Gospel Story Finder

I noticed an article in the editorial portion of the Church News that illustrates another conflict between concepts of man and concepts of God. A mother and her five children went grocery shopping. Pushing their cart from aisle to aisle, they all took part, apparently having a good time doing the shopping. Some wanted to buy one thing, others something else, but the list was in mother’s hands, and she kept everything under control. But a disturbed bystander looked disdainfully at the children and then assailed the mother with an intense verbal onslaught. “What right do you have in this enlightened day to have so many children? Don’t you know that a family should be limited to no more than two? What do you mean having so many children?” The mother, of course, was amazed, to say the least. She had no desire to debate with this angry stranger, so, turning away, she entered another aisle and left her assailant behind. But the incident started her on a serious line of thought. What if she had limited her family to two children? She looked at her two eldest. They were a boy and a girl. She was deeply grateful for them, but what of the other three? There were Susan and Jerry, the twins. As she looked at them and contemplated their short five years in the family, her youngest child, Jenny, took hold of her hand. Jenny was the most affectionate of them all. If she were to do it all over again, knowing the children as she did, which of them would she have preferred to do without? The thought horrified her. Had she stopped with only two children, Jeanine, her loving little one, now but three years old, would never have graced their home. And neither would Jerry, a boy—every inch of him—and a good one. How could she ever think of being without Susan? There was a complete bond of love and fellowship among those children. They made a happy family circle. Then she thought of her husband and herself completing that circle. Would they wish to change it or reduce it if they could?

A good family is the highest expression of human life, more to be desired than riches or prestige or anything else the world has to offer. And why? Because it is the Lord’s way. And did not the Psalmist say, “The Lord is righteous in all his ways”? (Ps. 145:17). But this bystander who assailed the little group in the grocery store, what of her point of view? It was man’s way and reflected the philosophy of zero growth, completely contrary to the Lord’s way. No wonder Isaiah, speaking under inspiration, said, “Neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord” (Isa. 55:8).

In 1881, the Romney family was called to Arizona, a rough frontier at that time, especially with the persecutions against the Latter-day Saints. Shortly after their arrival, a member of the Church, Nathan Cram Tenney, was shot while trying to stop a gunfight between two groups of ruffians.
The Romneys were especially persecuted because Miles was an eloquent and fearless crusader in his newspaper. One afternoon, two ruffians beat Miles senseless, leaving the small children to walk several kilometers for help. At one point, a gang from Saint Johns, Arizona, offered several thousand dollars reward for his capture, dead or alive. At another point, mobsters shot into the house while Catherine hid her children between a couch and the wall.
Eventually Miles went to Salt Lake City to report the situation to Brigham Young, and several more Latter-day Saint families were sent to Saint Johns, Arizona, which somewhat shifted the balance between the Mormons and those who persecuted them.
Still, the persecutions continued against the family, and finally Elder John Taylor of the Quorum of the Twelve advised Miles to go to Mexico. While he made a home for them there, Catherine and her children returned to Saint George, Utah, where they spent the next two years with her family, meeting President Wilford Woodruff when he took refuge from his persecutors in her parents’ home.

Another lesson I learned on the football field was at the bottom of a pile of 10 other players. It was the Rocky Mountain Conference championship game, and the play called for me to run the ball up the middle to score the go-ahead touchdown. I took the handoff and plunged into the line. I knew I was close to the goal line, but I didn’t know how close. Although I was pinned at the bottom of the pile, I reached my fingers forward a couple of inches and I could feel it. The goal line was two inches away.

At that moment I was tempted to push the ball forward. I could have done it. And when the refs finally pulled the players off the pile, I would have been a hero. No one would have ever known.

I had dreamed of this moment from the time I was a boy. And it was right there within my reach. But then I remembered the words of my mother. “Joseph,” she had often said to me, “do what is right, no matter the consequence. Do what is right and things will turn out OK.”

I wanted so desperately to score that touchdown. But more than being a hero in the eyes of my friends, I wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my mother. And so I left the ball where it was—two inches from the goal line.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a defining experience. Had I moved the ball, I could have been a champion for a moment, but the reward of temporary glory would have carried with it too steep and too lasting a price. It would have engraved upon my conscience a scar that would have stayed with me the remainder of my life. I knew I must do what is right.

“I know the power of prayer by my own experience. Recently I was alone in my office. I had just gone through a medical procedure on my hand. It was black and blue, swollen, and it was painful. As I sat at my desk, I could not focus on important and critical matters because I was distracted by this pain.
“I knelt in prayer and asked the Lord to help me focus so I could accomplish my work. I stood and returned to the pile of papers on my desk. Almost immediately, clarity and focus came to my mind, and I was able to complete the pressing matters before me.”

At an early age, my mother taught me how to understand that the feelings I was receiving were from the Holy Ghost, so I would be able to recognize His influence and be wiser in the decisions I made. As a pre-teen, I participated in a service project. We ended up serving coffee and tea to those that were eating at a reunion. Partaking of these drinks is contrary to what I believed, but I wasn’t partaking.

I felt sorrow, guilt, and I most definitely did not have a positive feeling in my heart. As I discussed my experiences and feelings with my mother, she pointed out to me that this was the Holy Ghost trying to help me know that it was not what Heavenly Father would have me do.

As I reflected on the times in my life when I was immersed in the scriptures, unvaryingly I was keeping a study journal in which I wrote impressions and scripture passages that inspired me. So I found a notebook and a pen and put them with my scriptures. At first, writing about what I read was a chore; it took too much time and effort. Really, I just wanted to have a spiritual snack and then move on with my daily work. But I persisted, and the scriptures came alive. I found myself thinking, dissecting passages, and applying them to my life. Simple phrases provided solutions to perplexing parenting problems. I soon found I could take notes, and it didn’t really take any longer than reading alone. I have also found that as I reread past reflections, I find answers to current questions and concerns. It is as if the Lord gives me insight a couple of weeks before I need it.
Erica Miller, Utah, USA

So it was 1986 and I did have two great blessings, and one was the year and half long marriage to my best friend in all the earth and the second blessing was the anticipation of a visit from my parents. Kristi and I lived in Provo, feeling fully actualized as kind of a Bobby and Betty BYU: both of us working on our marriage and family majors, both of us teaching missionaries at the Missionary Training Center, and both of us making 475 square feet of apartment space into a home--our home.

A year and a half into that married bliss, my parents were coming to Salt Lake City for my father to receive back surgery. My father was due for a several week recuperation, which would place him under my mother's direct care and they would both be staying at the home of my wife's parents and within visiting range of two dirt-poor college students.

Near the end of my parents' time with us, my father presented me with a poem. I had received other letters and thoughts from my father over the years, but I had never received a poem. It had my interest. Now my father was a man who would sit by my childhood bedside and explain in vivid detail how cells work, how blood flowed though veins and arteries, how muscle and bone combined to help us run and walk and move. He knew things about stars in the sky, about pine trees in the White Mountains of Arizona. He had been a seminary teacher, turned deputy sheriff; he wore boots and had a shiny badge. He made seemingly endless piles of French toast and homemade syrup every Saturday morning.

Mom and Dad had nine of us, and providing for such a brood saw my Dad take weekend security jobs at ASU football games or lonely midnight shifts securing shopping malls and stores. Those long nights offered him the occasional respite to sit and ponder. During one of these late night vigils, he once penned an 11-point document entitled, "True Happiness: What I Want To Teach My Children." To me, it reads like scripture, for example, this counsel, "Happiness follows effort. It occurs when the mind is at peace with the soul and the heart, when we are one with ourselves. It frequently occurs in the midst of hardship, trial, poverty, pain. It is frequently absent in the midst of wealth, ease, comfort and physical pleasure."[2] My father thought often of his children and how he might teach us principles of happiness, even when he could not be physically present. And once again he was teaching me, this time through poetry.

The poem tells of a young husband and father, who has gone into the mountains near his home to have solitary communion with his Heavenly Father in prayer.

The young man has a plea:
"What gift can I give dear Father,To show my love for thee?"
The Father responds:
"There is no gift that thou canst bringExcept thyself--just thee"
The man is perplexed and seeks to probe further, but the response, "only thyself--just thee" is all he receives that morning and he must head down into the fields of his day's work, pondering over this message from the Lord. Near the end of his day, weary and worn, he returns home and coming up the path is greeted by shouts of joy and hugs from his small child. The heart of this young father is filled near to bursting with love for his child. Slowly, with his little one clasped in his arms, the father turns and looks again at the mountain where earlier that day he had poured out his heart regarding something holy he could offer to the Heavenly Father he loved so much. It seemed to the young man as the last stream of sunlight hits the mountain peak that he felt an answer pierce his heart.

Yes, go to the mountain for comfort,Go to the mountain to prayYet it's here in the valley you're shapingThe gift you will offer one dayWork while that day is offeredGive to the task at handServe with a heart that is openWith love for your fellowmanYes, go the mountain for comfortGo to the mountain to prayBut remember my son it's the valleyWhere you're forging your life for that day[3]

When he was five and Matt was eight, Marilyn and I took these two aspiring athletes to see BYU play football. Shortly after the game began, a wet snowstorm blew in from the north. I took Devin in my lap and sat on the north. Matt was next and then Marilyn. The one blanket we had brought along didn’t quite cover us. The sleetlike snow continued on and on until we became cold, wet, and uncomfortable. But at the same time BYU was winning, and I could not bear the thoughts of going home. I knew that we would have to if young preschooler Devin ever started to complain.
To keep him happy, I would say things such as, “Watch that man. He will throw the ball to that man.” Or, “Watch that man kick the ball.” Amidst all this I would take out my handkerchief and wipe the water from his head. Then I’d wring the water out of the totally soaked handkerchief and wipe his head again. My tactics succeeded. Devin didn’t get discouraged, and we were able to remain.
Finally the game was nearly over. It was now obvious that BYU would defeat their arch-rivals to the north. Fittingly, at that point the storm ended, and the sun came out.
I could feel Devin stirring in my arms, and I sensed that he wanted to stand on his own legs. I undid my hold on him, and he moved away and stood on the empty seat just below our row. After he had stretched and looked around, he turned and faced me. Our eyes met, and his expression became very thoughtful. He then spoke: “Dad, you do so much for me. Isn’t there something that I can do for you?”
Emotion swelled within me as these sincere words entered my heart. Somehow it was hard for me to respond, but I was able to softly say, “Yes, there is something that you can do for me.”
His five-year-old eyes seemed much older as he asked, “What can I do?”
I put my hands on his shoulders and, looking deep into his eyes, replied, “Just be my son. Just be my son.” Somehow he seemed to understand. I pulled him close to me, and joy filled my soul. I knew then as I’ve known so many times that Devin was a winner in the ways that really matter.

As I draw to a close, let me tell you the promised anecdote about The Magic Flute. When Jeremy and I arrived in London for the final leg of our trip and had stopped by the BYU London Center for a moment to say hello, Jeremy was reading the bulletin board when he suddenly blurted out: “Dad, you’ve gotta see this: John Eliot Gardiner is performing The Magic Flute in Queen Elizabeth Hall.”

“Ha,” someone standing nearby said, “those performances have been sold out for months!”

“Never mind,” I replied, only half in jest, “it’s our destiny to see this performance, and we’re going to!”

I don’t know how much I can risk boring you about The Magic Flute and about John Eliot Gardiner, so suffice it to say that Mozart’s great opera about eternal marriage and temples and the brotherhood and sisterhood of all humankind is absolutely my favorite work of art in the whole world, bar none. Some of my students know about my interest in it. In what seemed to me—in my fatigued condition, at least—a great cosmic coincidence, I had, during my sojourn in Europe, just definitely decided to write a book about its amazing parallels to Mormon theology. (I won’t mention the fact that Isis and Osiris play an important role here as well.)

And then there is John Eliot Gardiner, who directs the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists, an ensemble of the finest musicians, the latter who play on period instruments. John Eliot Gardiner is absolutely my favorite interpreter of music in this period. I own, I think, nearly every compact disc he has released.

What I did not know was that he and his musicians had been performing all the Mozart operas and had recorded them in the process. The Magic Flute is the last in the series, and we had arrived just in time for the concert. Obviously, I wouldn’t be telling you this story if we hadn’t, miraculously, found two tickets, which just HAPPENED to be on the front row, about ten feet away from Gardiner and the orchestra.

And to make the evening even more magical, through another minor miracle we had been able to help our good friends the Britsches (past academic vice president Todd Britsch and his wife, Dorothy), who also happened to be in London, find tickets for themselves as well (although theirs were not on the front row). I mention this because they are our witnesses about the magic of that performance. The joy that radiated from the performers that night, the celebration of the divine potential of humankind that is unique to this opera, the power of the arts to lend a spiritual confirmation about the goodness of this life and the love and mercy of our Father in Heaven—these all were present in indescribable measure. Even Jeremy, who had patiently stood through many hours of Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelungen in Vienna, was swept away, knocked off his feet, by this remarkable experience.

When the final chords had melted away, we were filled, and I believe everyone in the hall was filled, with the absolute joy that comes from the redemption at the end of the opera. I felt like embracing all humanity, as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony says, and I felt like I was walking some distance off the floor. When we met up with the Britsches, we discovered, not to our surprise, that they had had the same remarkable experience.

I thank my Heavenly Father that I have had the opportunity to stand with my feet firmly planted on gospel fundamentals and—through the blessing of this and other great universities, through the great example of my Mormon and non-Mormon teachers, colleagues, and students—to have reached out into the world and discovered the grandeur of God, which flamed out at me that night and at other times as well like shining from shook foil, which gathered to greatness like the ooze of oil crushed. I’m grateful that Jeremy and the Britsches were able to be there, too, and I wish for each of you something like that kind of thrill somewhere along the line in the course of your educational endeavors.

I laughed at her. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and open and sincere. Even though she was four years younger than myself, she was probably the best friend I had ever had. She had introduced me to the gospel. She had changed my life. Lori was the only Mormon girl I’d ever known, and it seemed to me she was a pretty decent specimen of the ideal.
Last summer the library hired two new high school students, and Lori was one of them. Friendly and talkative, it didn’t take her long to establish herself on good terms with all the other workers or to make sure that everyone knew she was a Latter-day Saint. I had read about the Mormons and Brigham Young in the history books at school, but I didn’t really know anything. And I couldn’t understand why this girl made me feel suddenly so curious, so interested in something I had never even thought about before.
That was only a year ago. I marveled how one brief year could totally change a person’s life. Nothing was the same as it had been before I learned about the gospel and joined the Church. I was involved in different activities now and had different friends. I thought different thoughts and wanted different things. And I was happier, and more miserable, than I had ever been in my life.

President Eyring tells of an experience he had when he took his turn reading from the Bible in his schoolroom. “Each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible…. When my turn came, I always chose to read the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. I didn’t tell my parents, either.
“When I was 11, I received a patriarchal blessing from my great-uncle, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God” (Friend, Apr. 1997, 6).

Sarah Tunnell was worried about how she’d fit in. Her family had just moved from Texas to Snohomish, Washington. Now Sarah would have to start all over again. New school. New ward. New friends—she hoped.
“We came to church that first week,” Sarah remembers. “It was the Sunday before school started, and in Mia Maids Tresa Brown was saying the closing prayer.”
At the end of the prayer Tresa said, “And please help Sarah to make friends and to feel at home here.”
“That made me feel really good,” Sarah says. “It was, ‘Wow, I’m new and they’re already praying for me! They remembered my name!’ I felt like everyone accepted me. That week I was walking down the hall at school, and everyone from the ward said hi. Becky Gale went out of her way to help me check my class schedule.”
The example of friendliness wasn’t wasted on Sarah. Visit the Snohomish Second Ward today, and she’s one of the many young women eager to welcome you. These “homies,” as people from Snohomish call themselves, have learned that it’s a simple thing to help everyone feel included.
Consider some additional examples:
—“When I came into Beehives for the first time,” Angela Gilbert says, “they had ‘Welcome, Angie!’ written on the board. They announced that I was new and made me feel comfortable.”
—“I got chicken pox and had to stay home from youth conference,” Traci Brown says. “But when they got back they came and told me how it was, and brought me stuff so I could see what they’d done. It was almost like having been there myself.”
—“Most of the LDS kids sit together at lunch,” says Anne Broadbent. Whether it’s at Snohomish High or at Centennial Middle School, these “Mormon Circles” have so much fun and use such clean language that others, LDS or not, ask to join in.
And the examples go on and on. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Jarvis remembers being greeted at the door with a sincere, “Yea! Bonnie’s here!” Leann Gustafson heard that a less-active friend had a sore throat and stopped by to bring her some cough drops. Aja Elmer learned not to be afraid to sing solos in Young Women, because she knows they’re all her friends. Others have learned not to be afraid to bear their testimonies before the whole group, for the same reason.
“There are no outsiders,” Tracie Graafstra explains. “Everybody belongs.”
It’s a concept that’s not only strengthened members but also played a part in seven conversions in the last few years.
“It was the people who first interested me in the Church,” says Kristy Shackelford. “They were genuine. They like you for yourself.”
“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”
“I went to church with Neoma Huston; then I went to girls’ camp, and I always felt like I was accepted,” says Jula Jefferson. “The more I learned about the Church, the more I liked it. And everybody was always right there to help me.”
That type of support makes it easier to open up. “We’re not afraid to share the gospel, because it’s fun, it’s easy, and we know it’s true,” Angela says. “You want to do missionary work because you know people will be happier.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” says Aja. “Just say, ‘Hi, hello, how are you doing?’ People appreciate that more than you think.”
So what generates all this goodwill and sisterhood? Some of it comes from spending time together: at church, at school, at youth conference, on service projects even when it rains. Some of it comes from taking a genuine interest in people, little things like remembering birthdays and making them special. And some of it comes from receiving kindness and passing it along.
“The Laurels were nice to me when I was a Beehive,” says Tresa Brown, “so now that I’m a Laurel, I try to be nice to the Beehives, too.”
But it’s Traci who gives the most accurate answer. “It’s how the Savior would treat people, isn’t it?” she asks. “His example shows us that he loves everyone. We’re trying to act like he would—to be kind and loving to everyone.
“Oh,” she adds, “and hugs work, too.”
“You can feel the Spirit,” Tracie says. “That love draws people in. When you’re going through a hard time, you know these people are always here for you. And since they have the Spirit with them, it just overwhelms you with love.”
That’s why everybody belongs here. It’s why in every ward or branch, every young woman should belong.
Is there a newcomer in your ward who may feel like nobody cares? You can help him or her overcome that feeling. Here are some suggestions from the Snohomish Second Ward Young Women. By the way, these ideas work just as well for long-time members, too:
“Be open-minded and really cheerful. You don’t know what they’re feeling, and you don’t know if they’ve had a really crummy day. So if you say hi and cheer them, it’s going to boost up their day and they’re going to remember it for a long time.”
Nicole Broadbent, 15
“Remember birthdays. When I turned 14, the Beehives made a big sign, brought balloons, taped candy to the porch, and gave me a journal as a present. I thought, ‘They’re doing all this for me!’ I felt so loved.”
Courtney Davis, 14
“Be genuine. Treat each other the same at school as you do at church. Treat everybody the same no matter where you are or who you are with.”
Becky Gale, 18
“With activities every Wednesday, seminary every morning, church every Sunday, and dances on Saturdays, there are plenty of things to invite your non-LDS friends to. Have your own parties, so you don’t feel the need to go to the wild parties at school.”
Kathy Cravens, 14
“Don’t be separated in spirit just because you’re in different classes. Avoid forming cliques. You’re all sisters, some older, some younger. You’ve got all these sisters in the Church.”
Becky Tunnell, 14
“For our Young Women in Excellence program, I brought two nonmembers to play music with me. They were so well accepted and felt so at home that now they want to come back and do more things with us.”
Angela Gilbert, 13
“It starts with one person. Let someone know that you love them, and they’ll go out and do it to somebody else; then they’ll do it to somebody else, and so on, and then you’ll have this great ward like ours.”
Tresa Brown, 16

One young husband decided to find out for himself if the Church were true. He had observed the uplifting changes brought into the lives of his wife and children, who had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints six years previously. He obtained a copy of the Book of Mormon and began reading. At first he felt nothing, but he continued to read. He remembered that he should pray as he read—that was the counsel the missionaries had given. For the next six evenings he continued to read and to pray. He continued to plead with the Lord to let him know the truths contained in these scriptures.
Two more evenings he continued, and then a deeply spiritual experience began to unfold. He found himself listening as he read. It was as though he were hearing the characters in the story speak rather than verbalizing the printed word himself. He continued to pray and to study. At the close of the tenth evening, he stated that he was now hearing the voices of the characters and feeling the spirit of their messages.
His continued effort brought him near to the Lord in his search for truth; he then received a testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.

At age 17, after being hit in the eye with a baseball, he promised the Lord that if he didn’t lose his eyesight, he would read the Book of Mormon. He regained the use of his eye and read 10 pages every day for nearly three months.
“It was the most powerful spiritual experience I’ve ever had, when the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Book of Mormon was true,” Elder Echo Hawk said. “That experience has empowered me throughout my life to help me improve.”

I think back to 1951 when Sister Ballard came into my life. When I saw her, I fell in love. I have to admit that I worked very hard to get her to understand that I was the only true returned missionary.Brethren, sometimes you have to put forth that kind of effort! I have often told our children that the best sales accomplishment of my life was getting their mother to agree to marry me. In my case, I had to work hard to win the heart of my precious companion. Some of you may need to do the same.

We were married in the Salt Lake Temple. I had a part-time job and was attending the university (I won’t name which one). She also had a job. Together we were very careful. We saved what we could. We had a hard time and we had some desperate moments. But as we look back on our thirty-six years together, some of the most beautiful times of our lives were during those early days of our marriage when we were your age. Sister Ballard was nineteen and I was twenty-two. Do not miss living through the difficult times with your companion. I believe in many ways Barbara and I became more dependent upon each other and more dependent upon the Lord in those early days of our marriage than perhaps at any other time.

Some are concerned about supporting children. I tell you tonight: do not worry about it. If Barbara and I had sat down and figured out what children would cost and whether we could afford them, we never would have had any. Yet we are now the parents of seven children and grandparents of twenty-two grandchildren—and within a matter of weeks, twenty-three. Of all our life’s accomplishments, our children and our grandchildren are the most precious. We could not afford any of our children, but they are here and doing well. We have given them much love and they have given us much love in return. Today when we gather together as a family, it is glorious to us. We made it work and so can you.

When I was 14, some Latter-day Saint missionaries came to our home and taught my mother and me. They soon invited us to be baptized. My mother declined, but I said yes. Looking back, I don’t know that I was converted. I think that, like many teens, I was simply looking to do something different than the norm.
For the next year I went to church by myself. I didn’t really feel like I fit in, and I didn’t understand much of what was taught. But I was active. The next year I lived away from home and attended a Church-owned high school in Mexico City. Although I had loved the high school during my initial visit and worked hard to be accepted to the school (and to convince my parents to let me attend), I quickly found that being on my own wasn’t easy. I still didn’t have a testimony. I didn’t really understand who Joseph Smith was or what the Book of Mormon taught. More than ever I felt like I didn’t fit in.
Of course, I didn’t tell my parents. I had spent a lot of time convincing them to let me come to this school. How could I admit that maybe this wasn’t the place for me after all? Because of my pride, I just struggled silently.
My difficult situation became worse when I received news that my parents were divorcing. I felt as though my whole world was being destroyed.
It was at that point that my bishop took me aside and asked how I was doing. I told him about all of my frustrations and my sorrows. “I feel like I really don’t know anything anymore,” I said.
That good bishop started teaching me about the gospel. We started with how to truly communicate with Heavenly Father. Over time we talked about the Atonement. He taught me truths of the gospel, and for the first time, I felt I had a testimony. I was glad I had something to cling to in that shaky period. Even though I felt powerless to help my family, I was able to feel a sense of happiness in being close to Heavenly Father. I knew that He knew me, and that changed everything.
Thanks to the love and patient teaching of my bishop, high school became a positive period in my life. Attending the Church high school changed my vision of who I was and what my life could be. When I graduated, I stayed in Mexico City. The first thing I did once I found a place to live was find the local ward so I could continue to have a place of refuge, a place where I could grow in the gospel.
A short time after that, I served a mission on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. I found great joy in sharing with others the truths that had given me a solid foundation in an otherwise turbulent time of life.

Justina sat extra tall in her seat. She placed her new pencils right at the top of her desk. Today was the first day of school. She’d met her classmates and drawn a fun picture.
Then Mrs. Werner said, “Time to work on writing!” Mrs. Werner handed out papers to the class. “You have 30 minutes to work on this. Then we’ll go to recess.”
Justina gulped. “Oh no. Writing already?” she thought.
Last year Justina had a hard time with reading and writing. All of her friends seemed to like it. It wasn’t so hard for them. What if this year was like last year all over again?
Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach sank. All the other students were writing. Except for her.
She wanted to talk to Mrs. Werner. Would she be mad that Justina was having trouble? Even if she was, that still sounded better than writing.
Justina walked to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Werner? This is harder than what I did last year. I don’t think I can do it.”
Mrs. Werner didn’t look upset. She smiled at Justina. “Do what you can. You might be surprised at what you can do! You can’t always choose what you’re good at. But you can always choose how hard you try.”
Justina walked back to her desk. She thought about what Mrs. Werner said. “I can choose to try.” That was like what she learned in Primary. Her class read a scripture that said we are “free to choose.” That meant we could make our own choices. Heavenly Father trusts us to make good choices. He promises to help us when we make mistakes.
Could school be different this year? Maybe she could choose to make it different! Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach relaxed. “OK. I’m going to do this,” she thought.
The recess bell rang. Justina wasn’t finished yet. But she was more than halfway done! She raised her hand. “Can I stay and keep working? I’m so close to being done!”
Mrs. Werner smiled and nodded.
Justina finally handed in her paper. Her hand ached a little bit. Even her brain hurt! But she was smiling. She had never worked so hard on writing before.
The next day the class worked on reading. Mrs. Werner asked everyone to read for 20 minutes. Justina tried again. She opened her book and sounded out the words.
Justina started making choices every day. She chose to read. She chose to write. Maybe reading and writing weren’t so bad!
She even chose to go to the library. She checked out books. Last year she would have never done that. Soon she was reading all the time. And it was actually fun! And the more she read, the better she got at writing.
When Justina got older, she was glad she chose to work hard in reading and writing. Because now those were some of her favorite things to do.

When my parents suggested I use the For the Strength of Youth booklet to study for my next oral Spanish exam, I was surprised. It did make sense, especially since the examiner would be asking me about my stances on moral issues, but I didn’t think it would be as helpful as they thought it would be.
My father downloaded a copy of Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud from LDS.org, and for the next few weeks, I cross-referenced my English copy with my Spanish one. I looked up interesting words and useful phrases, and it also helped me get a deeper understanding of the doctrine.
When the morning for the exam came, the language came to me as I needed it, and I was able to talk with confidence about morality, music, abstinence from alcohol, the importance of families, and clean living. I was able to testify of the truthfulness of my beliefs, and I actually enjoyed it.
Studying Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud did help me speak better Spanish, but what I didn’t expect was how close it brought me to the Spirit. As I answered the questions that day, the Spirit brought so much back to my remembrance. I know now that as long as I do what it takes to have the Spirit in my life, I don’t have to be afraid.

I remember well an experience I had as a passenger in a small two-propeller airplane. One of its engines suddenly burst open and caught on fire. The propeller of the flaming engine wasn’t moving anymore. As we dropped in a steep spiral dive toward the earth, I expected to die. Some of the passengers screamed in hysterical panic.
Miraculously the steep dive put out the flames. Then, by starting up the other engine, the pilot was able to get the plane under control and bring us down safely.
Throughout that ordeal, though I “knew” death was coming, I was not afraid to die. I remember a sense of returning home to meet ancestors for whom I had done temple work. I remember my deep sense of gratitude that my sweetheart and I had been sealed eternally to each other and to our children, born and raised in the covenant.
The Lord has said, “Fear not even unto death; for in this world your joy is not full, but in me your joy is full” (D&C 101:36).
I realized that day that my marriage in the temple was my most important accomplishment. Honors bestowed upon me by men could not approach the inner peace provided by sealings performed in the house of the Lord.

Sister Whang taught her girls to help spread the gospel. When President Till arrived in Korea in 1974, he learned from a survey that only 10 percent of the people in Seoul were aware of the name of the Church. During his three years as mission president, he and his missionaries concentrated on changing that. With Sister Whang’s permission, President Till assigned several elders—who formed a singing group known as “New Horizon”—to work directly with the Tender Apples choir to put on a musical show that would introduce the people in Korea to the gospel.
The group became immensely popular. Through it all, President Till remembers, Sister Whang “taught the girls that they shouldn’t be too proud of themselves, because they were just doing what they were supposed to do.” At the end of three years, more than 70 percent of the people in Seoul recognized the Church’s name.