Gospel Story Finder

My life changed in a big way the year I turned 16. Like most of my friends, I had entered a complicated stage in life. It seemed that all my thoughts were increasingly centered around my problems and aspirations. I worked to excel in school, tried out for the top choir, lettered in track, and even went to the prom.
Then on a Tuesday evening late in the spring, my whole perspective changed. My dad gathered the family in the living room, explaining that he had something important to tell us. Never before have I seen my parents look so dismal and depressed. Dad explained that my mom had breast cancer. My father went on to explain that the odds were very good that with treatment Mom would be okay and the cancer would go into remission. Emotion erupted in my home with tears and hugs. I struggled with my feelings, searching for a way to deal with the emotion welling up inside.
It was Mutual night, so I decided to go. But while I watched everyone else laughing and playing volleyball, I felt lost. Could anyone understand what I was going through? In my mind I said a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to give me the strength to help support my mother and the rest of my family.
Slowly a comforting feeling grew within me. I realized that, although it might be hard for others to understand my feelings, Jesus Christ always knows our troubles and hardships. I thought of a scripture I knew in John 14:18, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” It reminded me that if we go to him, Christ will help us to bear our burdens and give us comfort.
Over the next year my mother had surgery and multiple radiation and chemotherapy treatments. Throughout that year I relied very heavily on the comfort of the Holy Ghost. With that added strength I was able to support my mother through her illness and help out at home. Now the doctors have declared my mom successfully in remission. Although a chance for recurrence exists, she will probably continue to be healthy.
Through our trial my family has grown much closer. I learned to be less selfish, and I came to recognize that my family and the relationship I have with them is what is truly important in my life. Most important, I realize now that the Savior knows all that we experience and we are never alone. He is always there, ready to extend his love to us.

When I was old enough, I was called to serve in Germany. I loved everything about my mission. It was a turning point for me. I came to love Heavenly Father, His Son, and the gospel as never before, and I loved to hear the word of God preached. I came to love the scriptures; I loved reading them and understanding them. I found that the General Authorities who came to see us in the mission field were men of God and had great power to change people’s lives. I saw people accept the gospel and repent and be baptized and be filled with joy.

When I came home from my mission, it was with the firm resolve that I would never be the same—and I never have been. And all that happened because a priests quorum adviser stayed close to the young men in his quorum, taught them the gospel, and helped them learn in a very simple way that they could go on missions and be touched by the Spirit of the Lord.

I believe my decision to go on a mission was an example of choosing the right. I learned to choose the right at my parents’ knees, and I will be forever grateful to them for that. Part of choosing the right is obeying the Lord’s commandment to “honour thy father and thy mother” (Ex. 20:12). We might say it this way: Honor, respect, and obey your father and your mother in righteousness. My life has been blessed because of obeying my parents, just as you will be blessed for choosing the right and obeying your own parents.

Milena Montrasio
Milena Montrasio wanted God to tell her that another baptism was not necessary, that there was no reason to face the social and family consequences of changing churches. But that was not the answer she received.
Doctrines taught by the Latter-day Saint missionaries had answered questions that had always troubled her—questions like “Why did God demand such a painful sacrifice of his own son?” As for the Book of Mormon, “I never doubted it was the word of God,” she recalls. Her husband had not understood why she cried when she read it. “Because I am so happy,” she had explained.
Though Milena’s husband had been present for the missionary discussions, he showed no interest in religion. When Milena told him she planned to be baptized, he angrily said she would be disgracing the family by leaving the dominant church in their society. He threatened to leave her if she did it.
She had always stood by him whenever he needed her, and now he could stand by her, she replied. She would not be baptized if he opposed it, she said, but “I will live as if I were baptized, because the testimony I have received is too strong to deny.”
Her firmness moved him to listen again to what the missionaries had to teach. The Montrasios were baptized together in 1985. He is bishop of the Milan stake’s Monza Ward, and she serves in several positions, including ward Young Women president.

Seemingly little lessons of love are observed by children as they silently absorb the examples of their parents. My own father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.

One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, “Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.” Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying in his arms like a china doll his crippled uncle. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with such affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so he would have a fine view while I occupied the rear seat.

The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho.

June 18 and 19 also found another group of young Latter-day Saints from ten stakes in Spanish Fork, Utah, together in Santaquin Canyon. By 3:00 P.M. Friday many had already arrived. Registration continued until 6:00 P.M. with over 350 people signing up to spend the next two days together.
After a full day of registration and other activities, the youth filled the lodge to hear Elder Marion D. Hanks. Using the opening song as a springboard, he explained the difference between moving your arm up and down to the piano and really leading the music. “It’s all in the spirit of the song,” he said. “You need to feel what you are leading and make it a part of you. So it is with the gospel. We need to live it.” After Elder Hanks’ address, the youth cleared the lodge of chairs and made ready for a dance.
Six o’clock in the morning came too early, but everyone made it out of bed after some struggle. After the posting of the colors the Spanish Fork youth gathered in the fresh canyon morning to listen to one anothers’ testimonies. A breakfast of sausage, scrambled eggs, hot cakes, and hot chocolate was ready to eat as soon as the closing prayer was given. High councilors and their wives from all the stakes prepared the breakfast. It only took 30 minutes to fill all the plates once, but that didn’t account for the many return trips. The rest of the morning was jam-packed with workshops.
As the group finished lunch, a master of ceremonies took over, and a talent show was underway. Skits, songs, readings—many different talents were presented. Soon everyone in the lodge was laughing as hard as those on stage. As soon as the talent show ended, everyone got in on the act. Teams of ten were formed, and relay contests opened with nail driving. Three-legged races are common, but has anyone ever tried a four-legged race with three people tied together? As the last relay ended, so did the fun of the two-day conference.

Bimwili & the Zimwi In this African folktale, Bimwili finds a wonderful seashell, which she puts on a big rock. When she goes to get it to take home, the Zimwi kidnaps her, hides her in his drum, makes her sing, and tells the villagers that it is the drum that is singing. The Zimwi can change shapes, but he is not all-powerful, and, with the help of her family, Bimwili escapes and shares the wonderful seashell with her village.Verna Aardema6–8 years

Wilford Woodruff traveled across the United States several times as a leader in the Church. One time he stayed overnight in Indiana on his way to meet with the Saints in Boston, Massachusetts.
Wilford: I think we should sleep here tonight. I know of some brethren who will let us stay with them.
Wilford, his wife, and one of their children decided to sleep in the carriage.
Wife: It looks like all of the other children are settled down in the house for the night. Good night, Wilford.
Wilford: Good night.
Not long after getting in bed, Wilford heard a voice tell him to move his carriage.
Wilford: I have to move the carriage.
Wife: What for?
Wilford: I do not know. But I do recognize the voice of the Spirit, and it’s telling me to move.
Wilford moved the carriage forward. About 30 minutes later a sudden whirlwind blew a nearby oak tree over. The huge tree was snapped into pieces and crushed two fences.
When the Woodruffs’ hosts and children came out to look at the damage, they noticed that the tree had landed right where Wilford’s carriage was parked before he moved it.
In the morning the Woodruffs were able to safely continue their journey, and they went on their way rejoicing.
Wilford: By obeying the revelation of the Spirit of God to me, I saved my life as well as the lives of my wife and child.

A large red beetle scratched its way down the porch railing and disappeared into a hole in the old wooden porch. Jamon Knighton sat in Uncle Alban’s creaky, timeworn wicker chair, watching the beetle and listening to the early morning sounds that floated out of the valley. Every Saturday morning Jamon and Uncle Alban had watched things—things like the gold leaves that Uncle Alban said “fluttered across his yard like memories”—and had listened to sounds like that of Mr. Sadlier’s yellow dog’s barking in the distance. Jamon remembered how Uncle Alban had talked about the quiet, how he had said that it was a sound, too, and that it sounded like a secret prayer. “And if anything could look like a secret prayer,” he had added, “it would be that light in those thickets, pushing back the night.”

Speaking of prayer, Jamon thought, I need to offer one for Uncle Alban. He stood up, went down the porch steps, and paused in a patch of sunlight that beamed through the trees. It felt as warm and fine as his uncle’s arm around his shoulder as they had walked down the narrow dirt road toward Gooseberry Lake to go fishing.

Earlier this particular Saturday morning, however, when Jamon had left home with his fishing pole and had walked the half-mile down Thistle Road to his uncle’s place, he had been met on the porch by Aunt Eva, who had told him that Uncle Alban wouldn’t be able to take him fishing. “He had a heart attack about two hours ago,” she had faltered, “and a neighbor took him to the hospital in Monroe. I’ve just finished packing a few things, and your mother is going to drive me to Monroe so that I can be near Alban until he—” She’d pulled Jamon close to her, and he’d felt her body tremble as she’d tried to hold back the tears. “We must pray for him, Jamon,” she had finally said, then had hurried back inside.

Jamon left the patch of sunlight and headed toward a big willow that stood a short way down the dirt road. That will be a good place to pray, he decided. It was his and Uncle Alban’s secret place, and no one would see him there. Its thousand slender branches hung all the way to the ground like a leafy veil. Uncle Alban had told him many stories under the old tree, stories about Jesus and the Prophet Joseph Smith. It was there that Jamon had first seen the glow on his uncle’s countenance whenever he talked about such things.

Jamon paused a few feet from the old willow and gazed at the glitter of Gooseberry Lake beyond the trees. He recalled a Saturday morning not many months before when Uncle Alban had immersed him, along with the rest of his family, in the waters of baptism.

When Jamon emerged from the willow’s leafy seclusion, he saw the milk truck parked in front of his aunt and uncle’s house, and he realized that he had been praying for a long time. Brother Wilson never delivered milk before 9:00 A.M., and the pocket watch Uncle Alban had given him on his birthday last year had said 8:30 when he’d gone to the willow to pray. He’d been praying for half an hour!

Jamon stopped short when he saw his mother and the milkman on the front porch. They were comforting his aunt, who was sitting in the old wicker chair, sobbing uncontrollably.

Without having to be told, Jamon knew that Uncle Alban had died. He watched dumbly as Mother helped Aunt Eva into the house and the milkman came down from the porch and walked over to him.

“But I prayed for Uncle Alban, Brother Wilson. I prayed hard!” Jamon protested as he walked along the dirt road with the milkman. “I asked Heavenly Father to make him well again.”

The milkman stopped and pointed at the little circle of hills that surrounded them. “You know, Jamon,” he said, “when I was a small child, I thought that the mountains surrounding the town where I lived were the edge of the world because I couldn’t see beyond them. When I got older, I climbed over the mountains and discovered that the world went far beyond them.”

Jamon squinted up at the milkman. “What are you saying, Brother Wilson?”

“I’m saying, Jamon,” the milkman replied with a gentle smile, “that the Lord is a lot older and wiser than the rest of us. Don’t you think that perhaps He knows something that we don’t? Compared to the Lord, we are like little children. Often we can’t see beyond the little circle of mountains in our lives. But He can. He sees and knows what is difficult for us to understand—the reasons for things. And until we grow enough to climb over those mountains, we must have the faith to accept His good judgment. And remember,” Brother Wilson added, “that sometimes the answer to a prayer is no. And no is every bit as much an answer as yes.”

Jamon blinked back his tears. “Do you think that maybe God needs my uncle more than Aunt Eva and I do?”

Brother Wilson looked at the boy with admiration. Maybe, he considered, Jamon had already climbed some of those hills. Aloud, he said, “From what I hear, there are a lot of people on the other side who need teaching. There’s plenty of work to do, and judging from the way your uncle brought you and your family into the Church”—the milkman’s eyes misted—“as he did me just a year ago, I can’t think of a better person for the job.”

Jamon smiled through his tears. “Me either, Brother Wilson,” he said as they walked back to Uncle Alban’s house. “Me either.”

These good friends made a big difference, but not having the gospel taught in my home with a supportive family still put my ongoing conversion process at risk. My gospel interactions in the Church became even more crucial to my growing conversion. Then two additional angels were sent by the Lord to help.
Another angel sent to help me was the Young Men president, Marco Antônio Fusco. He was also assigned to be my senior home teaching companion. Despite my lack of experience and different appearance, he gave me assignments to teach in our priests quorum meetings and home teaching visits. He gave me the chance to act and to learn and not just be an observer of the gospel. He trusted me, more than I trusted myself.

As we strive to live the commandments of God, we become more confident that he will sustain us in our righteous endeavors. One sister, asked to help lead a hiking activity for the youth in her stake, felt anxious about the assignment. She had little experience with outdoor activities and was exhausted when she hiked the route in preparation for the activity. She prayed fervently for help, then began the hike. “The hike was not a hardship at all,” she said. “I had no doubt that I was blessed.”

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. There was little snow that year. It was as if the world couldn’t quite decide whether or not winter had really come. Such were the conditions as I drove home from college to spend the Christmas holidays with my family.
I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend at home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family. Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season,” the days of baking, nights spent caroling, the stockings to be hung, and other activities which filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas at home for months. My family had many holiday traditions which we celebrated together for years, and each held a special meaning for me. I was the second of eleven children, and my nine younger brothers and sisters also added to the excitement.
That week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of the gingerbread houses, the stockings hanging in the living room, wreaths in our windows, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises which seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. It was everything I could want my last Christmas at home to be like. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept being reminded that this would be the last year things would be the same.
One of the Christmas traditions which we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew you were still a child, and tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old we were or how big we grew, Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year since my older sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began in the tape recorder next to us, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you little one while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Each year before this night, the song had reminded me of Christmas and what the next morning would bring. But on this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for tomorrow night and all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.

After graduating from high school, I got a good job as a secretary at the university and was able to help Papa support the family. He had been the only one in the family working, and it had been hard for him to support four of us in school. We had sometimes gone without necessities.
Then when I was 18, my father died unexpectedly. My mother could not work because she was ill, and as the oldest I would have to support the family.
One day when I was upset because I hadn’t made enough money to cover all our expenses, I remembered the promise in Malachi. I prayed to Heavenly Father, reminding Him that I was paying a full tithe, even when I lacked money for food. Later that day the bishop came to visit, bringing food and help. Never in all the time I was supporting my family did the Lord fail me.
When my brother became old enough to serve a mission, he wanted to stay home and work to help pay for household expenses. But we felt he should go, so he quit his job and left for a mission. The following month, my salary was raised. The whole time he was on his mission, my family never lacked for anything. I received a scholarship and was able to study to become a commercial engineer. During this time our shoes lasted longer, our clothes didn’t wear out as quickly, and we didn’t get sick as often.
After supporting my family for six years, I married a wonderful man in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Our goal was always to pay tithing, and we always did. Every month we took our tithing out first. We didn’t have everything, but we didn’t suffer either.
Two years after we married, my husband died in a traffic accident. Now once again I support my own family. But I have a good job, and I know that if I continue to live the law of tithing, my young son and I will have what we need. With all my heart I know that the Lord will never forsake me and that He will continue to pour out blessings—not only temporal but also spiritual.
Karina Vanegas Barcia, Monay Branch, Cuenca Ecuador Stake

Maria Edilene Romão had lost hope. She couldn’t find a job, she was a single mother, and she had several children to feed.
That’s when two members of her ward in Santa Catarina, Brazil, invited her to a self-reliance devotional. At the end of the devotional, Maria joined a group to help her find a job.
“For the first time in my life, I believed in a future where I could take care of my family,” she remembers. “I believed that the self-reliance group was going to help me change my life.”
It did.
During the next 12 weeks, Maria dedicated herself to her group, her studies, and her commitments. She worked with newfound energy toward her goals. She practiced job-interviewing techniques. Within two weeks, she secured a promising job interview. That interview landed her a job.
“My life is changed forever,” says Maria, who no longer struggles to feed her family. “Now I am happy, excited, patient, and hopeful. I believe that Heavenly Father lives and loves me. I know that when I exercise my faith in Jesus Christ, I am blessed.”

Many years ago, I was the bishop of a new ward in Potomac, Maryland. We had to meet in a school, so one of our first goals as a ward was to build a meetinghouse. Back then, each ward in the Church had to help pay for its meetinghouse, and we sent letters to all the adults in our ward, asking if they would make a donation. As a bishopric, we then decided that the entire ward should be involved, so we also sent letters to the children and teenagers.
The following Sunday, I sat on the stand in Junior Sunday School, which was the meeting children used to attend while their parents were in regular Sunday School. As the music played and the children walked in, one little boy, Jimmy Theurer, came up to me on the stand and placed a nickel in my hand. Our meetinghouse got its start with the contribution of that one little boy.
This experience helped me realize that it’s important for children to be a part of what we do in the Church. They can do many good things for the Church, and they can help and encourage their parents to do good things as well.

One day, 15-year-old Lucy Morley was helping her neighbor, Abigail Daniels, weave cloth. As they worked, three missionaries knocked at the door. They said that Jesus Christ had sent them to share a message.
The men told Abigail and Lucy that Jesus had called Joseph Smith to be a prophet. They also told them about the Book of Mormon.
To Lucy’s surprise, Abigail became angry. She made the missionaries leave.
Lucy knew the missionaries were servants of God. She told them to visit her family down the road.
The missionaries went to the Morley home. Lucy’s parents invited the missionaries to teach them and their friends.
That night, 17 people were baptized. In the next few days, 50 more people heard the missionaries and were baptized. Even Lucy’s neighbor Abigail changed her mind. She and her husband, along with Lucy and members of her family, chose to follow Jesus Christ by being baptized.

In family home evenings or in Sunday School, we would practice lines that would help us stand up to peer pressure. I couldn’t wait to use these lines. For example, I imagined hanging out with my friends. Someone would pull out some alcohol and pass it around. The beer can would be handed to me, and all eyes would be looking in my direction. The pressure would mount. I would stand up and say, “No! I am a Mormon, and I don’t drink!” All the kids would be in awe. No amount of their persuasion would convince me. Soon the party would disperse, and someone special in the crowd would tell me I had impressed him so much with my firm stance that he wanted to learn more about my church. Angels would sing praises, and I would be filled with light.

Then I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. When I read 3 Nephi 17, I was truly impressed by the way Jesus took the little children and prayed for them. I knew that this was the right way to pray.
I decided to read all the scriptures about Jesus Christ praying. In Luke 3:21, after John baptized Him, Jesus prayed to Heavenly Father and the heavens were opened. When I read that, I knew that I wanted to pray in a way that would open the heavens too.
Sometimes I feel tired and don’t feel like praying. But then I remember how Jesus prayed. I try to be honest and sincere in my prayer so that the heavens will be opened for me too.
Sometimes my prayers are short because I can’t find the words to express myself well. I just have a bunch of feelings inside, and I say, “Thou know what I’m trying to say. Please just help me.”
Sometimes when I pray to bless the food, I remember that even in that small prayer, the heavens can be opened. I try to forget about the world and connect with Heavenly Father. And in a very humble way, I say things that come from my heart.
When I feel peace and comfort, I know that the heavens are open to me.
After the missionaries taught my family about the gospel, my mother, sister, and I were baptized. But my father, my brother, and my other sister didn’t join the Church. I really wanted my father to be a member of the Church. I fasted, and every day I prayed for my father to accept the gospel and be baptized.
I knew that I needed to pray for my father, but I also knew I needed to wait for God’s answer. Sometimes He says, “No, not yet.” Eventually my father did listen and understand, and he was baptized.
If your mother or father isn’t a member of the Church yet, talk to your friend—your Father in Heaven. Ask for Him to touch your mother or father’s heart. Talk to Him humbly and honestly, in a sincere way. But then relax. He is in command. He knows how to do things. He knows your father and mother better than you do. He knows how to reach them.
Don’t worry. You have a friend. Pray with your heart, and Heavenly Father will listen to you. The heavens will be opened. He knows you, and He will bless you.

Years ago when Sister Nelson and I had several teenaged daughters, we took our family on a vacation far away from telephones and boyfriends. We went on a raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. As we started our journey, we had no idea how dangerous this trip could be.
The first day was beautiful. But on the second day, when we approached Horn Creek rapids and saw that precipitous drop ahead, I was terrified. Floating on a rubber raft, our precious family was about to plunge over a waterfall! Instinctively I put one arm around my wife and the other around our youngest daughter. To protect them, I tried to hold them close to me. But as we reached the precipice, the bended raft became a giant sling and shot me into the air. I landed into the roiling rapids of the river. I had a hard time coming up. Each time I tried to find air, I hit the underside of the raft. My family couldn’t see me, but I could hear them shouting, “Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”
I finally found the side of the raft and rose to the surface. The family pulled my nearly drowned body out of the water. We were thankful to be safely reunited.
The next several days were pleasant and delightful. Then came the last day, when we were to go over Lava Falls, known as the most dangerous drop of the journey. When I saw what was ahead, I immediately asked to beach the raft and hold an emergency family council meeting, knowing that if we were to survive this experience, we needed to plan carefully. I reasoned with our family: “No matter what happens, the rubber raft will remain on top of the water. If we cling with all our might to ropes secured to the raft, we can make it. Even if the raft should capsize, we will be all right if we hang tightly to the ropes.”
I turned to our little seven-year-old daughter and said, “All of the others will cling to a rope. But you will need to hold on to your daddy. Sit behind me. Put your arms around me and hold me tightly while I hold the rope.”
That we did. We crossed those steep, rough rapids—hanging on for dear life—and all of us made it safely.

“I was in a new culture full of new vocabulary and traditions. I felt like an outsider in most conversations and questioned my worth.”

Amy Faragher, shown with her husband, Nathan, and their children

Amy Faragher knew the Church was true the moment she stepped through the church door. “I could not deny the witness I had received from the Holy Ghost,” she says, “so I chose to be baptized.”

About a year after joining the Church as a 19-year-old, she received a calling to serve in Relief Society. A year later she was called to serve as Relief Society president of her young single adult ward. “Those experiences really enriched my life,” she says. “I was all in.”

Serving in this calling as a relatively new member of the Church had its challenges. “I was in a new culture full of new vocabulary and traditions,” she says. “I felt like an outsider in most conversations and questioned my worth as a member.”

Despite the difficulties, Church members received her with warmth and open arms, like one sister who asked to be her friend. “Such associations softened the challenge of learning a new life,” Sister Faragher says. “I felt part of a community. Ward members didn’t judge me for not understanding Church culture or doctrine.”

Five years after joining the Church, she got married. She and her husband lived in various wards over the years. One in particular was accepting of her convert experience, even inviting her to share her story as a member of a panel at a ward activity.

In other wards she attended, Amy was eager to participate but didn’t feel included. She began to doubt her place in the Church. “At times, the loneliness was unbearable,” she remembers. “I continued to attend sacrament meeting and fill my calling in the nursery but suffered from a high level of anxiety.”

When her efforts to seek support from her ward during a challenging time didn’t bear fruit, she sought counsel from her stake president. As she spoke with him on one occasion, she divulged the ache of her heart. He responded quickly and asked to hear more. They talked at length and committed to meet regularly. “The stake president was genuinely interested and listened to all I had to say,” she recalls. “He was the first to ask the hard question about what was going on.”

Her counseling with the stake president and receiving other professional counseling helped her feel Heavenly Father’s love, an important step in her healing. “Everything changed for me. I’m finding my place,” she says. “I’ve learned I don’t need to be ashamed of being a convert.”

“It’s important for leaders to acknowledge and care for new members,” she suggests. “Ask the hard questions and learn how they are really doing. A calling or responsibility suited to the new member’s capacity is also important to the confidence of a new member. It’s not a burden to serve, as some leaders believe.”

Amy recently earned a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling, and she conducts stake workshops on mental health and assists with the Church’s addiction recovery program.

A few months later, things indeed became more painful for the Saints in Missouri. Mobs were starting to attack more frequently. They were even destroying crops and buildings.
One day Mary Elizabeth and her younger sister Caroline were near Brother Phelps’s printing office when a mob began destroying the press and dumping large piles of printed paper out the window. Mary Elizabeth recognized the paper right away. The men were destroying the Book of Commandments!
“Caroline, we must save those papers,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “Follow me.”
“They will kill us,” Caroline said. “But I will come.”
Waiting until the men had turned away from the girls, each sister grabbed a large armful of papers and began running toward a cornfield. The men saw the girls and began to chase them, yelling at them to stop. The girls ran into the tall corn, laid the papers on the ground, and lay on top of them to protect them. The sisters could hear the men crashing through the corn stalks nearby. Mary Elizabeth and Caroline’s hearts pounded, but to their relief, the girls were not found.
After waiting in the corn for a long time, the sisters carried the papers back to the printing office. They were grateful to be safe and that they had helped the Lord’s work.