Gospel Story Finder

As a 16-year-old priest, I was just beginning a part-time job as a radio announcer at a local station. After I offered a prayer at the sacrament table in our ward, a girl who was present told me I sounded like I was reading a commercial. Can you imagine the shame I felt? After 50 years that rebuke still stings. Brethren, remember the significance of those sacred prayers. You are praying as a servant of the Lord in behalf of the entire congregation.

I know a couple who had seven children. The wife, who was afflicted with high blood pressure, had been advised by her physician that another pregnancy would bring grave danger and should not be attempted. But the couple interpreted the teachings of their local priesthood leaders to mean that they should consider no contraceptive measures under any circumstances. She died from a stroke during the delivery of her eighth child.

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.

I would like to share an example of how the Lord can help you. One of my youth leaders, Thad Carlson, shared it with me many years ago. Thad, who recently passed away, had an enormous impact on me while I was growing up. He was raised during the Great Depression, the ninth of 14 children. His family made a living by farming and raising cattle. It was a difficult time financially, and their greatest asset was their herd of cattle.

In Thad’s youth, one of his responsibilities was to care for and, when necessary, herd the cattle to assure that they found the best feed—a big job for a young boy. He was able to do this with the aid of a smart cow pony who knew exactly what to do with little direction. The pony was named Old Smoky. But Old Smoky had one fault: he never wanted to be caught. Whenever anyone approached him, he would run away, knowing that he was going to be put to work.

One day, after Old Smoky was caught, bridled, and saddled, young Thad rode out to the pasture where the cattle were grazing. The ground was dry, and so was the pasture, but Thad noticed that the grass outside the pasture along the sides of some railroad tracks was longer and greener. So he thought he would herd the cows outside the fenced pasture and let them enjoy some of the good feed along the railroad tracks.

With the help of Old Smoky, Thad herded the cattle out of the pasture, where they began to move back and forth along the railroad tracks feeding on the better, greener grass. The contented cows seemed to be taking care of themselves, so Thad got off his horse and sat on the reins of the bridle, enjoying the surroundings around him, playing and amusing himself. Looking to graze in the green grass himself, however, Old Smoky eventually drifted away, his reins slipping out from under Thad.

This idyllic and peaceful moment came to a crashing and abrupt halt when Thad suddenly heard a loud noise from far away. It was the whistle of an oncoming locomotive barreling down the very rail tracks where his cattle herd was lazily scattered right in front of him! He recognized that the consequences could be devastating to the herd and also to his family if he did not act quickly to get the cattle back into the pasture and away from the oncoming train. He felt that he would never be able to forgive himself for not fulfilling his trusted responsibility.

Thad swiftly jumped to his feet and ran to grab the reins of Old Smoky. Old Smoky saw Thad coming and quickly danced away from him, not wanting to be caught. Breathless and desperate, with images of dead cows and family tragedy flashing through his mind, Thad knew he had to act fast.

He later recorded what happened: “My Primary teacher had taught us to pray and reinforced teachings learned from my mother. With no other recourse, I dropped to my knees and started to pray for help to clear the cows off the tracks.”

Thad didn’t hear a voice, but a clear thought came to him: “Notice how the cows can walk by Old Smoky and he doesn’t move. So … now that you are on your knees, also get on your hands. Play like you’re a cow and crawl over to Old Smoky.”

Thad said: “I did. He didn’t move. I grabbed his reins, led him to the fence, hopped on his back, and we raced like the wind to get the cows back into the pasture. Old Smoky was unusually brilliant at every twist and turn.”

Later, when Thad was in high school, it fully dawned on him that he had received a clear answer to his prayer in a critical time of need. He observed, “Angels administered to Old Smoky beyond my ability, and our family was spared a tragedy.” Later he said: “This was the first of many promptings that [were] to come to me. ‘And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you’ (3 Nephi 18:20).”7

Young women around the world stand in holy places in nature at Young Women camp. A leader shared with me the story of one young woman’s experience. This girl was less active and was a bit skeptical about having a spiritual experience in the woods. After the first day, she reported to the leader, “I’m having a great time, but could we please cut out all of the talk about the Spirit? I’m here to camp, enjoy nature, be with my friends, and have some fun!” However, at the concluding testimony meeting, this same girl tearfully admitted, “I don’t want to go home. How can I have what I am feeling right now, this Spirit, with me all the time?” She had discovered a holy place.

There is nothing my toddler loves more than trying on my clothes. I’ll often find her rifling through my drawers, stumbling about in high heels, or tripping over dresses that are much too long for her tiny legs.
Recently, she added a new accessory to her wardrobe—my bright blue scripture case. She sauntered into the living room with it dangling from her shoulder, clearly struggling a bit with its weight. As I applauded her entrance and asked her to spin around, I realised that this was the first time I had seen my scriptures in months.
I’d received my own set of scriptures on my eighth birthday, and I had treated them with utmost respect. By that, I mean I had completely dogeared them and filled the margins with notes (and a few drawings—even I’ll admit that’s too far). They were well used, wrinkled and bashed about from years of enthusiastic study. Over time, my studies transitioned over to my phone and the gospel library app. As much as I preferred flipping through the actual pages of a book, convenience won, and my beloved quad began to gather dust.
I decided to open the case and show my daughter what was inside. As well as the scriptures themselves, dozens of lesson handouts and various other bits of paper tumbled out. I found my old Personal Progress journal, a lanyard from a weeklong youth conference in 2012, and a photo of the Saviour. To my daughter these were all exciting new treasures; to me, an equally exciting time capsule. I couldn’t believe that I had neglected to look inside after so long—I probably hadn’t unzipped the case since before my daughter was born. We had a lovely time going through each item, before finally reaching the set of scriptures. Despite one mishap with a ripped page (toddlers aren’t very delicate), it was a wonderful activity.
I thought back to my own childhood, when my mum’s big set of scriptures always sat open somewhere in the living room. Those same scriptures would be passed around as we studied them together, even when I was so small that I could barely read. I wanted my daughter to experience that—to always have a set of scriptures open and close by, ready to leaf through. Now, there is nothing more precious to me than those little moments where I spy my little girl toddle over to the scriptures and flip through. I can only hope that as she becomes familiar with those pages, that she will also grow to cherish the message inside.

At the age of two I was in a farming accident that left me paralyzed from the waist down. However, I was fortunate enough to be raised in a family who overlooked the disability and treated me just like everyone else.
We always enjoyed swimming at the local pool. One evening at the pool, when I was about 9 or 10, as I “walked” up and down the edge of the pool (my weightlessness in the water allowed me for a short time to be like everybody else), I watched my family laughing, splashing, and diving from the sides. My brother Robert, who is two years older than I am, thought I was not having as much fun as the rest, so he decided to help me. He told me to hold on to his shoulders, and he would swim me over to the far side of the pool. He said it would be fun. He was right; it was fun. I played on the other side, and as long as my feet could touch the bottom, I felt safe and secure.
Then Robert came to take me back. This time he veered from the shallow end, and I was soon in deep water. Suddenly he stopped and with a quick movement he turned and pulled my arms off of his shoulders and said, “OK, now swim.” Then he let go, and it was a matter of sink or swim. I sunk! Robert thought for sure I would swim. Luckily my dad had been keeping an eye on us, and he was at my side instantly. I grabbed onto his strong shoulders, and he led me back to the shallow end of the pool. As a result of that experience, I developed a fear of the water. I would still go with my family on these outings, but I would usually watch from the safety of the poolside deck chairs.

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” her dad said. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her that I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

Let me share an example of how this rippling begins and reverberates when one righteous Latter-day Saint woman acts upon her knowledge that Jesus is the Christ and the gospel has been restored.
In 1841, Dan Jones, a Welsh immigrant, was the captain of one of the smallest registered boats carrying people and freight on the upper Mississippi River. It seems more than coincidence to me that his boat was named the Ripple. Among his passengers were members of an obscure “new” church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During his journeys Dan Jones began to hear criticisms of these “Mormons.” Because he had ferried many of them, he had talked with them and observed their behavior. He found them to be good people—kind, honest, and hardworking. The negative comments and writings about these people did not match up with what he had experienced in his dealings with them.
“Through a careful investigation of the accusations,” he later wrote, “I perceived clearly that it was impossible for them to be true, either because … they overstated the case or … contradicted themselves” (quoted in Ronald D. Dennis, “Dan Jones, Welshman,” Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50).
One significant event in particular propelled Dan Jones from a careful observer to an active investigator of the Church. He wrote this: “Purely by accident, there fell into my hands … a letter which [Emma Smith] had written. … I shall never forget the feelings which that … letter caused me to have. I perceived clearly that not only did [she] believe the New Testament, the same as I—professing the apostolic faith, and rejoicing in the midst of her tribulations at being worthy to suffer all … for a testimony of Jesus and the gospel—but also it contained better counsel, more wisdom, and showed a more … godly spirit than anything I had ever read!” (Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50, 52).
Inspired by Emma’s words and example, Dan Jones sought to learn more about this church. In 1843 he was baptized in the Mississippi River and became one of the most influential missionaries in the history of the Church, bringing hundreds of people to the gospel in his native Wales. In a very literal way, Emma Smith’s influence continues to ripple through generations. Who can say how many hundreds, even thousands of the descendants of those Dan Jones introduced to the gospel may be listening to this meeting at this very hour?

“There’s the temple!” Dad said, pointing out the car window.
Rachel leaned forward in her seat. She could see the tall white spire in the distance with the golden angel Moroni on top. It was beautiful!
All her life, Rachel had looked forward to going inside the temple. Now she was just minutes away from going inside for the first time! Mom and Dad had even helped her find family names to be baptized for.
Rachel had heard about how peaceful the temple was. But as their car pulled into the temple parking lot, Rachel started feeling kind of panicky.
I’m going inside God’s house, Rachel thought. What if I’m not ready? What if I’m not worthy? She swallowed hard as Mom parked the car.
“You OK?” Dad asked as they got out.
“I’m a little nervous,” said Rachel.
“It’ll be great,” Mom said. “There will be lots of kind temple workers to help you.”
“And we’ll be there too.” Dad gave Rachel’s arm a gentle squeeze.
That made Rachel feel better. But just a little.
Rachel and her parents walked through the temple doors. A man in a white suit was at a desk. “Welcome to the temple,” he said, smiling. Rachel showed him her recommend. Some nice temple workers gave her a white jumpsuit in her size.
Rachel tried to feel the peace everyone had talked about. But new worries kept popping up in her mind like crazy popcorn kernels. What if the water’s cold? What if I don’t know where to go? What if I do something wrong?
When Rachel went into the locker room to change, she knelt down in the stall and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help me feel more calm. Please help me to feel peace.”
Rachel’s worried mind felt a little clearer as she finished her prayer. She stood up, zipped on her white jumpsuit, and walked out to meet her parents by the baptism font. She was feeling better already!
There were some other kids waiting to be baptized, so Rachel sat on one of the soft benches to wait. It helped a lot to watch them and see how it was done.
Then it was Rachel’s turn. She gave a temple worker the cards with her ancestors’ names. She took a deep breath and stepped into the water. It was warm!
Rachel listened as the young man baptizing her said the words to the baptism prayer. As she came up out of the water, she felt like her ancestors were giving her a big hug for doing this for them. She felt like she could almost hear them whisper, “Thank you.”
After Rachel changed into her dry clothes, she was confirmed for the ancestors she was baptized for. When she and her parents walked back out the temple doors into the sunshine, Rachel felt good inside.
“So, what did you think?” Dad asked.
“I loved it,” Rachel said. “I loved it with my whole heart.”
As they drove away, Rachel smiled as she watched the temple disappear in the distance. She really had felt peace inside the Lord’s house. And she could honestly say that she loved to see the temple.

How was school?
Not that great.
You look exhausted. How much sleep did you get last night, and what did you eat for lunch?
I’d really like you to take better care of yourself, Nico—and so would Heavenly Father. Try going to bed earlier and eating healthier foods. You’ll feel better—physically and mentally.
Hm. Maybe Mom’s right about taking care of myself. I should give it a try.
How was school, Nico?
It was great!

My father sat next to me in the cramped cab as I pulled a plow behind the tractor to create furrows that would guide the water evenly through the field. Corrugating takes a long time, and the lines have to be perfectly straight. Craning my neck to see out the back window, I could already see my line was curving.
I didn’t know what to do. If I corrected, the field would have a series of S lines. If I let the curve continue, it would slowly become more pronounced. The water would never make it across the field, and much of the crop would quickly wither and die.
Pointing my tractor at the correct angle, my father told me to line up two shapes on the horizon with the tractor’s hood. He told me to make sure the three points overlapped from my point of view. As long as I kept those three points lined up, the tractor moved in a straight line.
After three hot days in the field, I gazed out over my finished work. Rows of straight lines met my eyes. When the field was completely corrugated and sown, the water flowed evenly across it. The alfalfa seeds would grow tall, strong, and green.
Just like I needed to align three points to create straight lines, we need to align ourselves with those things that are right. As we do so, we will point ourselves in the direction of the Savior, and we will have access to living water.
Heather W., Utah, USA

The youth and adults of the Farmington Utah Stake presented an original musical production about the exasperation leading to the organization of the Primary. Entitled “Oh, Those Boys!”, the musical showed boys killing bats during Sunday School in the attic of the Church. A chorus of young girls sang the pleasures and responsibilities of being “at the end of the row.” (In early Primaries, older, well-behaved children were placed at the end of the row to set an example and control the other children.)

“Oh, Those Boys!” played two nights, and most of the audience went away informed, entertained, and amazed at the job the young people had done.

Bing! As Kiconco B. sat in her home in Georgia, USA, another picture came into her mom’s inbox. It was from Kiconco’s uncle who was working in Uganda, the country where Kiconco had been born 12 years earlier. Kiconco expected to see the pictures and texts that her uncle sent every Sunday, but what she didn’t expect was the impact this picture would have on her and her summer.
In the picture, a group of children were huddled together. Normally, Kiconco and her mom looked at the pictures and then deleted them, but this time, the Spirit inspired them not to. Kiconco looked at the children more closely. “They were wearing clothing that was ripped and didn’t fit them properly,” Kiconco, now 13, says. “They were wearing rags,” Kiconco’s mom adds.
Kiconco was especially drawn to the two girls in the picture. She asked her uncle about them and found out that they were sisters being raised by their widowed grandmother, Nuliati. Her uncle then sent another picture of the two girls with their grandmother in front of their home, which had dirt floors and grass for a roof. Kiconco’s mom says, “They were standing right in front of their little house that was so beat up.” When the rainy season hit Uganda, their home would turn into a mud puddle. This made it hard for the family to cook because they couldn’t light a fire. It also made it difficult to sleep because there wasn’t a dry place to lie down.
This picture touched Kiconco. She told her mom, “I’m going to help this family.” At first Kiconco decided she was going to send her clothes to the two girls in the picture. But then she says, “I decided to think bigger and brainstormed with my mom. Sending clothes wasn’t enough. It would help them more just to have a house. They had clothes. They just needed a house more.” And so Kiconco decided to raise money to give them a home.
When Nuliati heard that Kiconco was going to help them get a house, she fell to her knees and cried. She had been praying that God would help her. Kiconco’s mom says, “She got to the point that she suffered so much that she thought God didn’t know she existed.” But God had been listening to Nuliati’s prayers, and they were answered in a unique way.
Kiconco knew she would have to raise money to help give the family a home. She decided to complete small projects and to send the money to her uncle in Uganda, who had found a contractor to build the house. It would take a lot of time and energy, but Kiconco went to work. She says, “When you help people and serve them, it makes you feel good. And it makes them happy—and everyone around you.”
She babysat, made and sold bread, watched people’s dogs, and painted fingernails. Every day, Kiconco tried to find projects so she could continue to raise enough money to build the house. She packed and moved boxes, cleared poison ivy, harvested corn, and washed decks. Little by little Kiconco made progress toward her goal. As she earned money, she sent it to her uncle so that the contractor could start building Nuliati’s home.
Raising money was hard work, and every now and then, Kiconco was worn out. “Sometimes I didn’t want to work anymore. I just wanted to stay home,” she says. Kiconco’s mom adds, “She really was sacrificing her whole summer.” But on those days, Kiconco felt God helping her move forward.
Kiconco’s mom started a GoFundMe page and posted about Kiconco’s project on social media. A stranger from Chicago saw the post and told her grandson about it. He donated the money he earned from mowing grass. One of Kiconco’s school teachers told her Sunday School class about Kiconco’s goal. The members were so touched that they donated money. One of Kiconco’s friends also told her grandmother about it. Her grandmother told the members of her church, who were so happy to hear about it that they also donated money. A woman from Kiconco’s ward also sewed a quilt and sold it to raise money for the family. Kiconco’s friends and family donated to the cause too. Overall, 35 people donated money to Kiconco’s project.
When Kiconco started receiving help from others, she said, “Wow! This could actually work!” From the support of others, Kiconco gained an extra boost of energy and found more work. Finally, after many hours of hard work, Kiconco had raised enough money to finish building Nuliati’s home.
The week before Nuliati and her granddaughters moved into their new home, it rained every single day and night, and the little grass roof the family slept under didn’t keep out the water. Their new home had a tin roof and cement floors. Here, they could sleep and cook during the rainy season.
Even though the home was finished, Kiconco knew the family didn’t have any furniture. In fact, they had never owned beds or even blankets. Kiconco wanted to help but didn’t know what else to do, because they had sent all of the money they had raised, and there weren’t any more jobs for them to do to raise money. Then Kiconco told her mom, “I think you might need to take the money from my savings account and go and buy them three beds so they don’t have to sleep on the cold cement floor.”
The next morning, Kiconco’s mom prepared to go to the bank but felt she should wait for the mail to come before she went. When the mail finally came, to Kiconco’s surprise, she found two envelopes that each had a check donating to the project. Kiconco’s mom says, “We opened the mail, looked at each other, and laughed. We almost did a dance!” Now, Kiconco had just enough money to buy furniture for the family. She says, “I knew God was helping me.”
Kiconco immediately sent the money to her uncle, who bought the family three beds, blankets, a table, and chairs.
When the truck pulled up with the furniture, the family was so happy and grateful. Kiconco’s mom says, “Even after they moved in, they felt like it was a dream. They were just amazed at the whole thing.”
Kiconco says, “It made me happy to finally look at the family’s home and to look back at what I had done. It was awesome!” To other youth who want to help others, she says, “Just have faith. You can do anything if you believe you can.”
Kiconco’s mom adds, “It really strengthened our faith because we never got stuck in any stage of building the house. Every time we ran out of funds, something big would happen.”
Nuliati and her two granddaughters still walk barefoot and don’t have electricity. But when they walk home in the drenching Uganda rains, they can dry off, cook a meal, and rest. Kiconco says the most important thing she learned was that “when we serve others, we are serving God.” Kiconco’s small and simple projects came together to bless a family.

I would like to share a simple experience that illustrates the struggle we sometimes have to embrace the personal nature of the Lord’s Atonement.
Years ago, at the invitation of my file leader, I read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and marked the verses that referenced the Lord’s Atonement. My leader also invited me to prepare a one-page summary of what I learned. I said to myself, “One page? Sure, that is easy.” To my surprise, however, I found the task to be extremely difficult, and I failed.
I have since realized that I failed because I missed the mark and had incorrect assumptions. First, I expected the summary to be inspiring to everyone. The summary was meant for me and not for anyone else. It was meant to capture my feelings and emotions about the Savior and what He has done for me so that every time I read it, it will bring to the surface wonderful, poignant, and personal spiritual experiences.
Second, I expected the summary to be grand and elaborate and contain big words and phrases. It was never about big words. It was meant to be a clear and simple declaration of conviction. “For my soul delighteth in plainness; for after this manner doth the Lord God work among the children of men. For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding.”
Third, I expected it to be perfect, a summary to end all summaries—a final summary that one cannot and should not add to—instead of a work in progress to which I can add a word here or a phrase there as my understanding of Jesus Christ’s Atonement increases.
As a young man, I learned a lot from my conversations with my bishop. During those tender years, I learned to love these words from a favorite hymn:
I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,
That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died.
Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
The prophet Moroni invited us: “And now, I would commend you to seek this Jesus of whom the prophets and apostles have written.”
President Russell M. Nelson promised that “if [we] proceed to learn all [we] can about Jesus Christ, … [our] ability to turn away from sin will increase. [Our] desire to keep the commandments will soar.”
On this Easter Sunday, just as the Savior came forth from His stone grave, may we awake from our spiritual slumber and rise above the clouds of doubt, the clutches of fear, the intoxication of pride, and the lull of complacency. Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father live. I testify of Their perfect love for us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A letter came from a rural area addressed to me. It said, “Following your advice, we appraised our lot and became ashamed of it. It was a pioneer rural home with the usual barn, chicken house, and sheds. The outside fence was broken.
“We tore down the old barn; we straightened up and painted the fence; we whitewashed the other outside buildings; and we dug up the barn area and planted a garden, and what a delightful one it was! Thank you.”

During his last Pan-American karate championship, Felipe wasn’t feeling very confident. But then his dad gave him a priesthood blessing. “After that my mind was better, and that helped me win the championship that day. The last two matches I won, I had only one second left. Everyone thought it was impossible. I did an unexpected move that helped me win, and for me, it was all because of my dad’s blessing.”

One night a grandfather was reading a story to his four-year-old granddaughter when she looked up and said, “Grandpa, look at the stars!” The older man smiled kindly and said, “We’re indoors, honey. There are no stars here.” But the child insisted, “You have stars in your room! Look!”
The grandfather looked up and, to his surprise, noticed that the ceiling was peppered with a metallic glitter. It was invisible most of the time, but when the light struck the glitter a certain way, it did indeed look like a field of stars. It took the eyes of a child to see them, but there they were. And from that moment on, when the grandfather walked into this room and looked up, he could see what he had not been able to see before.

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.

One day at school, my friend Sophia asked me what I believed in and if I belonged to any religion. I remembered the first Article of Faith, which says, “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.” So I shared that with her.
I also told her that I was a Christian and a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She listened to me and understood what I shared with her.
I felt very good because I knew that I had been brave to share my beliefs with my friend. Because of my hard work to learn the Articles of Faith, I was able to share the gospel and know what to say.