Gospel Story Finder

Although his acting career is just starting, Tracey is already receiving praise for his ability. He is also drawing attention to his way of life. Wherever he has worked, he has influenced other members of the casts and crews. On one occasion a cast member told him, "Everybody on this set is searching for what you already have." A cast member of Joe Panther wouldn’t even drink coffee when Tracey was on the set. "I’ve taken up drinking orange juice because that is what you drink," he said.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Mount Royal Quebec Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.
And when they did, the youth of this English-speaking ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens were ushers, served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.
“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us, what we believe, and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non–Latter-day Saints toured the building.

When President Thomas S. Monson was young, his parents taught him the principle of work by their examples. His father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. When he was home, he did not stop working in order to take a well-deserved rest. He continued to work by providing service to family and neighbors alike.3 His mother was always working to provide some needed service to a family member or friend. President Monson’s parents often asked him to accompany them or to do some service for them, allowing him to learn firsthand about working to serve others.

President Monson learned from his father how to work in business and began his first part-time job when he was 14, working in the printing shop that his father managed. President Monson relates that after age 14, there have not been many days in his life—other than Sundays—when he didn’t work. “When you learn to work while you’re young, the habit stays with you,” he says.4

It’s like open season on siblings. Behind the house, Josh is pelting little brother Joe with tennis balls. Joe is pelting Josh back. With each volley, the velocity increases. Dad, on a ladder washing windows, is about to climb down, storm over, and threaten mass destruction if Josh and Joe don’t “Cut it out!”
Inside the house, little sister Jessie is sobbing because big sister Jonelle pulled on Jessie’s hair. Meanwhile, Mom is trying to change baby Jackson’s diaper, not noticing that dinner is about to boil over on the stove.
Enter you. We’ll call you Jasmine, if you’re a young woman. If you’re a young man, we’ll call you Jeremy.
Actually, it doesn’t matter what first name we give you, because what we’re really going to call you is Captain Peacemaker, the superhero of harmony at home, always ready to help family members get along. Confronted with the chaos just described, here’s what the Captain might do:
Ask permission. If someone’s in danger of being physically hurt, rush to their aid. Otherwise, ask Mom or Dad if it’s all right to intervene. Except in emergencies, no family superhero worthy of the title operates outside parental permission.
Use a soothing voice. It’s one of Captain Peacemaker’s most potent superpowers. “A soft answer turneth away wrath” (Proverbs 15:1). A quiet, “Hey, guys,” may be just enough to get everyone to shift gears and quiet down.
Put out the “fire.” In the case of food boiling over, remove it from the heat. In the case of people boiling over, do the same thing. Cool the combustion by separating those whose tempers are flaring. (For example, take one outside for a walk while the other goes downstairs.)
Suggest alternatives. Use Captain Peacemaker’s magic motto: “Let’s do this instead.” Switching to a new activity may help others to stop fanning the flames of contention by focusing their attention elsewhere.
Request backup. You probably don’t have a special signal light in the sky, but you do have ways to summon assistance. Siblings may become allies if enlisted. Parents can step in. So can Church leaders if needed. You can pray. And you can study in your scriptures about the Prince of Peace and follow His example.
Let’s take a look at the scenario now. Thanks to Captain Peacemaker, Josh and Joe are playing catch with Dad, focusing on the accuracy of their throws rather than on how to inflict pain with a projectile. Both boys have promised that after dinner they will help Dad finish washing windows. Jonelle is helping Jessie to braid her hair, and they’re talking about what dresses they’ll wear to church on Sunday. Dinner is simmering on the stove. And Mom is gently rocking little Jack-Jack to sleep. Incredible.
Peacemaker. That’s a superpower worth seeking.

First: I will never forget the dream I had about two years ago, about my paternal great-uncle Steven. In that dream, I traveled to my hometown and wanted to come back. I got to the market square, where I wanted to get a car back to my base. Then I saw a car and entered it. When we moved, I looked through the car window, and I saw Uncle Steven running after the car and stopping it. When the car stopped, he entered at the back, where I sat and started pointing at my face and said, “What did I do to you? Why do you not want to help me the way you are helping others?”
When I woke up, I was confused, so I narrated the dream to one of my sons. He told me that the dream I had was about doing temple work for our ancestors. I told him that I didn’t know how I would do this one because I don’t know much about Uncle Steven and I don’t know how I can trust his lineage. We are not from the same village.
My son told me to pray to our Heavenly Father for direction on what to do. So I prayed. One day our most senior brother, my first cousin Emeka, who wasn’t a Christian (he was a traditional man), called me to discuss something. We talked on the phone, and when the discussion was finished, I seized the opportunity to ask him about our Uncle Steven. He acknowledged he knew things about him, and he sent the information that he had to me. I kept on asking him about many people. He sent me information he had for about 15 people. I handed that information to my son to be doing temple work for them.

My plan to make friends and integrate seamlessly into my new boarding school was working out as I had hoped—until the first Sunday morning when I hurried into the dining hall dressed in my suit and tie to grab a quick bite before heading to church. It felt like the room went silent as my peers, still wearing their pajamas, stopped eating and stared at me through their half-shut, sleepy eyes. I quickly realized that I was the only active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the school.
The Lord has said to Church members, “Arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:5).
Without me saying a single word, news of my religion spread rapidly. I began receiving daily questions about my faith, which usually began with “Hey, you’re Matteo, the Mormon, right?” Most questions were genuine, some were jarring, others were malicious, and a few were simply comical.
One friend asked me sincerely, “Isn’t it true that you guys don’t eat oranges?” to which I jokingly responded, “Oh yeah, oranges are straight from the devil.” As we were both laughing, I realized that his initial apprehension eased, and we felt a stronger connection as friends.
Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.
The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.
After Halloween, people’s attitudes toward me changed, and questions about my faith evolved into peers asking me for advice about their own lives. To my surprise, friends and acquaintances who had gotten over the initial shock of learning that I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs and that I am waiting to have sex until I’m married turned to me for guidance specifically on those topics.
I found myself reassuring friends who were feeling pressured into having sex that they had the power to choose, encouraging some to go to the school counselor to talk about mental health and addiction concerns, and even consoling someone who made a mistake that would likely lead to expulsion. I was baffled by the way many of my peers could transition from mocking me to seeking my advice.
Over time, I understood that being completely confident, open, and vulnerable about who I was drew others to me who were seeking a judgment-free space and a listening ear.
I am grateful for two of the many important lessons I learned that year. The first is that healthy laughter can dissolve apprehension and contention and is an excellent way to unify people. The second is that choosing to be confident in who you are brings remarkable opportunities to help others that would have never come otherwise.
There were many times when I wanted to hide my religion and be known for something else. But having a sense of humor and vulnerability about who I am allowed people to get to know me as Matteo, not just someone with different beliefs.
Elder Matteo Huish, age 18, Arizona, USA
Enjoys spartan races, family game nights, and performing music.
Elder Huish is currently serving in the Canada Toronto Mission, speaking Persian.

Hiding behind Dad’s truck, I pulled ever so slightly on the rope that reached up over the tree branch above the garage door. The large bucket of water at the other end of the line jiggled as I pulled. I grinned. The trap was finally ready!
My big brother was so going to get it as soon as he came out of the garage. Kyle deserved it, too! This time his teasing had gone too far.
My little sister walked over to my hiding place again. “Come on, Megan. Let’s go play. Just forget about it,” she said.
“No way,” I told her. “I’m going to get even.” She didn’t understand. I had to do this.
“But I want to play on the swings,” she said. “Won’t you come with me?”
I shook my head. “Not until Kyle walks under my trap.”
My sister left. The sun rose higher. It was a perfect day to play outside. But this was important. I thought of all the rotten times my brother had teased me.
Banging and clanging sounds came from inside the garage. What was he doing in there?
I had to admit it was getting a little boring holding that rope. Especially on such a nice, sunny day. But I didn’t think about letting go for a second. The wait would be worth it when Kyle walked through the garage door and I dumped the big bucket of water on his head. I couldn’t wait to see his face! It would be the perfect payback.
A noise came from behind the garage door. My muscles tightened as I gripped the rope. I watched the door like a cat ready to pounce.
The lock clicked. The door swung open. I saw the edge of a tire and one of my brother’s sneakers. This was it! I yanked hard on the rope. The entire bucket of water tipped and poured all over Kyle. As the now-empty bucket dangled from the rope on the tree, I jumped up and hooted in excitement. Yes!
Then I noticed something that stopped my yell of excitement right in my throat. Kyle was pushing my bike. It had been broken for weeks. But now it was all ready to ride. I didn’t understand.
Kyle looked at me and said, “Um, I fixed your bike.”
I just stood there. As the water dripped off his face and off my bike, I didn’t feel at all like I expected to. My trap had worked perfectly, but I felt horrible.
The whole time I’d been waiting there, my big brother had been doing something nice for me. In fact, now that I thought about it, Kyle did nice things for me all the time.
“I’m sorry!” I said, still feeling awful. “I was … I mean, earlier today …”
He held up a hand and smiled. “It’s OK, Megan. I’m sorry too. That’s why I wanted to fix your bike.”
Kyle looked up at the bucket. “Nice trap,” he said. Then he laughed. “I never saw it coming.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him. Suddenly I felt much better inside. My big brother had already forgiven me. Just like that! I realized I needed to learn how to do that too.
“Hey, want to ride bikes?” I asked.
Kyle nodded. “Sounds awesome. I’ll probably dry off faster that way.”
As we laughed again, I knew it was going to be a great day after all.

At a time when I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo, the Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 A.M., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 A.M. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for it at that early hour, there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car at the stop light.
The thought crossed my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one else would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:
“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

One final story—once again from when I was a bishop. One night, while I was in a sound sleep, the doorbell rang. I stumbled to answer it and found a young member of my priests quorum at the door. I knew him well—well enough to have gone on outings with him, to have prayed with and about him, and to have taught him. I knew him as well as a good bishop knows any active eighteen-year-old priest, which was well enough for me to ask what he was doing at my front door in the middle of the night.
He said, “I have to talk to you, bishop. I’ve just done something serious, and I can’t go home.”
He was right. It was serious. I invited him in, and we talked. He talked and I listened, then I talked and he listened, until dawn. He had many questions. He had committed a terrible sin. He wanted to know if there was hope. He wanted to know how to repent. He wanted to know if repentance included telling his parents. He wanted to know if there was any chance of his going on a mission. He wanted to know many other things.
I didn’t have all of the answers, but I told him there was hope. I told him the way back would be difficult, but it was possible. I explained what I knew about the process of repentance and helped him see what he must do. I told him if he really wanted to go on a mission that that decision could only be made in the future after he had repented. Then I told him to go home, and he did.
He made his peace with his parents. He asked forgiveness from those he had wronged. He put sin and bad company behind him and did everything he could to repent.
A year or so later, five young men from that quorum went on missions. He was one of them. I was close to them all. I attended each of their farewells. They all served honorable missions. Within a brief time after returning home, they all were married in the temple. My wife and I attended each of the ceremonies. I could take a piece of paper, even today, and write their names and the names of their wives and some of their children. That is how well I knew them.
But now let me tell you something—something very private and very important. I cannot remember the name of the young man who came to my home in the middle of the night. I know he was one of the five, but I don’t remember which one.
There was a time I used to worry about that. I thought perhaps my memory might be failing. I consciously tried to recall who it was that had the problem, but I could not.
I was eventually released, and I put the entire incident out of my mind. On a late evening walk some years later, I found myself in the ward where I had once been bishop. The shadowy quiet brought back many memories. I was deep in thought when I realized I was walking in front of a house where one of my priests had lived years before. Suddenly, the story of the young man I have mentioned came to mind, and again I tried to remember which of the five he had been. Had he lived in that house? I wondered. Why couldn’t I remember?
As I continued on my way, something happened—something difficult to explain, but real to me. I seemed to hear a voice which said: “Don’t you understand, my son? I have forgotten that. Why should you remember?”
I was chagrined. There was no satisfactory answer to the question. I have never wondered about it again. And I knew more surely then than I had ever known before that the Lord is pleased when his children return to him.

Last summer, youth in the Val Vista Ward in Mesa, Arizona, participated in what they called the “STEP” program: Students Trying Elijah’s Promise. First the youth became familiar with the Church’s Web site new.familysearch.org, where they each got a sign-in name and password. Then they went to work researching their ancestors to find those who needed temple work.
The ward also held an all-day Especially For Youth program on July 24. The event was designed to focus on family history and temple work and featured workshops, games, food, and research time on computers. “It was one of the most amazing events I have ever been a part of,” said Bishop Charles Doane. “In one day the youth found over 500 family names for ordinance work.”
The young men and women continued searching for names, and by the time they went to the temple in August they had nearly 1,200 names ready.

There were no swimming pools in the small town of Vernal, Utah, where I spent most of my childhood, so we swam in irrigation canals. Some of them were deep and could be dangerous if you weren’t a fairly good swimmer.
Many of my friends were a little older than I was, and they knew how to swim. I did not. I didn’t want my friends to know that, though, so when I went with them, I made excuses and played around on the bank, or went to where the water was shallow and acted as if I was swimming. I was really just pushing on the bottom of the canal with my feet and dog-paddling with my hands, but I kept faking it, thinking nobody knew that I couldn’t swim. My dad knew, however, and one time he said to me, “I don’t mind your going with the boys to the canals, but I want you to promise me that you will never go into water that is over your head unless an adult is there and knows what you’re doing.”
That was a problem for me. I didn’t like his rule because it meant that I wasn’t always free to go with my friends. But I agreed to do what my father had asked.
One day several of my friends were planning to go to a canal I had never been to before. I asked them if it was deep, and they said, “Oh, yes, it’s a really good place to swim.” They told me it was a wider, deeper canal than most—forty feet or so across.
When I told them I couldn’t go, they wanted to know why, so I finally told them, “I promised my dad I wouldn’t swim in water that’s over my head, because I can’t swim very well.” That was the way I put it: “I can’t swim very well.” So we hunted around to see if we could find an adult, and my uncle, who lived next door and happened to be home, agreed to go there with us.
The first thing my friends did when we got there was swim to the other side. I still hadn’t told them I couldn’t swim, so I thought, Well, now is the time; I have to do it.
I got into the water and started across, and somehow—driven by panic more than anything else, just flailing my hands and feet in the water—I made it to the other side. But then my friends turned around and swam right back, leaving me alone on the bank.
I said to myself, I made it once; I guess I can do it again. And I started across. But by this time I was too tired, and the way I was “swimming” was wearing me out. I reached the middle of the canal and just couldn’t go any farther.
I went down. I don’t know how deep the water was there, but I remember seeing it get darker and darker as I sank deeper. I held my breath, and when my feet finally touched the bottom, I pushed off for the top. I was above the water just long enough to look around and see my uncle sitting over on the bank before I went down again.
When I came back up, I yelled to my uncle for help, then down I went again. I didn’t think to inhale when I got to the top and then exhale as I went down; I was trying to do both at once, and there wasn’t much time for it. When I came up again, I saw that my uncle had jumped into the water and was swimming after me. By the time he reached me, I was at the point where I thought I couldn’t do it anymore because I wasn’t getting enough air. My uncle was a powerful man, however, and he pulled me to shore. I lay there panting and gasping, but I was OK.
I have thought about that incident often since then. How grateful I am for a father who was wise enough to put safeguards around my life. I could have died that day by giving in to the pressure of my friends, but my dad had made a rule that there be an adult with me, and that rule saved my life. I learned to value obedience. Obedience is not just to please someone else—it is for our own good.

Thanks so much for the article “Picture This” (Sept. 1994). I decided to put a picture of Christ in my locker too. It took me a few days to actually put it up, but when I did I noticed an instant change in myself, in the way I thought about and treated other people. Now every day at school I look at myself in my mirror, then at the picture of Christ, and it reminds me to be as Christlike as possible. Being one of only four members of the Church at my school, I feel like it’s an example, not only to my member friends, but to other people as well.
Cari RickabaughSturtevant, Wisconsin

Myra clicked the mouse as fast as she could. Her character, Galina the elf queen, was trying to defeat the huge ice dragon. Her friends from school were online too. They were playing elves and fairies in the game.
Flashes of color burst all over the computer screen. This dragon was tough!
“Almost there, almost … Yes!” She jumped up and pumped her fist in the air.
The chat box on her screen lit up with messages.
“Awesome job!”
“Let’s do it again!”
Myra smiled. She loved playing Quest Planet with her friends. “Just need to drop off this treasure first,” Myra typed.
Ping. A new message popped up. “Pancake1000 would like to be your friend,” she read.
Myra frowned. She was only supposed to play online with friends from school. But maybe this was someone else she knew. She clicked “Accept.”
Ping. “Hi! I’m Ethan. What’s your name?”
I don’t know any Ethans, Myra thought. But maybe it would be OK to talk to him.
She bit her bottom lip. “I’m Myra,” she typed.
For the next few days, Myra played and chatted with Ethan online. He was really good at the game and showed her where to buy supplies for her character.
“Where do you go to school? I go to Jefferson,” Ethan said.
Myra paused. That was a school near hers. Maybe he knew some people from her school. She started to type “Woodberry.” But then she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She remembered how her parents always said not to share any personal information with people she didn’t know—like her full name, address, or school. She also knew to never send pictures of herself.
Ethan said he was her age and lived nearby, so maybe it was OK to talk with him. She still wasn’t sure, though.
So instead she typed, “Do you want to visit the Enchanted River? I need some vanishing stones.”
Pretty soon Myra noticed a pattern. Whenever she chatted with Ethan, he’d start out talking about the game, but then he’d ask questions about her real life. He always asked her for more information.
One day Ethan wrote something that made Myra really uncomfortable. She tried to change the subject. “I’m going to the Fairy Realm for some unicorn hair.”
Ping. A message popped up. Then another. And another. Myra ran out of the room to find Dad.
“Dad?” Myra said.
Dad looked up from a book. “What’s up?”
“I was playing my game …” Myra gulped and looked down. “Someone is sending me bad messages.”
Dad looked at the messages while Myra tried to look anywhere but the screen. Her insides felt like they were being squeezed. She wished she had never accepted Ethan’s friend request.
“I’m glad you told me. I’ll report him to the website and block him from your account. I’ll call his parents too. Is he in your class?”
Myra’s voice was soft. “I don’t know him … I’m sorry.”
Dad hugged her. “Do you remember why you should only play online with friends you know in person?”
Myra nodded. “To stay safe.”
“That’s right. It’s easy for people to lie about who they are online. I’m sure there are lots of nice kids on Quest Planet. But it’s safer to only play with kids you know.”
Myra was quiet for a few moments. “OK. I’m sorry.”
Dad gave her another hug. “I’m proud of you for telling me when something made you uncomfortable. That took courage. And it’s always a good choice.”
Now Myra really felt brave, just like Galina the elf queen!

Illustration by Richard Mia
One Sunday following the final session of a general conference, I felt a very specific prompting to sign into my FamilySearch account and do some family history. I was reluctant to work on my family history because I had never had much success with my other attempts. My family is quite vigilant in family history, and I just had a thought in the back of my mind that there was nothing left to do.
I sat back and sighed with frustration as I looked at the dead end I had tried working on for years, hoping that this would finally be the day where I would find some information. I began my regular searches through census, marriage, and birth records, and after an hour I found nothing. Then the Spirit that had been whispering to me all weekend through the conference sessions prompted me to pray and find out who was ready for their work to be done now.
As I finished my prayer, I went back to my own name and moved forward through the line. I distinctly felt the Spirit guide me from one line to another until I ended up on my grandfather’s side of the family. Over the next hour the Spirit flourished in the room, and I came away with six names to take to the temple. As I finished requesting the names for the temple, I glanced down at some of the records I had received information from. My eyes swelled with tears and my heart was full of joy—the information had come from indexers who had volunteered their time to enter records for my ancestors. In gratitude, I indexed names for others for the next hour.
That day my testimony swelled with thankfulness for two reasons. One, that during general conference, the Spirit had led me to do family history work and to know which names to search for. Second, for Church members all over the world who index names so that people like me can find our ancestors clearly and quickly and hasten their work. It was a clear and powerful testimony to me of God’s work spreading forth upon the whole earth.

My friend Donna grew up desiring to marry and raise a large family. But that blessing never came. Instead she spent her adult years serving the people in her ward with unmeasured compassion and counseling disturbed children in a large school district. She had crippling arthritis and many long, blue days. Yet she always lifted and was always lifted by her friends and family. Once when teaching about Lehi’s dream, she said with gentle humor, “I’d put myself in that picture on the strait and narrow path, still holding to the iron rod but collapsed from fatigue right on the path.” In an inspired blessing given just before her death, Donna’s home teacher said the Lord “accepted” her. Donna cried. She had never felt her single life was acceptable. But the Lord said those who “observe their covenants by sacrifice … are accepted of me.” I can envision Him walking the path from the tree of life to lift Donna up with gladness and carry her home.

Building chapels is far more than real estate transactions and dealing with contractors. My assignment a few years ago, while serving as counselor to President Evans T. Doxey of the Salt Lake Hunter West Stake, was to acquire building sites. The explosive growth in the area made more buildings absolutely necessary. We only had two chapels in the stake with four wards meeting in each building.
Prayerfully we selected a desirable site but, despite several months of negotiations, were unable to buy it. A site to the north ran into problems with the street system. A site to the south got as far as a survey before the county said they could not issue a permit there. A fourth location was eliminated because the distance and slopes of the land would make sewer connections too costly.
By now, almost two years had passed. Nearly all of the wards should have been divided. Something needed to happen quickly.
President Doxey called a stake fast and prayer to seek the Lord’s help, and two days later, the owner of the original site called and said it was available for purchase.
By then, plans were underway to divide the stake and President Doxey assigned me to acquire property for a new stake house. After careful study and prayer, we selected a 1.6 hectare site owned by two families in Hunter Sixth Ward. The bishop arranged for me to meet with each family. The first generously agreed to contribute the 0.8 hectares. When I met the other couple, the husband, a convert of about a year, began: “I know why you’ve called us in.”
He had had a dream the previous night that he had been called to come to this same office. All of the same people were there. I had explained that his neighbor had agreed to contribute 0.8 hectares for a stake house and invited him to do the same. He woke his wife, told her the dream, fell asleep again, dreamed the same dream a second time, again woke his wife and told her the dream, fell asleep a third time, dreamed the same dream a third time and for a third time, woke his wife. With feeling, she said, “Tell him the Church can have the 0.8 hectares and go back to sleep!”
A new stake center has now been built on this ideal site.
After the stake division, President Doxey, then called to preside over the new Hunter Central Stake, again asked me to acquire a building site. It was owned by one of the stake’s faithful widows who, when approached, said she was not interested in selling the land but that she would like to contribute it to the stake.
These repeated experiences have taught me something new about the faithfulness, love, and generosity of the good members of the Church. And they’ve also taught me that the Lord actively involves himself in these events.

When I think of progress, I tend to think of something tangible—something I can physically see or touch. In college, for example, I studied, took tests, and attended classes for four years until I was able to hold a diploma in my hands that represented all the progress I had made. You can also measure progress through other everyday things like checking off daily “to-do” tasks that make you feel productive.
There are many types of progress that one can make in life, but as I was recently preparing to teach Relief Society (for the first time ever), I started to wonder if I was lacking when it came to spiritual progress. I was teaching about a general conference talk given by Sister Jean B. Bingham, former Relief Society General President, about how making covenants helps to prepare us for eternal glory.1
I kept thinking, “Well, I can’t physically see or touch eternal glory, so how can I even know if I’m progressing on the covenant path?”
Lately I’ve felt a bit stuck. As a young single adult who has been baptized and received her endowment but hasn’t been sealed in the temple, I sometimes feel like I am at a standstill on the covenant path. I feel like I’m a board game piece that can’t move forward no matter how many times I roll the dice. I want to get married and make covenants with God and my eternal companion, but what do I do in the meantime?
How do I know if I’m moving forward?
I felt so inadequate to teach a lesson about the covenant path when I was uncertain of how I could move forward on the path myself. I had a lot of questions, so I started seeking out answers in the scriptures. And I was surprised to discover a treasure trove of truths. I truly enjoyed reading as I studied Gospel Topics, followed footnotes, and felt the Spirit guiding me to the specific answers I needed at that exact moment.
At one point I felt an overwhelming feeling of peace and actually looked up at the light in my room because I felt a sort of brightness around me.
That’s when the Spirit brought the words, “This is how,” to my mind.
Those words were the answer. I changed my perspective and realized that just by reading my scriptures I had progressed closer to Heavenly Father that day, and I could continue every day as I took steps to come closer to Christ. I recognized how keeping my covenants was helping me become more like Him, little by little.
I felt like I was finally moving my game piece forward on the board game of life.
In our everyday lives, we face a lot of uncertainty, and it can be hard to see any progress being made. But it’s truly in our everyday moments where we choose to keep our covenants with God that we are moving forward on the covenant path. When we read our scriptures, when we minister to and serve others, when we pray, when we take time to go to the temple, and ultimately when we wake up every morning and choose to live as disciples of Christ—these are the keys to progress.
By seeking Christ, we take another step toward Heavenly Father on the covenant path.
Since that moment of personal revelation, I have made a more sincere effort to study and learn more about the gospel. I’ve changed my focus to daily progress to understand how my choices lead to eternal progress.
Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy has taught that simply doing “one percent better”2 makes all the difference in progress. And looking back, striving to do a little better each day really has put my movement on the covenant path in perspective. And I’ve noticed many blessings:
Deeper love for the gospel
Excitement about scripture study and spiritual habits
More time to serve others
Deeper understanding of my divine potential
More hope and joy about life
Some days I feel like I am not progressing as much as I would like, and I am still faced with a lot of uncertainty about the future. But as I align my will with God’s, I feel gratitude for this time because I am learning and growing and deepening my faith, which means I really am progressing every day—receiving the blessings of God’s promises, focusing on the Savior’s gift of repentance, and moving forward on the path, one move at a time.
If you are struggling to see your progress on the covenant path or recognize the power your covenants offer you, remember the words of Sister Bingham:
“Don’t let detractors or distractions pull you away from eternal truths. Study and ask trusted sources for greater understanding of the sacred significance of the covenants you have made. Go to the temple as often as you can and listen to the Spirit. You will feel sweet reassurance that you are on the Lord’s path. You will find the courage to continue as well as to bring others with you.”3
I know without a doubt that if we choose every day to remember and keep our covenants, no matter where we are on the covenant path, we can progress, grow, receive blessings we never even dreamed of, and continue making our way back to our Heavenly Father every single day.

Giselle
After we were sealed in the temple, a lot of things were not working well.
After September 11, 2001, it was hard for us to renew our visas. I was sad because I had just graduated from a community college and applied for a full scholarship at the University of Maryland. I didn’t get the scholarship, and the lab André worked for was closing.
We thought that maybe the time had come for us to go back to Brazil.
André
Our bishop told us we could help a lot of members in Brazil and grow in ways we might not in the United States. He counseled us to stay close to the Church.
“Go to Brazil and serve the Lord,” he said.
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!
Around the time I was released, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf was released from the First Presidency. I remember President Russell M. Nelson saying that President Uchtdorf had new and important responsibilities in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Three months later, I was called as first counselor in the mission presidency. I didn’t serve a mission, but I love my calling. I love working with the missionaries. The Lord knows me. He knew I needed to be released as bishop so I can serve in the time and place that is right for me now.

The old clock ticked in the dusky light like a tired heartbeat, and the windows in the small living room were filled with the soft, crimson glow of a going-down sun. Eric listened to the ticking as the light in the windows turned from red to gray to black.
From where he lay with Sparky beneath the scraggly branches of the Christmas tree, he could see a falling star plummet past the square of glass. Down, down it came. It was as if God was sending the fiery light to light somebody’s Christmas tree—somebody who was too poor to have an ornamental star for the top of his tree.
“Could be Jess Crowley’s place,” Eric said quietly to the perky little pup whose eyes and lip jerked in sleep. “Or Carrie Ludlow’s. Or maybe even ours. If it was ours, Sparky,” he figured out loud, “someone gave the angels the wrong address, because it landed farther from here than good fortune.”
Good fortune had not been their lot, it seemed to Eric, for longer than his eight-year-old mind cared to remember. His mother had died three years before, and his father had barely escaped death in a car accident a year later. The accident had left him too disabled to work. If it weren’t for the kindnesses of ward members, Eric speculated to himself, and the saving assistance from the Church, I don’t know what would become of us. With that computer someone left on our doorstep last year, though, Dad’s been able to get some jobs working at home. “So don’t you worry about not having a place to hang your hat,” he spoke aloud to the little dog, “or whatever it is dogs carry around with them—besides fleas, of course.” He chuckled softly, stroking Sparky’s head.
Twisting and peering through the open living room door, Eric could barely make out the sleeping form of his father in the room at the end of the hall. A spray of moonlight hazed across his bed. The boy eyed the figure affectionately. Dad was strong in the faith and had taught him to be so too. Dad had also taught Eric that they had problems in their lives not because Heavenly Father was punishing or ignoring them but because He loved them, knew what was best for them, and wanted them to grow and be happy. In spite of their sadness.
Eric stretched out beneath his worn, frayed blanket. There was plenty of room under the tree, even though it was just two days before Christmas, for there were only two presents there. The one wrapped gift was a little bird for his father that Eric had fashioned out of wood at school. His father loved birds. He said a bird could get closer to heaven than most of the rest of us, “except when we pray. And except for your mother,” he added warmly, “who may at this very moment be walking and talking with the Savior himself!”
The other gift was from Dad to Eric: Sparky. Dad had given the pup to Eric early. “It’s too hard to wrap up a dog,” Dad had said, “and expect her to lie still under a Christmas tree until some boy unwraps her!”
Eric gently stroked the puppy’s fur that was every bit as soft and warm as Dad’s love. He could hardly wait for the day when the little dog was big enough to run full tilt next to his flying feet.
He reached up and touched a tiny glass ornament glowing in a speck of moonlight that had found its way through the window and down through the shadowy branches of the scraggly pine.
“It sure does have a regular shine when the moon works on it, doesn’t it?” The voice came from behind Eric. His father sat down beside him in the sooty light, a blanket draped about his shoulders.
“I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you, Dad.”
“You didn’t, Son. The bedsprings did. I rolled over and heard a chorus of rusty voices!” He chuckled, then ran his fingers through the boy’s golden hair. “I saw you in here camped out under the tree with that little fur piece of yours, and I thought I’d tuck you in.”
Eric smiled. His attention momentarily returning to the glitter of the glass ornament in the moon’s glow, he turned it slowly and watched the flash of revolving light.
“Something else shines just as pretty as that,” his father remarked. “It’s love, when the Savior puts His shine to it—except that glow is much, much brighter. It’s so bright, in fact, that you almost have to close your eyes to see it!”
Eric’s quiet, probing look asked his father to tell him more.
“This tree may be little and spindly, but the stable in Bethlehem wasn’t much to look at either—yet it held the greatest gift of all, God’s gift to all mankind, even Jesus Christ. And what He gave to you, me, your mom, and everyone else that ever was, is, or will be, is something so precious and priceless . …”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand with quiet understanding.
“Well,” Dad continued with a smile through his tears, “if we were to try to hang His gifts to us on this tree, they would break every branch. And if we tried to stack them beneath it, we’d break our necks trying to look up. And up. All the way to heaven. Where your mom is waiting for you and me.”
“I guess we have more for Christmas than what every store in the world has in it put together,” Eric said, “and a lot more, huh, Dad?”
Dad lay down next to his son and hooked his arm as a pillow under Eric’s head. Together they gazed up into the dark branches of the little tree and shared memories that shined like hope and faith and the sweet surety that families can be forever, that things eternal never die—all because of one small Babe born long ago in the city of David, Bethlehem, and placed in a manger there.

“Time to get up, Kristina,” Mother called. Kristina rubbed her eyes and started to grumble about the early hour until she remembered. Today was Sunday.
Ever since they were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, things had been different in her family. Kristina liked the difference.
Mother’s face had a new softness to it, as though happiness came from inside and she couldn’t keep it to herself. She had started humming around the house. Kristina found herself humming, too. Father spent more time at home, and sometimes he took long walks with Kristina and her mother. Often they sat on the front porch and talked. Kristina liked those times best.
Now her parents paid tithing and encouraged Kristina to pay it, too. She enjoyed slipping the tithing from her allowance into an envelope and handing it to one of the members of the bishopric. It was one way to show Heavenly Father and Jesus how much she loved Them.
But the biggest difference Kristina noticed was inside herself. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved her filled her with such happiness that she sometimes felt as if she would burst.
Kristina still remembered the look on her father’s face when he answered the door three months ago and found two missionaries on the porch. He had invited the young men inside. After introducing themselves, the elders had talked about families. “Would you like to know how your family can be together forever?” Elder Stark asked.
Kristina’s parents exchanged glances, their eyes filled with longing.
“More than anything,” Kristina’s mother said.
Father had asked the missionaries to come back. On each visit, they presented a lesson. When they challenged the family to be baptized, Kristina’s parents immediately said yes.
“You’re nine years old, Kristina,” Elder Sanderson said. “You’re old enough to be baptized, too.”
The day of her family’s baptisms was the most important day of her life. Kristina remembered every detail, especially the clean, warm feeling she had after the baptism.
Since that day, Kristina and her parents hadn’t missed a single church meeting.
Glancing at the clock, Kristina hurried to get dressed. She didn’t want to be late. She liked everything about church, especially her Primary class.
Kristina’s family arrived a few minutes early. They listened to the soft organ music. Today was fast and testimony meeting. Kristina liked listening to the testimonies. Someday, she promised herself, she would share her testimony.
At family home evening the following night, Kristina’s family took turns reading from the Book of Mormon. Kristina stumbled over some of the words, but she enjoyed reading about Nephi and his family building a boat to take them across the ocean.
When Kristina came home after school on Tuesday, she found her mother in the backyard digging neat rows of shallow ditches. “What are you doing, Mom?”
Mother looked up and smiled. “Getting ready to plant a garden.”
“A garden?” Kristina echoed. “We’ve never had a garden.”
Mother put down the spade and wiped her forehead. “We want to become as self-sufficient as we can, like the prophet told us to.”
Kristina understood now. It was part of the difference. She smiled as a warm feeling grew inside her.
Kristina’s mother handed her a packet of seeds. “You can drop these in, and I’ll cover them with dirt.”
An hour later, Kristina rocked back on her heels. Corn, beans, peas, radishes, onions—they’d planted them all. Her arms and back hurt, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that comes from working hard to accomplish a goal.
That evening during dinner, she watched her parents smile at each other. They smiled a lot lately, another difference. It made Kristina smile, too.
“How long will we have to wait before we can go to the temple?” she asked her father later as they sat on the porch. Her last Primary lesson had been about temples.
“We have to wait a year after our baptism,” he said. “Then we can be sealed together as a family for time and all eternity.”
Tears pricked Kristina’s eyes that night as she said her prayers. A peaceful feeling settled over her like a warm blanket. The baptism difference was the best thing that had ever happened to her family.