Gospel Story Finder

The only time I remember having my honor questioned was during an examination in high school. I believe the examination was in economics. The teacher had a habit of standing at the back of the room watching the students during examinations. I was writing vigorously when the lead of my pencil broke. I asked my neighbor across the aisle to let me borrow his pocketknife. As he handed me the knife, the teacher came down the aisle and said, “Hand in your paper, and you’ll not be permitted to play in the basketball game tonight.” I was a forward on the team. I explained that I was asking for his knife so I could sharpen my pencil, but no explanation would satisfy him.
I went home after school by horseback rather discouraged that evening and told my father what had happened. He felt sure I was honest. I knew I was.
I was out milking the cows when a telephone call came from the coach saying that I should come over to the gymnasium that evening, that the teacher would see me and he hoped I would have an opportunity to play. I was reluctant to go, but with father’s encouragement, I went to the gym and met the teacher. He asked me if I would confess my dishonesty, to which I replied, “I have not been dishonest. There is nothing to confess.” He did reluctantly permit me to play. I went into the game with very little spirit and we lost. Though I bear no ill will toward my teacher (he was only doing what he thought was right), I did learn from the incident how important it was that I keep my name and my father’s name above reproach. I have tried to do that all my life.

Mom poked her head into David’s room. “I have a surprise.”
David looked up from his toy cars and smiled. “What is it?”
“We’re going to lunch with your cousins.”
“Yes! Can we get tacos?”
“That’s a great idea. But before we go, put your cars away.”
“I’ll do it later.”
Mom frowned. “You know the rules, David. You have to clean up before you go anywhere.”
He didn’t want to put his cars away. “Rules, rules, rules.” Suddenly he remembered something he had learned in his Sunbeam class. One of Heavenly Father’s rules was to obey your parents. He put his cars away.
At the restaurant, David stared at the huge taco on his plate. There were also rice, beans, and little green things. He picked up one of the green things.
“No, David!” his sister yelled. “Don’t eat that.”
“She’s right,” Mom said. “Don’t eat that. It’s a hot pepper.”
“More rules,” David thought. He popped the small green thing into his mouth and chomped down. Very spicy pepper juice filled his mouth. His mouth and throat felt on fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He coughed. “Water! My mouth … my mouth is burning.”
He grabbed his water and drank every last drop.
“Eat a corn chip,” Mom said. “It will help.”
He grabbed the chip and chewed. His mouth felt better, but his throat still hurt. The taco on his plate didn’t look good anymore. Tears still rolled down his cheeks. He looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes, too.
Sadness came over him. He should have listened. Mom loved him. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, just like Heavenly Father loved him and didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. That’s why Heavenly Father gave him a wonderful mother and the commandment to obey his parents. His mother’s rules and Heavenly Father’s rules would help him to be happy and safe.
He wiped away the tears. The taco started to look good to him again.

As the Church’s Materials Management supervisor for Thailand, Kanogwan Wongwiraphab regularly handles requests from members for Church equipment and supplies such as sacred clothing and LDS publications.
But she was surprised one day when a woman visited her office to renew her Church magazines subscription. In that part of the world, members normally renew their subscriptions through their unit’s magazine representative. The woman, however, explained she did not have a ward representative. She was Buddhist and had learned about the Church magazines when a friend who was a member of the Church gifted a subscription to her.
“She started to tell me wonderful things about the Church magazines and how valuable they are to her children,” Sister Wongwiraphab wrote. “When her children came back from school and saw the magazines, they were so excited, and they read and finished them quickly.”
The woman praised the magazines for their “great worth” and for teaching her children good morals and vocabulary. She was so impressed she renewed her own subscription and gifted subscriptions to her coworkers so their children could also benefit.
“Even nonmembers can feel and see the value [of the magazines], and [they] want to share it with others,” Sister Wongwiraphab wrote.

My brothers and sisters, how grateful I am to be here with you in this historic Tabernacle today. Seventy-four years ago, my grandfather Lars Peter Oveson stood at this pulpit and bore his testimony as an invited stake president from Emery County, Utah.
Although he died when I was just a boy, my grandfather has always been one of my heroes. I have studied his journal, which recounts over and over again his willingness to answer the calls that came to him throughout his lifetime. He and his parents converted to the gospel in Denmark, immigrated to this country, and came across the plains to join the Saints in Utah. One of the calls that came to him required leaving his new, young wife for six months to work on the building of the St. George Temple. He left her and their young family again to serve a two-year mission in his native Denmark. Later, the calls of bishop and stake president necessitated their relocating and rebuilding their home and farm on three different occasions. Through all of these upheavals, he remained grateful, cheerful, and faithful to the principles of the gospel, leaving a great legacy of faith to those of us who bear his name.
As my grandfather so eloquently stated 74 years ago: “I rejoice to bear my testimony to the truthfulness of this work of the Lord to the world, for I know it is true; I know it is for the uplift and the advancement of the children of God, and I pray that the Lord will help … us that we may remain faithful and true, that we may be found valiant workers in the cause of righteousness and help to build up his kingdom upon the earth” (Lars Oveson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1925, 127). To these truths I add my own witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Example is one of the most effective ways to teach righteous principles. President Thomas S. Monson recalls: “My own father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.
“One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, ‘Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.’ Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying in his arms like a china doll his crippled uncle. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with such affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so he would have a fine view while I occupied the rear seat.
“The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho” (“Hallmarks of a Happy Home,” Ensign, November 1988, 71).

Within two years, I had grown to six-foot-three which made me attractive as a football player. I had always hoped to be a quarterback and was named the starter as a sophomore. This caused a lot of resentment among the juniors and seniors, and I ended up playing on a team with a bunch of guys who hated me. It made it very hard to succeed. I knew if I was going to play college football, I had to get out of that town.
After my junior year, I moved to St. Anthony (Idaho) to live with my sister and attend high school there. I knew I would be living in a Mormon community, where a lot of the kids at school were Mormon. I thought all my problems were finally behind me. It didn’t work out that way. Again I was the new kid on the block. I immediately tried out for the football team and was named the starting quarterback. That was great for me, but I beat out the guy who had started at that position the year before.
Nobody seemed happy about the new competition, and hardly anybody was friendly to me during the football season. When I finally broke into their circle and made friends, the season was over.
Since St. Anthony is close to Rexburg, home of Ricks College, I decided I would try to walk on Ricks’s football team. The coaches there wouldn’t give me a scholarship, so I practiced with them for a couple of weeks hoping to prove myself. When they still wouldn’t give me a scholarship, I had to quit. I just didn’t have enough money to pay tuition.
I now had a decision to make. Some guys I knew from St. Anthony told me about a good-paying job up in the woods cutting trees. Instead, I told them I was going to stay in Rexburg and get a job there so I could lift weights every night at the college. I told them I was going to play football the next year. They just laughed and thought I was crazy. After making the decision to stay, I never regretted not going with my friends.
During that year, I worked at a job throwing 50- and 100-pound grain sacks for nine hours a day. My pay was $3.60 an hour. After I got off work, I’d go down to the weight room and lift weights until ten at night. Everybody kept telling me I was crazy, and even my family questioned what I was doing. My family still supported me, but I think I was the only person in the world who thought I could make it—well, besides my girlfriend, Roxi, whom I later married.
That next year I earned a scholarship and played for Ricks. By this time I weighed 230 pounds and had switched from quarterback to defensive lineman. After Ricks, I had coaches from Ohio State, Alabama, Georgia Tech, Arizona, Kansas, Texas, Texas Tech, and BYU recruiting me. I chose BYU, and I’m glad I did.
After my senior season with the Cougars, I knew I was going to be drafted by an NFL team, and it turned out to be the Cincinnati Bengals. By the end of my second season I was starting in the Super Bowl. In my third year with the Bengals, I led the team in sacks. Everything seemed great. But for some reason, at the beginning of my fourth year, I was sitting on the bench.
It seemed the coaches wanted bigger guys playing the defensive line positions, leaving me to stand on the sidelines. I knew I wasn’t in Cincinnati’s long-range plans, and sure enough I was cut toward the end of fall camp. The 1991 season was about ready to begin and I was out of football. All the other NFL teams had their rosters finalized, so I had to wait and hope a team would pick me up.
This was another terrible period in my life. I knew I was still good enough to play, yet I wasn’t being given the chance. A few weeks into the season the Seattle Seahawks seemed interested in signing me to a contract. Instead, they took another guy, which was one of the hardest blows of my career.
I came back to my home in Utah not knowing what to do or what was going to happen. I wasn’t giving up, but I was really down. To take my mind off my situation, I went to play golf by myself. It was fall, in the middle of the week, and nobody was there playing. I was out on the back nine all by myself crying and thinking about what I was going to do. I stopped my cart and had a word of prayer.
When I finished, I went from tears and this distraught feeling to the most wonderful, calm feeling that told me everything was going to be okay. That Sunday, I got a phone call from the Washington Redskins. They told me they had some injured players and needed a replacement.
It was amazing. One day I was crying, and the next thing I knew I was playing for one of the best organizations in the NFL. I left behind the Cincinnati Bengals, who finished 3–13 in 1991, and went to the Redskins, who went on to win the Super Bowl. I finished my first Redskin season with 12 tackles, three quarterback hurries, and one and a half quarterback sacks. Plus I earned a Super Bowl ring. Things couldn’t have turned out better.
I’ve learned much in my life through all these experiences. The greatest lesson is that in order to know happiness, you have to know sorrow and pain. That’s why Nephi’s testimony means a lot to me. If you always put God first, work hard, and hold up your end, you’ll be led through those difficult times.
It’s sure worked for me.

I have an uncle who was continually seeking to improve and increase the gifts and talents he had received from Heavenly Father. Let me share one story from his life that has helped me to see how spiritual gifts and talents are developed and magnified.
One day when my uncle Ben was at work at a copper mine, he noticed an old piece of bent metal lying by a railroad track. He asked his boss if he could have it. His boss said, “Ben, that old piece of metal is worthless. You are wasting your time to even pick it up.”
Uncle Ben smiled and said, “I see much more than an old piece of metal.”
With his boss’s permission, he took it home. In his workshop he heated the metal until it was red hot. Then he was able, with a great deal of work, to mold and bend it until it was straight.
When it cooled, he drew a large knife-shaped pattern on it. With a hot blowtorch, he cut the metal into the shape of a knife. Uncle Ben then began knocking off the rough edges, working hour after hour to cut, grind, polish, and refine that old piece of metal.
Day after day he worked on what his boss had called a worthless piece of metal. Slowly the blade began to take shape and become a beautiful, shining masterpiece.
All it lacked now was a handle. Uncle Ben went to the woods and found an elk antler. Back at his workshop he cleaned, cut, and polished the antler. When he was done, it was smooth and beautiful. Carefully he attached the handle to the knife. What was once an old, rusty, bent piece of metal became a beautiful knife that won several awards.

The filter dripped warm milk down his fingers and onto the floor. That milk-squirting battle he and Rod had had was nothing compared to what happened after Dave’s dad left that night, Dave thought. He remembered he had started it that time. They were just finishing Dave’s chores—Rod’s parents were wealthy, and he never had many chores to do—and were still damp from the squirting. It was then that Dave had thought, I wonder if this filter will stick to Rod’s back. The moment of thought became the moment of action, and the barn was soon filled with flying filters, milk-drenched; their clothes started dripping, a few filters hung on the ceiling and walls. And yes, Dave smiled, the first one had stuck on Rod’s back. It had taken him completely by surprise. In fact, Dave had won that battle. They were teachers back then; and Rod almost had his Eagle award in Scouting. Dave had taken a little longer to get his.

Now they were priests and almost ready to graduate from school. Almost every Sunday they sat together to bless the sacrament. But next Sunday, Dave thought—and he threw the filter as hard as he could against the wall. Then he let the cow out. After their filter war there had still been some hanging on the walls the next morning when Dave had gone out early for the morning milking. Maybe this one would freeze and harden and hang there all winter. Rod would have gotten a kick out of that.

I recall one of my favorite family home evening activities. Dad would invite one of his children to take “The Test.” He would give the child a series of instructions like, “First, go into the kitchen and open and close the fridge. Then run into my bedroom and grab a pair of socks from my dresser. Then come back to me, jump up and down three times, and say, ‘Dad, I did it!’”

I loved it when it was my turn. I wanted to get every step just right, and I cherished the moment when I could say, “Dad, I did it!” This activity helped build my confidence and made it easier for a restless boy to pay attention when Mom or Dad taught a gospel principle.

The weeks before Christmas were predictably hectic. I knew from past experience that there would be heavy demands on my time, but I had hoped that this year would be different. I wanted to be well organized—to have my shopping and Christmas preparations done far enough in advance that the pressures of my busy life would not interfere with the spirit of the Christmas season.
And this year was different—in fact, the pre-Christmas season presented more challenges than usual. As a member of the Tabernacle Choir, I had learned years ago that I must be ready to spend many hours at the Tabernacle at this time of year. The month of December is always crowded with special programs, extra rehearsals, and Christmas concerts. But this year, in addition to these activities, the choir was also preparing to leave on a concert tour to Israel on the day after Christmas! We had difficult music to learn which required several months of extra rehearsals. All of this, combined with my full-time work schedule and preparations for a work assignment following the choir’s tour, allowed me very little time for the joyful preparations for Christmas or for my family.
My widowed mother watched quietly as I tried to juggle my life in order to work everything in. I knew that she would like to have had me make more frequent visits, take her shopping once in a while, or just find the time to call on the phone more often. We always looked forward to having her come to dinner on Sundays, and she never complained about any lack of attention to her, but I knew that she was lonely and longed for companionship. Since my father died four years ago, there had been a great void in her life. They were eternal companions in every sense of the word. Whether working in the temple, beautifying their home, enjoying their children and grandchildren, or singing, they did it together! And now again, I knew that she was remembering the years gone by and those joyous Christmases with Dad. Those were times full of love and music as they sang together at many Christmas programs and family gatherings. And now she was alone.
My sister and I had helped Mother put up her Christmas tree and decorate her home for the holidays. We had done most of her shopping for her, but about two weeks before Christmas, Mother called, apologized for infringing on my busy schedule, and asked if I would mind taking her shopping for one afternoon. She wanted to add her personal touch to a few of the items we had already purchased. It was a welcome and delightful break from the frenzied schedule I had been keeping. We had lunch and spent a lovely afternoon together. The joy and the spirit of the season which I had not had time for before filled our hearts.
Just a few days after our afternoon together, Mother became ill with the flu. We were very concerned and kept a close watch on her at her home. She did not want to come and stay with us or with my sister, but insisted that she would be well soon. She apologized for being ill and for becoming a burden on us at such a busy time. After she suffered for several miserable days, her health seemed to improve, and we relaxed our vigil somewhat. She had predicted that she would be fine by Christmas, and that seemed to be the case.
The tempo and burdens of my life had only increased during the week that Mother was ill. It was three days before Christmas, the choir had just finished two Christmas concerts, I still had last-minute shopping to do, there were many projects to complete at the office, and in only four days we would be on our way to Israel. When my husband came into my office that afternoon, shut the door, and told me that Mother had passed away just an hour earlier, I had difficulty comprehending what he was saying. He had no explanations why this had happened—only the devastating news that she was gone. All that had been so important only minutes ago seemed to evaporate. I felt that time had stopped and that I had been suspended in some sort of vacuum.
For the next two days, my sisters and I went through the necessary motions and made preparations for Mother’s funeral. It was to be held the day after Christmas—the day the choir was leaving for Israel! Family members and friends enveloped us with love and concern, and we struggled to acknowledge the reality of what had happened. Under the circumstances, I had assumed I would not be able to make the trip to Israel; but very late one evening I received a telephone call telling me that arrangements had been made for me to travel and join the choir a few days later. I was so grateful for kind friends and their efforts in my behalf!
For the sake of the young children in the family as well as our own, we wanted Christmas to be as normal as possible. We continued to make preparations for our traditional Christmas Eve family dinner and for Christmas day, but we felt so empty—so alone. It just could not be the same! Each of us—and especially the children—felt the terrible emptiness and tried to understand why our mother and grandmother had been taken at this time.
Because of the holiday, we were advised to postpone having a viewing until just before the services, but the funeral directors invited us to come to the funeral home at any time the day before—Christmas day—and spend some time alone with Mother. Following our dinner on Christmas night, we left the children playing with their gifts and went to the funeral home.
We stood quietly around her casket and looked at our beautiful mother in her temple robes. She looked so serene, so happy. There was a spirit of peace and of love in that room—even one of happiness and joy. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the recent glorious reunion that must have taken place between my mother and father. I had the impression that if I listened carefully, I could again hear the angels singing as they did on that holy night long ago, and that the beautiful voices of my mother and father had joined that heavenly chorus. I imagined I could hear them singing, “Silent night! Holy night! … Sleep in heavenly peace.”
The understanding and comfort I had prayed for seemed to come to me as I stood there, and my worldly cares seemed far away. On that silent night, gathered with my loved ones, I thanked my Father in Heaven for that moment of heavenly peace.

On the evening of July 23, 1991, Elder Charles Larsen and I were returning home from the Auckland International Airport after dropping off a missionary who had completed his mission. It was winter in New Zealand, and it had been raining for several days.
I was driving our car toward the large Harbour Bridge, which connects Auckland to Takapuna. As we approached a turn on the lower portion of the bridge, a small car passed us going very fast. As the speeding car started to make the turn, the driver lost control on the wet surface. The car fishtailed to the left and then went hard right, hitting a cement barricade, which kept it from falling off the bridge and into the harbor.
Bouncing violently off the wall, the car rolled and slid to a stop. Shocked by what we had just seen, I immediately pulled into the median and put on our hazard lights. Instinctively, Elder Larsen and I both jumped out to see if we could help. Before we could get to the car, a man climbed out of a broken window and made his way off the bridge and down to the water’s edge, where he disappeared in the dark. We called out to him, but he didn’t respond.
I made my way to the small wrecked car, which was lying on its side with the passenger door facing up. The window was missing, so I climbed partway in to see if there was anyone else inside. Suddenly I heard a loud and distinct voice say, “Look out!” Startled by the voice, I quickly jumped back. Almost instantly, another car traveling at high speed came around the corner and hit the wrecked car I had just been leaning in.
Because of the turn in the road and the tall cement barricade, oncoming drivers couldn’t see the wreckage ahead. Several other cars added to the pileup. Elder Larsen and I quickly ran around the turn, waving our arms to stop other drivers. The police soon arrived, and we learned that the first car had been stolen.
As we returned home, I was thinking about my close call and thanked Elder Larsen for warning me of the oncoming car. He looked at me with surprise and said, “Elder Soelberg, I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t close to you and didn’t even see that car coming around the corner.”
We sat there for a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. That night we knelt and thanked our Heavenly Father for the warning that had literally saved my life. Since that experience, I have shared my testimony many times of the importance of being receptive to the Lord’s Spirit and listening for His voice.

At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.

“The rest of my family is Buddhist,” Chung Wen-yi, 17, of the Second Ward, said. “But among the students at my school, there are many who believe in Christ. I became interested in Christians. I saw many churches. But they all seemed to just read the Bible from the pulpit and give some explanations. They didn’t seem to care whether the congregation got the message or not. Then they asked for donations. I felt like I didn’t learn anything from them.
“Then a classmate gave my name to the missionaries. They came to my door. What they said was all so orderly, so logical and right. They helped me understand my Father in Heaven as a loving father, and his son Jesus Christ as my friend and brother. After several discussions, they asked if I would like to be baptized. I prayed about it. Sometimes I felt so happy I couldn’t even sleep at night. I knew it was right. I joined willingly, not being pushed or forced.”

My daughter and I were walking to the metro one day and were kindly offered a ride by an Emirati woman who shared with us experiences about her son who had medical difficulties that required them to travel to the United States for treatment. In the course of her story, her faith in and reliance on God’s will and watchful care was interwoven. I told her I would pray for her and her family, which she accepted with understanding and love.

One night, while serving as a youth leader in my ward, I arrived at the church and was not surprised to find a group of young men playing basketball in the gym while they waited for opening exercises to begin. I was surprised, however, to see David. He was relatively new in the ward but had already demonstrated that attending Church-related activities was not a normal part of his routine. Coming to a Young Men activity was a big step.
David did a pretty good job of quietly easing into the group without being noticed—that is, until the basketball rebounded off the rim and went straight at him. He caught the ball and realized it was his turn to take a shot. He dribbled a few times and clumsily threw the ball up toward the hoop. It banged hard off the bottom of the rim and came right back at him, hitting him on the arms he had put up to protect his head. Everyone laughed, and so did David.
The ball then went into the hands of another boy, who mockingly imitated David’s awkward shot. As before, most of the boys laughed, but this time David was not laughing. He had come to be a part of his priests quorum but had become the brunt of their laughter.
David turned to the exit and walked out.
My heart broke for David. I was not sure what to do, but I knew I needed to try anything to get him to stay. I followed David out the door, trying to think of something to say that might help him have the courage to come back.
As I was walking after David, I was surprised to see Dennis, one of the other priests, run past me and put his arm around David. I do not know what he said, but Dennis must have been inspired, for David’s heart was softened and he hesitantly, but willingly, turned around and came back into the church. It was a wonderful moment.

Over the years I’ve found that of everyone I need to forgive, the hardest to forgive is myself. One time I lied to my parents, and then one lie led to another until it became a giant web of lies and cover-ups. I felt guilty and generally unhappy, but I was too embarrassed to admit what I’d done. To make matters worse, instead of coming clean about my lies on my own, I got caught! It was hard to be around my parents because I knew they loved and trusted me, and I’d betrayed that trust.
Once it was all out in the open, I did feel some relief, but I just couldn’t seem to forgive myself. I was ashamed of my behavior and vowed to be honest from then on, no matter what. I didn’t want to disappoint myself or my parents anymore.
I knew my parents would be understanding and forgiving, and they were. They like to say, “Clean up the mess and let’s move forward,” which we did.
Once I set things right with my parents, I changed my habits to help me access the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ more than ever before. I fasted and prayed, particularly seeking to understand the Atonement better. I also tried to make scripture study a part of my everyday routine and to make it more meaningful. This meant making personal prayer a priority so that I was prepared to not only read the scriptures but also to understand them through the Spirit.
As I searched, I found answers and peace in the scriptures. I more fully understood that Jesus Christ atoned for my sins and that as I repented of them, He truly would “remember them no more” (D&C 58:42). Part of forgiving myself was being able to accept this great gift that Christ offered me. I realized He invites all of us to partake, but we actually have to be willing to accept it.
One day I was reading in Alma 22 where Aaron teaches the gospel to the king of the Lamanites and invites him to pray. I love what the king says when he prays: “I will give away all my sins to know thee [God]” (Alma 22:18). That phrase struck my heart with particular force at that time. As I recommitted myself to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ through repentance, I was able to forgive myself and feel peace again.
It took time, and it wasn’t easy, but by prioritizing and putting my personal prayer and scripture study first, I found comfort and felt the pure love of Christ through a greater understanding of what He did for me personally. When I realized that He loves me despite my mistakes, I felt the forgiveness He offers. I accepted His forgiveness and was able to forgive myself.

1 Always live the standards in the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, and avoid “unholy places.” To enter the temple, we must be worthy. It helps when we stand in holy places now. That means avoiding places and times when we would be tempted to make wrong choices. I recall a story by President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), a counselor in the First Presidency, about his teenage daughter. She was leaving for a dance, and he said, “Have fun, my dear. Be back by midnight.” She replied, “Daddy, this is the night of the prom. We go to the dance and are not back until early morning.” President Clark responded, “Yes, I know that is what many will be doing. But you must be back before midnight.” She, then, in desperation said, “Daddy, you just don’t trust me!” To which he replied, “My dear, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, I don’t even trust myself. Be back by midnight.”

Through harrowing experiences, he learned that the Lord cares for his Saints even in the midst of calamities. As fourteen-year-old Marion and his family were attempting to escape the perils of the Mexican revolution—taking with them only one trunk of belongings for the entire family—two rebel soldiers stopped them, took all of their money, and aimed their guns at them.
“I offered a prayer to my Heavenly Father to spare my life,” he recalled. “For some reason, these Mexicans did not fire, and we continued on safely to the railroad station. For the preservation of my life on this occasion I have always been very grateful to the Lord, and this experience has given me a desire to live in such a manner as to demonstrate to the Lord my appreciation.” (Instructor, July 1943, p. 401.)

“Set a goal; then eliminate anything that stands in the way of achieving it.” I read the words on the poster and cringed. It was impossible to make it through class without looking at the clock—which meant looking at the poster right next to it, too. And I didn’t want to see that dumb poster.
I turned away from it to focus my thoughts on Dennis. We had been dating for a while, and I couldn’t imagine loving anyone else. The problem was that he wasn’t a member of the Church, and I had set a goal a long time ago to be married in the temple. According to the poster, I needed to eliminate Dennis! I pushed the thought of breaking up with him out of my head. Maybe I could convert him.
At lunch I decided to give it a try. I steered our conversation in a more serious direction, then gathered my courage and began sharing my beliefs, including temple marriage for eternity. Dennis liked the idea. I could feel the Spirit, so I bore my testimony.
Dennis was thoughtful. Finally he replied, “I know that if you know your church is true, then I will know it is true, too, someday.”
I was ecstatic! If Dennis joined the Church that would solve all my problems. I began by inviting him to church the next Sunday. He really wanted to come, but his family already had plans. He had equally good excuses for not coming the next two Sundays as well, and I understood.
As I lay in bed one night thinking about my situation, the words from that poster at school came into my head. “Set a goal; then eliminate anything that stands in the way of achieving it.” Converting Dennis was going to be a bigger challenge than I had thought. What if he never joined the Church? Or what if he joined but was not really converted? My only other choice was to break up with him. The thought turned my stomach cold. I didn’t have that kind of courage. It would be like breaking my leg.
My heart ached, knowing that keeping Dennis meant I would have to change my goal. I thought of my possible future—attending church alone; raising children with someone who didn’t live the Word of Wisdom; calling my home teachers, not my husband, when a priesthood blessing was needed. And what about eternity? Celestial marriage was a requirement to achieve exaltation with Heavenly Father; this was what I knew I had the potential to achieve. And I was going to give it all up for Dennis, because I didn’t have the courage to spend my earthly life without him?
I had to break up with Dennis.
I was shocked at myself for considering it. But then suddenly the sweetest, most reassuring peace filled me from head to toe. Heavenly Father was speaking to me through the Holy Ghost. Tears came to my eyes. I had to break up with Dennis, and I could do it. Heavenly Father would give me the courage.
The next day during lunch my heart began to pound. I’ll do it tomorrow, I told myself. I could feel my cheeks getting hot.
“What’s wrong?” Dennis asked.
I took a deep breath then blurted, “I have to break up with you!”
Dennis froze. He looked shocked.
“I can’t marry you. I have to break up—now.”
Tears came quickly to his eyes. “But I want you to teach me about your church,” he said.
I swallowed my own tears. “I want to teach you too, but I want to teach you when I know you will join because you know it is true and not because of me.”
I said a silent prayer that he would understand. After a moment of agonizing silence, he asked, “Will you date me again if I join your church someday?”
“Of course!” I nearly sprang out of my chair with joy.
“Promise you won’t forget to teach me,” he said.
I promised.
For weeks my heart throbbed in pain. Every time I saw Dennis I prayed for the strength not to change my mind. We both survived, and our lives took different directions. I never dated a nonmember again, for fear of having to repeat such a painful experience.
Several years later, on summer break from college, I saw Dennis and remembered my promise. Even though I didn’t feel the same way about him anymore and had no intention of ever marrying him, a promise was a promise. I called him up that night and invited him to church. I wasn’t really surprised to hear that he still wasn’t interested.
As I hung up the phone, how grateful I was to my Heavenly Father for giving me the help and the strength I needed to get myself back on the path where I belonged. And how thankful I was for that poster in my class that pointed me in the right direction. Maybe that poster wasn’t so dumb after all.

One day at school, Matthew sat doodling on the cast on his leg while his classmate Andrea was giving her report about penguins. His cast was blue and was pretty much covered with messages from friends. He had broken his leg at a soccer game—the very first game of the season! Now he was going to miss the entire season, and he had to use crutches to get around. At least he didn’t have to be pushed in a wheelchair anymore, as he had the first few weeks. Matthew was thinking about how long it would be before he could walk normally again when he heard Andrea say, “And here’s my very own penguin!”
That caught his attention. Andrea was holding a model penguin, and it looked pretty good. She must have spent a long time making it.
“What did you make it out of?” Rebecca asked.
“I used papier-mâché, chicken wire, and tissue paper.”
“What did you use for its eyes?” John wanted to know.
Andrea was still answering questions when the lunch bell rang.
Mrs. Smith, Matthew’s fourth-grade teacher, smiled at Andrea. “Thank you for an excellent report. You were very thorough, and your project shows a lot of hard work.”
Then she turned to Matthew. “Who would you like to have stay with you today, Matthew?” Since the classroom was outside in a trailer, and it was hard to go up and down the stairs on crutches, Mrs. Smith let Matthew stay in the classroom to eat his lunch each day. He also got to choose a friend to stay and eat with him.
All of his friends raised their hands. “Me! Me! Let me!”
Matthew looked around. “Evan, I guess,” he said.
Evan cheered and pulled out his sack lunch while the rest of the class filed out to the lunchroom.
“What is your report about?” Matthew asked as he munched his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Lions,” Evan replied. “What about yours?”
“Cheetahs. They’re my favorite animal.”
“What are you doing for your project?” Evan asked. “I drew a picture of some lions.”
Matthew nodded. “You’re really good at drawing. I’m going to put a plastic cheetah next to a car to show that a cheetah can run faster than a car for a little while. But my project isn’t very good compared to Andrea’s. Did you see her penguin?”
“Not very well,” Evan said. “My seat was too far away.”
“You should take a look. She must have spent hours on it.”
Evan shrugged. “She gets so crazy about things. You’d think penguins were the only animals on the planet.” He walked over to the side cabinets where Andrea’s penguin was on display. “She did do a good job,” he said. Suddenly he picked up the model penguin. “Hey, didn’t she say penguins can’t fly? Let’s see if she’s right!” He tossed the penguin across the room toward Matthew.
“Hey, watch it!” Matthew lunged for the flying bird and grabbed it by the feet. A few pieces of orange tissue paper fell off. “Flying back at you,” he yelled, flinging the bird toward Evan. It landed with a thud on the top of the overhead projector.
“She was right,” Evan said, laughing. “They don’t fly very well at all.”
When Evan picked the penguin up, several pieces of black and white tissue paper fell to the floor. “I think he’s shedding,” he said. “Oh, no! He has a bald spot on his wing! And it’s dented!”
Matthew hobbled over and studied the tattered project with dismay. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “Andrea’s going to be really mad.”
“Why don’t you pick up all the pieces of tissue paper and throw them away? I’ll just put the penguin back with the bad wing toward the wall. Maybe no one will notice.”
“I don’t know …” Matthew said. But he leaned over, balancing on one foot, picked the pieces up, then stuffed them in his pocket. He felt awful. “Do you think we ought to tell her?”
“No way!” Evan said. “We’ll get in big trouble.”
The bell rang, and soon the rest of the class returned. All during math and science, Matthew avoided looking at Andrea or the teacher. And he especially avoided looking at the penguin. What should he do? How would he feel if he had worked that hard on a project and someone ruined it?
But what would happen if he told? Matthew didn’t like calling attention to himself. And any punishment he received was sure to be something people would notice. Maybe he would have to sit in the principal’s office during lunch. Maybe he would have to pay Andrea for the penguin. Maybe they would call his mother from the office. None of those things sounded good.
But he knew that Andrea had to pick up the penguin sometime, and she would definitely notice the big bald spot and dent on the wing. She would know that someone in the class had ruined her bird—someone without enough courage or respect to tell her about it.
Matthew knew that the twisted knot in his stomach wouldn’t go away until he had done the right thing. He got up and went to the teacher. Pulling the crumpled tissue paper out of his pocket, he told Mrs. Smith what he had done.
Matthew could see from her face that she was really disappointed. “Thank you for letting me know,” she said. “Andrea, can you come here, please?”
Telling Andrea what he had done was very difficult, but Matthew felt a great sense of relief afterward. “I’m really sorry,” he added.
“How bad is it?” Andrea asked, going to look at the penguin. “Oh,” she said. She didn’t look very happy. But she took the tissue paper from Mrs. Smith. “I guess I could probably fix it,” she said.
“May I help you?” Matthew asked.
“Sure,” Andrea said. “Thanks.”
Matthew wished he had never thrown the penguin with Evan. But he was glad he had decided to confess, apologize, and do what he could to make it right.