Gospel Story Finder

Twenty years ago I was called to be Young Women president in my ward. My hair was brown, and my body was … well, let’s just say, a little more limber. Many years later I was called again to the same position, this time in a new ward. I was being recycled, and I found that exciting. It was my chance to renew my covenant to God that I would serve in whatever capacity He needed me. Now, however, my hair was naturally silver (or mostly so), and touching my toes had become a real strain. But I didn’t feel too old to be blessed again by the lives of remarkable young women who were faithful, bright, and full of fun. I would like to think that by then I had a little more wisdom to give them and a deeper testimony of the gospel, but once again I learned as much from them as they did from me. Our sisterhood includes all ages and backgrounds; we are connected by the covenants we have made.

The fourth is to respect yourself as a son of God. Those of us who have served missions have seen the miracle in the lives of some we have taught as they have come to realize that they are sons and daughters of God. Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, “I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized.”

Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, “Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?”

“Yes.”

Then the man went on, “And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?”

He said, “Yes.”

The visitor put out his hand and said, “I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission.”

That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family. Serving as a mission president for 25 years and in his apostolic ministry for 13 years, he blessed the lives of literally thousands. I feel privileged to have known this great Apostle of the Lord when I was a young man.

One day I took home a spelling test with zero wrong. When my mom looked at it, she noticed that one of the words was spelled wrong. I was very sad that I had gotten one word wrong and did not want to tell my teacher. But the next morning I told my teacher about the mistake. She said she did not have her glasses on when she corrected the papers. She told the class that I told the truth. Then she asked me to choose something from the prize jar. I am glad that I told the truth.

A number of firsts occurred in 2008 for young women in the New Delhi India District. At the first ever Young Women camp in the district, young women built wood fires, cooked over open flames, slept in tents, and learned survival and camping skills while filling the air with friendly laughter.
“My favorite part of camp was talking to and getting to know the girls,” said Hanna Smith of the New Delhi First Branch. “I got to make friends with girls I had never met before.”
For many of the young women it was their first experience camping, and they learned the basics of outdoor survival and living. The girls also learned how to interpret maps and how to read and conduct music. Youth camp leaders taught a variety of other skills, including dancing, sewing, water safety, and glass painting. Cumorah Taylor, one of the young women in the district, said she felt more confident in her abilities after the camp ended.

Case 4. Three plump young ladies had barely begun their attack on a table laden with yummy junk food when suddenly the feast vanished right before their eyes. Nearby three guardian angels looked suspiciously smug.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

I hated collecting fast offerings. The very idea of doing it made me shiver. Collecting fast offerings was a chore and one I thought was a waste of time, though I never really understood why I had to do it. I didn’t even know what fast offerings were used for.
As a deacon in my ward, I had the “route” which took me by my house and up an adjoining street, full of various houses. There was one home I always noticed. In this house resided a man I knew only as Brother Nichols. As a Blazer in Primary, I was once assigned to visit his house along with the rest of my group to bring him cookies and talk. But other than that, I never saw him.
Brother Nichols was an older fellow, a widower whose wife had died a couple of years earlier, who now lived in secrecy. His yard had decayed, and his home seemed to have died as well. The inside was filled with old black-and-white photographs of him and his wife. Brother Nichols had been a skier in Utah for many years, and he had plenty of what I considered boring stories to tell.
I never saw him at church, and every time I came to his house during my fast offering route, I would either pass his house completely or ring the bell once and hope he didn’t answer.
One Sunday, I felt particularly good. I decided that I would visit every house I was assigned to visit so that everyone would have a chance to donate fast offerings—even Brother Nichols.
When I got to Brother Nichols’s home, I rang the doorbell. No response. I tried at least three or four times, but nobody answered. As I started to walk away, I heard the door open. There was Brother Nichols.
I greeted him with a warm smile and began an attempt to converse with him.
“Hello, Brother Nichols. I’m here to collect fast offerings.”
“Why, hello young man,” he responded. “Nice of you to stop by.”
I wondered if he knew I had skipped his house on occasion and not cared to see if he was home. I decided that I would repent and become friends with him.
Brother Nichols placed a meager amount of money in the envelope, and I thanked him, giving him a smile and telling him to have a nice day.
This continued for two more months. During each visit with him, the conversations were longer, and I soon felt I could ask him to come to church with no trouble.
“Brother Nichols, you know, I haven’t ever seen you at church.”
“Ah, well, I haven’t ever had the interest …”
“Brother Nichols,” I interrupted, “please come once or you’ll regret it.”
He agreed, and sure enough, the following week, Brother Nichols came to church. He was smiling and he looked great. I thanked him for coming, and he thanked me for the invitation. I could tell by the look in his eyes that the Spirit was with him and his warm hand-shake filled me with the Holy Ghost as well. Throughout the entire meeting he smiled, and the messages from the speakers were fantastic. I was proud that I had brought this man to church, and I knew God was proud of me.
I never knew why I felt so good until a few days later when I found out that Brother Nichols had died. He was now with his wife and with the truth of the gospel which he had experienced.
I felt the Spirit strongly for the next few weeks, and I knew what it meant to be a deacon, to hold the Aaronic Priesthood and act in the name of the Lord. I also learned to not treat the responsibility of collecting fast offerings as a burden. Most importantly, I learned a bit more about the power of the truth of the gospel.

Carrie settled down on the floor in front of a display case full of Christmas jewelry. She waved to her big brother, and he grinned. He was standing on the risers with other members of the children’s choir waiting to begin their Christmas concert at the mall. She thought he looked very handsome in his choir uniform. The boys in the choir were all dressed alike in white shirts with red-striped ties. The girls all wore blue dresses with lacy white collars and a red rose. They looked very dressed-up.
Carrie thought back to earlier in the day, when the choir had given a concert in a local church. The church had very tall stained-glass windows that reflected a softly-colored rainbow of light across the children’s faces as they sang. Their beautiful voices rose to the high rafters of the church. Mom had said that they sounded just like angels. Like the angels that announced the birth of Jesus Christ to the shepherds long ago, Carrie hoped.
Now the choir was giving the same concert at the shopping mall, but things felt different here. Carrie looked around. She was impatient for the concert to begin, but not if it was going to be this noisy. A nearby cash register was making loud beeps as a store clerk rang up sales. There was a person in a teddy-bear costume entertaining some giggling children. People were talking loudly around a large Christmas tree decorated with gifts that could be bought at the different stores in the mall.
Finally the concert began. A boy in the choir stepped forward and began to sing a solo with a violin accompaniment. When Carrie had heard this song in the church, it made her feel joyful. At the church, everyone had listened quietly. She had even noticed tears in the eyes of some of those in the audience. As she looked around the shopping mall now, few people were listening. Most were busy shopping or chatting or eating. She didn’t see reverent tears in anyone’s eyes.
When the concert was over, she was sad that hardly anyone had really listened to the beautiful music. Taking her mother’s hand, she walked out of the mall to meet her brother.
“Did the shepherds listen to the angels, Mom?” she asked. “Or were they too busy tending the sheep?”
Mom smiled. “They listened, Carrie. That’s how they knew where to find Baby Jesus.”
“Did the angels sing for anyone besides the shepherds?”
“I don’t know. The scriptures don’t tell us about anyone else.”
“What about all the people staying near the stable? You told me that there were so many people in Bethlehem that there wasn’t any room in the inns for Mary and Joseph.”
“The city was very crowded that night. But I suppose those people were too tired to listen to angels after their long journey to Bethlehem. Or maybe they were busy finding a place to sleep, preparing food, or thinking about the taxes they’d have to pay.”
Carrie thought about that for a few minutes, then sighed. “Mom, I hope that no matter what I’m doing, I’ll always be able to hear the angels sing.”
“Me, too.” Mom gave Carrie a hug. “Me, too.”

At first I was frustrated with my siblings when they wouldn’t respond to my invitations. I became angry with them, and they started avoiding all talk on the subject of church. My dad helped me realize that isn’t what the Church is about. He reminded me, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” I learned over time that I needed to love them as they are. I found little ways to serve them and show them I genuinely love them. Even though this did not win immediate results, they began to be more open to talk about the Church and were more receptive to my invitations when I showed them love.
Name withheld, Taiwan

Twenty-six months ago when I first arrived in Germany, I wrote home to Layton, Utah, and asked my mother to subscribe to some Church publications for me. A couple of months later I was surprised to receive my first New Era. At the time I mistakenly thought I was much too old and mature for such a magazine. But as the months came along so did the New Era, and I found myself being uplifted by such wonderful stories as “Strike the Steel,” “Jensen and Ernstein,” and “If Thou Art Willing.” The poems, stories, and articles are in keeping with the common, simple philosophy of the Church. I shall always read the New Era—especially during my last months of duty here in Europe. I know that it will be a strength to me on my future mission. The magazine has helped me keep the Spirit of the Lord during these years of military service. I sincerely thank the Lord for this blessing.
Sherman FleekMainz, Germany

“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”

My dad and I started early, loading the woodcutting equipment into the truck well before sunrise and pulling out of the driveway just as the stars began to fade. As we snacked on toast and fruit drinks, we sang Scout songs and laughed at silly things I had done as a child. But as the first rays of sunlight splashed across the pristine Arizona sky, our talk turned to my mission—just two weeks away—and to the realization that this would be our last chance to spend time together like this for two years.
The sun left the horizon as we pulled off the main road and ascended into aspens and pines. An hour later we reached our destination: a small clearing at the top of a cliff overlooking a valley camouflaged in the yellows, reds, and greens of fall.
As I climbed out of the truck and peered over the cliff, my thoughts turned to my mission. Would I see such sights there? Would anything be similar so far from home? The knot that had formed in my stomach the day I opened my call tightened.
My dad quietly stepped up behind me and dropped one of his well-worn hands onto my shoulder.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I knew he was talking about cutting wood, but I instantly thought of my mission. Was I ready? Would I be able to learn Spanish? Would I love the people? Was my testimony strong enough?
The questions gathered around my heart like a great weight, threatening to crush my spirit. And then the memory of the greatest lesson my father had ever taught me leapt into my mind.
Over the years, the memory of that hike and what my father had done for me had faded. But as I stared into the valley that last morning before leaving on my mission, it came rushing back.
In that moment, I saw that my father had shown me an incredible example of how the Savior works. He lets us live our lives and make our own decisions. He lets the weight of the world gather on our shoulders as we face choices and circumstances that test our faith and dedication. And then, when we can go no further, He reaches out with His strong arm and lifts our packs so we can continue on.
Staring into the valley now, I no longer feared the long journey ahead or the trials I would face on my mission or at any other time in my life. I knew that the Lord would always be close behind and that, when I had done all I could, He would reach out and lift my pack.

Another time, while serving a mission in Kentucky, Lorenzo was warming himself by a fire one evening at the end of a church meeting. An unfriendly man standing beside him (who was part of a gang waiting to attack him) accidentally bumped against Lorenzo and felt his scriptures in the pocket of his jacket. The scriptures were a gift from Joseph Smith, Sr., father of the Prophet Joseph Smith. However, thinking the object in Lorenzo’s jacket was a gun, the man immediately left without causing a fight. Lorenzo said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for taking care of him while he preached the gospel.

A few years ago, as a birthday gift, I went to the FamilySearch® system and retrieved my wife’s entire recorded family pedigree. That was a serious mistake. The computer revealed that my wife is a descendant of European royalty. It has been hard to live with her ever since. Maybe now, through this knowledge of her family history, I am more inclined to treat her as our family queen. But the biggest problem, of course, is that my children share in this royal ancestry, which, sadly, makes me the only “commoner” in my family.

Last Monday night at family home evening, Dad said he wanted to take the family to visit the new temple on Saturday. It had just been built, and we could all go inside. “Is that all right with everyone?”
“I don’t want to go,” I said.
Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Why not, Derek?”
“I’m afraid of the dead people.”
“The dead people? There aren’t any dead people at the temple. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Yesterday Sister Bergman, my CTR teacher, told us that people do work for the dead at the temple—like baptizing them.”
I watched Dad’s eyes get big and his mouth go funny like it does when he’s trying not to laugh. “Derek, if I promise that there won’t be any dead people, will you go with us?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering how Dad was going to keep his promise.
On Saturday we drove to the temple. I looked at the sharp points on the top of it as we stood in a long line. Near the door a man shook my hand and said, “Welcome.” I was relieved that the first person we met wasn’t dead.
I asked Mom, “Can anyone come in here?”
“Now they can,” she said, “but next week the prophet will come and say a special prayer in the temple to dedicate it. After that, only members of the Church with special permission can come in.”
I went on in and walked on a thick blue carpet. It gave me a warm feeling all over.
Our family stopped to look at some pictures hanging on the walls. Mom told us a story about one of the paintings of Jesus holding little children.
I saw one room with an organ and benches. Another room had lots of mirrors on all the walls. As I stood with mirrors in front of and behind me, I saw hundreds of my reflections getting smaller and smaller, going on forever. In the middle of the room was a table with soft cushions on top of it, and a padded step all around the bottom. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s called an altar,” Mom said.
Dad said that people knelt at the altar when they were married. Then he said something about ceilings for the dead.
I quickly looked up. The top of the room looked ordinary to me. I asked, “Dad, why is it called a ceiling for dead people?”
Dad bent down and quietly explained that a temple sealing was a special kind of ordinance. It was spelled s-e-a-l-i-n-g, and didn’t have anything to do with the top of the room. He said that when a man and a woman are married in the temple, it is called being sealed, and when they are sealed to each other, or when their children are sealed to them, it means that if they live righteously, they can be a family forever.
I felt a lot better, but I still had to ask, “Do they bring the dead people here to seal them?”
“No, Derek,” Dad replied. “People who are alive, like your mother and me, are sealed in behalf of people who are no longer living. They died before they could be married or sealed in a temple, so we do it for them.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Their bodies are in their graves, and their spirits are in the spirit world.”
“How do you know they want you to do this for them?”
“We don’t. We just do the work, and if they want to, they can accept it. But they don’t have to. It’s like sending someone a package. That person gets to choose whether he or she wants to accept it. For that person the important choice is the accepting. Heavenly Father says that for us, though, it’s the sending.”
We left the room with the mirrors and walked down a hall and into other rooms. Dad said that some of these rooms were like special schoolrooms and that people who came to the temple learned important lessons and received blessings there. I learned that living people could receive the lessons and blessings for people who had died.
I saw a large room with private little places for women to dress, and another one just like it for men. Mom explained that people change into white temple clothes in these rooms. She said that everyone would wear white in the temple after it was dedicated.
Finally, we came to a room with a bare floor. It was rock-hard, and as we entered, I heard our shoes make loud sounds on it. In the middle of the room was a giant bowl of water sitting on top of twelve oxen that were standing on a floor below the level of the floor where we were.
Dad took my hand, and we walked over a small bridge and stood by the water. As I leaned over it, I could see my reflection. “This is where they do baptisms for the dead,” he said.
“How do they do that?”
“Living people are baptized in place of the dead,” Dad said. “In fact, young people are often baptized for them.”
“You mean I could be baptized for someone who has died?”
“Yes—when you’re twelve, you can come to the temple and be baptized for the dead if you’re worthy. You might even be baptized for people who have been waiting hundreds of years for it to be done for them.”
As we left the parking lot, I said, “I hope when I’m twelve I can get permission to come here and get baptized for some of Heavenly Father’s children. I’m really anxious to do it.”
“They’re anxious for you to do it, too,” Dad said.

The flight attendant led the way down the aisle of the airplane. “Here is your seat,” he said, smiling at Audrey. He pointed out the small window. “Look, they’re loading the baggage. Can you see your suitcase?”
Audrey pressed her nose against the window and watched workers place luggage into a big compartment in the side of the plane. “I can’t see mine. There are too many.”
“Well, I’m sure yours is there,” the flight attendant said reassuringly. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back to check on you.”
A tall man with silver-gray hair and smiling eyes sat down in the seat next to Audrey’s. “I’m Mr. Hampton. And whom do I have the pleasure of sitting by?”
Audrey shyly ducked her head and mumbled, “Audrey.”
“Did you say Audrey?”
Audrey nodded.
“What a lovely name.”
“I was named for my grandmother,” Audrey volunteered. “I have red hair like hers.” Audrey smiled, forgetting to be self-conscious about the gap in her teeth.
“Ah ha! It looks as if the tooth fairy has been busy,” Mr. Hampton teased. “Let me guess—you’re about six years old.”
“I’m seven. My teeth are just poky.”
“Maybe you were so busy growing your beautiful hair that your teeth just had to wait.”
They both laughed.
“I have a granddaughter about your age,” Mr. Hampton said wistfully.
“What’s her name?”
“Laura. I don’t get to see her very often, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because she lives too far away.”
“That’s what my grandpa and grandma said!” Audrey exclaimed. “So we planned for me to stay with them for two weeks.”
“That explains why you’re traveling alone.”
“Yes. It sounded like fun when we were planning it. I didn’t know it would be scary.”
“Is this the first time you’ve flown?”
“Yes. Can this giant airplane really fly?”
Mr. Hampton chuckled. “It really can. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“It looks like you two are getting along famously,” the flight attendant interjected. “Audrey, let me help you with your seat belt.”
As the giant engines roared to life and the plane taxied down the runway, Audrey nervously twisted her CTR ring around and around her finger, taking it off one finger and putting it on another, then repeating the process.
“That’s an interesting ring,” Mr. Hampton said, picking it up for her when she dropped it. “Where did you get it?”
“It’s a CTR ring. I got it in Primary.”
“What’s Primary, and what does CTR stand for?”
“Primary is a meeting in our church that’s for kids. I’m in the CTR class. CTR means ‘choose the right.’ When you’re a CTR, you get a ring like this to remind you to always choose the right.”
“Choose the right what?”
“Choose the right everything. Like if you’re tempted to tell a lie, you choose the right and tell the truth instead. We learn in Primary about Heavenly Father and Jesus and how They want us to live.”
Mr. Hampton gazed intently at Audrey’s upturned face for a minute. “What else do you learn?”
“Last week our lesson was about showing appreciation. Our teacher told us the story about the ten lepers and how Jesus healed them but only one came back to thank Him. Have you heard that story?”
Mr. Hampton nodded. “What church has this Primary in it?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Hampton thought for a moment. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.”
“Have you ever heard of the Mormons?” Audrey asked.
“As in ‘Mormon Tabernacle Choir’?”
Audrey smiled. “Yes.”
“I’ve heard of them, but I never thought of it as a church organization, I guess. If it’s part of The Church … The Church of …”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Audrey prompted.
“Then where did the name Mormon come from?” Mr. Hampton wanted to know.
“It’s a nickname that came from our belief in the Book of Mormon. That’s a book of scriptures Heavenly Father helped Joseph Smith translate. Like the Bible, it tells about Jesus Christ, but it’s about His teachings to the Nephites and Lamanites, who lived in ancient America.”
“Very interesting. I recall having heard of a Joseph Smith and a Book of Mormon, but I never took it seriously. Did you learn all this in Primary?” Mr. Hampton asked.
“No, not everything,” Audrey explained. “I learn a lot in our family home evenings.”
“And what is family home evening?”
Time passed quickly as Mr. Hampton asked questions and Audrey answered. In what seemed like minutes, preparations were being made to land.
Twisting the CTR ring nervously around her finger, Audrey looked up expectantly at Mr. Hampton. “I’m scared. Will you help me find my grandpa and grandma please?”
“Of course,” Mr. Hampton assured her. “I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to meet them.”
Grandpa and Grandma were standing right next to the exit ramp. With a cry of joy, Audrey ran into their arms. After greetings and hugs were over, Audrey remembered Mr. Hampton. She looked around anxiously before spotting him just a few feet away watching the happy reunion. “Oh, Mr. Hampton, I was afraid you were gone,” Audrey called, running to his side. “Grandpa and Grandma, this is Mr. Hampton. He helped me not be afraid on the plane.”
“Your granddaughter is quite a young lady,” Mr. Hampton said as everyone shook hands. “She’s a wealth of information for one so young. She’s been telling me about your church. I’m very impressed with a church that teaches such important principles to children. I’d like to learn more about it.”
“Give me your address and telephone number,” Grandfather said, “and I’ll make arrangements for the missionaries to visit you.”
“I must be going,” Mr. Hampton said, handing Grandfather his business card. “Audrey, if I send you her address, will you write to my granddaughter Laura? She needs a friend like you.”
Audrey nodded.
“Good-bye. It’s been nice meeting you. And Audrey,” Mr. Hampton added, taking her small hands between his large ones, “I’ll never forget you.”
Grandpa, Grandma, and Audrey watched as Mr. Hampton walked away.
“Mr. Hampton, Mr. Hampton,” Audrey called, running after him. “I forgot to thank you. And I want to give you this,” she said, pressing her CTR ring into his hand.
He leaned down to protest. “I can’t take this—it’s your special ring.”
“It’s OK,” Audrey reassured him. “I can get another one. I thought it might help you to ‘choose the right.’” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
Mr. Hampton smiled. “I will, young lady, I will.”

A few years ago, I began to notice that things around me were beginning to darken. It troubled me because simple things like reading the print in my scriptures were becoming more difficult. I wondered what had happened to the quality of the lightbulbs and wondered why manufacturers today couldn’t make things like they had in years past.

I replaced the bulbs with brighter ones. They, too, became dim. I blamed the poor design of the lamps and bulbs. I even questioned whether the brightness of the sun was fading before the thought occurred to me that the problem might not be with the amount of light in the room—the problem might be with my own eyes.

Shortly thereafter, I went to an ophthalmologist who assured me that the world was not going dark at all. A cataract on my eye was the reason the light seemed to be fading. This certainly gives you my age. I placed my faith in the capable hands of this trained specialist, the cataract was removed, and behold, light again flooded my life! The light had never diminished; only my capacity to see the light had been lessened.

This taught me a profound truth. Often when the world seems dark, when the heavens seem distant, we seek to blame everything around us, when the real cause of the darkness may be a lack of faith within ourselves.

Photo illustration from Getty Images
Dorothy knew the end was coming. Every day she lost something more—not tangible things, but abilities. The ability to shower herself. The ability to fix her own meals. The ability to walk to the bathroom without falling. The ability to unlock the back door and pick up the paper. The ability to write a note to a loved one.
Some things she hadn’t lost yet, though. Her spunk. Her wit. Her gratitude. Because of that, being with Dorothy brought joy. Her home seemed to welcome guests from both sides of the veil.
One night, I was the ward Relief Society guest staying with her—supposedly helping her. A spring storm arose, and the power went off about 11:00 p.m. We discovered the power was out when I tried to turn the lights on so I could help her to the bathroom. I flipped the switch, but nothing happened. Dorothy was prepared, however. She pulled a tiny flashlight from a pocket on her walker, and somehow with that meager light we managed to stumble down the hall. After the slow walk back to her chair, she smiled and said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
The same night, about 12:30 a.m., something woke me. I heard the prompting: “Dorothy needs her portable oxygen.” I noticed that the bubbling of Dorothy’s regular oxygen machine had stopped. The power was still off. I hurried to get her portable oxygen. I put it on her, trying not to wake her. As I placed the tubes around her face, she looked up and again said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Fortunately, when I texted our Relief Society president at 1:00 a.m., she answered. “The power isn’t off at my house,” she said. “I’ll call the power company.” Her call must have done the trick, because at 1:30 a.m., trucks arrived and men began restoring electricity to Dorothy’s home. When she awoke at 2:30 a.m. to make another slow, flashlight-guided walk to the bathroom, she looked through the kitchen windows. She saw all the workers and said, “I hope they know how grateful I am.”
The workers left at 5:30 that morning, just as the battery ran out on her portable oxygen. But the lights were back on. After another slow trip to the bathroom, we saw that her regular oxygen machine was bubbling once again. I helped her safely settle back into her chair. Before she closed her eyes, she told me about three other visitors she had seen during the night—family members who had come to bring her comfort and peace. Then she whispered once again, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
I left Dorothy’s home at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday morning when another sister from our ward arrived to be with her. As I sat in my car, tears started to form. I felt such love for Dorothy, such thankfulness for the tender moments I had spent with her.
I found myself offering a prayer of thanks as her words came tumbling from my heart: “Heavenly Father, do You know how grateful I am?”
Even though Dorothy was advanced in age and in need of assistance, her simple example of gratitude blessed me that night. And it continues to bless me. Though she has passed on, I often find myself thinking, “Do people know how grateful I am?” And whenever I do, I try to express that gratitude.
Learn More
Read about taking care of yourself while giving care to others in the April 2021 Liahona—one article in print (“While Caring for Others, Take Care of Yourself”) and another digital only (“Caregiver? Take Care of Yourself Too”).

My grandfather died just three days before Christmas. That year, my family received a gift that changed our lives forever: Glenna. Glenna is my dad’s sister who was born with disabilities. She came to live with us after my grandpa passed away. Ever since that first Christmas, Glenna’s example has taught me how to be more Christlike.
Glenna was born with many physical challenges, and she’s helped me see that sometimes the most beautiful spirits are housed in different-looking bodies. Because of Glenna, I’m no longer self-conscious about the way I look, and I choose to focus on what’s inside.
Living with Glenna has taught me patience. She has difficulty speaking, she often breaks things, and she struggles to do many tasks on her own, but she’s also willing to learn. There’s no greater reward than working with Glenna until she gets something right.
Glenna has taught me to find joy in the little things. For instance, at Glenna’s birthday parties, it didn’t matter whether she received a one-dollar bill or a one-hundred-dollar bill—she was delighted. And when we drove around each year at Christmastime, Glenna would shout, “Wow!” and clap her hands at each brightly lit home we passed by. She’s taught me to see the extraordinary within the ordinary. She’s taught me to see that there’s something special in everything—and everyone.
As I look back on the past Christmases I spent with Glenna, I can see the impact she’s made on my life. Every year, the one Christmas gift I will never forget—and will be forever grateful for—is Glenna.

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?
These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

Because I grew up outside of the Church, the law of chastity was not always something I lived by—it wasn’t something I even knew about. My mom never taught my twin brother or me about keeping any moral standards. We, as well as our younger brother, had been born out of wedlock. Our dad would often move in with a woman the moment they started dating.

As I got older, my conversations with friends were filled with derogatory language. In high school I started dating a guy who also did not live by the standards of the Church, and doing things outside of the law of chastity just felt like a normal “rite of passage” into adulthood.

But when I started taking lessons with the missionaries when I was 18, they taught me about how I should have clean thoughts, good language, and actions that reflected Christ’s teachings. At first, I was crushed. I had been living a life without the law of chastity, and I felt like I was broken—too far gone. It felt like even if I truly repented, I would never be fully forgiven of my sins. I told myself that Christ would continue to hold my mistakes over my head. I was constantly thinking about how I had let Him down—without even knowing it. Not only that, but I also felt as though following the law of chastity wasn’t attainable.

Questions from the adversary flooded my mind, making me second-guess what I was learning about chastity. While taking lessons with the missionaries, I was in a relationship that did not prioritize staying morally clean, and I thought that joining the Church would change the relationship. Maybe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wasn’t a good fit for me. I remember thinking, “I have already given up so much. And now this?” It made me question if joining the Church was even worth it.

But I couldn’t deny the truth I had found within the Church. If I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, then that meant that the law of chastity must be a true commandment from the Lord. It was a nonnegotiable. I knew that my next challenge would be applying the law to my life and striving each day to be better.

It was not going to be something I could change overnight. There were times when I fell short. I felt like it was a never-ending cycle; I would try my hardest to do better and then I would revert to my old ways. When I had finally reached the point where I was obeying the law of chastity and felt like I could look my Maker in the eyes and say, “I’m trying; I’m doing my best with a willing heart,” I still kept remembering all the times I had “messed up.” I had to remind myself that I knew in my heart that the Lord forgives when we truly repent, which I had. But that didn’t really stop me from still feeling like a disappointment.

Since then I have realized that the Lord will forgive us, but we must learn to forgive ourselves as well. Heavenly Father wants us to recognize our mistakes, repent, strive to do better, and move on. Satan, however, wants us to be chained to our sins. Those feelings of failure were Satan telling me, “You can’t do this. You’re crazy for even thinking you can.” But I know the Lord loves me and wants to see me grow in my faith. He wants that for all of His children.

Now, being a member of the Church for just over a year, I have seen the blessings that come from following the law of chastity. I don’t feel broken and confused anymore. Yes, I still sometimes have moments when Satan tempts me with the temporary satisfaction that comes from immorality, but I’ve learned that true satisfaction can come only through Christ. I know that He blesses us when we follow His commandments.

I’ve also learned that you can never be too far gone to receive the blessings of the gospel. Heavenly Father welcomes us back with open arms. Those doubts I had didn’t come from Christ or Heavenly Father. He gave us the law of chastity to protect us and guide us along on the covenant path. Learning about this law has strengthened my testimony of the Savior’s Atonement immensely. The Lord loves each of us. We may mess up, but we also have the opportunity to learn and grow from our mistakes—to repent. He has not given us this commandment to make life tough; He did it because He loves us.1

I am so grateful for the law of chastity and everything it has taught me. I’ve seen how it has blessed my life, and I know it will bless others too.