Gospel Story Finder

My Grandma Jeri and I have been making fudge since I was a little girl. Because my grandparents live in Utah and we reside in Colorado, we didn’t visit them as often as we liked. When we did, my grandma always made time for us to cook up some delicious fudge.
When my grandparents got their mission call to Cambodia, I was so excited for them to be able to share the gospel, but I was also sad, because it meant that I wouldn’t see them for two years. Their farewell was a bittersweet moment, not only because they were leaving but also because I was munching on bittersweet chocolate fudge.
My grandparents had been gone about a year when my uncle, their youngest son, got engaged. My grandma got special permission to attend the wedding. Excitement ran through my body as I gave her a hug. It was so good to see her and the rest of my family.
After the wedding my grandma and I were talking. My eyes lit up with excitement, and I asked if she wanted to make fudge. The batch was small, but it tasted just as good as I remembered.
It was hard to say goodbye before we left for the airport, but I knew that soon she’d be back. In grandma-fashion, she wanted to make sure we had something to eat on the plane, so I took the rest of our fudge. Needless to say, with a hungry dad and daughter, the fudge was gone before we got off the plane.
I will never forget how lucky I was to have that special time to talk with my grandma. I can’t wait until she gets home from her mission so that we can continue our tradition.

When I was in high school, my mom would place the New Era so that when I came home from school, I would be sure to see it. I usually glanced at the cover and that was it. My freshman year of college my mom started sending me the New Era every month. At first I would just put it on the coffee table hoping to impress someone. Now in my sophomore year, I anxiously await the arrival of the New Era. I really appreciate the uplifting articles and the inspirational musical numbers. Now I don’t have to use the New Era to impress anyone but myself.
Heidi SmithEllensburg, Washington

After the accident, Grandpa traveled in several neighboring states representing a coal distribution company, taking orders and collecting money. Many a hitchhiker found himself riding in Grandpa’s car, sharing his lunch and his philosophy of life.
Sometimes Grandpa’s generosity got him in trouble. A hitchhiker once pulled out a gun and tried to rob him. Grandpa said, “I have only the money in my wallet. Take that and go.”
Apparently the man knew that Grandpa collected money from the coal company’s customers and was expecting to find a few thousand dollars. But after a thorough search of every possible hiding place in the car, all he got was a five-dollar bill from Grandpa’s wallet. After letting out the frustrated thief at the edge of town, Grandpa chuckled and drove away—with ten thousand dollars in collection money tucked safely inside his artificial legs!

Fino all’annuncio del lock-down per Coronavirus a fine Febbraio credevo di essere una mamma organizzata. Con 3 figli a scuola tutte le mattine e il piccolino a casa, avevo organizzato una routine che mi consentiva di assolvere alle mie responsabilità e pianificare momenti tranquilli da trascorrere in famiglia. Rimanere confinati tutti in casa giorno e notte per un periodo indefinito scombussolò la routine e si rivelò inizialmente molto frustrante per me e il resto della famiglia. I piani giornalieri che fino a quel momento mi avevano consentito di essere efficiente nel rispondere alle esigenze della famiglia, da un giorno all’altro furono stravolti e le mie giornate diventarono un correre senza sosta verso la prossima riunione online, la prossima lezione, il prossimo compito di scuola, il prossimo pasto da preparare, ecc ecc. Il tempo sembrava aver perso la sua naturale regolarità e le settimane sembravano dissolversi in un unico giorno.
A questo disorientamento si aggiungeva giornalmente il peso delle notizie gravi riportate dai telegiornali sui contagi e sulle vittime del Covid-19, insieme al pensiero di amici e conoscenti che stavano combattendo personalmente contro il virus, per i quali avrei voluto fare di più, come poter pregare per loro al Tempio.
Per molti versi mi sentivo piccola e senza meta.
Una mattina decisi di alzarmi presto per fare esercizio fisico e nel silenzio della casa cominciai a riflettere sul viaggio che Lehi e la sua famiglia avevano fatto nel deserto. Per otto anni erano rimasti isolati dal resto del mondo, lontani dalla sicurezza che avevano conosciuto durante la loro vita a Gerusalemme per affrontare fatiche e privazioni che non avevano mai vissuto prima. Per tanti anni avevano vissuto senza potersi recare al Tempio ma erano sopravvissuti; in qualche modo erano riusciti a continuare giorno dopo giorno, prova dopo prova, e arrivare alla terra promessa. Il versetto in 2 Nefi 15, “e mio padre dimorava in una tenda”, continuava a tornare alla mia mente e cominciai a chiedermi come vivesse Lehi nella sua tenda e come avremmo dovuto vivere noi… cosa avremmo potuto fare per trasformare la frustrazione in motivazione e la nostra casa in una tenda come quella di Lehi, in una succursale del Tempio?
Per poterlo fare avrei dovuto organizzarmi diversamente.
Iniziai a stilare un elenco di cose da fare giornalmente per occupare al meglio il nostro tempo inserendo anche attività che non eravamo soliti fare in passato. Partendo al mattino dallo studio familiare del Libro di Mormon (cosa che già facevamo, ma non con regolarità assoluta), i bambini più grandi si dedicavano poi ai compiti e alle lezioni di scuola per potere avere il resto della giornata disponibile per altre attività come esercizio fisico, cucina con una sana alimentazione, pomeriggi trascorsi in balcone per beneficiare del sole disponibile, lezioni online, musica e inglese, momenti dedicati ai giochi in scatola, ai progetti di arte, di servizio per la comunità e organizzazione delle nostre scorte alimentari e dei nostri zaini di emergenza e per finire, alla lettura o alle attività basate sulle scritture durante le nostre domeniche a casa.
In poco tempo la nuova routine aveva aperto orizzonti diversi e le limitazioni dettate dall’isolamento forzato si trasformarono in opportunità di fare cose che non eravamo riusciti a realizzare prima come famiglia. La nostra tenda cominciava a riempirsi di buone attività.
Non tutto è arrivato insieme e non tutto è stato fatto sempre col sorriso, ma piano piano, giorno dopo giorno, siamo riusciti a creare una nuova routine efficace per gestire le circostanze.
Ora che siamo tornati a circolare più liberamente la nostra routine è cambiata, ma non è tornata quella pre-Covid-19; ne abbiamo invece creata una nuova, con un mix più regolare di attività in casa basate sullo studio e sul Vangelo e in mezzo alla natura per mantenere in forma il nostro fisico. Lo studio e l’applicazione del Vangelo è diventato un pezzo importante della nostra vita giornaliera e non è più qualcosa che dobbiamo ricordarci di fare ma il punto di partenza e di arrivo delle nostre giornate.
Non posso dire che la nostra casa sia diventata una succursale del Tempio, perché il percorso per arrivare ad una tale meta richiederà tutta la vita e forse di più, ma quando penso al nostro studio delle scritture, al silenzio e riverenza quasi perfetta raggiunta durante il momento del Sacramento in casa alla domenica, ai giochi dei bambini incentrati spontaneamente sulle storie del Libro di Mormon, e alle preghiere inginocchiati insieme in favore di tutte le persone afflitte dal virus e di chi si trova in difficoltà, allora spero di aver messo qualche nuovo picchetto alla nostra tenda familiare.
Spero che nel nostro viaggio verso la terra promessa, anche se in un deserto (per noi comunque pieno di agi rispetto alla famiglia di Lehi) possiamo avere la gratitudine e la forza di pensare a dove vogliamo arrivare e rendere questa meta parte di ogni nostro giorno, mentre dimoriamo nella nostra tenda familiare.

“¡Bienvenido!”
That’s probably the first thing you’d hear from Omer Machuca if you paid him a visit in his home in Monterrey, Mexico. Then again he might also offer you a courteous, “Wilkommen.” Or he just might grin and say, “Hi, how’s it goin’?”
Changes don’t seem to faze Omer very much. Living much of his life in the Tijuana, Mexico, area, just across the border from San Diego, California, Omer had a lot of exposure to both American and Mexican cultures. He speaks fluent English, and, of course, fluent Spanish. When his family moved from Tijuana to Monterrey, a large metropolitan city almost 2,000 miles away from the costal town he knew and loved, Omer made the best of it and made new friends.
Now Omer, a 16-year-old priest, is tackling the study of German. Someday he’d like to travel far and wide, using the languages he knows and learning new ones. But for Omer one of the most exciting places to travel is a place where he knows everyone can feel welcome whether they speak one language or ten.
For Omer a trip to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead is better than any exotic travel. And although he is a master of adapting to fit into different cultures, there are certain things Omer will never change about himself. He knows that it is how he lives outside the temple that determines what kind of experience he will have when he enters its doors.
When Omer and his parents moved from Tijuana to Monterrey, they left behind family, friends, and a home they knew and loved. It was hard, but it was also exciting for Omer. One thing that wasn’t so exciting, however, was leaving behind a conveniently located temple in San Diego. Now a trip to the temple involves considerable travel.
“I really miss the temple,” says Omer. “Here you usually get only one chance a year to go to the Mexico City Temple. In Tijuana we would cross the border and go to San Diego on the first Saturday every month. The feeling in our family was always a little bit different, a little special on those days. The people in the temple always seemed glad to see us there. I know that it will be the same when the temple is here.”
A temple has been announced in Monterrey, and although construction hasn’t yet begun, Omer and many of the other youth in Monterrey and the surrounding areas are ready and waiting.
“We feel very excited that the temple will be built, and it will be our temple,” says one seminary student. “We will soon be able to go to the temple any time we want.”
When the youth in Monterrey speak about the temple, certain things happen. Their voices get softer, and they seem to become more calm and happy. Even though the nearest temple is several states away and most of them haven’t been there many times, their reverence is evident when the temple is being discussed.
“I think the temple is the most beautiful place on earth,” says 16-year-old Carlos Cadena.
The word cadena means “chain” in Spanish. That has special meaning for Carlos, his parents, and his two brothers and two sisters. They say that attending the temple keeps them linked together, as well as keeping them linked with their past.
Ana, Carlos’s 15-year-old sister, talks about how meaningful her temple baptisms feel when she does them for ancestors she has found at the family history library—ancestors who have likely been waiting a long time for their work to be done. Carlos talks about the happy, peaceful feeling that exists when the family has recently been to the temple. Leon Cadena, a deacon, says that in preparing to go to the temple, he tries extra hard to be good.
The youngest Cadena brother, Moises, spends time in the nursery with his little sister Laura while the rest of the family does temple work. It is this shy, quiet 10-year-old who seems to sum up the whole family’s feelings the best when he says with emotion, “When we go to the temple, our hearts are very full.”
The Alonso family has also made the trip from Monterrey to Mexico City many times, but the most memorable one for them was when the teenagers in the family, Carlos, Emilio, and Rosa, were very small.
“I was four years old the first time we went to the temple,” says Rosa, who is now in the Beehive class. “I remember that when we were sealed we knelt around the altar, all dressed in white. Every time I remember that occasion, I feel warm inside.”
Carlos and his twin brother, Emilio, were nine years old when the family was sealed, and they too have wonderful memories of that time.
“It was very beautiful,” says Carlos. “I remember the mirrors where you can see for eternity.”
Emilio feels very much the same way. “It was beautiful because we were all together in the temple, and that is where we learn to be an eternal family and how to live.”
Although the Machucas, the Cadenas, and the Alonsos are eager for the temple to be built in their city, they all know that there is temple-related work they can do right now, while they are waiting. All the youth agree that trying to live the gospel principles as fully as they can is the best preparation for the temple.
“We are preparing to have more names ready,” says Emilio. “We are reading the scriptures, having family prayer, and fasting regularly.”
But spiritual preparation isn’t the only thing to consider. Soon members will travel from cities far away to attend the new temple here, and they will depend on the help of the members in Monterrey. Carlos says that he and his family are saving money to help others attend the temple that will soon be in their city. And even something as simple as helping with chores at home can help the temple effort.
“If I help around the house and take care of my younger brothers and sister, my parents will feel more secure about leaving us at home while they attend the temple,” says Ana. “Helping out at home helps the temple work, too.”
Temples are miraculous places, and it seems that no sacrifice is too great to get there. Carlos and Ana’s father, Jesus, once rode on the floor of a bus for 14 hours to get to Mexico City, since there wasn’t an empty seat. All of his children say that sacrifices leave no doubt in their minds that temple attendance is important.
In northern Mexico, where Omer used to live, crossing the border occasionally presented a problem. But Omer says that sometimes, when it seemed that people weren’t going to make it to the temple, circumstances changed at the last minute, allowing people to go.
“Passports were a problem [for people] trying to get to the [temple] dedication,” says Omer. “One sister went to get permission to cross the border, but she didn’t have any papers except for her temple recommend. The officer let her through.”
The Alonso family can think of no greater miracle than the fact that their family is sealed for time and eternity—except for maybe the miracle that very soon there will be a temple in their own city.
Emilio says, “Now that the temple will be here, it is very special because we’ll have the opportunity to come to the temple more often. We will be greatly blessed as a family when we have the temple here.”
Like any big city, Monterrey has its share of hustle-bustle and noise. At any given time there is a traffic jam in the making or an event drawing large crowds, or both. It’s exciting and exhausting all at the same time. But soon there will be a place, somewhere in this mass of activity, where calm and order will be the rule instead of the exception.
Omer Machuca is a lot like most boys his age. He is fascinated by the excitement that surrounds new places, different people, and unique cultures. And yet he knows that the most important border he will ever cross is the threshold of the temple. He knows that no matter how many languages he learns to understand, his understanding of the gospel will be more important. Emilio knows it, too. So do Anna and Rosa and all the other youth that can hardly wait for the temple to be built.
They are excited and happy that the house of the Lord will soon be closer to their own houses. And they are counting the days until a trip across town, instead of across the country, will take them a world away.

About one and a half years ago I moved to Bermuda. Along with the normal hardships and adjustment of moving to a new country, I also left a ward where I had many good LDS friends to come to a tiny branch where I am the only active teenager. I love the New Era. The things I read from it have comforted and strengthened me many times. The New Era also makes me smile a lot. Thank you so much. Things here are going well, the branch is growing slowly but surely, and I am learning a lot and having many wonderful and interesting experiences.
Tori SealockWarwick, Bermuda

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to a university in another state. I went to decide if I wanted to go to school there.
While I was there, some girls already on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes.
Throughout the party I felt very uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (“The Power of Righteousness,” Liahona, January 1999, 81). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was out of place there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful I decided long ago that I would never drink. That decision helped me in my time of need.

When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home—one to be married and one to go to college—an unfair burden of responsibility had been shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening, the children shared what they were feeling, and a more equitable distribution of responsibility was made, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.3

One event that sticks out in Dian’s mind took place in the tenth grade. Aptitude tests were given, and based on the results, counselors advised the students on the areas they should stress to prepare for college or a job. When Dian talked to the counselor, it was a disappointment. “They suggested that I would probably have trouble with college. I remember my scores. In reading skills, I was low. But in logic and reasoning, I was in the 98th percentile. In one area I felt like a failure, but in another I was so skilled. When he told me not to go to college, I didn’t even consider it. I said I am going to college. They can measure a skill at certain levels, but nobody can measure determination. I learned that everyone has an area in which he feels inadequate.”

Five years ago my husband, Bruce, became seriously ill when we were serving with the consecrated Saints in the Europe East Area. We returned home, and he passed away only a few weeks later. My life changed overnight. I was grieving and felt weak and vulnerable. I pled with the Lord to direct my path: “What would Thou have me do?”
A few weeks later, I was going through my mail when a small picture in a catalog caught my eye. As I looked closer, I realized it was an artist’s rendition of the Samaritan woman with Jesus at the well. At that moment the Spirit spoke clearly to me: “That is what you are supposed to do.” A loving Heavenly Father was inviting me to come to the Savior and learn.

There’s a girl in our school who doesn’t have many friends. The other day I was walking into school with some of my friends when I saw her. She walked to the doors just in front of me and very shyly said hi. I didn’t want my friends to think I was weird so I wasn’t sure what to do, but I walked in the door and said hi back. Immediately, I knew that simply saying hi was the right thing to do.
Sometimes just saying hi can brighten someone’s day, and I try often to say hi and be more kind in my day-to-day life. It’s made me a better person.

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.

I grew up in the Church but drifted away in my teens. When I returned to the Church, my husband, Dale, supported me but was not interested in meeting with the missionaries.
After becoming active, I met with the bishop for a temple recommend interview. He asked if I was a full-tithe payer, and I was pleased to announce that I was. To my surprise the bishop asked, “Does your husband know that you pay tithing?” I was shocked—why did it matter? The bishop kindly asked me to return after I had told Dale I was paying tithing.
One Sunday morning I finally got up the courage to tell my husband I was paying tithing. Dale stunned me by simply saying, “I know.” This was the first of many tithing miracles.
A short time later, Dale turned the family finances over to me. When I explained that I would pay a full tithe on all our income, he approved because he saw the blessings tithing could bring.
Now our cupboards are always full, we hold family prayer every day, we have the missionaries over at least once a month, and my husband participates in family home evening. I believe that someday Dale will join the Church and that his conversion will have started with our decision to pay a full tithe together.

Ramón ran, skipped, and jogged on the way to school. All at once he slowed to a walk.
Today was Monday. New helpers would be chosen in his class at school.
Ramón wanted very much to be a classroom helper. Every changeover day he smiled hopefully at his teacher, Mrs. Martin. Mrs. Martin always smiled back at him, but she had never chosen him to be a classroom helper.
The warning bell was ringing as Ramón hurried into the school building. He had almost reached his classroom when he saw a little girl sitting on the floor, crying as she tried to pick up crayons she had dropped.
Ramón bent down beside her. “I’ll help you.”
Soon all the crayons were picked up, and the little girl hurried on her way.
Mrs. Martin stood at the door of the classroom. Ramón smiled at her. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. He sat at his desk and waited for Mrs. Martin to announce this week’s helpers.
She chose Alise to put the library books away, Matt to pass out the study pages, Maria to take care of the art supplies, and Robert to feed the fish.
Ramón was sad that he was not chosen for any of the jobs. He took his pencil out of his desk and got ready to start his work. Just then Matt, who was passing out the study pages, dropped the whole pile.
Ramón jumped up. He helped Matt pick up the papers. Matt didn’t say thank you, but Ramón smiled at him anyway.
The classroom door opened, and the principal walked in. With him was a boy Ramón had never seen before. Mrs. Martin spoke to them for a moment.
When the principal left, Mrs. Martin said, “Class, this is Steven, who will now be in our class. I want you to welcome him.”
Then Mrs. Martin said, “Ramón, you are always friendly and smiling and helpful. Will you be my very special helper today and show Steven all around our school? He needs to know where the gym, the cafeteria and the washrooms are.”
Ramón smiled at his teacher and nodded. He smiled at Steven too.
On the way home from school that day, Ramón ran and skipped and jogged. He was too happy to walk.
“This was a very special day,” he told his mother, “because I got to be a very special helper.”

Brothers and sisters, I have learned a painful lesson since I last occupied this pulpit in October of 2022. That lesson is: if you don’t give an acceptable talk, you can be banned for the next several conferences. You can see I am assigned early in the first session of this one. What you can’t see is that I am positioned on a trapdoor with a very delicate latch. If this talk doesn’t go well, I won’t see you for another few conferences.
In the spirit of that beautiful hymn with this beautiful choir, I have learned some lessons recently that, with the Lord’s help, I wish to share with you today. That will make this a very personal talk.
The most personal and painful of all these recent experiences has been the passing of my beloved wife, Pat. She was the greatest woman I have ever known—a perfect wife and mother, to say nothing of her purity, her gift of expression, her spirituality. She gave a talk once titled “Fulfilling the Measure of Your Creation.” It seems to me that she fulfilled the measure of her creation more successfully than anyone could have dreamed possible. She was a complete daughter of God, an exemplary woman of Christ. I was the most fortunate of men to spend 60 years of my life with her. Should I prove worthy, our sealing means I can spend eternity with her.
Another experience began 48 hours after my wife’s burial. At that time, I was rushed to the hospital in an acute medical crisis. I then spent the first four weeks of a six-week stay in and out of intensive care and in and out of consciousness.
Virtually all my experience in the hospital during that first period is lost to my memory. What is not lost is my memory of a journey outside the hospital, out to what seemed the edge of eternity. I cannot speak fully of that experience here, but I can say that part of what I received was an admonition to return to my ministry with more urgency, more consecration, more focus on the Savior, more faith in His word.
I couldn’t help but feel I was receiving my own personal version of a revelation given to the Twelve nearly 200 years ago:
“Thou shalt bear record of my name … [and] send forth my word unto the ends of the earth. …
“… Morning by morning; and day by day let thy warning voice go forth; and when the night cometh let not the inhabitants of the earth slumber, because of thy speech. …
“Arise[,] … take up your cross, [and] follow me.”
My beloved sisters and brothers, since that experience, I have tried to take up my cross more earnestly, with more resolve to find where I can raise an apostolic voice of both warmth and warning in the morning, during the day, and into the night.
That leads me to a third truth that came in those months of loss, illness, and distress. It was a renewed witness of and endless gratitude for the resolute prayers of this Church—your prayers—of which I have been the beneficiary. I will be eternally grateful for the supplication of thousands of people who, like the importuning widow, repeatedly sought heaven’s intervention in my behalf. I received priesthood blessings, and I saw my high school class fast for me, as did several random wards across the Church. And my name must have been on the prayer roll of virtually every temple in the Church.
In my profound gratitude for all this, I join G. K. Chesterton, who said once “that thanks are the highest form of thought; and … gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” With my own “happiness doubled by wonder,” I thank all of you and thank my Father in Heaven, who heard your prayers and blessed my life.

One Sunday I noticed a little girl my age in sacrament meeting. She was new and seemed scared to go to Primary. I decided to ask her to come with me to Primary and be my friend. After church the little girl’s aunt told my parents that her niece was so happy to go to Primary with her new friend. I tried to be like Jesus by being a good friend and helping someone in need.
Reagan V., age 5, Colorado, USA

The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.

A patriarch received a call one afternoon from a concerned mother of a young daughter who was physically challenged from birth. This dear mother asked if her daughter could possibly receive a patriarchal blessing. The patriarch informed her that if her daughter could obtain a recommend from the bishop, he was sure that the Lord had a blessing for her. A short time later the patriarch was informed that the bishop had given this sweet young girl a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.
An appointment was made. The blessing was given and gratefully received. Her lineage was given. She received a blessing suited to her needs and unique situation. Lives, focus, and attitudes were changed. She was told that through her cheerful acceptance of the efforts and sacrifices of those who loved and cared for her, she would be blessing their lives, and to accept their offerings graciously and willingly.

As I sat in sacrament meeting pondering the prayer on the bread, the words kept repeating themselves in my mind: “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (Moroni 4:3; D&C 20:77).
“Always,” it said—not just at certain times. Why, then, several months earlier, had my husband and I not been prompted regarding how to protect our 11-year-old son before he was killed in a bicycle-automobile accident? Why would Heavenly Father not “always” watch over us and warn us?
I had been taught in Primary and believed that the Holy Ghost would protect us. He would use the still, small voice to watch over, guide, and warn us of danger. This thought had been in my mind since Ben had passed away. I missed him very much, and my heart ached for understanding and peace.
Where was my warning voice? Where was the Holy Ghost? I felt that we were doing our best to be righteous. We paid our tithing, attended our meetings, and served whenever we were asked. We were far from perfect, but we held family home evening and scripture study. We were trying.
About this time I was sitting in a Relief Society class when the teacher told a story of a close relative.
This story hit me hard, but as I sat in my chair in tears preparing to stand and leave the room, a great comfort washed over me. I felt peace that the Holy Ghost had indeed been with me. In my case He had not been there as a warning voice but as a comforter.
From the time of Ben’s accident, I had felt strength beyond my own and had been comforted by my Heavenly Father’s love. I lacked understanding at times of why certain things happen, but I had never doubted His love.
I have faith that God understands all things and will never leave me comfortless. The Holy Ghost plays many roles in our lives. He can protect us, but He also guides us, comforts us, teaches us, and provides understanding and other blessings.
I learned that Heavenly Father does keep His promises. He had “always” been with me.

We were living in a small town in Georgia, USA, when my father died at just 55 years old. Most of our family lived in another state. Never had the 2,000 miles (3,200 km) between us felt greater than at that time.
My husband was the bishop and I the organist of our small ward. With all the emotions and stress of helping with funeral plans, I was feeling especially weary that Sunday when it came time for our sacrament meeting closing hymn: “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” (Hymns, no. 152).
Halfway through the second verse, my grief overcame me. Somehow I played through the end of that verse, but my hands were shaking and my eyes so full of tears that I had to stop with an entire verse left. I couldn’t stop crying.
A brief pause followed as the congregation realized the organ had stopped. But then ward members started singing a cappella. The singing wasn’t perfect. We were few, after all. But the Spirit made up the difference. Through my tears and embarrassment, I could feel the love of many as they sang.
God be with you till we meet again;
Keep love’s banner floating o’er you;
Smite death’s threat’ning wave before you.
God be with you till we meet again.
When the hymn ended, the music leader held me as I sobbed through the closing prayer. Several people then came up to the organ with tears in their eyes to say how sorry they were about my father.
Later, I told the music leader I would be playing the piano at the funeral. It probably seemed like a bad idea after what had just happened, but my dad so enjoyed hearing me play the piano. I wanted to play for him. I realized then how close he had felt during the closing hymn.
I am so thankful for the hymns. I testify that music can teach and comfort us in ways that words often cannot. As the First Presidency wrote in the preface to the hymnbook, “Hymns … comfort the weary, console the mourning, and inspire us to endure to the end.” I am also thankful for the love of a good ward when I was so far away from my own family. I know that my father and I will indeed meet again.