Gospel Story Finder

Watching over new converts is a high priority in the Santa Cruz Bolivia Paraíso Stake, where stake missionaries follow the progress of new converts for 18 months after baptism. “Two of the men on the high council work directly with bishops and their new converts,” says Guillermo Quintana, who served as stake president. “When someone new comes in, we speak to them, we go to see them, and we see that they get callings and make friends. We are learning to apply President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel to help each convert find a friend, receive a calling, and be nurtured with the good word of God” (see “Some Thoughts on Temples, Retention of Converts, and Missionary Service,” Ensign, November 1997, 49). As a result, 72 percent of new members baptized recently in the stake are still active.

President Quintana knows the importance of finding friends at church. The night of his baptism at age 18, his best friend told him he would never visit him again if he joined the Church. Ten minutes before the service began, Guillermo decided to go ahead anyway and left for the meetinghouse. “I lost my dearest friend that night,” he recalls. However, within two weeks he met the woman who later became his wife, and she became the friend who sustained him during his mission.

After his mission, he had an experience that changed his life. Deathly ill, he was rushed to the hospital. As he hovered between life and death, he felt spiritual comfort as an impression came to him that there were many things yet for him to do. The experience confirmed to him that he had important work to do in the Lord’s Church.

“Since that time I have prayerfully sought to know what the Lord would have me do,” says President Quintana. As he sought for ways to strengthen the stake, he often asked, “What do we want to achieve?” Then he and his counselors set concrete objectives for leaders and members. “We teach members not to be afraid to keep the commandments,” he says. “It’s the perspective we must give. Then the blessings come.”

5. Family councils. As you would expect to hear from me, one of the best tools we have as parents is the family council. I cannot emphasize enough its importance in helping to understand and address challenges in the family. When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and then the mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home, one to be married and one to go to college, an unfair burden of responsibility had been unwittingly shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening to what their children were feeling, the family made a more equitable distribution of responsibility among the children, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.

Illustration by Clayton Thompson
I sighed as I stared out the window at the freshly fallen snow, envisioning my siblings and myself building a larger-than-life snowman, laughing and tackling it to the ground moments later. But it was just wishful thinking this year—my family was not here for Christmas. My dad had to work, and my siblings, who were all older than me and married, were spending the holiday with their in-laws. It was just my mom and me that Christmas Eve.
My mom, ever the optimist, gave me an encouraging smile from across the room while she prepared our Christmas Eve dinner. Despite her efforts to make things feel normal without the rest of our family there, our house felt empty and lonely.
Shortly before dinner, a knock at our door signaled that our special guest had arrived. I opened the door to see a very shy, elderly widow hesitantly standing out in the cold. My mom had invited her over to join us for our Christmas Eve feast, and I could tell she felt as awkward as I did.
The normal clamor and jubilant conversation that usually filled the room during dinner was instead replaced by a mellow discussion. At one point, I looked around the room at the empty chairs and felt like crying. Just then the widow asked, “Do you miss your family?”
I nodded and looked into her eyes. Then I sensed it: she misses her family too!
I suddenly had an outpouring of love for this widow. She understood me. My attitude did a 180-degree turn as I realized I wasn’t alone. We shared a common bond of missing our families. This Christmas was far from normal, but sharing that moment with her brought me a new perspective—one filled with gratitude and love!
Later that evening we watched Joy to the World as part of our usual Christmas tradition. Sure, I had seen the film a dozen times, but this time it held new meaning for me. The Holy Ghost testified to me that the Savior, Jesus Christ, lived and died so that we might live again. Because of Him, I get to have my family forever. It didn’t matter so much that my family was not there that Christmas Eve—I had an eternity to spend with them!
I’m so grateful for the evening I shared with that sweet widow. We all feel lonely at times, but we can find joy knowing that our Savior will never abandon us and that He has provided a way for us to have everlasting happiness and to have our loved ones with us forever.

When I was a new Beehive, I enjoyed Young Women, but I was also shy and a little intimidated by the older girls. I had a hard time relating with them since their main interests seemed to center around boys and clothes—or so I thought.
One of the first Mutual activities I attended after turning 12 was held in the backyard of one of our leaders. All the girls were there, including Shannie,* one of the older Beehives. She was well-liked by everyone, and tonight she was dressed in the latest summer fashion, right down to her sparkling white tennis shoes.
When the refreshments were served near the end of the activity, we all took our cookies and purple punch over to the lawn chairs where we could eat and socialize. I sat down next to Shannie, placing my glass of punch on the ground. As the girls began to talk, I shifted my legs. To my horror, my foot knocked over my glass of punch and it spilled all over Shannie’s left foot! I sat paralyzed as the deep purple spread over the once-sparkling-white shoe. I was sure all the young women had seen it happen. I thought I would die of embarrassment!
As I began to choke out a desperate apology, Shannie put her hand out and said in a soft voice, “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” And she meant it. She encouraged the conversation to continue as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening she seemed to ignore her soggy, purple shoe.
In that moment, I realized that while Shannie was well-dressed and popular, her biggest priority was to treat others with Christlike kindness. I will forever remember the compassion she showed to me at a time in my life when I needed it most.

A stake president was scheduled to meet with a young man to interview him and help him complete his mission application. The young man was a bright student and had saved money for his mission. He attended church regularly and was worthy of a temple recommend. Still, the stake president had one concern: The young man was drinking 12 energy drinks a day! In their meeting, the stake president suggested that he break the energy-drink habit before they submitted the application to the Missionary Department.
“No problem, President,” said the young man. “It’s not a habit. I can quit anytime.” They scheduled another interview a week later and the young man left. The following day he found out just how much of a habit his non-habit had become. His body was craving the drinks, and it was difficult to say no to himself. By midweek he called the stake president for a blessing. “I guess I really was more addicted than I thought,” he said. “This is really hard.”
The blessing was given, and the stake president continued to meet with the young man and monitor his progress. The process actually took months, but finally this young man felt ready to submit his application. His advice to others: “Don’t be fooled. Just because something isn’t specifically mentioned in the Word of Wisdom doesn’t mean there aren’t negative consequences.”
When the stake president asked the young man to break his dependence on energy drinks before beginning his mission, the young man found it difficult. After several months of hard work, that missionary entered the MTC and wrote the following in a letter to his stake president: “I want to thank you for all your help preparing me to serve. This place is incredible. The Spirit is so strong in all the classes and devotionals. You can even feel it when you are walking down the halls. This feeling is better than any energy drink!”

I wanted to write to testify how true a paragraph is in “Hold On” (Oct. 1992). It says “Pornography is especially dangerous and addictive.” The article goes on to say pornography breaks down your self-discipline and causes you to become desensitized. This is so true. I was seven when I started reading pornographic magazines. Over time, it just became all consuming. I started stealing, using drugs and alcohol, and I committed rape. I’m getting treatment for my problems, and I am working on repenting for what I’ve done. But it’s a long way back. For me, pornography has been more addictive than any drug. I encourage everyone to not learn the way I did.
Name Withheld

“Grannie Smith’s coming for supper tonight,” Mom said as Carrie scurried around, getting everything ready for the meeting of the Super Scooper News staff.
“Oh no!” Carrie moaned. “Everybody’s coming over!”
“That’s fine,” Mom said. “Go ahead with your newspaper meeting. I’m sure that Grannie won’t mind.”
“No! Not now. Maybe I’ll call the others to tell them to come some other time,” Carrie said. Then she remembered that last week Shauna hadn’t been able to come, and the week before, Adam couldn’t make it. It had been several weeks since they’d printed their newspaper, and now everybody had plenty of news for another issue.
“It’s up to you,” Mom said. “It’s been ten days since we’ve had Grannie over, and she must be feeling pretty lonely.”
Carrie stomped into the living room to watch TV. Why can’t Grannie be like other grandmothers? she wondered. Adam’s grandma was always baking cookies and giving them to the kids in the neighborhood. One of Shauna’s grandmothers was a writer who published lots of books about all the places she’d traveled. Shauna had an autographed copy of each book that she had written. Carrie’s other grandmother had moved to Arizona, far from the cold prairie winters.
But Grannie Smith was different and something of a problem. Most of the time she stayed in a nursing home, but whenever she came over for dinner, all she did was embarrass Carrie. Sometimes she’d ask Dad what his name was, and she’d call Carrie “Penelope.” Aunt Penelope was Grannie’s sister, but she had died a long time ago. Sometimes Grannie spilled her food, and one time she had even started eating her mashed potatoes with her fingers! When that happened, even Mom had looked as if she were about to cry, though they all realized that Grannie couldn’t help it. She did things like that, the doctors had explained, because she has Alzheimer’s disease.
Carrie heard the doorbell ring and went to open the door.
“Hi, Carrie!” It was Adam, one of the newspaper’s best reporters. “Boy, do I have news! Let’s get it typed up.”
“Great!” Carrie went over to her corner of the living room and sat down at an old beat-up desk. She rolled a sheet of paper into her rickety typewriter. Some of the machine’s letters didn’t print right, and Mom kept saying that she was surprised that the typewriter hadn’t broken down long ago.
Soon Shauna came in, and the three of them sat on the floor, trying to decide which news items to put on the front page.
“Come on in and sit down, Mother.”
Carrie cringed at the sound of Dad’s voice. She wished that she could pretend that she hadn’t heard, but she knew that she had to go give a kiss to the wobbly little lady with the cane and white hair. “Hi, Grannie,” she said.
Grannie stroked a wrinkled hand over Carrie’s hair. “You’re growing like a weed, lass,” she said with a smile. “Run along and play with your friends now; they’ll be waiting for you.”
Carrie gave a sigh of relief and went back to her desk. Maybe, just this once, Grannie won’t do anything awful.
Shauna’s eyes were wide. “How old is she, Carrie?” she whispered.
“Eighty-one,” Carrie said quickly. “Now, about the front page, …”
They decided to use three pieces: Mrs. Currie’s fall off her stepladder, Bryan Wilson’s plans to become a hockey pro, and the mysterious footprints in the dirt around the Adam’s family’s garbage can.
As they worked, Carrie could hear Grannie talking. At first she thought that Grannie was talking to her father, but when she looked around, Dad was in the easy chair, reading the newspaper.
“Look at the clowns!” Grannie was saying. “Oh my—see how many elephants there are!”
Nervously Carrie looked at her friends. Their heads were bent over the dummy sheet that they were putting together. Maybe Grannie’s watching TV. Carrie glanced over at the television set, but the screen was blank. Grannie was staring out the front window.
Elephants on McDonald Street? That’s impossible! Grannie’s seeing things again. Carrie felt her face getting red. Why did Mom have to invite Grannie for the same night that Shauna and Adam were coming?
“Oh! There’s the lion tamer!”
Adam looked up and began to stare.
Carrie quickly turned back to her typewriter and said, “Super Scooper News,” loudly as she picked out the letters.
“Bonnie, come here. I have some treats for you and your friends.”
Carrie’s face got redder. Bonnie was her mother’s name, but she was sure that Grannie was speaking to her. “Just a minute, Grannie,” she said.
But Grannie had sounded so pleased with herself that Carrie couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. She went over to Grannie’s chair, where the old woman pulled some lint-covered cough drops out of her dress pocket. “Here. And when these are gone, I have some more.”
Carrie nodded and took them.
“What’d you get?” There was an expectant look on Shauna’s face.
“Oh, nothing—just some cough drops.” Carrie tried stuffing them into her jeans pocket, but Adam stopped her.
“Can I have one?”
“Well …”
But it was too late. Adam reached and took one. It had not only lint on it but a clinging hair as well.
“Yuck!” Shauna started giggling.
“She can’t help it!” Carrie whispered, embarrassed. “She just doesn’t know any better.”
“Some people get senile,” Adam said sympathetically. “Boy, I hope I never do.”
It sounded as though Grannie were busy watching her invisible circus parade again. Tears burned in Carrie’s eyes as she turned back to the typewriter once more. “What’s the best title for this one—‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall’?”
“So you’re using that typewriter again, Penelope.”
Oh no! Grannie was coming over! Carrie wished that she could tell her grandmother to leave her alone. She poked at the r extra hard, and her finger went between the keys, jamming the r and t keys together.
Now Grannie was looking over her shoulder. “I used to be a real good typist in my day,” she said. “I could type eighty words a minute—clean copy, without a single error.”
Carrie’s head lifted. She had to admit that that sounded fast. “We’re doing our newspaper, Grannie,” she said.
“Oh yes!” Grannie beamed. “Our newspaper, Penelope! I’d almost forgotten. Be sure to tell about how Mrs. Schneider’s cat chased off those huge dogs.”
Shauna looked uncomfortable. Adam looked restless. Carrie’s finger hurt, and the letters were still jammed. “I need to type now,” she finally said in a low voice. Maybe Grannie would take the hint and go back to her chair.
Grannie reached out and unjammed the keys. “Careful, Penelope.”
“I’m Carrie,” Carrie said loudly. Shauna began to giggle.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. “Carrie. Yes, Carrie. Sometimes I get so mixed up these days.”
Does she ever! said the look in Shauna’s eyes. Adam looked puzzled. And Grannie looked very sad.
Carrie took a deep breath. Does Grannie feel bad about the way she is? It must be terrible to be so forgetful and not be able to do anything about it. “Want to help, Grannie?” she asked. “You could type, and we’ll dictate the copy to you.”
Grannie’s smile was like sunlight coming through clouds. “Why, yes, Penelope! You just tell me what to type, and I’ll be extra careful to get it right.”
Carrie held her breath. Shauna was holding her breath too. Grannie sat down at the typewriter. Adam began reading in a loud, steady voice: “‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall.’”
Nervously Carrie looked over her grandmother’s shoulder. The words were typed just as Adam had read them.
Maybe Grannie was a little strange and sometimes got all mixed up, but she really was a special person. Besides, the Super Scooper News staff didn’t need cookies or autographs right now—they needed their newspaper typed. And from the look of it, Grannie was going to give them the neatest copy they’d ever had!

In another ward the bishop asked a semi-active priest to tutor a deacon having problems in school. After balking at the request, the priest found the young boy began to follow his example of attending Church. They decided to go to MIA together. When the deacon asked if he should go on a mission, the priest said yes, and his new friend replied, “When are you going?”
“Well, what could I say? I couldn’t let him down. So here I am an elder and on my way to serve the Lord for two years in Norway. I know this is what I must do and want to do with my life right now. School can wait.”

Now it’s Ben Griffiths’s turn, and he shares a story with a different twist.
“I was living in a basement apartment—my own room, my own kitchen, a pretty sweet deal. But I wasn’t surrounded by those people that keep you on the right path. It’s tough and you start feeling like you are alone. You come to a point where you have to decide for yourself what you want to do.
“I wasn’t going to church and I wasn’t paying attention to the things I should have. Then my sister invited me to an institute class she was going to. It was about feasting on the words of Christ. The teacher challenged us to study the Book of Mormon for 30 minutes a day. I would pray and ask the Lord to help me. Then I would read and write down the thoughts that came to me. Then I would thank the Lord for what he had given me.
“Pretty soon, it changed my life. It put everything back in perspective. We’re trying to get to the celestial kingdom. That’s the reason we’re here. All these things happening around us aren’t going to make much difference in the long run. But the gospel gives you a goal in life, a place to point to. I started going to church again. I started doing the things I should have been doing, because I knew they were right.
“College can either be a place where you just play around, or it can be a place where you straighten out your priorities. You have to learn that the things that matter most are the things that will stay with you always, and that’s the gospel and your family. Stay close to them and you’ll be happy.”

It was on one of my last trips when I had a really neat experience. I was just reading my scriptures before going to bed, and my host (the girl on the team assigned to me for the recruiting trip) asked me about what I was reading. That opened up an incredible conversation in which we ended up talking late into the night. After that, she thanked me and explained how much she had needed to hear what I had to say at that time. I know without a doubt that the conversations I had on my other trips had helped me prepare for this time, and since I was ready, I was able to say the things I needed to by inspiration.

Though he was extremely demanding of himself, Heber J. Grant was quick to learn the importance of not judging imperfection in others. He tells the story of how he learned this truth. He had gone to church and the speaker made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks.
Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school where he had to bring examples of mistakes in grammar to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors and caught instead the Spirit of the man speaking, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord in this church.
President Grant ended the story by saying, “During the years that have passed since then, I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mis-pronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door from off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the rest of the meeting.
It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan (see Luke 10:30–37) as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself” (Luke 10:27).

In one of our quorum meetings, Elder Oaks expressed a strong opinion about a course of action that he believed should be pursued. The reasons he articulated were convincing, and his knowledge about the issue was extensive. His arguments in favor of the action were compelling.
As we counseled together, a member of the Twelve with considerably less seniority expressed agreement with the basic course of action but registered a reservation about the proposed timing. Elder Oaks could have countered the concern with a response such as “I believe I have more experience with this matter than you do.” But he did not. With no hint of defensiveness or indignation, Elder Oaks asked his quorum member, “Would you please help me understand your reservation about the timing?”
After listening intently to his apostolic associate, Elder Oaks pondered for a moment and then said, “The point you have made is important. I had not considered fully the timing implications of this action in the way you have, and I am persuaded that the proposal should be reworked based on what we have learned in this discussion.”
Elder Oaks listened to and learned from his fellow quorum member and then walked in the meekness of the Lord’s Spirit (see D&C 19:23) to accomplish the desired outcome. For Dallin H. Oaks, the issue is never about what he wants; it is always about what the Lord wants and about following His ways.

Abby: Hayley was 10 and I was 6 when we started.
Hayley: At first it was kind of scary because we had to audition. McKay started a little while after Abby and I began recording. Then came our brother Jacob, who still just reads for the Friend because he’s 10.
When my voice was younger I only used to read the Friend. Now I read both the Friend and New Era. We’ve all gotten better over time at enunciating things well and at making our voices go up and down to keep the sentences from all sounding the same.

A devoted colleague once shared with me an experience he had when fulfilling an assignment to put away chairs and straighten up the stake center following a stake conference. After 30 minutes of carrying out these duties, he realized that he was the last person remaining in the building. Rather than feeling alone with a rush to leave, however, he noticed that the same sweet sense of peace he had felt during the conference remained with him and was even increasing.
As he finished the assignment and exited the meetinghouse, he encountered another member who seemed to be watching him intently. Realizing what my friend had been doing, this member took him by the hand and said, “Brother, the Lord sees these small things that you do for Him, and He looks down and smiles upon them.”
Years later while serving as a bishop, this same friend found himself alone again in his ward meetinghouse. After turning out the lights in the chapel, he lingered for a moment as the moonlight shone through the windows onto the pulpit.
The familiar sense of peace again washed over him, and he sat down near the front of the chapel and reflected on the myriad sacred moments he had experienced in that setting—the many times he had observed the priests breaking the bread at the sacrament table, the occasions when he had felt the Holy Spirit accompanying him as he delivered a ward conference address, the baptismal services he had conducted, the beautiful choir numbers he had heard, and the numerous testimonies from ward members that had touched him so deeply. Seated alone in that dark chapel, he felt overcome by the collective impact of these experiences on his life and on the lives of his ward members, and he bowed his head in profound gratitude.

The first time I really noticed his cane, or walking stick, as he liked to call it, was a summer morning when I was playing in my sandbox in the shade of our apple tree. Squatting in the sand, my chin on my bare knees, I busied myself smoothing out a road for my Tonka truck. Scraping back the sand along the edge of the sandbox, I suddenly found myself staring at a yellow, six-legged creature as big as my hand. The creature undulated back and forth, glistening as if wet, its tail curling over its head like a dragon’s. I had never seen a scorpion, but I knew intuitively that it wasn’t something to play with like a grasshopper or a daddy longlegs.
I ran into the house crying, “A bug, a bug! In my sandbox!” Mom was ironing and Grandpa was sitting in a chair. Mom set her iron down, and Grandpa began rocking himself forward, building up enough momentum to stand up. I led him out the backdoor and along the patio to the sandbox, pointed to the scorpion, then ran back inside. When Grandpa came back a few minutes later, I looked up at him and tugged at his pants.
“The bug. Where’s the bug?” I said.
He didn’t say anything, but instead lifted the walking stick he held in his long, brown hand and plunged it to the floor. I watched the rubber tip thud into the linoleum over and over, and in my mind I saw the scorpion crushed into dust. From that moment on, Grandfather’s walking stick became an extension of him, as much a part of him as an arm or a leg.
In the mornings, when Grandpa still lived with us, I helped him with his shoes. I would sit on his bedroom floor, struggle to pull his socks over his curled toes and ridged nails, then help him ease his feet, as twisted and unresponsive as roots, into his shoes. I would glance at the cane lying on the floor, within easy grasp of Grandpa’s hand. It had killed the scorpion. It was hard and thick and strong like an explorer’s staff, like the one that Little John had used to knock Robin Hood into the river when they first met. When I told my friends about Grandpa, I always told them about the walking stick, about how he had saved my life.

When an administrator in Africa rode out to inspect land that had been devastated in a storm, he came to a place where giant cedars had been uprooted and destroyed. He said to his official in charge, “You will have to plant some cedars here.” The official replied, “It takes 2,000 years to grow cedars of the size these were. They don’t even bear cones until they’re 50 years old.”
“Then,” said the administrator, “we must plant them at once.” And this is the admonition to you.

When I was 16, I had the opportunity to attend general conference in person for the first time. My family was living in western Oregon, USA, and we drove to Utah to attend conference and to drop off my older brother at the missionary training center.
I went to the conference with a desire to be taught by the Holy Ghost. As a result, I received a manifestation from the Spirit that I probably would not have received had I not prepared myself.
During one of the sessions, everyone stood and sang the congregational hymn, “Guide Us, O Thou Great Jehovah.” As we sang, I had the distinct impression to look around the Conference Center. I did and was struck by the power of the unity of the thousands of people there as we all raised our voices in praise to God.
Then I had an experience where I felt like Nephi when he saw the vision of the tree of life, for the Spirit told me, “Look” (see 1 Nephi 11–14). I looked at President Thomas S. Monson and felt that the unity of the Church existed because we are led by a living prophet. Through the witness of the Holy Spirit, I know President Monson is the true prophet for our day, and I know that Jesus Christ leads this Church through him.

Ultimately, our lives can be healed only through the Atonement. A member described his feelings as he went through the repentance process and discovered the healing power of the Atonement: “The time between transgressing and confessing was terrible. I constantly lived in the knowledge of the terrible thing I had done. I was in a state of deep darkness, depressive and lethargic, first hopeless and tortured by fears, however, never doubting the truth of the gospel and the saving power of the Atonement. I knew that for me there was only one way to get healed.

“To confess to my wife and my children what I had done was the most difficult thing that I ever did in life. Thereafter, the further way of repentance, to confess before my bishop and the stake president, was not so difficult. Finally, I could relieve myself of the burden which I had brought upon myself. I felt relieved with the excommunication and the resulting perspectives.

“What joy it was when I was permitted to be baptized and again could have the Holy Ghost with me. Finally, the promise of the Atonement was fulfilled in the clearest and most beautiful way when my blessings were restored again.

“During the course of years, my wife and I experienced that the Atonement brings relief and healing not only to the sinner, but further than that, it has the power to heal and restore the victim as well. Of this I testify with deep gratitude.”

I had done well as our high school quarterback and was also the captain of the basketball team. I enjoyed the victories and learned from the defeats, but for the first time in my life I failed when I started playing football at BYU. I struggled in football, and I questioned myself: “Did I make the right choice?” I had to answer: “Yes, I made the right choice; I had a confirmation.” But the harder I tried, the worse it got. Through it all, I turned to prayer and leaned on the scripture: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).
After I went through more hard knocks, challenges, and tests, everything came together, and we started winning football games. With that success, I learned to trust the coach, my teammates, and myself as I gained confidence and became accountable for my responsibilities.
From those experiences, I came to know the power of prayer. You can come to know the power of prayer in your life. You need to know that Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, are willing and ready to help you, but you have to go through the process of finding an answer. I promise that if you seek earnestly and humbly, you will find answers to your questions.