that was required for my specific life circumstance. I was struggling with ongoing mental health concerns, battling to maintain sobriety from substance abuse, and dealing with other life struggles out of my control—all during a season of relentless traumas resulting from the pandemic. I was determined to handle it myself, but in truth, I required the Redeemer—I literally needed to be saved!
Our prophet’s words that Jesus Christ was with me as I faced these mountains offered hope.
“Everything good in life—every potential blessing of eternal significance—begins with faith. Allowing God to prevail in our lives begins with faith that He is willing to guide us. True repentance begins with faith that Jesus Christ has the power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us.”3
I had faith in the Savior but wasn’t sure how to connect with His power. I wanted to take the sacrament and be in the temple. Both were out of reach during this time of disappointment, grief, white-knuckled sobriety, and home seclusion.
Over time, even with frequent prayer, I couldn’t cope on my own another day. After another family cancer diagnosis, this time for my spouse, I relapsed and reached for alcohol in desperate escape. I hit my lowest point ever, but all I wanted was to be near Christ. I felt hopeless in my imperfect faith, believed I had sinned terribly, and thought God was disappointed.
At this heartbreaking point, I exercised my last ounce of faith to surrender my will to God. I needed access to His power through the priesthood. I couldn’t move forward on my own.
So in meek faith I requested a priesthood blessing.
Knowing my struggles, friends felt inspired to bless me with renewed capacity and counsel. Through the Spirit, I was told that all my progress hadn’t been lost and that I should seek professional resources in support of my mental health struggles. Most important, I was blessed to realize the healing power of my Savior, that Jesus and God would make up the difference as I put forth my effort with a deepened faith in Them.
Hearing specific priesthood promises gave me hope that God’s power would now set me on a healing course.
“Faith will always propel us forward. Faith always increases our access to godly power.”4
With renewed faith in Jesus Christ, I found that the priesthood blessing—given in His name and by His authority—provided the springboard I needed. I reached for my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to strengthen my connection to Them daily. I made immediate and significant progress. God placed resources to support my mental health struggles. Daily preoccupations with alcohol were eradicated. I immersed myself in wholesome media and deep gospel education, honored the Sabbath, improved my language, talked of the Savior throughout each day, and created a sacred space in my home for prayer.
Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler, by Heinrich Hofmann
I now understand that the Savior is my advocate, my friend, my champion, my encourager, and my healer through His atoning gift of love. This was my game changer in connecting with Him. He helped me reprioritize, leaving behind the cares and habits that weren’t serving my soul. Miraculously, as I’ve made prayer and spiritual habits more meaningful, I’ve received personal revelation! I accept increased guidance from the Spirit for how my family can keep moving toward Him.
“He works miracles today, and He will work miracles tomorrow.”5
Since April 2021 conference, these promises have proved true as I’ve helped my family faithfully follow God’s path. The heavens are opened, and miracles have been showered upon us:
Fear is replaced with safety through the healing power of Jesus Christ.
I’m blessed with influence to bring a more nurturing presence to our lives.
The Holy Ghost is present in our home. Our children delight in daily scriptures, family prayer, Christian music, and pictures of Jesus and temples.
My husband, Jason, has been baptized, holds the Aaronic Priesthood, and is preparing to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Preoccupations with unhealthy escape have lessened. My past self, doing her best at the time, would reach for chemicals to cope. Now I come in prayer for strength.
I have received my temple endowment and now attend the temple regularly. Jason is preparing to receive his endowment, and our goal is to be sealed as a family sometime in 2022.
Our birth son is grown, has been accepted to pre-med but has decided to serve a mission first, and is enjoying the relationship between our two families.
Mindalyn (right) with her birth son, DJ, and his adoptive mother, Stacy, on the day DJ received his temple endowment.
Family photographs courtesy of the author
In an ongoing process, I’m in programs to address mental health, where God has shown His hand throughout.
Despite ongoing trials of family deaths, layoffs, cancer, and sobriety, I now realize that I have access to God’s tenderness through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The promises of power through priesthood blessings strengthen my life exponentially.
Mercifully, I’ve grown a sincere relationship with my Savior and Eternal Father.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power.”6
How generous and true is this prophetic teaching from President Nelson! I used to think the gospel was complicated. I’ve now learned through experience that even with imperfect faith, I have access to His divine power, which will move our mountains of trials—what a gift!
Mindalyn with family and friends outside the Redlands California Temple.
It’s crystal clear that God and Christ love me. They see each of us as worthy for rescue! As we desire to reach for Him, the Savior’s grace is sufficient for all. I’m grateful for our living and cheerfully loving prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, and the heavenly revelation he shares with us. He is God’s prophet on earth. Following our prophet’s teachings has changed my life forever. I share my witness from experience that “faith is the power that enables the unlikely to accomplish the impossible.”7
The gospel of Jesus Christ is one of power, of grace, of love! What is required from me is continued desire to reach for Them and show up with my imperfect offerings. Christ, through His Atonement, will make up the difference.
The author lives in California.

When one asks people about their Christmas traditions, most respond with a description of how they celebrate it by having family gatherings, giving gifts (including money), eating traditional meals or comfort foods of the season, putting up decorations, etc. I remember one year when I was a child, I told my father that that Christmas had been the best one in my life. He asked why I had said that. My foolish response was, “Because I have received so many great toys that my friends will envy me.” He did not respond with words, but my father’s wise lesson was given the following years. That was the last Christmas I received that many toys and no more expensive gifts did I get thereafter. The lesson remains with me, as over time I’ve come to realize that prominently absent in my thoughts and in my foolish response was the mention of our Savior and Redeemer’s birth, His life, and His mission.

Every four years my stake has a trek. We dress up in pioneer clothing and are only allowed to bring certain items with us. The whole experience is fun. When we did it this last July, the weather was great. Once we hiked to the valley, we had pioneer games and a hoedown with pioneer music and modern music. There was also a testimony meeting. People felt the Spirit, and their testimonies were strengthened. Bonds were forged with new people, and new friends were made. I’m glad we could celebrate Pioneer Day through trek.
Emily H., Washington

An incident reported to me recently illustrates the cooperative action of the Relief Society and the priesthood in laboring together in the Church family for the benefit of the sons and daughters of the Lord here upon the earth.
One cold January day, two visiting teachers called at the home of a family that had recently moved into the ward. There was no immediate response to their knock, but, feeling impressed to try again, the visiting teachers knocked a second time and a third.
The door finally opened a few inches, revealing a woman and a child bundled in coats and pajamas. The visiting teachers were reluctantly invited into the icy-cold house. In answer to their questions, framed with understanding and care, the woman tearfully revealed the family situation.
The student husband was desperately ill and in an intensive-care unit of the hospital. The doctor and hospital bills would take all the money the couple had saved for years to allow him to obtain additional schooling.
When their supply of fuel had been exhausted, the young wife and the child stayed in bed to keep warm, and the mother was trying to make one quart of milk and half a loaf of bread last for the remainder of the month.
When the visiting teachers offered help, the sister said, “My husband is proud. He wouldn’t want us to accept charity.”
The visiting teachers wisely explained that the Lord’s program of welfare is not one that robs the receiver of his pride or independence, but rather contributes to it. By gentle, loving persuasion the young wife finally gave permission for a call to be made to the Relief Society president.
Within a short time both the Relief Society president and the bishop arrived at the home. Soon fuel was delivered, the furnace was started, warm food was provided, and a food list was prepared. Then the bishop visited the husband in the hospital where encouragement was given to the sick man that his family was well taken care of. An administration followed in which the young man was reassured concerning his own condition. From that point on, he began to improve. The Relief Society education counselor who was assigned to personal welfare gave the wife suggestions of ways she could better manage the family’s limited resources and give service for commodities received.

I had the good fortune of marrying into such a family. I have marveled as relatives have traveled great distances to support a family activity, a missionary farewell, or a wedding. An elderly aunt still invites cousins of four generations, who are attending Brigham Young University, into her home for family home evenings. Through this association, the cousins strengthen each other in keeping the covenants of the gospel.

If the kindred family system were working as it could, our hearts would encompass each family member in time of need. Shared resources would make the family self-reliant. Children would consider it a blessing, not a burden, to care for aged parents.

I know of a widowed father who was reluctant to live with his daughter who resided in another state. She thanked him for the privilege of taking him into her home, insisting that she now would be able to demonstrate her love for all she had received from her parents. She felt selfish in finally having him to herself. Upon his death, she told me how blessed she was to have had those last precious years with her father.

It was twilight on a cold and rainy October day in 1968, and I was riding my bicycle home from work in Copenhagen, Denmark. My husband was in Canada on an assignment at that time, and I was alone with two children, a boy ten and a girl seven years old.
On my way home I had to cross a very busy four-lane road with a bicycle lane. For safety, I had made it a habit to get off my bike and walk it across the intersection. On this particular day I got halfway across the street and stopped in the middle to let the cars go by. A small car stopped in the lane to my right, and the driver signaled for me to cross. A big truck stopped in the lane beside the small car, and the truck driver also signaled to me, so I continued across the street. Just as I passed the truck I saw a Volkswagen coming toward me, illegally in the bicycle lane, at full speed. There was no time for me to escape, either backward or forward.
In that split second, countless thoughts of my children, my husband, my widowed mother, and my job flashed through my mind, and I prayed more fervently than ever before: “Please, dear Lord, whatever happens—spare my life.”
The car hit the bicycle, slamming the handlebars into the left side of my body. As I lay helpless in the road, I could barely breathe because of the pain, but I didn’t lose consciousness. When I turned my head, I saw the Volkswagen’s tire only an inch away. I looked at my bicycle, which had been thrown several feet by the collision. It now looked half its original size.
I was certain that I had experienced a miracle. The tire couldn’t have been any closer, yet it had not crushed my head. I felt that an invisible hand had stopped it right there. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thanked Heavenly Father for saving my life.
I lay in the road waiting for the ambulance. What would the children think when I didn’t come for them? Would I be in time to call the day-care center from the emergency room before it closed? Who could I contact? I hardly knew my neighbors because of a busy schedule, and members of my ward were some distance away.
At the busy emergency room, the staff wouldn’t let me use the telephone before they had taken an X-ray. The nurses were too busy to make the call for me. It was four hours before the police officers came to make a written report of the accident.
For the five longest hours of my life I was kept in the hospital with a number of people helping me. Still, I felt that only Heavenly Father was able to give me the help I really needed. For the first time in my life I found myself unceasingly praying about my only concern—two small and lonely children.
“Please tell them I’m all right,” I prayed. “Let them have peace of mind so that they won’t panic, and give them patience. Please tell them what to do.” I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, and an all-embracing peace filled my mind—the same feeling I prayed my children would receive.
Finally, the doctor told me that except for my painfully bruised ribs, I was as good as new, and he let me go. The two policemen offered me a ride home, and we arrived at my apartment building at 10:15 that night.
Two small, tired children walked hand in hand in the dark toward the police car. “Mom, where have you been? What happened to you? How come it’s so late? Why did the police drive you home?” they asked, as soon as we were safely in the apartment.
I explained, and asked, “How did you get home?”
My son said, “We couldn’t understand why you didn’t come to pick us up, but we thought you might be late from work, so we walked home. It started to get dark, but we couldn’t get in because we haven’t got a key.
“I didn’t know what to do, but all of a sudden I thought we should pray about it. So we knelt on the doormat while I said a prayer. We sat without talking for a little while after the prayer, as you taught us to do, and then a nice thing happened to me.
“I felt a big, warm hand touching the top of my head, and I heard a friendly voice saying, ‘Your mother is well, she has been taken care of. It will be a while before she comes home, and it will be all dark outside, but just stay calm. Take your little sister by the hand and stay near the apartment and play peacefully. If you do, the time will go by quickly until your mother is with you again.’
“When I looked up to see who was talking to me, I couldn’t see anybody, and no more was said. I felt calm.”

One father could not forgive his son for departing from the path he had been taught. The boy had friends the father did not approve of, and he did many things contrary to what his father thought he should do. This caused a rift between father and son, and as soon as the boy could, he left home and never returned. They rarely spoke again.

Did the father feel justified? Perhaps.

Did the son feel justified? Perhaps.

All I know is that this family was divided and unhappy because neither father nor son could forgive each other. They could not look past the bitter memories they had about each other. They filled their hearts with anger instead of love and forgiveness. Each robbed himself of the opportunity to influence the other’s life for good. The divide between them appeared so deep and so wide that each became a spiritual prisoner on his own emotional island.

I witnessed firsthand how these blessings—as promised by our dear prophet—changed the life of Brother Joseph Tembo* from the Copperbelt in Zambia. We visited this brother when I was assigned to preside over a district conference a few years ago. Upon entering his home, I noticed in his room a small table on the left with a pile of scriptures. I just marveled as I was informed that he had been inactive for the past seven years and had become somewhat disaffected. As we discussed with him, he said something profound, “I haven’t been going to Church for the past seven years because of some offense. I still know the gospel is true. Reading the Book of Mormon daily has kept me going.” The Book of Mormon had surely comforted, strengthened and consoled him during his greatest time of need. It was therefore easy to help him find his way back to Church again.

This also strengthened my own testimony that scripture study should have a daily set time, not leftover time! And as President Harold B. Lee cautioned, “If we are not reading the scriptures daily, our testimonies are growing thinner.”11

As we seek to increase our faith in Heavenly Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and His Atonement, we need to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.”12 “The words of Christ will tell [us] all things what [we] should do.”13 The Book of Mormon is for our profit and learning. It testifies of Jesus Christ and answers the questions of the soul.

By Oudom Piseth, Cambodia
In order to achieve my goals, I always tell myself that working hard is very important, but another way to excel is by working smart. After my mission in England, I returned to Cambodia and looked at the job market. I looked at things like the length of training to get each job and the cost of training.
I found that the training program to be a clothing merchandiser is short but challenging, and not many people were doing it. I saw it was a good opportunity and decided to take it. I have now finished the program and am working as a merchandiser for a clothing company.
Finding the right career can be very hard, but I have the Savior to help me and lift me up.

This time I took the things of God more seriously. I even set a goal to investigate more churches. Before I would go to church, I would kneel down and ask Heavenly Father to give me more wisdom so that I would be able to choose good and reject evil.
I began to visit other churches in addition to the Christian church I attended, but I often felt confused by their different doctrines. The more confused I got, the more I prayed. It seemed that every time I visited a church, I felt something was missing, but I didn’t realize what it was. That’s why I set a goal to keep investigating other churches and not rest until I found the truth.
One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

When I was little, my hyperactive, daydreaming tendencies were written off as childhood quirks. But these struggles persisted into my teens. In Young Women, other girls shared moving experiences and spiritual growth. I struggled to remember to read my scriptures and pray. Others bore moving testimonies, while sharing mine felt like I was reciting a script.
Shortly after starting college, I was diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Suddenly a lot of struggles in my life—being constantly disorganized, distracted, and forgetful—made sense. I began treatment, found organizational strategies to help with school, and slowly learned to be more patient with myself.
Despite improvements in other areas of my life, my church experiences didn’t change. I was trying my best, but meetings remained overwhelming. Church should be something I looked forward to, but it wasn’t.
Something needed to change, but I didn’t know where to start.

Growing up in Ghana, my journey through high school was fraught with obstacles.
Most high schools at that time required tuition, and my family struggled financially. My uncle graciously offered to support my education, allowing me to move in with him and continue my studies. However, financial difficulties were common, and my uncle could not always cover my fees. Failing to pay led to me being sent home, which unfortunately became my reality multiple times, along with other punishments.
In the midst of my struggles, I often felt disheartened as I watched other children with better opportunities. Yet these challenges became the backdrop for a transformative experience in my life.
While living with my uncle and his family, they introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They devoted time each week to home evening, scripture study, and daily prayer. After a year of attending church and seminary with them, at the age of 17, I made the sacred decision to be baptized.
Years later, while attending Sunday School, I learned about patriarchal blessings and felt an urgent need to receive one. The patriarch, Joseph William “Billy” Johnson, was a respected disciple in the Church community and was among Ghana’s first converts. I traveled two hours to request my blessing and returned a month later with an open heart to receive it.
During the blessing, I was overwhelmed as the patriarch spoke personal insights that resonated deeply within me, revealing a connection to my life that only God could know. I felt His love and assurance that I had a purpose. Each subsequent reading of my blessing emphasized God’s intimate knowledge of me and the divine work I was meant to accomplish.
I came to realize that God is deeply interested in our lives, that we are His children (see Romans 8:16) and have a divine purpose. This realization inspired me to keep my patriarchal blessing at the forefront of my mind, reminding me of the commandments and promises associated with it. My patriarchal blessing motivated my decision to serve a mission. This experience profoundly transformed my life, and I witnessed the blessings that the patriarch pronounced upon me materialize throughout my service.
Upon returning from my mission, I was determined to follow the path laid out in my patriarchal blessing. Every step I took was guided by my faith in the promises I had received and my desire to see them fulfilled. I knew if I obeyed God and tried to live the way He wanted me to, He would guide me. Despite difficulties during college, I felt Heavenly Father strengthening me and leading me along.
To those struggling with education or navigating hardships (particularly in Africa), I empathize with you. I have walked that path. I understand the weight of uncertainty, but I implore you: Do not give up. The Lord is ever present, ready to assist you despite the trials you may face. As the Savior taught, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Help may come from unexpected sources—be it family, friends, or Church leaders—and I testify that the Lord inspires others to support His children. It’s essential to maintain faith in yourself and the potential that lies within you. With hard work and determination, you can overcome your circumstances.
My patriarchal blessing, a personal Liahona for my life, continually reminded me to look forward to better days. In Alma 37, the Liahona is described in such a beautiful way: “It did work for [Lehi’s family] according to their faith in God” (verse 40). This shows how our patriarchal blessings can guide us if we maintain our faith in the Lord’s promises.
While not all blessings may be realized in this life, we can have hope that some will manifest, and our faithful pursuit of righteous desires will lead us toward joy and fulfillment.
Throughout my journey, I’ve learned that while life may not always be straightforward, trusting in Heavenly Father’s plan leads to personal miracles. When confronted with obstacles, I leaned into this truth and became fortified by faith. When we act in faith and make wise choices, the Lord prepares a path for us. Each time I felt overwhelmed or uncertain, I remembered this promise and was reminded that faith is key (see Matthew 17:20).
In moments of doubt, I often find myself reflecting on the encouragement found in reading my patriarchal blessing. It inspires me to press forward, knowing that every effort made in faith will not go unnoticed by the Lord.
When we keep our hearts open to inspiration, we will find that God is constantly providing opportunities for growth. As we conduct His work and build His kingdom, we are not alone.
As I continue to embrace the guidance found in my patriarchal blessing, I remain steadfast in my commitment to follow the Savior. As we move forward together, I encourage you to hold fast to your blessings and the hope they represent. Our patriarchal blessings serve as divine reminders of our worth and potential in the eyes of God.

Why would a person without compelling challenges, needs, or questions be interested in meeting the missionaries and listening to their lessons? Well, in my case it was love—love for a girl, a girl named Renee. I fell in love with her, and I wanted to marry her. She was different and had standards different from most young women I knew. But I fell for her and asked her to marry me—and she said no!

I was confused. I thought I was quite a catch! I was handsome, 24 years old, and a college graduate with a great job. She spoke of her goals—of marrying only someone who could take her to the temple, of having an eternal family—and she declined my offer. I wanted to continue the relationship, so I agreed to listen to the missionaries. Is this a good reason to meet with the missionaries? Well, it was for me.

In September 1830, Newel Knight and his sister Anna’s husband, Freeborn DeMille, attended the Church’s second conference, held at Fayette, New York.11 Newel was ordained a priest, and Freeborn was baptized.

At Fayette, Newel Knight became the young prophet’s confidant during a crisis caused by Hiram Page’s claim of receiving revelations for the Church through a peepstone. Newel wrote that Hiram Page carried “quite a roll of papers full of these revelations,” which led many astray. Joseph Smith “was perplexed and scarcely knew how to meet this new exigency.” Sharing the same room, the two friends spent the greater part of the night in prayer. In response, Joseph received a revelation (see D&C 28) that spelled out the proper channels for revelation to reach the Church. Newel reported, “Brother Page and all … present renounced the stone, … much to our joy and satisfaction.”

Our parents were happy for us to join the Church, but they wanted no part of it. My sister and I tried our best to regularly attend church meetings, but it wasn’t easy, especially with competing influences in our home. For example, we often had to choose between going to sacrament meeting and spending Sunday at the beach with our family.
But Fiasili and I worked to strengthen each other’s testimonies. We thought that if our parents could just accept the gospel, we wouldn’t have to live in two worlds. So, we invited the missionaries to teach them. In the process, our younger brother—and many of our cousins who lived with us—joined the Church.
It took a little longer for my parents. My sister was serving a full-time mission in Suva, Fiji, when our mother finally got baptised. Our father had actually been a less active member for many years, and it was such a joy to see them both start coming to church with us.