Gospel Story Finder

I worked at Disney Interactive Studios for about 13 years as an artist and producer, and one day when I pushed the elevator button to go up to work, I felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Well, I put that thought on a mental shelf and continued to work. How could I leave a stable and desired career? How could I leave the good people I loved and had worked with for the last decade or so?

But it pressed upon me, and I knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. I tried to put together a plan so I had something in place before leaving, but no matter how I tried, it didn’t materialize. So I left without a job or opportunity in place. I cried and had many deep, heartfelt discussions with my Heavenly Father during this time.

What I learned was the plan was not to have a plan. I learned who I was minus any title, career, or status. Though painful as this change was, it was an invaluable space for me to learn about me and my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just two months after I left, that studio that I thought was stable shut down out of the blue and without warning.

Throughout my experience in leaving Disney, I pondered and searched this quote from President Spencer W. Kimball: “Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”1 Our true security and peace is born of faith in Jesus Christ. That faith in Christ is a choice we can make. I’m grateful He let me choose Him.

Then we received a referral from Salt Lake City and baptized another man—the first black man to be baptized in our area. He told us he had prayed for a long time for the Lord to send someone to him who could tell him which was the true church. He told us that when we first knocked on his door, he saw a light shining around us—and right then he knew that his prayers had been answered. He was baptized shortly after that.

One of the most important days of my life was the day I was baptized. I was 40 years old. The missionaries had knocked on my family’s door in Brazil. Whenever I read in the Book of Mormon about the sons of Mosiah, who were such powerful missionaries, I think of Elder Hansen and Elder Furness. They were well groomed, so it was easy for us to invite them into our home. They were well educated and polite. They had beautiful smiles and a good spirit with them. I love those missionaries who taught me to know the Lord. After I was baptized, they placed their hands on my head to confirm me. I cried a lot because I had never had such a wonderful feeling. And I have had this same wonderful feeling ever since.

The Neels have been reading the scriptures in the morning as a family and studying the plan of salvation. That helps to strengthen Drew’s understanding of where he came from, why he is here, and where he is going. At one of those family discussions, his parents talked with him about a special experience that took place when he was born. “Just when you were getting here, there were problems,” his father explains. “But thanks to faith and a priesthood blessing, both you and your mother pulled through.”

Samu, a ten-year-old African boy, walked slowly down the village farm road. He smacked at the hedge with every step, trying to spear a leaf on the pointed tip of his msasa stick.
When he finally reached the gate in the hedge, he paused hopefully. Then he reached out and swung the gate open and shut, open and shut. The gate was badly in need of oil and squeaked loudly as Samu swung it backward and forward.
Soon Samu heard the same loud squeak come from the old woman’s front porch. It was the bird—the clever talking bird!
“Squeeeeeeeeek, squeeeeeeeeek! Naughty boy! Who’s there?” called the bird in the yellow cage. Then it barked shrilly like the old lady’s Pekinese dog.
Samu clutched the gate and giggled. “Hello, hello!” called Samu.
“Hello, hello!” replied the bird.
Samu felt very clever. He ran to his home in the village and told his mother that he was teaching a bird to speak. His mother laughed, because she knew nothing of talking birds.
“I will show you, Mother,” Samu said excitedly. “As soon as I get a bird of my own, I will teach it to talk!”
Mother was busy pounding corn into mealie, and she just laughed at Samu’s promise and told him to run away and play.
Samu asked some of his friends to help him catch a bird. “I will teach it to talk,” he told them. But his friends only laughed, for they had never heard of a talking bird.
Next Samu spoke to Old Mwanza, who sat all day by his hut warming his old bones in the sun.
“Birds do not talk. Men talk—and they talk too much,” said the old man, shaking his grizzled head at Samu. “Why teach birds to add to the chatter?”
Samu wandered off into the bush by himself, wondering how he could catch a bird and train it to talk as the old woman’s bird did. He had almost given up hope when he saw a black crow sitting in the branches of a msasa tree hoarsely croaking about nothing in particular.
Why don’t I try to make friends with this bird by feeding it? he thought. I will bring it some of mother’s cooked mealie every day at the same time until it knows me.
Samu quickly ran home and begged for some hard-cooked porridge. His mother gave him a handful, and back he ran to the msasa tree and spread lumps of mealie on the ground. Then he hid in the bushes. After a lot of surprised scraaaking, the crow hopped down and began to peck at the mealie.
Every day for three weeks Samu took a handful of porridge and fed the crow. It no longer flew up into the tree with a scraaaaak of fright when Samu arrived. Now it hopped up close to him and jumped up and down in the dust, waiting for Samu to spread the porridge.
At first when Samu tried touching its feathered back, it hopped out of reach and looked at him with bright beady eyes as it scolded, “Quraaaaaaack?”
But in another week Samu could stroke the crow’s back gently while it pecked up the food.
Now! he decided triumphantly. Now I can teach it to talk.
“Say hello,” Samu told the crow. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaak!” replied the crow.
“You will have to do better than that,” Samu said patiently. “Now try again. Say hello. Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaaak?” repeated the crow, putting its head to one side and blinking at Samu with curious eyes.
“Look,” scolded Samu. “If the other bird can say it, so can you. You’re not trying.”
“Crraasquk,” squawked the crow as it flew up to the lowest branch of the msasa tree.
Samu walked home through the bush, dragging his bare feet and feeling miserable. Why wouldn’t his bird even try to talk?
He went back to see Old Mwanza and told him that the crow refused to learn to talk.
“This bird that talks with many voices and barks like a dog and squeaks like a gate,” said the old man, “must have two tongues. Perhaps your bird only has one tongue.”
I guess my crow does have only one tongue Samu thought sadly. But I will try once more! So back he went to the msasa tree with a handful of mealie. He fed his crow and then squatted down in the dust beside it. “Hello!” he said loudly. The crow danced sideways for a moment and then hopped on to Samu’s knee.
“Squaaaaako!” said the crow, and again it flew up into the tree.
Samu felt quite sorry for himself. All of his work for nothing!
Behind him the old man chuckled. He had followed Samu to see how he was getting along with teaching his bird to talk. “Samu,” he said, “it’s good to try hard to do something. But it is foolish to try to do the impossible. Would you try to teach a hen to swim like a duck or a dog to crow like a rooster?”
“No,” said Samu sheepishly. “But the old woman’s bird talks. Why shouldn’t mine?”
“I have found out about the old woman’s bird,” explained Old Mwanza. “It is a parrot—a talking bird. Your crow will make a fine pet. Why don’t you teach it to come when you call and to hop after you when you go for walks. Then you will be teaching it something it is able to learn.”
“One day I will get a talking bird,” said Samu. Then he started to laugh. “Teaching a crow to talk is like teaching a dog to crow!” he said.
The crow looked at him with its bright beady eyes and said, “Squarrrrrrrrk!”

Two or three years ago, while I was living in New Zealand, I received a magazine published for ministers. One of the main articles stated that today we live in a world where there is a “poverty of heroes.” The article stated that many people in high places were insincere, wicked, and even corrupt, and that the world was filled with people who could not be trusted or respected in any way. The article explained that young people living in this age are being cheated because of this unfortunate condition.
As I read, I kept thinking, “This is not true. The world is filled with heroes; it always has been and always will be!” Latter-day Saint youth are in a position to see heroes everywhere.
I remember as a young man how I looked up to our bishop. He didn’t speak English very well, but he was a marvelous leader and he loved us. He was an example of everything that was good and fine. He was my hero in my youth and still is.
I remember as a young missionary in New Zealand seeing men who stood way above the other people in that country because they had testimonies of the gospel and lived the way they should. One of them was a rugby player for the All Blacks (the equivalent of being an all-American football player in the U.S.). He had played rugby all over the world and told me that he always knelt down and prayed in the locker room before going out to play in any game. When I met him, his rugby career was over, but he was strong in the faith and a good, hard worker who could shear sheep with the best of the Maori men. He has always been one of my heroes.
I remember a marvelous sister who served for 25 years as the president of the New Zealand Mission Relief Society. In her home Elder Matthew Cowley, as a young missionary, translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price into the Maori language. As mission president he loved to go back to that home. To me she was one of the great women in the history of the Church. Her leadership lifted a whole nation of Latter-day Saints. To me she was a heroine in every way.
A few years ago when I was in Alaska, I met two elders. One had been converted about three years before in England and was now an excellent missionary.
The other elder was Jewish and had been converted only a year or two before. He said that one day, while he was at the beach in Santa Monica with some friends, he lay down to rest on a blanket. Another young fellow in the group—one whom he did not know well—came and sat by him. This stranger asked him if he would listen to an interesting story. The missionary then told me that for the first time in his life he heard about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the restoration of the gospel, and the Book of Mormon. He knew it was the truth and in a matter of three or four weeks he was ready to join the Church.
These two young missionaries in Alaska were heroes to me in a way. But the real hero was the boy on the beach in Santa Monica who had the courage to bear his testimony and tell that great story that changed the life of a fine young man.
I met a man in Florida who took 15 years to join the Church. But once he was in, he resolved to spend the rest of his life as a missionary. More than anything else, he liked to ask people questions about the gospel. He sold used cars, and one day an all-American football player asked him if he would sell him a small pickup truck. My friend said, “I’ll do that, but I want to ask you something far more important. What do you know about Moroni?”
“Moroni who?” the football player asked.
“I guess he doesn’t have a last name,” my friend said. He then persisted and taught the football player the gospel. Within a few weeks’ time the football player had joined the Church and has remained faithful ever since. My friend has brought close to one hundred people into the Church! To me he is a great hero and stands out as one of the best missionaries I have ever known.
I remember one time meeting a fine young married man who was not very large in stature. He was a professional jockey who had worked for some Latter-day Saint men who owned a large stable of fine racehorses. They taught him how to be a first-class jockey and chose him to ride a truly great horse that they owned. They also taught Johnny the gospel, and he joined the Church.
A year later, his bishop called him to go on a mission. Johnny said, “I can’t go. I’ve got to ride this special horse in the Kentucky Derby. I’m the only jockey who has ridden him.”
However, after some thought, Johnny went to his bosses and asked for their permission to go on a mission. They told him that they had a huge investment in him and couldn’t spare him to go on a mission because of the Derby and the other big races that were coming up. They were sure their horse would win the triple crown. However, neither of his Latter-day Saint bosses felt very good about their decision, so the next day they told him if he wanted to go on a mission, they wouldn’t stand in his way.
He went on his mission, and on the day of the Kentucky Derby, he went tracting in Canada while the horse he would have ridden won. It went on to win the triple crown. The other jockey earned over $200,000 while this fine young man taught the people of Canada the gospel. To me he is an outstanding hero.
Yes, there are heroes all about you. It is possible that your Laurel teacher or your priests quorum adviser or your Scoutmaster are heroes just as fine as any living on this earth. What about your seminary teacher, your bishop, your mother, or your father?
I think heroes are everywhere in our Church. They stand out in a world of sin and unrighteousness. May God bless us to recognize them and follow their fine examples. Even more than that, may he help us to become heroes to others as we serve him.

I was born on a farm in Iowa, USA. When I was three, my parents traded some old windows and doors for two goats. The goats were so small. A woman brought them to my house in a dog crate. They were beautiful. I named the white, black, and red one Alice. My mom named the tan and black one Tawny.
Mom and Dad helped the woman load the doors and windows into her truck. She was going to turn them into artwork. I watched the goats nervously look around our yard. All of a sudden Alice took a running leap and jumped right over our pasture fence. Tawny looked from us to Alice and decided to leave too. She sprang over the fence like she could fly!
We tried to round them up by bribing them with sweet feed. But the two goats just trotted down the road. They disappeared into a cornfield. We were all scared that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to their new home. I thought they would be lost in the hundreds of acres of corn that surrounded our house.
I told my mom that we should pray. We had read in the scriptures where Amulek said to “cry over the flocks of your fields” (Alma 34:25). I knew Heavenly Father was watching over our goats.
After I took a nap, I woke up and looked in our yard. Alice and Tawny were there. They had found their way back! I know Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. Sometimes it’s even quickly and in the way we hope!

Quietly the ten-year-old girl tiptoed toward the big oak tree. Her bare feet stepped lightly on freshly fallen leaves. A twig snapped. The girl stopped a moment, hoping the boy on the other side of the tree had not heard. There was no sound.
The girl moved closer. Soon she stood beside the boy and, without warning, grabbed the slate shingle he held in his lap.
“Hey, what—”
Before the boy could say another word, Sarah Lincoln waved the shingle high in the air. “Look at this, everyone,” she teased. “This is my worthy brother and his shingle for writing. You ask what my worthy brother is worth? Why, look at his shingle. He has written his name again and again. Surely he must fancy he is worth a giant treasure.”
Eight-year-old Abe jumped up and grabbed his shingle board. “You are always teasing!” he scolded. “You might do well to practice your own writing.”
Sarah laughed. “If I did, I’d write something better than my name—or yours. Vanity brings pain, dear brother.”
Still smiling, she ran off into the Kentucky woods. Abe sat down again, looking at his name on the shingle board.
“That Sarah,” he said to himself. “She’ll always be a tease.”
Sarah Lincoln was born on February 10, 1807. Two years and two days later, on February 12, 1809, her brother Abraham was born.
There was always much to do around the Lincoln cabin at Knob Creek. Thomas Lincoln was a farmer and carpenter. His wife Nancy Hanks Lincoln took care of the duties of the home and raising the children. As a young girl, Sarah soon learned to cook, clean, and sew. She helped gather berries in the woods and washed the family’s clothing.
At the Knob Creek School, Sarah was an eager pupil. As in most schools of that time, pupils spoke their lessons aloud while the schoolmaster carefully listened to them. Often Sarah shared her pride in young Abe. “He’s the brightest pupil in the class,” she told her parents. “I’m sure the schoolmaster thinks so too.”
Sarah was ten when her father moved the family west to Indiana. Once again the Lincoln cabin was near a creek. It offered a place to fish and swim, and the nearby woods were a perfect spot for hide-and-seek and other games.
When their mother became ill, Sarah took over most of the home chores and provided loving comfort and care for her mother until she died. She was buried on an Indiana hillside near their cabin where Sarah, Abe, and their father knelt quietly in prayer.
It was no easy task keeping a clean cabin for a grown man and a boy of ten. Although Sarah did her best, it was too much for a twelve-year-old girl.
Thomas Lincoln went to Kentucky once more, and when he returned he brought a new wife. Sarah Bush Johnston Lincoln was a widow with three children. Quickly she accepted Sarah and Abe as her own. Again there was laughter in the Lincoln cabin.
One night after supper, seventeen-year-old Sarah stood up at the table. “Aaron Grigsby has asked me to become his wife,” she said softly.
The announcement was happily received. Aaron Grigsby was a hard-working farmer known for his good character. The marriage took place in the Pigeon Creek Church that Sarah’s father had helped build.
A year later Sarah was expecting a baby. “So I shall be Uncle Abraham,” her younger brother boasted. “What a fine sound that title has!”
Then tragedy struck. Sarah and her baby both died during childbirth. Stunned by the loss, Abe could not bring himself to talk about his sister for a long time.
After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

“Missionaries from the Western United States knocked on my door in England many years ago. After introducing themselves as representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ, they told us that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that it had been translated from ancient records by the power of God. They shared with us how this wonderful book came to light. As I looked at it, a warm feeling came over me and I knew that the writings were true. I still had to read more and then pray before I knew that the young boy, Joseph Smith, whom the Lord used to translate the Book of Mormon, was indeed a prophet. My family and I were baptized. A desire to know the truth, coupled with study and prayer, gave me a testimony. Everyone can receive the same blessing through study and prayer. President Benson has challenged every member of the Church to read the Book of Mormon every day because it will bring us nearer to our Heavenly Father and Jesus than any other book.”

I went through a time when I began to wonder if the Church was really the only true church on the earth. My friends all seemed to believe that their churches were true, and they are good people with high standards.

I set a goal to gain a testimony. I knew it would take time. I prayed, studied the scriptures, and made sure I attended all my Church meetings and activities. I really listened and asked questions, and I thought about all my parents had taught me. After I truly understood the gospel, I began to learn more about my friends’ churches. As I talked with my friends, I realized how fulfilling the gospel is in my life. As I shared with them my beliefs, I realized that I did know that the Church is true. A feeling came over me that was so great.

Don’t ever give up. A desire to gain a testimony is a sign that you are building one already. “And they did pray for that which they most desired … that the Holy Ghost should be given unto them” (3 Ne. 19:9).
Kerianna Copeland, 14Franklin, Pennsylvania

It was just such an example that led Natalia Yereskovska to the gospel. As a 15-year-old exchange student, Natalia left Cherkassy, Ukraine (south of Kyiv), for Sleepy Hollow, Illinois (northwest of Chicago). She gave her Latter-day Saint hosts quite a shock when, on the way home from the airport, she said, “I know God sent me to you.”
She had been praying to be placed with a religious family, “so I could find my spiritual life.” When she read the profile sheet of the Bruce B. and Jean Bingham family, she saw that they didn’t smoke and that they attended church regularly. She also felt something—a prompting that she should listen to the Binghams and follow their example. Natalia spent the next year participating in family prayer, home evening, Young Women, sacrament meeting, and Sunday School.
Her sensitivity to the Spirit grew. She found answers she’d been seeking for years. She took the missionary discussions. She fasted and prayed and received an answer that she should join the Church. Fearful that her parents would never approve, she gathered her courage, made her request, and received permission. She was baptized on 7 January 1996. But soon she faced concern of another kind: She must return to Cherkassy, a town of 350,000, where she would be the only Latter-day Saint.
“I was scared,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine going where there is no church, where I wouldn’t be able to go to meetings or take the sacrament. But on the flight home I remembered what Brother Bingham told me: ‘No matter where you are, you can be a light.’ That gave me some comfort.”
After spending two Sundays studying scriptures, praying, and singing hymns by herself, Natalia heard of an LDS youth conference in Kyiv. She went, and there she met Wilfried M. Voge, president of the Ukraine Kyiv Mission. Together they mapped out the required steps for the Church to be recognized in Cherkassy. The process started with getting signatures on a petition inviting missionaries to come. But the invitation had to come from adults.
Natalia made friends with a university professor who had once stayed with an LDS family in the United States. He agreed to help and prepared an official letter of invitation, got a group of business students to agree to listen to the missionaries, and even arranged a meeting with the mayor of a small town nearby. After Natalia explained about Church standards, the head counselor of her school also signed the petition and requested that missionaries speak to the entire school!
In September 1996, the first missionaries arrived. In October, Church meetings were held. In January, the first convert was baptized. Then another in February. Then families. Additional missionaries were assigned. Young Women, Relief Society, Sunday School, and Primary were organized. Picnics and service projects were held. Men were ordained to the priesthood. A branch president was called. Natalia led one of her lifelong friends to the Church, and even the professor’s wife was baptized! In short, the branch kept growing and growing.
When Natalia first thought about establishing the Church in her hometown, she was nervous. But President Voge said, “Heavenly Father will support you.” That kind of faith has paved the way for others.

Young Tommy Monson had always wanted a pony. He often admired his friend Henry’s Shetland pony. Wouldn’t he love to have one too!
One December, right before Christmas, Tommy’s mother took him to the toy department of a store in Salt Lake City. The store was going to give away a Shetland pony! To enter the contest, children had to write a note telling why they wanted the pony for Christmas. Tommy carefully wrote his note and placed it in the large box right next to the live pony in the toy department.
Finally the day came when the winner of the pony was going to be announced. Tommy and his mother waited in the excited crowd. Tommy was sure he would win the pony. He had already made a home for it in his sister’s playhouse in the backyard and stacked a pile of hay nearby. But when the name was chosen out of the box, it wasn’t Tommy’s name. Another child took the pony home, and Tommy was heartbroken.
As they left the store, Tommy and his mother walked past a man ringing a bell beside a small kettle to collect money for the poor. Tommy’s mother stopped and dropped in a big silver coin. Then she asked, “Tommy, do you have any money you would like to give to the poor for Christmas?” Tommy reached in his pocket, pulled out two nickels, and dropped them into the kettle, one after the other. It was all the money he had.
President Monson still remembers that day. “I didn’t win the pony,” he recalls. “But I received a far greater gift, even ‘the smile of God’s approval.’” It was a good Christmas after all.

On the evening of my husband’s Church disciplinary council, he returned home after our children were asleep and answered my questions about the action taken. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “By the way, some of my friends have died of AIDS. But don’t worry—I was tested, and I’m negative.”
Although he had previously mentioned his youthful immoral behavior, I was shocked by this new information. Feeling I could bear no more, I broke into tears and went to my room to pray. Heavenly Father listened to my brokenhearted cries, and I felt a consoling, calming influence rest upon me. Strengthened, I was able to sleep that night, and later I was able to endure the humiliating clinical testing my doctor prescribed.
Because of this experience and many others, teachings about the Atonement became more to me than just phrases and ideas; they became life-altering truths. Repentance, forgiveness, faith in our Savior—these truths became principles of action that brought much-needed blessings into my life. Through practical experience, I came to appreciate more fully the powerful reality of Jesus Christ’s ability to succor and heal.
The humbling experiences of the last year of my marriage were particularly difficult. Learning about my spouse’s infidelity, opening my private life to my bishop and stake president, dealing with my husband’s decision to leave, beginning divorce proceedings, and watching my children suffer because their father was no longer in the home were only the beginning of what seemed to be wave after wave of challenges. I also lost the close relationship I had enjoyed with my in-laws; had to seek financial assistance from my family, ward, and state; agonized over an injury to one of my daughters; endured a cancer scare of my own; recovered from a serious car accident; struggled to complete my bachelor’s degree; and suffered job-search disappointments. By the end of that year, I was stripped of pride. I felt unencumbered before the Lord—humbled by a “sense of [my] nothingness” (Mosiah 4:5) and by a complete dependence on Him as my only anchor in a sea of change.
Yet instead of feeling despondent, I saw my state as an opportunity for Heavenly Father to work His will in my life. I began to understand the relationship between adversity and spiritual refinement. During my troubles, I frequently asked myself, What would Heavenly Father want me to do in this situation? I sought specific answers through prayer, scripture study, pondering, and temple attendance. Through this process of seeking and receiving divine guidance, I acquired increased patience and deeper trust in Heavenly Father.
These words of Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to have great meaning for me: “It was for our sake that perfectly remarkable Jesus was perfectly consecrated. Jesus let His own will be totally ‘swallowed up in the will of the Father.’ If you and I would come unto Jesus, we must likewise yield to God, holding nothing back. Then other soaring promises await!” (“Repentance,” Ensign, November 1991, 32).
As I sought inspired direction and then submitted myself to Heavenly Father’s will, I saw more clearly how my experiences were opportunities for growth.
For example, the bitterness I felt about my former spouse and my present circumstances seemed contradictory to the blessings of the Atonement. My efforts to draw closer to Heavenly Father helped me reject the bitterness—and that helped me deepen my relationship with God. I was better able to understand the character of Jesus Christ, our perfect example.
I placed a quotation by Bruce C. Hafen, now of the Seventy, on my bedroom door and wept each time I read it: “If we were to let our thoughts be drawn out toward the heavens enough to transcend, even temporarily, the strains and limitations of daily life, we would be likely to hear the promptings of him who overcame all things, assuring us that the promise is true: He will, as an act of mercy, cause the circumstances of our lives to be for our ultimate blessing, if only we love him with all our hearts” (The Broken Heart [1989], 106).
For reasons known only to himself, my husband left our marriage with little or no explanation to his family and friends. Perhaps in an attempt to make sense of his decisions, many of my in-laws made assumptions without asking me any questions. They came to some incorrect conclusions. Usually I heard their comments indirectly, which was frustrating because I had no opportunity to respond with the truth. These comments hurt me, and I often felt my integrity was in question. I wondered if these people I had been so close to had ever really known me.
Two years after my divorce, I was told that one of my former spouse’s relatives had made a comment implying I was unforgiving. The remark began to fester inside me. I wanted to clear my name; I wanted to tell that man just how wrong he was. As I counseled with my bishop on the matter, I realized that what was important was that Heavenly Father and I both knew the truth about my relationship with my former husband and my contribution to the marriage. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I could talk to this man about his comment if I chose to, but I no longer felt it mattered much. Because of the Atonement I could let the hurt feelings go. I did not need to suffer because of this man’s—or anyone’s—opinion of me.
As the date of our divorce hearing drew near, my husband sent me a 16-page letter evaluating our marriage. Despite priesthood counsel to the contrary, I began to believe my husband’s assertions that the problems in our marriage were my fault—that I was even the cause of his infidelity.
Torn with doubts, I turned to the scriptures. There I found hope and understanding in the Savior’s words. I reflected on how His words had already blessed and lifted me. I wrote in my journal: “The tides of self-pity, self-reproach, and self-destruction rage against my shore. And at my shore the Savior is ever there, building—shoring up—protecting against the onslaught—telling me I have value—telling me to believe in myself. His is the voice I prefer to hear, the voice I must heed.”
I was blessed with opportunities to rebuild belief in myself. Priesthood counsel and blessings offered me divine comfort. Through the Savior’s great love, strength and courage returned.
My experiences have made me desire to emulate the Savior’s lifting of others. As I went through the divorce process, several people counseled me never to tear down my husband in front of our children. The wisdom of this advice was evident almost daily, as occasions to demean him arose frequently. I prayerfully sought the ability to withhold criticism and to emphasize his positive traits.
At first this was extremely difficult because he had hurt me deeply and had made serious mistakes. But as I tried to help my children see his worth, my capacity to continue doing so increased. Each time I used words that built him up truthfully and fairly, I felt closer to the Savior. I chose to allow—even foster—the tender feelings my children have for their father. When the Spirit prompted me to pray for him in family prayer, I was able to do so with compassion.
When my former spouse came back into full fellowship in the Church, one friend asked me how I felt. I answered honestly: “I am glad for him. I am relieved. I am thankful to Heavenly Father.”
My friend replied, “Do you understand how unusual that attitude is?”
But it didn’t feel unusual. It felt right. It felt good.
As I suffered wounds inflicted upon me from sources outside my control, I discovered that adversity helps me be a better person. My increased understanding of the Atonement has led me to recognize my need to repent and purify my nature. I’ve seen how difficulties can become opportunities for growth that may come in no other way. I’ve come to appreciate aspects of the Atonement I’d not noticed or understood before. Certainly I have much more to learn, but I do know that through His Atonement the Savior makes up the difference between my efforts and Heavenly Father’s perfect standards.
I am forever grateful that the Savior submitted perfectly to His Father’s will, “suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
“And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:11–12).
Indeed, that is what the Savior does for me.

As I began preparing my first general conference talk, I realized what a daunting task that can be! Speakers in general conference are not assigned topics, so I needed to discover for myself what the Lord would have me say.
I prayed and waited for direction. After some time, my wife, Isabelle, who is wise and knows me well, saw me struggling to begin.
“Look, you have got to do something,” she said. “Get started and write something!”
That is what I did. In the process, I started six or seven possible talks. As I pondered the various possibilities, I became comfortable with one of them and felt it was the talk I should give. The Spirit settled my mind, and the rest of the talk flowed.

During the 1993 Christmas season I was serving as a missionary in India. The first week in December, three days after I arrived, I was asked to help organize and direct a choir in the Bangalore Branch because the members wanted to participate in an annual choir festival held in Bangalore. Neither my companion, Sister Annie Christensen from Utah, nor I was aware of what this festival entailed, but we agreed to help out.
I selected “Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains” (Hymns, number 212) to sing in the program, and 16 people attended two enthusiastic rehearsals held on the roof of a member’s home. They were not familiar with singing in parts, so we sang in unison without musical accompaniment. If a piano was available at the festival, I would play instead of direct.
The date of the performance arrived. As we stepped down from our harrowing motorized ricksha ride to downtown Bangalore, we stood astonished before a huge city building. It was draped with a large banner that read “Festival of Christmas Music.” Stunned, we walked up the broad flight of stairs and into the foyer, which was filled with costumed participants. This festival was a big event!
We scrambled to get one of the printed programs. Listed were the names of several church, college, and university choirs. We looked for our group and gasped as we read, “LDS Choir (Mormon’s Tabernacle).” We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
We found a quiet place and pleaded for heavenly help. I turned to my companion and said, “You’ll need to direct the choir!”
She replied, “I’ve never done that before in my life!”
“Just smile,” I assured her. “Wave your arm in a figure eight and look confident.”
When the curtain opened for our number, my companion had our Indian “Mormon’s Tabernacle” choir arranged on risers ready to perform. All seven of the sisters on the front row wore beautiful saris, and the nine men behind them wore suits. Sister Christensen, as director, was magnificent. She even took a bow!
Then I took a deep breath, walked on stage, and sat down at the piano. My companion raised her hand and started her figure eight, and I played the first chord. The sound that came from the choir and piano shocked me, and I could hardly play. It sounded as if the real Tabernacle Choir were singing that night.
I knew then that our prayers had been answered and that there must have been a choir of angels singing along with our little group. As the last note sounded, there was silence. Then, in the auditorium, thunderous applause erupted. The curtains closed, and we wept with joy. Guess who won a prize that night? We did!
The fourth verse of the carol we sang that evening reads, “Hasten the time when, from ev’ry clime, Men shall unite in the strains sublime: Glory to God, … Peace on earth, goodwill to men!” The voices of many, both seen and unseen, must have united that night in Bangalore, India, in singing praises to the Lord.

One more example. This one really happened.
I remember sitting in my elders quorum meeting several years ago, enjoying a lesson based on “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” At one point in the lesson a member of the quorum read part of the proclamation. The instructor was about to move forward with the lesson when another quorum member raised his hand. “I have a question,” he said. Quoting a phrase that had just been read, he asked, “How can we teach our children ‘to love and serve one another’?” The expression on his face and the sound of his voice revealed that this was more than just a question—it was a plea for help. I was grateful that he asked because he expressed a plea that was in my heart as well.
This heartfelt question changed the pace of the lesson. Our teacher put his lesson plan aside temporarily. Quorum members paused to think, and some shared ideas and experiences in response to their friend’s question. Then the teacher shared an insight of his own and continued with the lesson, focusing on other truths in the proclamation. The discussion lasted only a few minutes, but it continues to influence my family and me.
Doctrine and Covenants 18:34–36 and 88:122 came together in that quorum meeting. The process began with a teacher who was humble and wise enough to invite us to read the words of the prophets. It continued when a quorum member had the courage to ask a question—to ask for help. Then, as different men with different backgrounds spoke one at a time, “all [were] edified of all.” I testify that by the power of the Holy Ghost, I heard the Lord’s voice that day—first through His prophets and second through my neighbors and friends. And I went home knowing the word of the Lord better than I had the day before.

A missionary district leader was wondering why Elder Parker, who was about to conclude his mission, was successful in spite of his inability to memorize the discussions. To understand, he teamed with Elder Parker to give a discussion. Elder Parker’s presentation was so disorganized that by the end of the formal lesson, the district leader was confused and surmised that the family being taught felt the same way.
It was then that “Elder Parker leaned forward and put his hand on the arm of the family’s father. He then looked him straight in the eyes, told him how much he loved him and his family, and bore one of the most humble and powerful testimonies that the district leader had ever heard. By the time he finished, every member of the family, including the father, and both elders had tears running down their cheeks. Next Elder Parker taught the father how to pray, and they all knelt down while the father prayed that they might receive testimonies of their own and thanked Heavenly Father for the great love that he felt. Two weeks later the whole family was baptized.”
Later, Elder Parker apologized to his district leader for not knowing the discussions. He said he struggled with memorization, even though he spent hours each day working on it. He said he knelt in prayer before teaching each family and asked Heavenly Father to bless him when he bore his testimony so that people would feel his love and the Spirit and know they were being taught the truth (see Allan K. Burgess and Max H. Molgard, “That Is the Worst Lesson I’ve Ever Heard!” in Sunshine for the Latter-day Saint Soul [1998], 181–83).

Recently my parents moved across the country. Since I am attending college, I could not go with them. I ended up moving into an apartment by myself. At first it was thrilling to be independent, but I started to become bored and lonely. My daily trip to the mailbox was not helping since I was only faced with an ample amount of new bills. In March of 1991, I received a wonderful surprise. My mother had given me a subscription to the New Era. Thanks for the wonderful articles and spiritual uplift at a time when I needed it most.
Karla BertramEdmonton, Alberta, Canada

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

One day, while waiting her turn at the dentist’s office, Heidi felt impressed to give a copy of the Book of Mormon, with her picture and testimony inside, to a neighbor lady who was also waiting. “You can have this,” Heidi said, handing the woman the book. “It’s a true book, and ours is the true church.”
The spirit of truth worked quickly. The next day the neighbor lady, Lajla Pedersen, phoned and asked if she could go to church with the Pedersens the next Sunday. Soon Lajla and her husband, Jan, were converted to the Church. Within weeks he was baptized, ordained a priest, and was able to baptize his wife, his daughter, Lisabeth, and his son, Kim.