Gospel Story Finder

Sarah sank back against the dusty seat and peered anxiously out the streaked window ot the bus. She managed a shaky smile at three figures peering up at her. Tears came unbidden, and Sarah drew back quickly, dashing them away. Then the bus began to snort and cough as the motor turned over in protest. Sarah felt her heart jump to her throat as she watched the faces search the windows for a last glimpse of their daughter. She waved frantically as the bus shook itself a final time and lumbered out into the street that ran by the Placertown meetinghouse. The bus, with it’s chattering load, swung laboriously around the corner, and the farewells were over.
Sarah settled back against the seat and fastened her hands around the small suitcase resting on her lap. She smiled down at the brown case that held the “reminders” her foster mother had chosen for this trip home. Each year for seven years Sister Allen had tucked a small package under her daughter’s arm and placed a warm kiss on her cheek as the bus drove up. Every year the long, anxious ride back to the reservation had been made bearable as Sarah examined each article and note enclosed. This trip, however, the case was not opened. Sarah was 17 now and anxious to test her newly discovered maturity. She would wait to open the package after she had returned to her home and blood family. Later, perhaps, in the privacy atop some wind-cooled mesa with only the rustling sagebrush to interrupt her thoughts, Sarah would examine her treasures.
Sarah stirred sleepily in her seat and glanced wearily out the window. With a start she realized that she had been asleep for several hours as the red rock mesas of the Navajo reservation came into sight. Her heart leapt as she saw the old trading post that signaled Keyah Tso and home lay only miles up the long, barren highway. Sarah shook out the folds of her dress and smoothed back the straight black hair that had tumbled into her eyes. She was excited as she thought of the reunion with her family.
Suddenly Sarah realized her lap was empty. The case was gone. Frantically she looked about and discovered it laying in the aisle beside her seat. Snatching it up, she clutched it protectively.
As the bus ground to a stop before the red-roofed building, Sarah caught sight of a small group of velveteen and dungaree-clad Navajos. One anxious figure stood shyly apart from the others. Sarah saw that her mother had donned her favorite red velveteen blouse and green cotton skirt for the occasion. The woman’s wrists and fingers were covered with silver and turquoise, and around her neck hung the beautiful turquoise necklace Sarah’s father had made just before his death. Her long, gray-streaked hair had been tied back in the traditional bitsi yaal knot. Her mother waited patiently as Sarah climbed down from the bus and ran to meet her. The two stood looking at each other for a long, silent moment. The older woman put her shoulder against her daughter’s in a shy gesture of welcome. Sarah placed her hand on the velveteen-covered arm and gently squeezed. A smile, a sigh, and the encounter was over. The girl turned back to the bus, waved a cheery goodbye to her friends, picked up her suitcase, and turned to her mother. Sarah cleared her throat, a little embarrassed, and spoke to her mother. The sharp glottal sounds of Navajo felt strange and unaccustomed on her tongue. Soon she found herself chattering comfortably to the small group of Navajo women and children riding with her in the back of a ’56 pickup. As the clay-smeared vehicle bounced its way down the road to the Yazzie home, Sarah became the center of attention as the women and children listened avidly to the description of her way of life away from the reservation.
Suddenly the air seemed heavy with the odor of sagebrush, and Sarah knew she was home once again. Overhead an eagle winged across the sky before soaring behind the face of a red rock mesa. Then she saw the smoke curling from the mud chimney of the Yazzie hogan. The pickup stopped with a loud screech of brakes; children jumped over the sides. The wooden door of the home flew open, and Sarah saw the excited faces of her two brothers peering out. They showed no embarrassment as they greeted her and drew her impatiently to the sheep corral to meet the shaggy newborn lambs.
It wasn’t until the sun had gone down and the family had gone to bed that Sarah remembered her case. Already the memory of her other world had begun to dim. The familiar odors of the one-room dwelling and the sounds of a desert summer night had replaced the buzz of city life. The mutton stew and fry bread at dinner had seemed more than delicious to Sarah. She would have it again and again, but it would never seem as good as it had this first night home. She turned over on the skeepskin bed, burrowing herself into its warmth, when a gentle tug of memory brought forth the image of the brown case. “Tomorrow,” she thought. “Tomorrow.”
Sarah woke abruptly, gazing into a mischievous face. The face was attached to a small, wiggling body that was firmly planted on her stomach. She guiltily realized that she had slept in. Daylight was already beginning to fill the hogan, and she knew her mother had been up for several hours. Sarah put her squirming brother on the dirt floor of the room and scrambled into her faded jeans and calico shirt. She dashed cold water from a large metal bucket on the heavy wooden table into her face and ran a wire brush through her thick, tousled hair. On the table she found some cold potatoes and fry bread that tasted good with the chilling-cold well water. Outside in the distance Sarah could hear the bleating of the sheep. As she stepped out of the hogan into the bright sun, she saw the kneeling body of her mother. Sarah leaned over her and watched her work-roughened hands push the shuttle back and forth rapidly, marveling again at the beautiful and intricate designs appearing on the loom. Sarah felt proud as she realized that this rug would bring a very good price at the reservation trading post. Almost unnoticeable to the inexperienced observer was the tiny flaw in the colorful design. Sarah’s mother had left one thread unbound so that her soul would not be caught up and forever imprisoned in the rug—an old Navajo custom.
She felt a flash of fear as she realized how different her two worlds were. A hand reached out and tugged her to the loom. Sarah crouched beside her mother and took up the shuttle. Her fingers were clumsy as she worked to place the bright threads in their proper order. Soon she was engrossed in the project and didn’t notice her mother rise slowly to her feet. The old woman shook out the folds of her full yellow skirt and disappeared into the hogan.
An hour had passed before the young girl’s legs began to ache from the unaccustomed position. Her fingertips were sore from the pressure on the strings of the loom. Sarah tossed her hair from her eyes and, groaning a bit, rose to her feet. As she shook her legs, her mother appeared in the doorway. In her hands was a parcel wrapped in cloth, a remnant of an old skirt Sarah had worn years ago.
“Take this to John, my daughter,” the woman said. “He will be hungry.” Sarah took the package, waved to her mother, and started off across the sage-covered ground at a trot. She knew every bush, hole, and rock on this part of the reservation. Her brother would be with the sheep some miles away to the west. The fodder was good there this time of year; it was also their share of the reservation land. Good manners decreed that each family honor his neighbor’s grazing rights.
Sarah could hear the sheep not far ahead. She approached quietly. Her brother was perched on a rock, chewing a weed, his eyes half-closed against the sun. Sarah dropped down beside him.
“Mom sent your lunch,” she said, a bit out of breath from the walk. “Why don’t you let me keep it, and you go on home. I’ll watch the sheep the rest of the day.”
“Sure you remember how?” teased her brother.
“Go on,” grinned Sarah, “get out of here,” and she aimed a playful kick as he jumped out of the way. He set out across the desert at a rabbit’s pace.
Sarah leaned contentedly against the rock and closed her eyes, basking in the warmth. As the complacent animals grazed, Sarah dreamed girlish thoughts. A pesky fly buzzed about her ears and lit on her face. Lazily she batted at it, but it clung persistently to her nose, and she opened her eyes in exasperation. A darkly handsome face grinned familiarly down into her startled eyes. Sarah gasped in fright and jumped to her feet, her heart pounding wildly.
“I’m sorry, Sarah!” The boy choked with laughter. “It was too good a chance to pass up.” He waved a long slender twig in front of her nose. “You looked too peaceful lying there.”
“Oh, Benny!” Sarah’s voice shook. “You scared me to death. Where did you come from? I never even heard you come up.”
“Oh,” he returned flippantly, “you know how Indians can sneak through the grass.” He eyed her for a silent moment, then added, “You’ve grown some.”
“Well, one does that after a year’s time you know. And what,” she demanded, “have you been doing for a year, Benjamin Johnson?”
“Well, now,” he drawled, “I’ve been here and there, doing a bit of rodeoing, a bit of dancing, and so on. And what,” he returned, “have you been doing with yourself this year?”
“Oh,” Sarah faltered in embarrassment, “the same I do every year.”
“Do I detect a white lining inside—sort of like an … apple,” he mocked.
“Honestly, Benny!” she snapped. “You act so, so …” Sarah cast wildly about for the proper word, “Indian!” she finished lamely.
Benny grinned at her confusion. “Truce!” she cried holding up her arms in mock surrender. The uncomfortable moment passed, and soon Sarah found herself up to date on the happenings of her reservation friends. Ben had a quick wit and sense of humor. Several hours passed and shadows began to stretch across the prairie. The air carried a hint of the coolness of the oncoming desert night. Soon they began the walk back to the corral. Ahead of them moved the animals. In the still, nippy air Sarah shivered, and Benny draped his green sweater over her shoulders, laughing as the arms swallowed up her small hands. After several moments of silence, broken only by the calling of lamb to ewe, Benny glanced down at her.
“Sarah,” he began a little shyly. Sarah looked up in surprise at the serious note in his voice. Benny kicked at a clod of red clay with a boot, then, casting a rock high into the air, announced quickly, “My folks are throwing a squaw dance tomorrow night at our place.” He glanced down at the girl and asked, “Will you come?”
Sarah hesitated, caught between ready assent and nagging doubt. Some of Benny’s friends were not her friends. Sarah had watched with regret over the past few years as Benny began to fall in with some rough company. Word had come to her this year at school of some trouble that had concerned Benny and his friends. Word was they had been involved in drugs. Sarah had seen students in the city school with glassy eyes and slack mouths. Indoctrination from both sides of the drug question was intense, and Sarah had felt the pressure at times. Now as she eyed him, Sarah felt a pang of uncertainty. Benny’s friends would be at the dance and her friends were back in the city.
“I’ll try to be there,” Sarah offered in a low voice. The boy released a pent-up breath and kicked a rock in embarrassed delight. The flock bleated in alarm and moved as if to break ranks. Sarah could see the smoke from the Yazzie hogan rising against the darkening sky. She turned to Benny.
“I can take them on in from here,” she said softly. A silent moment, and then he said hurriedly, “I’d come for you tomorrow night, Sarah, but I’ll have to help with things. You will come, won’t you?”
The sheep were moving on toward the corral, and Sarah went after them. She called back over her shoulder, “I’ll try.”
The hogan was warm. On the black, pot-bellied stove a pan of beans bubbled. A kerosene lamp threw shadows on the walls as Sarah sank down on a rickety chair and surveyed her family. Her brothers were engrossed in a game of marbles on the hard-packed dirt floor. Her mother sat vigorously carding the dirt and burrs from a pile of sheep’s wool at her feet. The dislodged dirt fell on the apron of her skirt. After a moment, she arose and began serving the evening meal of fry bread and beans. Sarah spoke softly to her mother as she, too, moved about the room, helping to dish the steaming beans into bowls. She spoke shyly of her visitor at the grazing grounds, and the mother listened with quiet interest. As Sarah talked of the invitation to the dance, a frown of concern crossed the older woman’s face. Sarah changed the subject quickly, wishing that she had not told Benny she would try to be there.
After the dishes were washed and stacked away in the small wooden cupboard, Sarah moved to a corner of the room, Placing the brown case on her lap she drew back the lid. There was a deep crimson scarf. Inside the scarf she found a note scribbled in childish letters. Her eyes watered as she read the short love note from her foster sister. In the bottom of the case lay another card. On the front of the card was the picture of a single white rosebud against a background of royal blue. Sarah turned it over, and written on the back in the neat printing of her foster mother were the words “To Thine Own Self Be True.” That was all; but to Sarah it spoke volumes. She could remember the night she had received this card. How proud she had been of her mother that evening. They had been invited to a mother-daughter dinner, and Sister Allen had been the featured speaker. Her stories of chastity, honesty, and loyalty had touched hearts, and at the end of the program, each girl received a single rosebud and the accompanying card.
Sarah pressed the card to her lips and felt a warmth within her. To Thine Own Self Be True. It had not been an easy doctrine to follow, but she had had friends with the same goals, and they had helped each other. The girl sat lost in her thoughts until the friendly squabbling of her brothers disturbed her.
Too soon the evening of the dance came, and Sarah could not still her doubts. Yet she found herself dressed and standing at the door of the hogan. Already the fires could be seen flickering in the distance, and the rhythmic beat of the drums and the sing-song of the chants floated across the summer air. She clutched her jacket and stepped out into the cool desert evening. She half-turned toward the lantern-lit hogan and, seeing her mother at the loom, forced a cheery wave, hurrying off toward the Johnson camp.
As Sarah neared the huge fire, she paused in sudden shyness. She searched the faces and found many familiar ones. A strong hand came from out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist. She jumped nervously and swung around to find Benny grinning down at her. Her heart beat rapidly, half in alarm and half in wonder at the expression in his eyes. Ben drew her closer to the circle of his friends who greeted her. The dancing started, and Sarah found herself caught up in the beauty of the Navajo chants. Young and old alike joined in the round dances, and the rhythm of shuffling feet began to weave a spell around her.
Sarah and Ben danced silently together for a moment, then Ben said in a serious tone, “You’re the prettiest girl here tonight, Sarah—and the nicest.”
“You’re pretty nice yourself, Ben.” Sarah returned with a smile. “If only … ,” she stopped in confusion. The boy stopped dancing abruptly, causing Sarah to stumble against him.
“If only, what?” he demanded.
Sarah glanced over at the small group of his friends huddled together in the darkness outside the circle of the fire. She was saved from answering the question when one of the boys in the group called to Benny, “Hey, lover boy, come on over and bring your girl.”
Ben hesitated for a moment, then took Sarah by the hand and pulled her over to the group. The circle moved apart, and Ben dropped to the ground, pulling Sarah down with him. She glanced around apprehensively. Several of her old girlfriends were there, and they had always been nice girls from good families. She relaxed a bit and took their teasing in good humor. They began their own chants, and the feeling of companionship grew. But Sarah realized that she had grown out of touch with many of her Indian friends, and she was surprised to see that they were maturing too. The girls were clean and dressed in style; the boys had lost their adolescent shyness. Leaning against Ben and listening to the group, Sarah wondered why she had felt such a reluctance to come. Maybe she had been too quick in labeling Benny’s new friends as roughs. She felt a quick flash of pride that they had accepted her so fast. She knew now that it was important to her that she remain their friend.
“Having a good time?” Benny asked softly, breaking into her thoughts.
“Oh, yes.” Sarah sighed. “It’s been such fun.” She leaned her head shyly on his shoulder and breathed deeply of the freshness of the night air.
Slowly Sarah became aware that Ben was nudging her with an elbow. “Here.” he whispered softly, thrusting a small, long object into her hand. The girl glanced down in surprise and saw that he held a cigarette in his hand. She looked up questioningly at Benny, but his attention was on the others in the group. Sarah became aware that each one in turn was lighting a cigarette, passing the match around until it sputtered out in someone’s fingers. She could smell the smoke from the lit cigarettes, and it carried a peculiarly sweet odor with it. Her new friends smiled encouragingly across the circle. Suddenly she realized that every eye was on her.
The match became a torch, telling her to catch hold of its fire. The odor was stronger now, overwhelming her with its sweetness. She reached for the match, wanting to be a part of this group, wanting desperately not to lose Ben’s friendship. It would be so easy, she reasoned. No one need ever know about this one time.
Sarah became dimly aware that a voice, quietly but clearly, was sounding in her head. The words took focus, and Sarah gasped as the match burnt her fingers. The voice whispered, “To Thine Own Self Be True.” She looked around in confusion and saw that her new friends were all watching her.
“No! I can’t!” she blurted, jumping to her feet. Sarah stood a moment, then turned and left the circle, stumbling in her haste. She realized she had probably forfeited her friendship with them all. She was sick that Benny had been a part of it.
Her hot cheeks began to cool as she said a silent prayer of thanks for her escape. She straightened her shoulders as a sense of returning strength came to her.
“If only Ben had not …” she began to herself but could not finish as she felt a sharp pain in the region of her heart.
“Sarah! Sarah!” The words came sharply over her shoulder, making her jump in alarm. She whirled to stare unbelievingly at Benny who stood grinning at her, panting a little from his run.
“I won’t go back, Ben,” she announced firmly.
“Who wants you to?” Ben returned tartly. “I’m coming with you,” he added in a gentler voice.
“But your friends?”
“You’re my friend, Sarah.” Then he added in a serious voice, “I’d very much like to be your friend, Sarah.” He waited quietly, ready to accept her answer, knowing it might be a refusal.
Sarah’s eyes began to shine, and she gave Ben a playful push. “I’ll be dull company,” she said teasingly.
Ben grinned as he recognized and accepted her answer. He reached over and gave her long hair a gentle tug. “I’ll get used to it.”
“C’mon,” Sarah laughed. “I’ll race you home.”

My sophomore year of high school was really hard for me. I was struggling—I needed to know that someone loved me. We were studying the Book of Mormon in seminary that year. One day, I had to give a devotional thought, and I decided to give one on love. To make a point, I replaced some words in verses 10 and 12 in 1 Nephi 8, which talk about the tree of life and its fruit, but I paid no particular attention to the words I wrote.
The day of my devotional came, and I didn’t want to go to seminary. I had had a really bad morning, and all I wanted to do was feel sorry for myself and stay home. I went anyway and prepared for my devotional. When the time came, I read what I had written:
“And it came to pass that I beheld [God’s love, and it] was desirable to make one happy.
“And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy; wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit.”
As I read those words, the Spirit testified to me that they were true, and I was overcome with tears. The spirit of love and peace was so great! He really is aware of our problems, and He will help us through them. I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, and Their love is greater than any other! Anytime I feel like I need a boost and need to feel Their love, I just read this scripture, and it helps me to remember that I am loved.

We had many Muslim friends in Turkey-most of whom did not speak English. One was the brother of the real estate agent who helped us find apartments for a set of our Elders and Couples. Zekeriya, the brother of our real estate agent, ran a small, humble hardware store. We would have long conversations with him about Gospel values. We would speak in our broken Turkish and he would help us with our language. One day he asked my wife to sing to him-she got me to join her. We sang to him, “I Am a Child of God” in English. He liked the tune, although he did not understand the words; however, we could see he was touched by the Spirit of this beloved song. The next time we visited him we took the Turkish lyrics. After reading over the lyrics, he looked up and with a smile on his face said, “Problem!” The word “problem,” by the way, is the same in Turkish and English.

Sarah Thomas, a recent convert, enjoyed visiting the Hill Cumorah before she was a member of the Church. She often went to the hill to watch the sunset, and she felt the influence of the Holy Ghost there, without knowing what she was feeling. “I loved being there, even though I didn’t know why,” she says.

Now as a member of the Church she knows why: “The Spirit there is so great. It’s where Moroni buried the Book of Mormon. I had no idea how incredible and important these Church-history places are. I feel very blessed to live in an area where I can visit them.”

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.

The Book of Mormon promises that those who read its pages will find peace and healing. I’d like to end by sharing the story of someone who found exactly that. This message came to me as the result of my first missionary experience, just 4 weeks ago in the MTC, when I posted a missionary message on Facebook as directed by my trainer. Within hours I received a surprising reply from a student in a high school French class more than 35 years ago.

He said, “I was just thinking of you, and here you popped up on Facebook. I want you to know I’ve been sober for 30 years and have been married in the temple.” Of course, I messaged him back, and (with his permission) here is his story.

After years of alcohol and drug abuse, he hit bottom. His parents put him in rehab, and he was able to stay sober, but mentally and emotionally he struggled even more.

He was deeply paranoid and diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was sure he had acquired AIDS from a tattoo needle and that the police were coming for him for some unknown crime, so he insisted on sleeping in his neighbor’s yard.

In desperation to grab hold of any truth, he read many religious books, including the Koran. He then decided to become a Buddhist. He found that nothing brought him peace. Then one day, his girlfriend said, “Why don’t you try the Book of Mormon?” I will share his words for what happened next:

“I was resistant. But then what did I have to lose. So, I got a book and started reading. I just got small tastes of something real, something I couldn’t explain. Something I hadn’t felt before. Don’t get me wrong. My life was still in shambles, but something kept urging me, and I had to follow. It wasn’t a particular verse or story. But I started to come alive. I am convinced that my dedication showed God I was serious by literally never letting the book leave my side.

My life got better, although I was not officially “happy,” so to speak, until even years later. The Book of Mormon gave me my life back. I have not worried about AIDS or the police in many years.

Something about the book made me feel safe.

Today, I still try to read what I have found every day – it opens a literal portal to the spirit world and makes the impossible happen. I still have a lot of struggles and am still learning how to live by faith. If I was with your students in Hawaii, I could tell them that this book is about safety.

Safety in the spiritual sense as well as the physical. Tell your students modern life is about spiritual war, and this book is literal shield. Life can be terrifying, but we have help. "Thanks for listening. I’m honored you would want to share my story.”

When I received mine as a teenager, I remember getting the distinct impression as it was given that I would not serve a full-time mission as a young woman. Nothing in the blessing specifically said that, but the impression was clear. I was a little disappointed but happily thought it must mean I would be married by the time I reached mission age, ready to start the large family I'd dreamed of. A few years later, when I turned 21 and was not married, I decided it was time to find out if I should submit mission papers. I had one semester of school and an internship yet to go. As I prayed about my decision, I was reminded that I had been given an answer six years ago when I received my patriarchal blessing. I felt slightly chastened for asking the Lord for an answer I'd already received. Turn with me to D&C 3:4. We read, "For although a man may have many revelations, and have power to do many mighty works, yet if he boasts in his own strength, and sets at naught the counsels of God, and follows after the dictates of his own will and carnal desires, he must fall and incur the vengeance of a just God upon him." If we want God to guide our path, we have to recognize and act on the direction He gives, even if it's not to our liking.

Once I accepted the answer I had received, I was quickly rewarded with an internship opportunity in Alabama where I could live with my grandparents. I spent a semester getting to know grandparents, who I had only seen about once a year while growing up. The week before I left, I helped Grandma take Grandpa to the doctor to check out some pains he was experiencing. About two months later, Grandpa passed away from liver failure. I had not been given the opportunity to wear a missionary badge, but I spent three valuable months with my non-member grandfather that no full-time missionary could have had. The Lord knew when I was 15 what my mission call would be.

Because of his high, clear voice, Andrew couldn’t even get a part in his own school musical. “They were doing Guys and Dolls, and the drama teacher said the only part they had for my voice would have been the female lead, which I obviously couldn’t play. Some of the kids at school went around saying, ‘I got a singing part without even taking a lesson, and Andrew, who has had all this training, doesn’t even get to be on stage.’ It worked out okay though. I got to be stage manager, and it was fun to watch everyone else perform without any pressure on me.”

May I share with you an example of Brother Clayton M. Christensen, a member of the Church who is a professor at Harvard University.

When he was 16 years old, Brother Christensen decided that he would not play sports on Sunday. Years later, when he attended Oxford University in England, he played center on the basketball team. That year they had an undefeated season and went to the championship tournament.

They won their games fairly easily in the tournament, making it to the finals. Then Brother Christensen looked at the schedule and saw that the final game was on a Sunday. He went to his coach with his dilemma. His coach told Brother Christensen he expected him to play in the game.

Brother Christensen went to his hotel room. He knelt down. He asked his Heavenly Father if it would be all right, just this once, if he played that game on Sunday. He said that before he had finished praying, he received the answer: “Clayton, what are you even asking me for? You know the answer.”

He went to his coach, telling him how sorry he was that he wouldn’t be playing in the final game. Then he went to his Sunday meetings.

Brother Christensen learned that it is easier to keep the commandments 100 percent of the time than it is 98 percent of the time.

by Margit Däweritz
Anyone familiar with Frankfurt, Germany, (or with most European communities, for that matter) knows how difficult it is to obtain garden space in a bustling city. Whenever ground is allocated for gardening, there are waiting lists; sometimes people wait years before a place is available for them. But as young people in the Frankfurt and Frankfurt-Hoechst Wards, Frankfurt Germany Stake, we had listened to President Kimball’s conference address, and we wanted to follow his challenge to grow at least some of our own food.
When a new telecommunications tower was built in the city, some garden areas became available, and we were able to lease a surprisingly large plot. Each person was allotted a small area to plant as he wished. The result was a hodgepodge of intermingled plantings, with seeds in lengthwise rows in one area and crosswise or diagonal rows in another. Lettuce popped up here and there, and tomato plants were scattered through the entire area. One girl even planted flowers in a circle with radishes and spinach in the center.
One of the nicest benefits of the garden, however, was the missionary work it allowed us to do. Most of us didn’t know a lot about gardening, so we asked those working nearby for advice. It didn’t take long until they found out that we’re Mormons, and we have become great friends with them through working “next door” to each other. They have shared plants with us and seem to enjoy having us around. And there is plenty of time for gospel conversations while tilling soil and hoeing weeds. We may not know much about horticulture, but we’re learning. And we’re certainly learning some lessons about sowing seeds—seeds of friendship and understanding as well as seeds for plants. We hope to continue our garden project for many years.

In addition to Diahann, Brother Cox has introduced the Church to several other young people. “I thought Brother Cox was crazy,” Theresa Matthis said. “He invited me to church. Finally I agreed to come. I always came home happy, but I didn’t let Brother Cox know.”
Theresa’s sister Nicole began attending church with her, and both were baptized. Theresa looks a little differently at the problem of keeping friends after making such a life-changing decision as baptism. She said, “I didn’t lose friends; I gained friends.” Then looking at the group gathered together in a circle, she said, “I gained all of you.”

The scriptures have blessed others. Many of you have read the book The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom. The scriptures were an answer for her in a time much more bleak than most of us will ever have to face.
Corrie and her sister, Betsy, lived Christian lives in prewar Holland. They responded to the brutality against Jewish people by hiding them in the family home. When the hiding place was discovered, the sisters were shipped to a death camp where they suffered all the deprivation heaped upon the Jewish prisoners.
In an unusual way Corrie was able to keep a Bible. She led scripture readings with the other prisoners. Their outer world of suffering grew “harder and harder.” But she described their inner life as just the opposite. In her words:
“Our Bible was the center of an ever-widening circle of help and hope. Like waifs clustered around a blazing fire, we gathered about it, holding out our hearts to its warmth and light. The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the word of God. …
“Life … took place on two separate levels. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory” (Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, New York City: Bantam Books, 1974, pp. 194–95).

“Am I too young to have a testimony?” Jamie asked her mother.
“Why do you think you are too young?”
“Because today in Primary, Sister Johnson told us to tell our testimonies to someone who will write them down for us. We’re going to put all our testimonies into a Book of Mormon and send it to a missionary. Then the missionary can give it to someone. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t think of what to say. Maybe I’m just not old enough to have a testimony yet.”
“Five years old is old enough for a testimony to start growing inside you,” said Mother. “You just haven’t found the way to tell it yet. Think of what you know about the Church and how you feel about it. Try to say what your heart tells you is true,” she said, giving Jamie a little hug. “Let’s ask Dad to talk about testimonies in family home evening tomorrow night.”
Jamie thought about what she could say for the rest of the day. She was supposed to have her testimony ready to give to Sister Johnson the next Sunday. But how can I have it ready if I don’t know what to say? she wondered.
It was Jamie and her sister Susan’s turn to fix the refreshments for family home evening, so on Monday afternoon they made cookies. That evening Father did give a lesson about testimonies. “A testimony is kind of like the bright, sparkling light that shines through the crystals on our chandelier,” he said pointing to the ceiling fixture above them. “It shines and sparkles inside of you. To have a testimony each of us needs to do certain things. We need to pray to Heavenly Father, and we need to study the scriptures. Obeying Heavenly Father’s commandments, attending our meetings, and partaking of the sacrament will also help our testimonies to grow. It’s important to share our testimony with others too.”
After her father shared his testimony with the family, Jamie knew that what her father had said was true. And she knew that she had been doing the right things to gain a testimony.
I want to share my testimony, Jamie thought, but how can I find the words? That night when she said her prayers, she asked, “Heavenly Father, please help me find the right words to say for my testimony.”
The rest of the week, while Jamie was busy playing and helping Mother, she kept thinking about her testimony. But when Sunday morning came, she still didn’t have anything ready to be written down. She gave a big sigh as she got ready for church. “What will I tell Sister Johnson?” she asked Mother.
“Maybe you’ll have to tell her that you’re still trying,” answered Mother. Then she asked, “Would you like to use the testimony that your sister wrote in her Book of Mormon?”
“No,” replied Jamie. “I want it to be my very own.”
Since she was the first one ready for church, Jamie decided to listen to her tape of Primary songs while she waited for the rest of the family. Jamie loved to sing along with the tape. The first song started, and she joined in: “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here …” It was her favorite song, and as she sang it, her heart told her that the words were true. Suddenly she jumped up. “Mother, Mother,” she called, grabbing some paper and a pen and running to her mother. “I know what to say now! Will you write it for me?”
“Of course,” said Mother.
Jamie spoke very clearly. “I am a child of God. So are you. He will help you know what’s true.” She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Does that sound like a testimony?”
Mother put her arms around Jamie and held her close. “That is a very beautiful testimony,” she told her. “There are so many people in this world who don’t know that they are children of God. They need someone like you to tell them and to help them find the truth.”
At church Jamie hurried to her Primary classroom and was the first one to hand her testimony to Sister Johnson. “Thank you very much,” Sister Johnson said. Then she added, “You look so pretty and full of sunshine today!”
“It’s because of my testimony,” Jamie said excitedly, “shining like a bright crystal!”

Harrison was excited. Today he and his mom were taking his little sister, Samantha, to the hospital to get her blood checked. They went every week, and Harrison’s favorite part of the trip was riding the elevator in the big, busy hospital. He was finally tall enough to push the button to take them to the right floor. Harrison heard the elevator whoosh as it started moving up.
When they stepped off the elevator, Mom asked Harrison, “Do you remember what your special job is?”
“I hold Samantha’s hand and let her squeeze it real tight while the doctor does the tests,” Harrison said.
Samantha was only two years old, but she could squeeze Harrison’s hand super hard and cry very loudly when she was scared. Harrison liked helping her, and he was glad Mom trusted him with such an important job.
While they waited to see the doctor, Harrison asked, “Mom, is Samantha going to cry when she has her blood test?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I said a prayer in the elevator on our way up asking Heavenly Father to comfort Samantha during her tests today.”
“Really? A prayer on the elevator?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “That’s a great thing about prayer. If we need extra help or if we’re sad or scared, we don’t have to wait for family prayer or bedtime prayer. We can say a silent one to Heavenly Father anytime or anywhere.”
Harrison smiled and thought about this until the nurse called them back. The appointment went just like all the other appointments, except this time Samantha didn’t cry at all. Harrison knew his mom’s prayer had been answered.
After they said good-bye to the doctor, they got on the elevator. Harrison couldn’t remember which button to push. He started to ask Mom for help just as she said, “Oh! I forgot the diaper bag. Let’s hurry and grab it.”
Harrison watched Mom step off the elevator, carrying Samantha. He was about to follow her when the doors suddenly closed, leaving him alone in the elevator.
Harrison was scared. He looked at all of the buttons and didn’t know what to do. Then he remembered what Mom had said about prayer. He could pray right now—even in an elevator. He closed his eyes and folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, I am lost and scared and don’t know what to do. Can you please help me find my mom and sister again? In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Harrison opened his eyes and didn’t feel scared anymore. He knew his prayer would be answered. He looked at the buttons on the elevator and saw one with a big star on it. That was the one he needed! He pushed it and felt the elevator start to move.
The doors opened and Harrison recognized the lobby of the hospital. He looked around for Mom. Suddenly a door from the stairwell opened and Mom came running out with Samantha. “Harrison, I was so worried! Are you OK?”
Harrison smiled and gave Mom and Samantha a big hug. “I said a prayer and knew what to do. Heavenly Father really does answer prayers—even on elevators!”

I have two reasons as to why I visited the temple for the second time.
In the year 2015, the institute teacher Brother Suresh Natrajan asked the class, “How many went to temple?” As I had visited the temple in 2014, I raised my hand proudly. Then immediately he asked another question, “Do you remember how many covenants you have made in the temple?”
The first time I visited the temple in 2014, I had focused only on some things. After all these years, I recognized that I have forgotten the covenants that I made in the temple. At that very moment, I took a decision to go to temple for the second time, and this time to pay attention to and remember the covenants and other things that are essential for my salvation.
Time passed. I was facing terrible trials in my life. I was in institute class. This time the lesson was on prophet Jonah. Jonah didn’t do what the Lord has commanded him to do. One of the verses that caught my attention was Jonah 2:4: “Then I said, I am cast out of thy sight; yet I will look again toward thy holy temple.”
This scripture touched my heart, and I prayed to Heavenly Father to give us another chance to visit the temple.
Now, in 2018, after four years, Heavenly Father blessed us to enter His house, this time it was Taipei Taiwan Temple.
I was doing the temple work for my uncle who had died of cancer. When I was doing the baptism for him, I was listening to the blessings which he would receive through this temple ordinance. I was so happy and I recognized what the temple president told me in 2014.
I asked the temple president “President, may I know what I am doing and what all is happening here more clearly?” As this was the first time I had come to the temple, I was a little bit confused.
Then the temple president said, “Brother, you may not know what you are doing right now, but a day will come when you will feel you have done great things here.”
I got my answer. It has taken me four years to understand by visiting the temple for the second time.
I know and I felt that temple work is real and we can’t replace it with any sacrifice to attend the temple and do Heavenly Father’s work for souls who are on the other side of the veil.
I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true Church on the face of the earth, and I know that Jesus Christ has died for my sins and that only through Him I can go back to my Heavenly Father who is waiting for us. I bear my testimony in the name of whom I serve, love, and worship, even the lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Young Women in the Shelley First Ward, Shelley Idaho Stake, wanted to learn a useful skill. They also wanted to let their bishop know how much they loved him. So they decided to learn how to crochet to make him an afghan. After weeks of hard work, fun, and some frustration, the girls presented their beautiful gift.
“The blanket will remind the bishop of how much we love him every time he uses it,” said one girl.

Interviewing the grandparents about their lives, writing the scripts, finding costumes, and then having rehearsals to make sure everything was just right took a lot of time. But the youth said the time spent was worth it when they saw everything and everyone come together on the night of the activity.
“Sometimes I didn’t really feel like it was worth all the time it took to put this activity together. But then when I saw the final night and the looks on the faces of the elderly as they watched incidents from their lives acted out before them and as they realized that the youth in the ward care about who they are, it all seemed worth it,” Cassie says. “It also made me want to live my life in a way so that if someone were to write a play about me when I am old I wouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”

Sister Sheldon is the greatest Primary president ever! She is energetic and funny. When she stands up to do sharing time, we all chant, “It’s Sheldon sharing time” with jazz hands and smiles. She loves it!
Early in 2015 Sister Sheldon discovered that she had cancer again, for the fifth time! She explained to all of us what cancer is and what it does. She told us that she might miss church sometimes and she would probably lose her hair. She asked us to fast and pray to help make the cancer go away.
During this time, our Primary did the helping hands challenge, where we cut out paper hands and wrote on them an act of service we did. Sister Ashby, in the Primary presidency, had the idea to make a helping hands quilt for Sister Sheldon. We all wanted her to know that we love her, so the whole Primary traced hands and hearts, and the activity day girls used them to make a quilt. We sewed, ironed, and poured all of our love into it. Some of us even tied strings on our fingers to remember Sister Sheldon.
We gave the quilt to Sister Sheldon. She took it to her chemotherapy sessions and felt our love.
The best part was when Sister Sheldon bore her testimony to the entire Primary. She told us how special we were to her and that she loved us. She knew we were a big part of why she made it through chemo again. Even though I was scared that she might not make it, I just knew she would. Today Sister Sheldon is cancer free!

“Carson is here today,” James’s mom said, pointing to a boy in the hallway by the Primary room.
James groaned. Carson was wearing jeans and an old shirt. James knew his mom and dad would never let him wear anything like that to church, but they would never let him get away with a lot of the other things Carson did either.
Last week at school, Carson had been kicked out of class for talking back to the teacher. He always made fun of the way James dressed and gave him a hard time for being the shortest boy at school.
“What if he yells at Sister Win or starts a fight?” James asked.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Mom said. “Carson has never been to church, and he’s probably nervous.”
When class started, Sister Win asked who had brought their scriptures. James raised his hand along with the rest of the class, but Carson shook his head. He looked embarrassed, which surprised James. Carson usually made a joke when he didn’t do his homework. But the more James thought about it, the more he wondered what it would be like to go to a new church for the first time.
Sister Win handed Carson her scriptures to use. When it was Carson’s turn to read a scripture, James began to worry. What if Carson tossed the scriptures on the floor or refused to read?
But Carson didn’t do any of those things. He stared at the words on the page and scowled. After a moment, James realized that Carson couldn’t read very well. James had never noticed this before at school.
What do you think James will do? Will James laugh at Carson? Will he ignore him? What would you do if you were James? Turn the page to find out what happened.
James leaned over to Carson and whispered, “Verily.”
Carson looked surprised, but he said the word and continued reading the verse. When he struggled with a word, James helped him with it. At the end of his turn, Carson looked over at James and gave a small nod.
James wasn’t sure if things were going to be different at school after this. The funny thing was that he didn’t care. He felt good knowing he had helped a boy who always gave him a hard time, and nobody could take that feeling away.

Example two: My wife, Erika, and I dated for nearly a year before we were married. I don’t ever recall receiving a one-time spiritual confirmation that she was “the one.” However, the more we interacted, the more we talked, and the more we learned about each other in different situations, I received many small, simple, and quiet promptings that she was a special, talented, spiritual woman. Together, all of those simple answers over a period of time helped me to receive an appropriate spiritual confirmation that I should ask her to marry me. That confirmation did not come all at once during a single heartfelt prayer of desperation. Rather, it came more in a line-upon-line and precept-upon-precept manner (see Bednar, “Line upon Line”).

Here is another key element regarding finding a spouse. Elder Dallin H. Oaks stated:
If a revelation is outside the limits of stewardship, you know it is not from the Lord, and you are not bound by it. I have heard of cases where a young man told a young woman she should marry him because he had received a revelation that she was to be his eternal companion. If this is a true revelation, it will be confirmed directly to the woman if she seeks to know. In the meantime, she is under no obligation to heed it. . . . The man can receive revelation to guide his own actions, but he cannot properly receive revelation to direct hers. She is outside his stewardship. [“Revelation,” BYU devotional address, 29 September 1981]
Just because I received a witness to marry my wife, that was not enough. She also had to receive her witness—independently. I think it took her a little longer to know whether or not she wanted to spend the rest of eternity with this guy who was pretty average.