Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago a good friend in Washington, D.C., a member of the Church, came home and found his house being burglarized and ended up tussling with the burglar. The burglar shot him, almost completely severed his spinal cord, and he is now paralyzed from the waist down. As I visited with him in a hospital in Washington, D.C., he told me movingly and tearfully, and with a sense of gratitude, how he had now, as a matter of prayer and great reflection, been able to forgive this man, his unknown assailant, for the great tragedy that he had inflicted upon him.

Mary anxiously shifted back and forth in her seat as she listened to the other children in her Primary class take turns reading from the scriptures. She hoped her turn would never come.
Mary had a learning disability called dyslexia. When she looked at letters on a page, they seemed to run around and switch places. When she read out loud, her words were slow and sometimes out of order. Often she read words that weren’t there at all.
The closer Mary’s turn came, the more scared she was. When it was finally her turn, Mary couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly as she jumped up from her chair, sending her scriptures tumbling to the floor. Mary ran down the hallway to the bathroom. She was glad it was empty. She stood in the corner and began to cry.
A few minutes later, she heard Sister Smith call her name as she came into the bathroom. “Mary, what’s wrong?”
Mary didn’t know what to say. She was so embarrassed. None of the other children had this problem. “I can’t read!” she cried as she tucked her head into her folded arms.
“You can’t read?” Sister Smith asked, puzzled. “I’ve seen you give talks in Primary. I know you can read.”
Mary shook her head. “I memorize my talks. I practice them over and over so I don’t have to try to read them in front of people. When I read out loud, I make lots of mistakes. I don’t want the other kids to laugh at me.”
“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. I won’t call on you to read out loud until I know you’re ready,” Sister Smith said. “And I don’t believe anyone in our class will laugh at you. They are your friends.”
“Kids at school laugh at me,” Mary whispered.
Sister Smith wiped Mary’s tears away. “Come back to class. You’ll see,” she said.
They walked back to the classroom together. Mary’s friend Betsy sat in the chair next to Mary’s, smoothing the ruffled pages of Mary’s scriptures. Mary sat down, and Betsy handed her scriptures back to her.
“Who would like to read next?” Sister Smith asked.
“It’s Mary’s turn,” a boy in the class said.
Mary hesitated, but she looked around at her classmates and saw their kind faces. Sister Smith nodded and smiled too. Mary was nervous, but she found her place and began to read.
Her words came slowly. She made some mistakes, but when she got stuck, Betsy quietly whispered the right word in Mary’s ear. Mary did not read as well as the other kids in her class, but no one laughed or made fun of her. Then it was someone else’s turn, and the lesson went on.
As they walked to the Primary room after class, Sister Smith whispered to Mary that she was proud of her. Mary was glad she didn’t have to try to hide her trouble reading anymore. “I’ll just keep practicing,” she thought. And she smiled, knowing she had good friends at church to support her along the way.

The workbook, Addiction Recovery Program: A Guide to Addiction Recovery and Healing (item no. 36764), outlines the 12 steps and the principles associated with them. Each step has a scripture study section with questions to ponder and space for writing. One participant says that the straightforward approach of the 12 steps gave him hope. By the time Clifford awoke from a coma caused by a drug overdose, his marriage and career had ended. He wondered how he could ever put his life back together. “To have the gospel in little bite-sized steps, 12 of them—I could do that,” he says.
Many say that steps four and five, which focus on personal inventory and confession, are the most challenging. But it depends on the individual. Paula, who struggled with compulsive eating and overdependence in her relationships, worked hardest on step eight—forgiving and restoring relationships—as she tried to forgive her abusive father. She says now, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this miracle in my life: to love and forgive.”
The change that has happened to me is I’m not miserable all the time. Sometimes it’s not easy. Perhaps the Lord doesn’t see fit to take it all from me right now, but He strengthens me so I can bear it patiently and cheerfully, and I can progress. He lightens it just enough that I learn the most that I can.
The gospel teaches that grace comes through the Atonement of Jesus Christ (see Ether 12:27). Grace is an enabling power that makes recovery possible. It is “divine means of help or strength” that helps us do good works we wouldn’t be able to do or maintain by ourselves.2
Suzanne, who went through the program herself before becoming a Church-service missionary, says, “I knew that God could tell me what to do, but I never knew He had the power to help me do it. Now I understand the grace that comes through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
Through grace, participants regain the hope they have lost. One participant, Edward, grew up in the Church, but his childhood insecurities left him feeling that he wasn’t as good as other people. He says, “I didn’t understand the Atonement, and I didn’t love myself, so nothing really mattered.” When he was in his 20s, he started drinking and using drugs in an attempt to dull his negative feelings—a pattern that continued for 20 years.
When he was arrested a second time for drunk driving, he was ordered to get treatment. In the Church’s program, he learned that receiving forgiveness and regaining a sense of self-worth were possible. He attended church every Sunday, studied the 12 steps, and applied these gospel principles and actions to his life. He became willing to turn his life over to Heavenly Father and, in the process, learned how to love himself and how to let the Atonement work in his life. “I couldn’t overcome all these things by myself,” he says. “The Savior can do for me what I can’t do for myself.”
Those who struggle with addiction aren’t the only ones who can experience a mighty change: loved ones find that as they apply the 12 steps to their own lives and attend recovery meetings, they can experience the blessings of the Atonement in regard to their own grief. In some areas the addiction recovery program provides support groups for family and friends, who discover that the Savior can heal them of the pain, anger, and guilt that loved ones sometimes feel.
When Deborah learned of her son’s drug addiction, she was plagued by feelings of guilt as she thought about how she could have been a better mother. Then she discovered that she could apply the steps to herself. She says, “What I learned in the program is that no matter how my son is doing, I can still be happy and have Heavenly Father in my life.” She adds, “On the outside I look the same, but my life has completely changed on the inside.”
Shannon, whose husband faced a pornography addiction, attended the support group for spouses. As she participated, she noticed a change in herself as well. At first she focused on the pain she felt over her husband’s addiction. But then, as she started learning and applying the steps, a miraculous change occurred. She says, “I began talking less and less about my husband and more about what I had learned from each step. I began to see how the Lord was working in my life.”
In the past I was able to abstain for periods of time. I’d get myself back in good standing with the Church and serve in callings, and everyone would tell me how great I was. But I didn’t feel great on the inside at all. And that’s why abstaining is just one part of it. True recovery is not doing it and not wanting to do it because our nature is changed.
Mark learned that through the Atonement, individuals can not only stop their addictive behaviors but also heal the underlying causes of their addiction. And with the help of their priesthood leaders, they can repent and bring the blessings of the gospel back into their lives. Doug LeCheminant of LDS Family Services clarifies the objective of the program: “Our end goal for those in the program is that they will be able to make and keep temple covenants—not just stay sober.” The sweetest fruits are activation, baptism or rebaptism, priesthood advancement, temple ordinances, and restoration of blessings.
Steve, who found himself in jail wearing his church suit, says, “Today I’m clean and sober because of my Heavenly Father and the 12 steps.” His activity in the Church is especially meaningful to him. “I am a father. I am a priests quorum adviser. I am also a facilitator because I want to give back to a program that gave so freely to me.”
Every day I seek my Heavenly Father in prayer and through the scriptures. In the morning I read books about recovery, and I write my feelings and my impressions. I call a support person in the program to help clarify my thinking. I go to the meetings. I try to serve. And I have never relapsed on a day that I have done those things.
Those daily tasks keep Mark spiritually well. Others who have been through the program have discovered the same truth: maintaining spiritual strength requires continuous effort. No one is completely safe from relapse, but through daily gospel living, those who struggle with addiction come unto Christ and receive strength and hope.
“I’m learning bit by bit, precept upon precept,” says Mark. “My nature is changing, and it’s the first time since this started that I can say I have hope. I truly believe that I never have to relapse again.”

When I was a child, in my family we would put together a huge jigsaw puzzle each Christmas, one that would take a week to finish with thousands of small, look-alike pieces, I hated to do the sky. It was very difficult to put together an all-blue sky. But my mother liked that part of the puzzle and she usually chose to start working there. It would have been foolish to argue with her that her piece of blue sky really belonged down in my blue water, because neither of us could be sure about it at that point. But what we did know was that each piece fit in only one place, and that we could complete the picture only by placing each piece correctly. When the Lord allows the scientists to discover all their part, and he sees fit to reveal his part, it will be the same completed picture.
This is how I have come to look at the plan of the Lord. We need to stop worrying about each small piece and try to fit the whole picture together by keeping in mind the end result. The Lord knows where each piece goes and how it fits into his plan. Each of us should help by putting ourself, an intricate and important piece of that puzzle, in the proper place.

I learned another important principle very late too. I’ll repeat it so it might be of some help to you. The lesson began fifty-three years ago, in 1918, when I was a soldier in the First World War. After the Armistice, our regiment organized a football team while we were waiting our turn to come home. Because I played on the team, I was excused from drill, menial tasks, and general discipline. The players could also go to Bordeaux, the nearest city, any time.
On one such visit I had enjoyed a favorite painting hanging in a cathedral. It depicted the Lord raising Lazarus from the dead. It was very large, about eight by fifteen feet, and a masterpiece. I never tired of looking at it. Afterward I went to the YMCA and wrote some letters, and finally I went to the place in the town square where the truck was to pick us up to go back to camp.
While standing in the shadow of a building, I saw a teammate come to the spot. He stood under the dim street light, waiting for the truck. Soon a French girl came up and accosted him. He did not speak French, but the language she was using was universal. After looking in several directions and seeing no one, he walked away with the girl.
Later we were discharged and arrived in Salt Lake City. I saw a woman, obviously this same man’s wife, run up to him and place a baby in his arms. As I stood there watching him look at his offspring for the first time, I wondered what he was thinking. I am still wondering.
That was in January 1919, fifty-two years ago. I was telling this story about five years ago, stressing the obvious moral that “the wages of sin is death”—death of the spirit, at least.
Suddenly, as I spoke, an idea was born: If I had stepped from the shadows and joined him, or called to him, or let him know in any way that I was there, he might not have gone with that girl. By a simple act I might have saved him. Only it didn’t occur to me then. Since that thought came to me, I have not thought so well of myself.

Another bishop was concerned about the trend he noticed in ward fast and testimony meetings. Members were bearing few testimonies of Christ and His gospel; instead, they were sermonizing, giving travelogues, sharing personal experiences that were not related to the gospel, and talking about family outings and activities. The bishop understood that those topics were important to the speakers. But they were not testimonies of Christ and His gospel. He asked the ward council, “How can we teach the importance of using testimony meeting for testifying of Christ and His restored church without offending our members?”
After a little time and some comments by the sisters, the council suggested that the bishop should teach the members what a testimony is and what it is not. In addition, the council concluded that the quorums and auxiliaries should discuss the purpose of testimony meeting, and home teachers and visiting teachers should review this subject with individual families during their monthly visits. The bishop now reports, “Our testimony meetings are much better. The witness of Christ and His love for us is expressed by the members, and the spirituality of our ward has improved greatly.”

Brother Joseph Stucki, a faithful Church member, died Christmas Eve in 1927 after a short illness, leaving his wife with seven children, the eldest son being on a mission. Two of the children and a nephew she was rearing were later taken in death. Another son was also sent on a mission. This was accomplished by much hard work—taking in sewing and living on a few dollars per month from an insurance policy.
During this difficult time, flour was being distributed to needy members of the ward. Some of the young men had been asked to deliver it. A bag of flour was brought to Sister Stucki’s home. Since she felt that there were other families in the ward that needed that flour worse than she did, she declined to keep it, telling the young man that she was trying to teach her family to be independent and self-reliant. While worthy members of the Church should feel free to accept help from the Church proffered by the bishop, Sister Stucki was trying to teach the young man who came to her door a lesson. You see, the young man delivering the flour was her own son! All the surviving children attended college and became very successful people. They lived by the motto, “Make it do, or do without.”

The first time I passed the sacrament as a deacon, I was nervous from start to finish. I was worried I would walk in the wrong direction or go to the wrong row. I had looked forward to passing the sacrament for as long as I could remember. I would watch the deacons every week. They looked so dignified.
I made it through my first week without messing up, and now I’m not nervous anymore. Instead, when I pass the sacrament, I feel reverent and happy. I feel the Spirit when I’m passing the sacrament.

Often, the activation energy needed for blessings requires more than just looking or asking; ongoing, repeated, faith-filled actions are required. In the middle of the 19th century, Brigham Young directed a group of Latter-day Saints to explore and settle Arizona, an arid region in North America. After reaching Arizona, the group ran out of water and feared they would perish. They pled with God for help. Soon rain and snow fell, allowing them to fill their barrels with water and provide for their livestock. Grateful and refreshed, they returned to Salt Lake City rejoicing in the goodness of God. Upon their return, they reported the details of their expedition to Brigham Young and pronounced their conclusion that Arizona was uninhabitable.

After listening to the report, Brigham Young asked a man in the room what he thought about the expedition and the miracle. That man, Daniel W. Jones, tersely replied, “I would have filled up, went on, and prayed again.” Brother Brigham put his hand on Brother Jones and said, “This is the man that shall take charge of the next trip to Arizona.”17

Life on a cattle ranch is both stressful and faith-building. One time they needed to plant oats to feed the cattle. Kache and the other ranch hands were ready to plant—there was just one problem. “It was really dry and hot and there was no rain for the oats.” Kache says. “My dad asked us to pray for rain. After a few days, we got that rain. The oats were able to grow, and we were able to have food for our cattle.”

During my freshman year of college, I had an amazing experience with the priesthood. I was having the worst day possible—I had heard some bad news about a few friends from home and was waiting to hear more of the details. I was stressed with school and with life in general. I needed comfort.
One of the girls in my dorm suggested that I ask for a priesthood blessing. I hadn’t even thought of it because all my life my dad had been the one to give me blessings. I asked one of my good friends if he would give me a blessing, which he and another young man from my ward did. Afterward, I felt calm and peaceful. Things started to fall into place.
This experience helped me to see that the priesthood is the same wherever you go, and its power can help us no matter where we are.

The McDowell family moved into Mr. Capper’s house nearly six months ago. They sure are different from the rest of the families in the neighborhood! The first McDowell I met was Nephi, the family’s eleven-year-old son. Nephi told me that his parents named him after an ancient American prophet. I’d never heard of any ancient American prophets, but he showed me a book where his name was written—a book called the Book of Mormon.
My family goes to church, and sometimes we read the Bible, but neither my parents nor I had ever heard of the Book of Mormon. Nephi called it a second testament of Jesus Christ, and said that it was an ancient record of the Lord’s dealings with people in the Americas. That was my first clue that Nephi and his family were “different.”
Next, I met Nephi’s older sister, Glitchen. She wasn’t named for a prophet, but for her great-grandmother, Glitchen Kelly, who came to America from Ireland a long time ago. Glitchen’s great-grandmother had red hair and married a man from Poland named Alex. Glitchen knows all this because her family studies their family history.
All I know about my family is that my parents were born in Mexico and grew up in Arizona. I’d like to know more, but I can’t imagine spending the time that Glitchen’s mother does researching their ancestors, or “growing the family tree,” as she calls it.
When the McDowells first moved in, the whole neighborhood changed. For one thing, it looked better. Mr. Capper hadn’t kept up his house too well, but not long after unloading their furniture, the McDowells set to work repairing their new home. They put a fresh coat of paint on the house and fixed the front gate on the picket fence. Then Mr. McDowell put Nephi to work in the old garden plot, clearing weeds and tilling the soil.
Back then, no one in the neighborhood cared much for gardening, but Nephi said that their prophet wanted them to grow a garden and be as independent as they could. At first I thought he meant the same prophet Nephi was named after, or maybe Moses or Abraham. But Nephi said that he meant the living prophet, the one that stands at the head of their church today. A man who speaks for God down here on earth. After all, he said, the world needs a prophet today as much as ancient Israel needed one in the Bible.
When I told Mom about this living prophet, she didn’t laugh, like I thought she might. Instead, she sighed and said that she prayed that such things were true. That evening we went into our own abandoned garden plot to pull weeds.
So Mom, Dad, and I grew our garden, and the McDowells grew theirs. In the fall, Mom and Mrs. McDowell swapped zucchini recipes, and Mrs. McDowell taught Mom how to bottle fruit and freeze corn. Then Nephi’s dad and my dad began fishing together on Saturdays and sometimes on Friday evenings—but never on Sundays. We learned fast just what the McDowells would and would not do on Sundays.
“It’s our Sabbath,” Nephi told me. They didn’t fish or hunt or have birthday parties or go boating or shopping or do anything but spend family time together and do church stuff. I really felt sorry for Nephi and Glitchen, but they didn’t seem to mind, even when I heard Nephi’s stomach growling one Sunday when he’d been fasting all day.
Now, believe it or not, after all I’ve seen of the McDowells, I still like them. Maybe it’s because they laugh a lot and seem to enjoy each other. Or maybe it’s because Nephi throws such a mean fastball. Or maybe it’s because I just feel good when I’m with them.
Tonight, after dinner, the McDowells are bringing over some missionaries to tell my parents and me more about their church. Mom has cleaned the house and made cinnamon cake, and Nephi and Glitchen are bringing a Book of Mormon just for me.
I’ll soon know all about Nephi the prophet, and about family history stuff and gardens and the Sabbath day, plus a whole lot more. I’ll even learn what it means to be different, like the McDowells. Sometimes different is good.

Emma sat at the big oak table surrounded by her family. It was the first of December.
“OK,” Dad said, “it’s time to discuss our individual Christmas projects. Who can tell me the rules?”
“We each do a project that doesn’t cost any money,” Ben said.
“It can’t be a material item,” Mom added.
“And most important of all, it has to bring the spirit of Christmas to someone,” Jane finished. “I’m going to baby-sit for Sister Wells so that she can get her Christmas baking done.”
Mom beamed. “An excellent project. How about you, Ben?”
“I think I’ll wrap presents for Project Merry Christmas. It’s a city program that collects gifts for the poor.”
Dad nodded. “Good plan, Son. As for me, I’ll be practicing my Ho Ho Hos, because I’m going to take the part of Santa in some local preschool plays.”
Mom eyed Dad’s tummy and winked. “It looks like you’ll need only one pillow this year. I’m going to play Christmas music at the Golden Days Nursing Home, and Kayla will help me rehearse by not crying—I hope. That leaves you, Emma.”
Emma squirmed. “I don’t know yet.”
Dad gave her a hug. “That’s all right,” he said. “But try to decide soon. Christmas comes quickly, and you shouldn’t do anything out of desperation. That wouldn’t mean as much.”
Emma tried and tried to think of something that she could do, but no good ideas came. If I were a teenager like Ben and Jane, I could do lots of cool projects, she thought. But what can a little kid do?
A week passed, and Emma still didn’t have a plan. She wanted to make someone happy by helping in some way, but her mind always drew a blank.
In church on Sunday, Emma noticed Sister Dugan interpreting for Brother Drake, who was deaf. Emma watched in wonder as Sister Dugan’s fingers flashed and danced, weaving invisible words out of thin air. She liked the hand motions and wished she knew what they meant. In an instant she had a plan.
For the next couple of weeks, Emma worked hard. Her mom took her to the library to check out books, then she practiced for hours with Sister Dugan.
On a clear, crisp December evening a few days before Christmas, Emma and her family drove to Brother Drake’s house. Before leaving the car, Emma asked her family to say a prayer with her. Then they all got out, bundled in winter coats and hats. Only Emma did not wear mittens. She flexed her fingers and watched her breath in the cold air. Dad rang the doorbell, and they were soon greeted by Brother Drake and his hearing dog.
“‘Silent night! Holy night!’” they sang. “‘All is calm, all is bright …’”* Emma’s fingers formed the words in American Sign Language—awkwardly at first but with growing confidence. When she signed the words heavenly peace, all fear left her, and her fingers felt warm and loose. She was no longer just moving them in memorized patterns, but really singing the story of the Savior’s birth. She felt this same peace as they sang “Away in a Manger.”
When they had finished, Brother Drake wiped a tear from his eye and beckoned the family inside. While they drank eggnog, he grabbed a pen and pad of paper. “Thank you for those beautiful songs,” he wrote. “I have never had Christmas carolers before. You have brought the spirit of Christmas into my home and given me an unforgettable gift.”
Emma’s heart felt as if it had grown a thousand times bigger. She said a silent prayer thanking Heavenly Father for the wonderful Christmas spirit. “Merry Christmas,” she signed carefully. “Merry Christmas and heavenly peace.”

Last June my father lost his job. My dad went to a lot of different interviews before getting a job in Jackson, Alabama. None of my family wanted to move because we loved it where we lived in Texas. There were a lot of young people in my ward there, and when we went to visit the Jackson Branch, there were only about 30 people. I felt out of place, but I know we are supposed to be here. I just want to say that the New Era has helped me a lot through this.
Abby AultJackson, Alabama

At school, my chemistry teacher wanted to promote honesty in her class. She told us that we would check our own tests and report our own scores. As I checked my answers, I was tempted to add one single point to my score. I only needed that extra point to pass the test. I sat there for a while, wondering what to do.
While I sat there thinking, I suddenly remembered a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) that I had placed on the back of my identification card: “What a destructive thing is a little dishonesty. … The institution may be able to stand the loss of money, but the individual cannot afford the loss of self-respect” (“I Believe,” Ensign, Aug. 1992, 5). Underneath that quote was the phrase: “If the Savior stood beside me, would I do the things I do?”
I felt peaceful and happy when I knew what I was supposed to do. I didn’t change my failing score, but I knew that I had passed a more important test—the honesty test—and I was proud of the choice I made.
Natalie A., Philippines

Antonio follows Jesus by sharing his testimony. One Sunday before church, Antonio decided he would share during testimony meeting that day. He wrote his testimony down in a notebook and read from it. “I shared my belief that Jesus Christ died on the cross and that He loves every one of us and cares for us,” he says.
Antonio knows that sharing his testimony helps him feel the Holy Ghost. It also helps him feel closer to his grandad who died a few years ago. He says, “I know my grandad and my entire family support me, and that helps my testimony to grow!”

Mission preparation should definitely include learning about the gospel, but you don’t have to know everything before you go. For example, as a young man, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was worried he wasn’t prepared to serve a mission. He said, “I remember praying, ‘Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?’ I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: ‘You don’t know everything, but you know enough!’”1

During the tears and other hubbub of leaving the airport, I paid little attention to all the words of advice and caution everyone was giving me. All I could see was the jet pulling up to the gate and visions of converting the entire countries of Guatemala and El Salvador. Finally, we were told to board, There was a rush of last minute hugs, kisses (from my parents and sisters), and, of course, that special handshake from a smiling, beautiful girl who was close to crying.
When I reached the door leading to the boarding area, my father said, “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” I nodded a hurried “Sure, Dad” and left. As I walked to the plane, I laughed to myself. “Dad, you got your words mixed again. You meant to say, ‘Obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy on your mission.’” With that, I tossed his advice into my memory, filed under “Parental Counsel.”
Seven months later, my father was dead.
In those first wavering hours after my mission president told me of the tragic plane accident, I found myself much like the cartoon character who has a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil said: “What are you doing here? All that talk about life after death is not true. You go on a mission and what happens. You break your foot; go to the hospital; come to a strange land, with strange people and strange customs; and your father gets killed. Sure it’s the happiest two years of your life. 3,200 kilometers away from home, and you’re all alone.”
Such thoughts were foreign to me. I had been a faithful member of the Church all my life; yet, the thoughts were there.
The angel on my other shoulder said: “Be strong, Elder. You had a great father you can be proud of, a mighty patriarch who taught you the gospel in all things. You know eternal life is a true principle of the gospel, and you know your father will be waiting for you. You ve had a testimony of the gospel since you were old enough to cry. This is no time to start doubting.”
In the midst of this struggle between doubt and reality, my father’s last words at the airport came echoing into my mind: “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” Dad hadn’t confused his words at all. Those final words to me were inspired counsel that would guide me for the rest of my life. My father lived as he taught, and a few weeks following his death, the full testimony of his life was made manifest to me.
Finances became a major concern. I had enough money in the bank to cover 11 of the remaining 15 months of my mission and hoped Mom could get enough together for the remaining four. My plans for college now became hopes and dreams. However, the Lord takes care of his missionaries.
I received a letter from my mother telling me that I needn’t worry about finances anymore. A man had contacted my bishop and asked if he could support me for the rest of my mission. This is not too unusual, since there are many good-hearted men in the Church, but the difference in this instance was in what the man told my bishop: “l’m not a member of your church, but out of the love and respect I have for Horace Rappleye, I’d like to support his son for the rest of his mission.” And he did. For 15 months the money was placed regularly in my bank account by the anonymous benefactor.
He remains anonymous to this day.
My father’s life of obedience brought blessings to him even after he died. His death became the highlight of my mission. That may be a strange thing to say, and I wish my father were still alive, but my mission thereafter became a living testimony to my father’s life. I soon found how precious it is to live “all the rules.” No matter how small or insignificant the rule seemed, if I obeyed, I was happy.
We are told by the Lord, “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—
“And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130:20–21.)
This scripture is true. Whenever I find that I become depressed or unhappy. I usually find it is because I am not being obedient in all things as I should. At these times a comforting echo reverberates in my head. “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.”

The show ended with another hymn from the chorus. Then an eager crowd of young folks swept the chairs back to their appointed places, hooked up the record player, and swirled across the floor in near-perfect ballroom form.
“We heard that elegant dancing is coming back into style in the U.S.,” one brother said. “So we tried it here. We saw the BYU dancers perform once and admired them. Now we dance like this all the time.”

When he has the chance, Michael likes to get together with other LDS youth. Like when he sang in the choir for the dedication of Church history sites in historic Kirtland. He talks warmly about the three- to four-hour drives to Kirtland for practices. But he remembers most the wonderful experience of the dedication and the fireside the night before where he saw President Gordon B. Hinckley and other General Authorities speak.

“We see these people in general conference. But this was live. And at the end of the dedication everyone got up and spontaneously sang ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’” Michael remembers (Hymns, no. 19). “It was surreal almost. It was an amazing feeling throughout the whole dedication. It was neat.”