Gospel Story Finder

The first of November Christmas trees began to appear in department stores.
“Let’s decorate our tree!” cried Sandra.
“Let’s not,” said Mother. “It hasn’t even snowed yet.”
The middle of November the first flecks of snow fell.
“Let’s buy the tree,” Sandra urged. “Come on, everyone. It’s snowing. It’s time to decorate the tree.”
Daddy kneeled down so he could look his daughter right in the eyes. “Look, honey, there has to be lots of snow—real deep snow. When it snows so much that you must wear your boots, we will buy and decorate the tree.”
The first of December Mother could sweep the snow from the walk with a broom. It was just a little snow.
The middle of December it really began to snow. And it snowed and it snowed. The fence posts wore tall hats, and the red flag was almost hidden on the mailbox. Sandra’s older brother and sister got out the toboggan and searched for their mittens.
“I want to play in the snow too. Wait for me,” pleaded Sandra.
“Susan, Larry, wait for your sister,” Mother instructed. “Sandra, get your boots on.”
“Boots and snow? Boots and snow!” squealed Sandra. “Now can we buy our Christmas tree?”
“Yes,” said Mother, “we’ll talk to Daddy about it tonight.”
After supper Daddy agreed that it was time to get a tree but suggested that they wait until family night to buy it.
So on Monday night, Daddy, Mother, Sandra, Larry, and Susan all dressed in warm coats and cozy snow boots and got into the station wagon. They drove to the vacant lot near the school that was now filled with trees and chose a very big one.
“Now can we decorate it?” asked Sandra.
Daddy laughed. “Not until it’s set up. And I’m going to have to saw off some of the trunk first just to get it into our living room. Give me a little time and it’ll be ready.”
Even when the trunk was cut shorter, it was a close squeeze to stand the tree upright in the living room.
“Now?” asked Sandra.
“Yes, now,” answered Daddy. “You kids run up and get the boxes from the attic.”
There were lots of boxes. Dad opened one box and began stringing the lights.
Mother opened a box of large red glass balls and gently began hanging them.
Larry opened a box of assorted wooden toys and identified each one as he hung them—“Here’s a rocking horse. Here’s a soldier. Here’s a drum.”
“Look what I have!” shouted Susan as she held up beautiful strands of colored tinsel.
Sandra had peeked into each box and then stood very quietly, watching.
“Hey, why aren’t you helping, Sandra? Look, at last we’re decorating the tree just as you wanted,” said Daddy.
“Why the long face, Sandy, honey?” asked Mother.
“It’s not here,” said Sandra.
“What’s not here?”
“The decoration.”
“These are all decorations, dear. Here, you take this bell and hang it on the bottom branch. Maybe the kitty will play with it and not bother the rest of the decorations.”
“I don’t want the bell. I want the decoration.”
Susan said, “I think she’s looking for some special decoration. What color is it, Sandra?”
“White.”
“Here’s a white foam ball,” called her brother. “Is this it?”
“No.”
“This white star?” asked Mother.
“No.”
“Here, I’ll open the rest of the boxes and you search until you find it,” said Daddy. “You better hurry, though. We need you to help us get this big tree decorated before bedtime.”
While the others worked and worked, Sandra hunted and hunted.
Finally the tree was full of colored balls, small trinkets, streamers, lights, and topped with a glittering star. The boxes were empty. Everyone’s face was smiling except Sandra’s.
“It’s gone,” she whispered.
Mother brought in the family night treat of hot cocoa and yellow cheese on round crackers. “Here, now, let’s put on a happy face.”
Sandra shook her head.
Daddy picked her up and said, “Come with me to take these boxes back to the attic. I’ll let you ride piggyback.”
Sandra had to duck low as they left through the door. It almost made her laugh. She loved being high. Both she and Daddy had to crouch low so as not to hit the ceiling in the attic. But something did hit Sandra’s face.
“The decoration! The decoration! I found it!” Sandra shouted.
She took hold of a white paper chain hanging from the attic ceiling that she had made last year in primary. Daddy unhooked it for her, and she carried it very carefully down to the Christmas tree.
Sandra placed it around the bottom branches right above the bell.
“There,” she said, “now the tree is decorated.”

Although the path to eternal marriage has been just as straight for Vynohradars’kyi Ward members Petr and Adalina Mikhailenko, the road has been much longer. The Mikhailenkos were among the first families to join the Church in Ukraine, having been baptized in 1993—just two years after the first branch was established in Kyiv.
Despite this, distance from a temple and other factors kept the couple from being sealed for many years. Undeterred, they remained committed to each other and to their dream of an eternal marriage.
“I waited patiently for the temple,” Brother Mikhailenko says. “There was never a thought to leave the Church. The path has always been clear.”
After President Thomas S. Monson dedicated the temple in August 2010, the couple’s eagerness to be sealed couldn’t be contained. “We came so early on the day we were to be sealed that the temple was not open yet,” Sister Mikhailenko says.
The couple wasn’t alone. Many fellow ward members came to the temple that day as well, excited to share in the Mikhailenkos’ joy.
“The sealing was wonderful,” Sister Mikhailenko says. “There was a feeling like you never really loved your spouse like you love him at that moment.”
The feeling of love has persisted since that day. “There is an absolute difference in our relationship,” Brother Mikhailenko says. “We have been married for a long time, but there is now a different feeling. We want to do more for each other, and we do it with more love.”

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and to be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the still small voice; it will teach them what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the Brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God.” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young: 1846–47, Historical Dept., The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, pp. 528–31.)

One of my fondest memories as a small boy was the annual visit to our home on Butler Avenue in Salt Lake City of my Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard on Christmas morning. Melvin J. Ballard died when I was ten years old. I knew that my Grandfather Ballard was a very important man in the Church, but I did not understand what it meant to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. To me he was Grandpa Ballard, and that was enough to make me always very eager for his visit to our home, and especially on Christmas morning.
I particularly remember one Christmas morning, just a year or two before Grandfather Ballard died. My father and mother gave to Grandfather and Grandmother a new set of luggage. This Christmas gift seemed so appropriate to me then, because it seemed like Grandfather was always traveling and was never home.
Reflecting back on those special Christmas mornings with Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard brings special fond memories since today I find myself as a member of the Council of the Twelve and I have a new and deeper appreciation for those special Christmas mornings with my grandparents. I hope now as my grandchildren come to visit me and I go to visit them, I can create memories for them that will live on long after I am gone.

Some single adults may worry that marriage will prohibit reaching their career or educational goals. “We were both worried about school and careers before we got married,” says Thekla Schenk of Mililani, Hawaii. “When we were first married, I wanted things to go my way. We were married on the condition that I would go to school.”
Sister Schenk prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her finish college. She felt impressed that it would happen when it was supposed to, although she didn’t know how.
Although both are currently in school, the couple has determined that they will focus on Grayson’s education and career first so that Sister Schenk will be able to stay home with their future children. “We turned it into an ‘us’ thing instead of a ‘me’ thing,” Sister Schenk says.
She and her husband have sought happiness in marriage by trying to make each other happy. “It’s difficult to learn to put someone else’s needs first,” she says. “We need to strive to be spiritual enough to listen to promptings about what to do.”

Your Church leaders are ever ready to help you in your preparation, as are your parents. One young man’s parents encouraged him to choose carefully the music he listened to. He and his family listened to a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer on choosing good music. He went to his room, sorted through his records, took a pile to the trash can and broke and discarded them. Following the principle of obedience helped prepare this young man to serve an honorable mission.

“A long time before your grandma was born, one of her grandmother’s grandmothers lived in England. Her name was Elizabeth, and her husband died, leaving her with five children to care for. When the missionaries taught her the gospel, she knew that it was true and was baptized. In those days, new members of the Church left their homes to join the Saints in Utah. So Grandma Elizabeth gathered her children and a few possessions and boarded a boat for America. Just before the boat sailed, her brothers came alongside in a rowboat. They yelled up at her, ‘How can you take your children into that desolate wilderness? They may die! If you give up this foolish idea and stay with us, we will pay for your children’s education. They’ll have a good life here!’ But Grandma said no. She wanted to raise her children among the Saints, and she believed that they’d be safe. Do you know why?”
Katherine shook her head.
“Grandma had been given a special blessing before she left England. In it, Heavenly Father promised that if she lived righteously, all her children would reach Utah safely. Grandma faithfully kept her promise by keeping the commandments, and she believed that Heavenly Father would keep His promise.”
“Did He?” Katherine asked eagerly.
“You’ll soon find out,” Mom said with a wink. “Grandma Elizabeth was too poor to buy horses or oxen to carry her across the plains. She and her children walked and pulled a handcart, instead. There were no bridges across rivers in those days, so when the pioneers came to a river, they had to wade or swim across.
“One day Grandma was carrying her six-year-old son on her shoulders as she crossed a river. This river was deep, and its powerful current pulled at her so hard that she began to lose her footing and slip downstream. The people on the riverbank saw her being washed away. They yelled for her to let go of her son and swim for her life. ‘You’ll never make it with him on your shoulders!’ they shouted. ‘Let him go and save yourself!’”
“She didn’t let him go, did she, Mom?”
“No, sweetheart, she didn’t. She remembered Heavenly Father’s promise that her children would reach Utah safely. She fought to keep her head above water as the river surged around her. Her son’s legs hung down over her shoulders, and she gripped them tightly as she thrashed her legs to try to reach the shore.
“There were branches growing from the riverbank that Grandma Elizabeth could have grabbed to pull herself in, but she would not let go of her son’s legs for an instant. She prayed for strength to hold on, and at last she came to a shallow area near the river’s edge. She waded to the riverbank and leaned against it, trembling with exhaustion. After men from the handcart company lifted her son off her shoulders from above, she crawled up after him.”
“Oh!” Katherine exclaimed, giving a little jump. “I liked that story!”
“It’s not over yet,” Mom laughed. “Right on the banks of that river, Grandma Elizabeth knelt and said a prayer. She thanked Heavenly Father for giving her the strength to help fulfill her blessing to keep her children safe.”

A true story from Australia.
Jared walked into Sunday School and sat down with his classmates. He noticed a boy he didn’t recognize come in and sit down a couple chairs away.
Jared’s teacher, Brother Trudgen, smiled at the class. “This is Emmanuel,” he said. “He and his family just moved to Australia. This is their first Sunday in our ward!”
Jared thought it might be hard to go to a new ward. He would try to be Emmanuel’s friend.
Brother Trudgen got out his scriptures. “Let’s all turn to 3 Nephi,” he said.
Jared opened his scriptures and looked over at Emmanuel. He didn’t have any scriptures.
Jared gave him a big smile and leaned over. “Hi, I’m Jared,” he said. “Would you like to share scriptures with me?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Um, I don’t know much English,” he said. “Sorry.”
“What language do you speak?”
“Swahili.”
Jared didn’t know any Swahili. He and Emmanuel didn’t say much for the rest of the class.
That evening at dinner, Jared told his family about Emmanuel.
“He seems really nice,” Jared said. “But we can’t understand each other very well.”
Mum nodded. “Emmanuel and his family are going through a lot right now,” she said. “They had to leave their country very suddenly because bad things were happening there. They left everything behind.”
Jared frowned. What would it be like to have to leave home tomorrow and move to a whole new country? That would be so hard!
I wish there was something I could do to help Emmanuel, he thought. But what?
Jared couldn’t stop thinking about Emmanuel as he got ready for bed. He sat down at his desk with his Book of Mormon and read a few verses. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Tonight, they also reminded him that Emmanuel hadn’t had any scriptures to read. Jared shut his scriptures and stared at the cover. Then he jumped up from his chair and hurried out into the hallway.
“Mum!” he called. “I think I know how to help Emmanuel!”
The next Sunday, Jared couldn’t wait to see Emmanuel. He sat with the other deacons at the front of the chapel and waited with a new Book of Mormon in his lap. The missionaries had helped him get this special copy just for Emmanuel.
When Emmanuel entered the chapel with his family, Jared smiled and waved him over. Emmanuel looked confused as he sat down next to Jared. But his eyes widened when Jared handed him the Book of Mormon.
“For me?” Emmanuel asked.
Jared nodded.
Emmanuel’s eyes lit up. He flipped through the pages of his new Book of Mormon. “Swahili!” he said. He smiled at Jared and hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you!”
Jared’s heart felt warm as he smiled back. He knew he couldn’t make everything better for Emmanuel, and they still couldn’t talk to each other very well yet. But that was OK. They didn’t have to speak the same language to be friends!

When our eldest daughter was to be married to a fine Latter-day Saint boy the two mothers were in the corner of the room talking to each other, and the mother of our oldest daughter said, “You know, from the time my little girl was born, I have been praying all my life that somewhere a mother would be preparing a son worthy to marry my daughter.” And this other mother smiled and said, “Isn’t that strange? This is my only son who is being married to your daughter, and ever since he was born, I, too, have been praying that somewhere there would be a mother preparing a daughter worthy to meet and to marry my son.”
It is that kind of home attention—mothers preparing daughters, fathers and mothers, sons—that will make us and our homes stronger today.
President Harold B. LeeConference Report, October 1964, p. 86.

Finding the local meetinghouse was the last thing on my mind.
Things like 95 degree weather, 90 percent humidity, and learning Cantonese were much more important.
Yet there I was, a dejected, three-week-long missionary, thanking a man for giving me an address I already had and really didn’t need. And all this because I couldn’t learn Cantonese.
I hadn’t meant for things to turn out that way. My district was doing a street display at Hong Kong’s Star Ferry just when the commuters were coming home. I wanted to get referrals and talk with people—and I tried to—but I was having little success.
My inexperience in speaking Cantonese—the second-most common Chinese dialect—was painfully evident. Speaking to Chinese people seemed an impossibility, and understanding what people said to me seemed about as easy as walking on water. And because I could neither speak nor understand, I began to doubt my worth to the Lord.
I spotted Mr. Wong just as he was coming down the steps of the ferry. He looked like such a nice man. He wore a blue suit and black shoes. His eyeglasses were slipping down his nose. His tie was still tight around his neck—something that looked very out of place in the humid air.
I mustered up as much self-confidence as I could in the few seconds I had. With a quick prayer in my heart and a deep breath, I started toward him.
The instructors at the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for situations like this. I had practiced asking golden questions and getting referrals dozens of times. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t have taught me what I was about to learn.
“Neih hou ma?” I asked.
“Good,” he replied in a language I knew was Chinese but bore little resemblance to what I had learned in the MTC.
“I’m a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you ever heard of this church before?”
Mr. Wong gave his reply, but—as usual—I couldn’t understand.
“My name is Gong Jeunglouh,” I said. “May I ask your honorable name?”
I didn’t understand much of what he said back to me, but I did understand his last name was Wong. He drew the Chinese Wong character on his hand and raised it to my eyes. His etchings meant nothing to me, but I pretended they did.
“May I tell you a little about our church?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said. That was one of the few things I could understand. I had used that phrase myself several times during the past three weeks.
I showed Mr. Wong my name tag so he could read the name of the Church in Chinese.
“Oh—a church!” he said.
I smiled. “Yes—I am a missionary from this church,” I said, pointing to my name tag. “May I tell you a little about it?”
His reply was long and difficult for a new missionary to understand.
“What is your address?” I asked. I figured I might as well go all out and try to get a referral.
“Address? You want address?” he asked.
“Yes. What is your address?” I got my pen and notebook ready to write—or at least to ask him to write—the address down.
“You wait here. I will return in a few minutes,” he said. I barely made out what he was trying to tell me, thanks to his hand gestures.
“You stay right here,” he insisted.
“I will,” I assured him. Off he went, leaving me no clue as to where he was going or why he wanted me to wait.
Mr. Wong reappeared from among the sea of Chinese commuters a full 15 minutes later. He walked briskly—almost at a trot—with a paper in his hand.
He smiled and waved as he approached. I walked to meet him.
“Here,” he said. He handed me a page of an English phone book. The address of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was circled.
“Here is your church’s address,” he said.
Now I understood. Mr. Wong had thought I was a lost foreigner looking for my church. My self-confidence sank as I thanked him for his trouble.
Mr. Wong offered his hand with a smile of pride and friendliness.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied, and began to walk away.
“See you later,” I said. And then, as an afterthought, “May I give you this?”
I reached into my suit pocket and handed him a Joseph Smith pamphlet. I gave it to him with two hands, and he accepted the gift in the same manner, a Chinese custom.
“At least I learned something in the MTC,” I thought to myself, remembering our classes on cultural customs. Mr. Wong faded away into the crowd.
I went to sleep that night praying for strength and success. I wanted to preach the gospel with all my heart, but I felt great frustration in learning to speak the language.
The months passed, and as they passed my confidence grew. I was soon transferred out of that area, and new investigators, new companions, and new street displays occupied my mind.
A year later I was a zone leader in another part of Hong Kong. One Sunday I was back in my first area taking care of some mission business. Being in that first meetinghouse brought back both good and bad memories. I rejoiced in seeing my old friends from the local ward.
The halls of the church had cleared after all the meetings were over, and my companion and I were the only ones in the foyer. I was hoping to see more of my former friends.
As we were about to leave, a classroom door opened. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Wong—the commuter at Star Ferry—emerge from the dark hall!
“Mr. Wong! How are you?” I asked with excitement.
“I’m Brother Wong now, Elder Call,” he said in perfect Mandarin.
“You speak Mandarin? No wonder I couldn’t understand you at the ferry!”
“And you were speaking Cantonese—that is why I couldn’t understand you,” he said.
We sat and talked for several minutes. Brother Wong explained to me that after our encounter at the ferry a year before, he went home and read the Joseph Smith pamphlet. He said he read it out of curiosity more than anything else. The Spirit touched his soul. He telephoned the mission home to ask for more information and two sisters began teaching him the gospel. He gained a testimony and was baptized.
Our reunion was sweet and joyous, even though we had seen each other only once before. My heart was touched and the Spirit bore record to me of the true meaning of Paul’s words to the Corinthians:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Cor. 3:6).

One day I decided to take my pocket Book of Mormon to preschool. I told my mom, “When we go places during the day, sometimes I start to forget about Jesus. I know I can remember Him better if I bring my scriptures.” During school, my teacher asked about my “little Bible.” I told her it was my Book of Mormon. I told her I brought it because my dad said we should always remember Jesus. My mom told me I was being a missionary and being like Jesus as I kept my scriptures close to me all day.

As a young convert I sometimes felt uneasy with the members of my branch, and I had questions that went unanswered. But by reading and discussing articles in Le Liahona (French) with members of my branch, I got to know the members better. And I found answers to my questions through the magazine’s messages. I am truly grateful to Heavenly Father for inspiring me with the desire to study Le Liahona. I am happy to be a member of the Church and to read the testimonies of other members throughout the world.
Sandrine Hantala,Le Mans Branch, Tours France District

Illustration by John Kachik
During my sophomore year in high school, I volunteered as part of the technical crew to produce my high school’s annual musical. The experience became one of my favorite memories of the year, because it was fun and I learned so much doing it. I also loved working with the people I met.
But the most important thing I learned was not something I had expected.
In order for the tech crew to communicate quietly with each other, we used radio headsets. We also used them to tell jokes, have conversations, even to sing to each other to entertain ourselves during the long rehearsals.
But the first time we used the headsets wasn’t actually so comfortable for me. At first I was having a blast. Then some people started gossiping about the actors rehearsing onstage. I tried to ignore the snide comments and rude remarks, but as the conversation developed, the gossip grew crueler and more offensive.
I felt sick hearing some of the comments, but I was afraid to stand up against my new friends. I wish I had, because as I tolerated their jokes, I was eventually tempted to laugh and make my own comments. I began to rationalize why it would have been fine. Nobody but the tech crew would have heard me, and I wanted to fit in with the people around me.
As hard as it was, I knew that backbiting about those onstage wasn’t right, and I chose not to gossip.
After the rehearsal we learned that everything we had said over the headsets had been broadcast backstage. All 60 or so of the cast members had heard us talking. Some were angry, upset, or embarrassed. No one was impressed.
Later, while I was talking with one of my friends about what had happened, she said, “Everyone knows you’d never say anything like that.” Her comment shocked me, and I realized the significance of the choice I had made. If I had chosen to join in with the gossip, what would that have said about me? What would that have said about the Church?
I’m grateful for the choice I made in that dark, little theater, even when I thought others wouldn’t know, because it has opened blessings of friendship, peace, and confidence that I would have lost had I chosen to gossip.

I never had any question that the Church was true and that the gospel was how I wanted to live my life, so I continued going to church. I wanted Heavenly Father to know that I loved Him and that I was so sorry for my actions. I went to church every week even though it was very hard. The ward was uncomfortable with my being there, and only a few people talked to me. However, one special young woman with Down’s syndrome named Holly was particularly loving. Every Sunday as I would walk into the chapel, she would run up to me, throw her arms around me, give me a big hug, and say, “It’s so good to see you! I love you!” I felt as if she were acting for the Savior, letting me know that He was happy I was there.

It was particularly difficult to have to let the sacrament pass by without being able to take it because I knew I was not receiving the blessings. Taking the sacrament is such a blessing. It is incredible to have the blessing of being made clean through the power of the Savior and His atoning sacrifice, to be forgiven of our sins and shortcomings week after week, and to recommit with love and faithfulness to the covenant we have made to always remember our Savior and keep His commandments.
Because paying my tithing was so important to me, I set up a bank account and put my tithing in it each month. I needed the Lord to know that even though He couldn’t take my tithing now, I still wanted to pay it. I was single at the time and raising my three teenage daughters, and I felt that I needed those blessings of showing the Lord my willingness to pay tithing, even though I couldn’t. I have no doubt we were extremely blessed because of it.
I was rebaptized a little over a year after my excommunication. What a relief it was to come up out of the water knowing that Jesus was now my advocate, my partner. He had paid for my sins, and I was again in a covenant relationship with Him. I was filled with gratitude!
I received the gift of the Holy Ghost again. I felt once again a tangible presence: my dear friend was back to stay! I wanted to try so hard not to offend Him again so that He wouldn’t have to leave me.
I closed out the account with my tithing in it, wrote the check, and excitedly gave it to my bishop.
Five years later I was able to have my temple blessings restored. I felt so relieved and grateful. Once again I was covered in love and protected with the power of the covenants I had made in the temple.
I am now sealed to a man who adores me, and I him, and together we are actively working to establish our sealing as a covenant relationship that will last through the eternities.
In the 20 years since, I have sometimes felt a sense of deep guilt wash over me and cause me great unhappiness and worry. I wondered if I had done enough to repent and whether I was truly forgiven. As recently as just a few years ago, my feelings matched those of Alma the Younger, described in Alma 36:12–13:
“I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God, and that I had not kept his holy commandments.”
One day I knelt down in prayer and asked, “Father, have I done enough? I will do whatever I need to, to have this taken from me.” Then I waited and listened with my heart.
The answer came very clearly: “You have done enough.” I was overcome with pure joy. I couldn’t stop smiling, and happy tears flowed. All that day I found myself giddy with joy. All the shame and guilt was gone for good.
Again I reflected on the experience of Alma the Younger:
“I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:19–20).
My journey to regain my membership in the Church and my covenant relationship with the Savior was heart-wrenching and tender. I came out of this trial knowing that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is most precious. It has taken me almost all of these 20 years to get past the shame and guilt of my excommunication and to find the strength to share my experiences with others. I hope my experience inspires others to find courage to change and to reach out to those who want to change. I can stand and testify without a doubt that the Atonement of Christ is real. His power can change your life not only for the better but for the very best.
I love my membership in the Church dearly. It is a priceless gift and an incredible blessing in my life. I never want to be without it again.

Shortly after becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I began to hear warnings, from Church leaders encouraging members to prepare for difficult times, including those caused by natural phenomena. My situation as a student at the time, made me think that it was not something important to do and that I could think about it later.
A few years after I became a husband and father, we planned to create a reserve, little by little. In recent months, the Presidency of the Caribbean Area has encouraged us to focus on the need to prepare, not only with storage, but also with an emergency backpack.
We were able to observe how we were blessed and saved from the hurricanes in 2020, while some of our Caribbean brothers and sisters suffered from its effects. So, in 2021, we decided not only to say preparation was a good thing, but we decided to act.
In 2020, we had taken steps to assemble our emergency backpack. We relied on the list provided by the Area, as well as the documentation that state services made available to us.
However, despite our best efforts, we were unable to build our backpack. As I said before, we were thankful that no major hurricane hit us that year.
In 2021, we wanted to be obedient and set an example for our children. We now have emergency backpacks for the whole family, and we are aware that we are one of the “pioneers of emergency backpacks.”
Our local leaders, branch president, elders quorum president, and Relief Society president have relayed the information to our branch members and regularly encourage us to pack our backpack and let them know if we are having trouble doing so.
As a ministering brother, I take the time to ask the families that I minister to, “How are you doing with preparing your emergency backpack? Do you know how to prepare it? Do you need help to do it?” A simple way to teach how to do it is to show visual aids with objects that we could put in backpacks.
I can testify to the hard work this has required, and also to the blessing of the sweet feelings of serenity and security that we now feel.
I know that the Lord, in his omniscience, “knowing the calamity which should befall the inhabitants of the earth” (D&C 1:17), has inspired our Church leaders and even our political representatives to insist on this important preparation and to show us what to do.

He gave his final talk in the Dewsbury Ward, Huddersfield Stake. The chapel was packed with past and present service missionaries who came to hear him and celebrate his great success. One brother, who had not been to Church for some time, commented that he felt the Spirit very strongly in the meeting and would be coming back to Church. This Spirit was probably due to the many angels who I believe attended that meeting to offer their appreciation for his wonderful missionary service, as he helped in gathering Israel on the other side of the veil.

As my parents reached middle age, my mother encountered early-onset Alzheimer’s. My father was determined to faithfully serve as her caretaker, even when her condition required full-time care. Even through these latter years, my father reached out to me through weekly, and, in some periods, daily, phone calls and letters. I had always had a close relationship with both my parents, but during the last 10 years of my father’s life, we became particularly close. I realized then too that he was equally successful in drawing near to my three siblings in the same way—even given the differences in interests and faiths we chose as we all grew older.
Photograph by Del Benson
My parents and my family lived on opposite coasts of the United States during those last years, and they made two cross-country visits, even though my mother’s Alzheimer’s had advanced to the point where assisting her on a long-distance flight was very difficult for Dad.
At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.
In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.
I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.
I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

In January 1976, I received a telephone call from a friend who worked for social services. He asked if my wife and I would be willing to take in a foster child. At the time we had two young children of our own, but we agreed to open up our home to 17-year-old Kathy.
Soon after arriving in our home, Kathy asked if she could attend church with us. Of course we said yes, and soon Kathy was attending church regularly. Many of Kathy’s friends from her former congregation noticed her absence, and they were unhappy to find out that she was attending the LDS Church.
One day after school, Kathy told us that her former church was planning to stage a “Save Kathy” night for their youth ministry meeting. Kathy asked if I would accompany her to that meeting and help her defend the Church. I reluctantly agreed because although I didn’t want to argue with her friends about doctrinal differences, I knew that she didn’t yet know enough about the Church to defend it. I decided to bring another guest, Richard Jones, who had just returned from his mission.
The day of “Save Kathy” night was a day of fasting and prayer for all of us. I prayed that the Spirit would be present at the meeting and that there would be no contention.
When we arrived at the church that evening, we sensed some animosity, but the youth minister welcomed us warmly and invited us to tell the group about the Church and our beliefs. As Richard shared what was then the first missionary discussion and taught about the Restoration, the 15 or so young people in the room listened carefully. Even the youth minister was captivated.
We then spent the rest of the evening answering questions and having a wonderful discussion about the gospel. The animosity we had felt at first quickly subsided as we calmly explained our beliefs. There was respect on both sides. The Holy Ghost filled the room as we shared our testimonies and responded to questions.
At the end of the discussion, the minister thanked us for coming. Then, as we turned to leave, a young woman rose and said she wanted to tell us something. She said that before we came, she didn’t think Mormons were Christians, but now she believed we might have been better Christians than she was.
We could not have scripted a better ending to our discussion. I know the meeting would never have gone so well if we had not fasted and prayed, pleaded for the Spirit to be present, and petitioned the Lord that there be no contention. Only with the Holy Spirit present can we be effective in sharing the gospel message.

A few years ago, as Sister Condie and I exited the Tabernacle, a lovely sister approached us and said with a very cheerful voice, “Good morning, President Hinckley.” I replied, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I’m Elder Condie of the Seventy.” Her cheerful countenance was crestfallen. Not more than a minute later, we met another sister who greeted us with the same salutation: “Good morning, President Hinckley.” Not wishing to cause her the same disappointment I caused the previous sister, I shook her hand and said, “Bless you, my dear. Have a nice day.”
Several months later I confessed my sin to President Gordon B. Hinckley during a regional conference in Portugal, and in his typically loving way he said, “Well, Spencer, if you’re going to impersonate me, I hope you behave yourself.”

A fifteen-year-old Korean boy, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, used his allowance each week to buy newspapers. Then he and his friends sold them on street corners in Seoul, giving the money to a classmate who couldn’t remain in school without this financial help. He wanted to know how it felt to be a Good Samaritan rather than just having an intellectual understanding of the lesson he had studied in the scriptures.