Gospel Story Finder

She was my best friend, the one I had grown up with and known since that first frightful day of first grade. Since then we had shared everything from doll cradles and humpty-dumpty cookies to high school classes and slumber parties. There was only one big difference between us. You see, she did not yet know the truth and I did.
It took me 12 long years to realize that the gospel belonged not only to me but to her too and that it was through me that she might be able to find it.
I took my problem to our missionaries, thinking I would give the job to them; but I was fooled.
“You ask her and we’ll teach her,” they said.
Teaching her seemed to be no problem. I had the most difficult job of all.
I called her on the phone.
“Hey, how would you like to come and see a movie at my house tonight?” I said. “The new missionaries in our ward are showing it.”
She came. She saw the film and left without saying much about it.
A week later the elders dropped by. “Have you set up a time when she can hear the gospel?” they asked.
“Well, she hasn’t really said much about the movie. I didn’t know whether to ask her again or not.”
“Call her and ask her,” said one. He was the type who hated wasting time. Well, I couldn’t argue with an elder, so hesitantly, shakily, I picked up the receiver and dialed. I’ve always wondered why things like this are so hard.
“Hi, Cheryl,” I said. “I was wondering … well, the elders are here now and … well, I was just wondering if sometime you’d like to come and … learn some more about the Church?”
There was a long pause.
“Well, yeah, I guess so.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “When can you come?”
“Anytime you want me to, I guess.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, that’s all right.”
I turned to the elders. “Is tomorrow night all right?”
They nodded enthusiastically. “You bet!”
“Hey thanks, Cheryl,” I said as I started to hang up.
“Just a minute, Patti.” she said. “I want you to know that I’m not going to agree with what they say.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Just come!”
“But I might argue with them, and I don’t want to.”
“If you want to disagree with them, it’s all right. They don’t mind.”
The second step was taken. By the end of the fourth visit she hadn’t argued once. In fact, she had agreed wholeheartedly with everything the elders had told her. That night the younger elder was speaking, and as he closed he looked at her and said, “We would like to set up a baptism for you on Saturday. How about it?”
The older elder gasped. He hadn’t expected it to come so soon. My heart beat faster, and all I could do was hold my breath. There was silence for a moment.
Cheryl nodded and said, “Yes.”
I did not move, but I started to tremble when they asked her to pray.
She prayed, a very simple and beautiful prayer.
I kept my head bowed. I could not look up. The missionaries left in silence.
Then I felt her arms around me, and we both wept together.
“Patti,” she said, smiling through her tears, “thank you.”
She was thanking me for something she could only give herself, thanking me, when she had given me the greatest gift I could ever hope to receive—her acceptance of my most precious possession, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

It was a cloudy Sunday morning as I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the breakfast dishes. My two youngest children were watching a scripture video in the family room by the kitchen. I was lost in thought, and my cheeks were wet from tears. I couldn’t get my mind off the cancer that had invaded our home. My husband had been fighting it for several years, but now it had spread. My faith seemed to be wavering. My mind was crowded with “what if?” thoughts.
Suddenly the scripture video interrupted my thoughts with words from a calming voice: “Peace, be still. …
“Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 4:39–40).
I dropped the dishrag and turned to look at the TV. The video was about the Savior calming the storm. It was as if the words had been spoken to me by the Savior Himself. A feeling of warmth and peace flooded over me. It was a reminder to stick to the faith I had learned so much about through the years of cancer. It was a faith buttressed by words in my patriarchal blessing.
I received my patriarchal blessing when I was 15. One sentence that then seemed just to describe a part of my temple marriage now held great promise for me. It spoke of the righteous priesthood holder I would marry and said that he would “help thee, guide thee and aid thee, not only in thy youth but clear into thy later years.”
As I read and reread my patriarchal blessing during the years of battling cancer, that sentence gave me great hope. Each time, I found renewed faith in the promise of our future together. I remembered the great comfort that the Spirit had given me when my husband was first diagnosed. I memorized that part of my patriarchal blessing, and when cancer tests came back with poor results, I remembered that promise.
I learned to let the Savior carry us, I learned that I must keep my faith constant, and I learned to combat mounting fears with faith. The video that morning reminded me to rely on the Lord.
Having faith gives me the ability to let Jesus Christ carry my burden. Just as the people of Alma who were in bondage did not feel the burden on their backs (see Mosiah 24:14), so it is for our family with fighting cancer. Our family has been able to face cancer without feeling the burdens it could bring.
Learning the Painful Lessons
“Difficulties come into our lives, problems we do not anticipate and which we would never choose. None of us is immune. The purpose of mortality is to learn and to grow to be more like our Father, and it is often during the difficult times that we learn the most, as painful as the lessons may be.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2012, 111.
My husband still undergoes tests to track the cancer cells or to find possible tumors. We still have medical bills and the remaining side effects of treatments. And I still pray every day that my husband will have no more cancer. I pray that we will both live to old age. I also say to Heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.”
I do not know when the “later years” spoken of in my blessing will come. I hope the words in my blessing mean that my husband and I will be able to go on a mission when our children are raised. I hope they mean that my husband will lead our horse while giving rides to our grandchildren and will bounce our grandchildren on his knee. But I know that whenever God takes him from this earth, it will be in His time.
I no longer worry about when those “later years” are. It does not matter. I trust that the Lord will honor that promise made to me in my patriarchal blessing. He has taken care of us through these years, and He will take care of us in the future.
If you have not received your patriarchal blessing, consider talking to your bishop or branch president about receiving one. If you have a patriarchal blessing, do you read and ponder it often? Do you have faith in the Lord’s promises?

Allow me to use one last personal story. As a young man I had great dreams of one day playing college football and also playing in the National Football League. I set high goals and expectations for myself to achieve while in high school. I remember going the extra mile during the off-season so that I could compete and perform at my highest level.

The football season did not go so well. At the end of the season our team had won only two games. After the last game of the year I walked off the field with my head down. I was discouraged, and rightly so. My mother spotted me from a distance and noticed the disappointment in my body language. She came over to me as I tried to walk away from her. She asked me what was wrong. I said, “I am so frustrated. I have worked so hard to make myself better, and we can’t win more than two games. I feel like a loser.”

She said to me in that moment words that changed my life for good. She said, “Son, I know that you are disappointed in the results of your team. I know you have put forth much effort in your preparation to be successful. But I promise you: Because you have the gospel in your life, you are on the Lord’s team. And if you keep His commandments, you will be a winner in this life.”

Those words have resonated with me and have echoed in my mind for the last 30 years.

Here is just one more example of one who loved me and gave me direction in a time of need.

I hope that you will have the experience of being taught to read by your parents. Since my father was busy at the New England Conservatory of Music all day, my mother taught me to read when I was about four years old. One day we walked down Huntington Avenue to the shops in the center of Boston. We went to the publishing house of Little, Brown and Company. There we were shown a lot of children’s books. Mother bought several that were suitable for my ability. One was an attractive little primer that inspired my imagination. It was called The Brownie Book, a story about imaginary little creatures who did good deeds and went on a trip to the moon! I could see the moon out of our window at night. It seemed such an important object in the sky. The idea of anybody going to the moon brought many stimulating thoughts to my eager, young imagination.
Another book was a primer describing the coming of the Pilgrim fathers, the establishment of the American colonies, and the development of the nation into which I had been born. I was deeply impressed by it.
About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year. Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.
Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in the Parowan Ward in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father.” It was published in modified form in the old Primary songbook as arranged by Henry E. Giles.
Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind as to the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.
Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

We sang in the Primary children’s choir in general conference!
Wyatt (age 10): I felt happy but was scared about messing up on camera. It was so cool to be right by the Apostles and members of the Seventy. It was a really great opportunity.
Bridger (age 11): It was a day I’ll never forget. For the first time in 100 years, three new Apostles were sustained. Also, for the first time ever they had an all-children’s choir in conference, and my brother and I were in it. The things I felt were inconceivable, which means there were no words for it.
When we sang, I felt the Spirit stronger than ever before. It was calm and our singing came out so well. It was almost like it couldn’t possibly be us, it was so beautiful.
Before conference I was afraid that I’d be scared. Yet we got there and had faith, and we were given courage. We were in front of 20,000-plus people, and I wasn’t afraid. It goes to show that you could even march to battle, unafraid and determined, like the armies of Helaman. When you go anywhere, go with undying faith and keep your promises with God.

As a BYU student long ago, my brother-in-law was an example of fearlessness and not faintheartedness. Since the statute of limitations has run out, the story can now be told. In the dim recesses of time, when phones were rotary and thumbs were for hitchhiking, not texting, computers were huge and programs and data were entered into them on computer cards.

This gentleman, whom we’ll call Frank, because that’s his name, was an electrical engineering major here at BYU. The by-product of entering data onto computer cards then was that in punching them there were resulting leftover tiny bits of paper or cardstock.

Frank, and some undisclosed accomplices, collected and introduced this computer confetti, or chad, into the ventilating ducts of my sister’s BYU apartment so that later, when they turned on their cooler or heater fan, they would be greeted by a Christmas-like shower of paper snow. Unfortunately, such chad or confetti didn’t all come out at once. In fact, due to static electricity cling and the interactions of metal ducts and energized small bits of paper, there was a shower of confetti from then on every time the fans went on. I daresay that someone in this audience has just learned why the vents in their apartment still occasionally waft stray bits of computer-card chad gently onto their carpet.

Unsurprisingly, this greatly annoyed my sister’s roommates—who were not sufficiently childlike, I guess—but Frank’s pluck and daring warmed the cockles of my sister’s heart. The point is that although Frank may have exercised questionable judgment, it was kind of cool. He dared and he won the fair maid because his own heart was not faint. Now, President Samuelson and members of the campus law-enforcement and student-discipline community, I’m not advocating any types of pranks; it’s more a mind-set and a childlike courage I advocate.

Reflecting on my own journey, my mother said that my birth father deserted me because I was a girl, and he wanted a boy. One day, while hanging out the washing, I felt a strong prompting to complete his family’s temple work, to soften my heart towards him and release decades of the burden of rejection. I soon found my birth father’s uncle and hundreds of family names that I was able to take to the temple. When this uncle passed away, his daughter gave me permission to complete his temple work as well as that of her deceased brother, pleased that he would have a pillow to lie his head on in heaven. My patriarchal blessing promised success if I completed my family history, and I can testify that we have found much success in this sacred work.

In Alaska, LDS teenagers who live in the towns of Wasilla, Palmer, and Eagle River look at the Anchorage Alaska Temple and know that something of theirs is safe inside. They were fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time to make a promise, sign their names to it, then have those pledges sealed inside the cornerstone of the temple at the dedication.
The promise they signed was quite short. It said simply: “As I prepare for marriage and a mission, I will live the standards of worthiness for entrance into the house of the Lord.” It was a promise that many of them were willing to make, but now that the promise is literally encased in stone in the temple and sealed with mortar, these young people have taken it very seriously.
“This was a goal I had previously made,” says Katie Green of the Eagle River Second Ward, “but had never put on paper. When I was given the opportunity to do so, I jumped at it. I didn’t just sign it; I pondered it. To me a promise is a promise and cannot be broken, especially with our Father in Heaven. Living the standards of worthiness doesn’t mean just not crossing the line. It means that we must live as far away from that line as possible.”
For Amie Uscola of the Wasilla First Ward, making a promise like this one is very personal. “Having my name in the cornerstone of the temple is like an agreement on a personal basis with the Lord. It is like a possession of His, and if you broke it, it is more personal. I actually do think about it every time I come here.”
These teens are thrilled to have a temple so close to their hometowns. Before the Anchorage Alaska Temple was built, these teens only rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to travel to a temple. The trips were expensive and often a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now they have many more opportunities to do baptisms and to go through the temple for their own endowments before leaving on missions or being married. Ryan Rampton of the Eagle River Second Ward said, “With something as sacred as doing temple ordinances, now I won’t have to go to another state. I can do it in the place I grew up. That actually means a lot to me.”
Having signed a pledge that is now permanently in the temple’s cornerstone makes coming to the temple even better. “The feelings I get whenever I enter the temple,” says ShaLene Grover of the Palmer First Ward, “make the desires of my heart stronger to be a better person. This makes a difference in my life, to always be worthy to go to the temple, so I can always feel the peace I feel when going there.”
Just exactly what can these teens do to keep the promise they signed?
Katie Green’s friends know she has standards that she lives. They even know about the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet that outlines and explains just what those standards are. And they like it that when they are with Katie, they have a friend who will help them be a little bit better instead of a little bit worse.
Attending Church meetings and seminary makes it easier. Christy Kendall of the Eagle River First Ward explained how she received an answer as to how she was supposed to act. “It was a lesson when I was a Mia Maid that said you need to make a decision now so that when evil things confront you, you will have a definite answer ready. From then on, For the Strength of Youth became my handbook. It wasn’t just words to me because now I knew that was how I needed to act. Those were my answers that I needed to say when confronted.”
And staying worthy of a temple recommend also prepares these young people to serve the Lord. “The promise I made with my Heavenly Father,” says Austin Wallace of the Eagle River Second Ward, “has influenced my life. I strive to live worthy to enter the temple. I know that if I am temple worthy I am also mission worthy.”
Austin has always followed the good examples set by his friends. He says, “My friends are still the people I look up to. Their testimonies shine through me because I’ve emulated them in all they’ve done.” Austin’s best friend is serving a full-time mission, and Austin is preparing to serve also. “I’ve just loved the Church so much. Now that I’ve seen the choices my friends have made, it’s part of my own personal choice to do the same.”
The Anchorage Alaska Temple is not large, but its light-gray granite walls catch the light. It’s easy to see from one of the main highways. Tim Miner of the Palmer First Ward sees the temple when he has to go that way to get to work. And he remembers his promise.
And Tisha Harman of the Wasilla Second Ward remembers her pledge. She even remembers where her name was among the dozens of other signatures on the sheet.
Dené Christensen of the Eagle River Second Ward says, “When you really think about it, having your name sealed in a cornerstone in the house of the Lord is just amazing. You don’t want to do anything wrong. You don’t want to tarnish or damage any part of that temple. Then I remember that my name’s in there.”
Even though these teens were the right age and at the right place to sign a pledge to remain worthy to enter the temple, Emerson Fry of the Palmer Second Ward reminds us all, “Whether or not you sign a paper, I hope that everyone makes the same promise to themselves and to God.”
“We committed ourselves to our Heavenly Father, that if He would send us to the earth and give us bodies and give to us the priceless opportunities that earth life afforded, we would keep our lives clean and would marry in the holy temple and would rear a family and teach them righteousness. This was a solemn oath, a solemn promise” (Salt Lake Institute of Religion Devotional, 10 Jan. 1975, 2).—President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985)
“Signing this promise was simply a unique way of recommitting ourselves on a more personal level, much like renewing covenants every Sunday in sacrament meeting. This promise offered me a new chance to recommit myself to the standards I may have faltered in obeying. It redefined the covenants I’ve made and gave me renewed purpose to become prepared to enter the temple, go on my mission, and get married.”—Ryan Rampton, 16, Eagle River Second Ward, Wasilla Alaska Stake
“I was able to sign the pledge that is placed in the cornerstone of the temple. By signing I was able to make a promise that I will always be worthy to enter the temple. Just to think that one day I will be able to enter the temple knowing that I have been worthy brings me joy and happiness.”—Crystal Eriksson, 17, Wasilla Second Ward, Wasilla Alaska Stake

The choir leaders work with the region’s public affairs office in organizing places and times to sing. The choir is often included in public performances where the audience is not well acquainted with the Church. When asked about their most memorable performance, they immediately mention a Christmas program held at the local YMCA. Rachel Neifert of the Maryland Heights Ward says: “There were all kinds of choirs there. We sang, ‘This Is the Christ.’ Afterwards people were asking us, ‘What was that feeling?’ It was the best we have ever done. I didn’t know we could sound that good.”

“I think before every performance at least one person says, ‘Let’s try and make this like the YMCA performance.’ That was the most spiritual experience,” adds Carolyn Rees of the Spencer Creek Ward.

Karl Frederick Rytting moved to Utah with his family in 1880. Thirteen years later he returned to Sweden as a missionary and met his old friend Joey, who was then Elder Hoagland.
Karl’s early studies with his grandfather served him well on his mission. On one occasion he was arrested and taken before an archbishop and 12 bishops of the state church. They questioned him until one of the bishops said it was useless to try to catch him, for it was “obvious that he had the Bible memorized.”

When an LDS classmate invited Horváth Attila, 16, to sacrament meeting, Attila liked what he saw. “Then, when my friend told me that the Church was very family-centered, I became even more interested.” Within weeks, Attila was baptized.
Three months later, his father asked to hear the discussions. “I knew enough about the Church by that time,” says Attila, “that I could help my father learn about it. The knowledge I had received in seminary helped me explain the scriptures to him. But since he smoked and drank coffee a lot, I didn’t have the faith that he would be baptized. I was amazed when I saw how—with the help of our Heavenly Father—he was able to rid those things from his life. Two months later, I baptized my father!
“Then, when my mother saw how happy my father and I were in the Church, she also started to be interested. I baptized her three months after baptizing my father! The next day, my whole family came to Church and bore their testimonies. It’s not possible to say what kind of feeling it was for me.”

“When I was a little boy,” President Hinckley said, “we traveled by horse and buggy. We had a sorrel horse, Prince, who was a feisty animal. He had to be treated just right or he would get a little balky and mean. He was rather high-spirited but a fine-looking animal.

“Then one historic day in our family, my father came driving up to our home in a new 1916 Model T Ford. What an exciting day that was! That Ford took the place of Prince and the buggy, yet all the time that I was growing up, we had a saddle horse or two.”

Our family was returning from a weekend getaway to Peace River, Alberta, Canada, about five hours north of our home in Edmonton. Darkness had long since descended on the northern landscape, and although the wind was blowing snow wildly across the road in front of us, all seemed peaceful and calm inside our van.
Suddenly an ominous warning light appeared on the dashboard. I had seen it only once before, years ago, and now I feared what was in store. I quickly turned off all unnecessary power, but the engine soon stalled. I knew we had traveled several kilometers since we had passed the last town, and it would be many more kilometers before we reached the next town. I could not even remember the last time we had encountered a vehicle going in either direction.
As we desperately considered our options, our 11-year-old son, Casson, said, “We need to pray—now!” Not three months before, Casson had been devastated by the loss of his younger brother, who had passed away from cancer. How many prayers had Casson sent up to heaven as he struggled to understand why he had lost his only brother?
My wife and I were not sure how fully he had understood our explanation that our prayers need to be aligned with Heavenly Father’s will and not necessarily with our own desires. Yet here he was, showing us that we needed to turn to Heavenly Father and continue to have faith in Him.
Not long after we had finished praying, the headlights of an approaching vehicle began to sparkle in our rearview mirror. Within seconds a long flatbed truck en route to Edmonton stopped in front of us.
As the driver and I approached each other, he asked in a thick French Canadian accent, “Do you have any children in that van?” When I told him yes, he said he had passed another stopped vehicle several miles back but had not pulled over because of the bad weather. However, as he had approached us, he felt a distinct impression that we had children who needed his help. As a result, he stopped.
Within a few minutes he had our vehicle winched onto his truck, and we were heading to Edmonton. It was a cold trip back, but we were warmed by the sweet confirmation that Heavenly Father does hear prayers. Sometimes the answers come in ways we don’t envision, and sometimes the answers are more powerful and direct than we can ever imagine. We just need to have faith and trust in the Lord.

After a 61-hour bus ride, our youth group arrived at the Manila Philippines Temple. In celebration of the temple’s 20th anniversary, the Davao stake youth had spent nine months preparing for the trip, attending family history classes, being actively involved in Church activities, researching and preparing family names, and helping to raise funds for the trip. There was excitement in the air as the 63 of us got off the bus that Monday night. At the temple patron housing, we held a very large family home evening, with musical performances and spiritual messages, and then tried to sleep.

During the next two days the youth were baptized and confirmed for over 2,000 of their ancestors, giving those ancestors the chance to accept the restored gospel. We didn’t feel hungry or tired as we worked hour after hour in the temple. The Spirit was very strong. Some youth had glowing countenances; others had tears of joy on their cheeks.

All too soon it was time to go home. A few minutes into our journey, the peaceful quiet of the bus was interrupted by police sirens. Outside, we were surrounded by patrol cars, which forced us to a stop. Then we could see police snipers around us, aiming forward. In those tense moments, we learned that the passengers of a bus a few feet in front of us were being held hostage, and the police were using our bus as a shield!

We leaders did our best to keep everyone calm, but some began to panic. In the confusion the police ordered us all to drop to the floor. After several terrifying minutes, we heard a man yelling for us to evacuate the bus. Following orders, we hurriedly got off the bus and went to a nearby vacant building.

For over an hour, we sat in the dark building, praying and listening for gunfire. Then finally we were told we could go back to our bus. The shootout had ended; two hostages and two hijackers had been killed.

We were badly shaken as we resumed our journey. As the shock lessened, however, we realized we had been protected. Not one of us had been injured, and we knew the hand of the Lord had been over us. We felt a divine presence and wondered if perhaps some of those for whom we had been baptized were close by.

I thought of the scripture that says, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say” (D&C 82:10), and I was glad the Lord keeps His promises. As we keep the commandments and continue faithfully in our duties, including temple and family history work, we will be worthy of the Lord’s blessings—including His protection when we need it most.

Jennifer stared at the door. Soon it would open and her baptismal interview would start. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How could she tell Bishop Anderson that she didn’t want to get baptized? She’d tried to tell Mom, but Mom got that disappointed look on her face.
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew larger. Bishop Anderson was going to be disappointed in her. She looked away from the door and stared at her dress. The material faded before her eyes. If only this interview was over!
“Jennifer, are you ready?” Bishop Anderson asked, smiling at her.
She darted a quick glance at him, then looked down. Staring at the carpet, she followed him into his office and slid onto the chair next to his desk. Under the desk was a little dust ball. Her eyes focused on it. Normally she loved talking to Bishop Anderson; he was always kind and smiled at her. But today the lump in her throat was too big.
“What’s wrong, Jennifer?”
Bishop Anderson’s loving face gave Jennifer courage. She lifted her head. The warmth in his face brought sudden tears to her eyes. “Everyone else in my Primary class is being baptized by their father, but Dad can’t baptize me because he isn’t a member. It isn’t fair!” Her voice trembled, and she stared down at the dust ball.
“It doesn’t seem fair, Jennifer,” Bishop Anderson said in a kind voice. “But let’s look at the reasons for this special ordinance. Do you know why we get baptized?”
“Because it’s a commandment?”
“That’s right. In 2 Nephi 9:23, Jacob tells us that we are all commanded to be baptized. Baptism is the ‘door’ that lets us into the kingdom of God. Now, what happens if you try to unlock a door with the wrong key?”
Her finger’s crumpled the edge of her dress. “The door won’t open?”
“Exactly. But the right key opens the door. Baptism is the door, but the priesthood is the key. Only one who holds the priesthood worthily holds the right key. Someone who baptizes without the priesthood doesn’t have the authority to perform this sacred ordinance. It is like trying to use the wrong key to unlock the door. It doesn’t work, and the door stays shut.”
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew bigger. “But my dad is a good person,” she whispered.
Bishop Anderson nodded his head. “I know he is, and I feel that someday he will accept the gospel and receive the priesthood. In the meantime, he deserves your love and respect and obedience.”
Jennifer tried to smile, but a tear ran down her cheek.
Bishop Anderson reached for his scriptures. He opened the black leather cover and carefully turned the pages. “You see, even Jesus had to be baptized by someone holding the right key. Here, Jennifer, read verses thirteen to fifteen in Matthew, chapter three.”
Jennifer took the heavy book from the bishop. “‘Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him.
“‘But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?
“‘And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered him.’”
Jennifer looked at the bishop, who asked her, “Why did Jesus go to John the Baptist?”
Jennifer smoothed her dress across her knees. “Because John had the authority.”
“Exactly. Now I want you to think of something else. Was Jesus baptized by Joseph, His father while He was on the earth?”
Jennifer caught her breath. The lump in her throat started to dissolve. “No, He wasn’t.”
“He wasn’t,” agreed Bishop Anderson. “But His baptism was still special. It isn’t important who baptizes you as long as that person has the right key to do so. If he does, Heavenly Father will accept your baptism and He will be as pleased with you as He was with Jesus.”
For the first time in days, the big lump in Jennifer’s throat was gone. A smile broke through. She still wished her dad could baptize her, but it was going to be OK. “Bishop Anderson, would you baptize me?”
The bishop gave Jennifer a big smile. “I’d love to, Jennifer.”
Jennifer’s smile grew. She was eager now to get baptized. She would show Heavenly Father that she wanted to go through the door the right way, just like Jesus did, by being baptized by someone holding the right key.

My scripture study would have to wait. All three of our sons had awakened—and much earlier than usual. The youngest, Caden, then 18 months old, was screaming in his crib. I went into his room and saw instantly that he was sick.
Thus began a Monday of one challenge after another. At one point, shortly after I had changed Caden’s clothes and tried to feed him, he flung a large jar onto the floor, spilling applesauce everywhere and sending shattered glass across the kitchen. As I was cleaning up the mess, I thought about all the things I wasn’t getting done: family history, service, home storage, missionary work.
“How in the world can I do everything I know I should be doing when I am barely managing the basic tasks of my day?” I wondered. By early evening I was exhausted, but I set aside discouraging thoughts during dinner, family home evening, and the boys’ bath and bedtime routine.
Finally, with the children in bed, I sat down to do what I had not had time for earlier. I picked up the May 2006 Ensign, which was open to a talk by President Henry B. Eyring titled “As a Child.” My eyes fell on a passage I had previously marked: “To keep the blessing of [changed natures] in our hearts will require determination, effort, and faith. King Benjamin taught at least some of what that will require. He said that to retain a remission of our sins from day to day we must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and help people spiritually and temporally” (Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 17).
Immediately, I again felt that I wasn’t living the gospel fully. I wondered, “How can I feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and help people spiritually and temporally when I can scarcely take care of my own family?”
That’s when I experienced an overwhelming feeling of divine approval. It was so clear, precise, and tangible that I knew I had to write it down so I wouldn’t forget. I could see my day replay in my mind—full of feeding the hungry, doing laundry to clothe the naked (I changed Caden’s outfit multiple times), gently caring for our sick baby, helping our five-year-old prepare a family home evening lesson on missionary work, and then discussing the power of example with my family—in other words, helping people spiritually and temporally.
The impression flowed with such an overpowering feeling of peace that I knew the Lord was telling me He had accepted my offering. In caring for my family, I was fulfilling the admonitions of King Benjamin and President Eyring.

Sister Cook was parked in the driveway, the engine of her car running. Molly hurriedly finished putting on her Sunday shoes and ran for the front door.
She stopped suddenly. Her scriptures were not on the table next to the door. “Where are my scriptures?” she called to her mother who was sitting in the living room.
“I don’t know. Sorry, honey.”
“They were right here,” Molly insisted. “Somebody moved them.”
“I guess you’ll have to find them later.”
Molly yanked open the door and ran to the waiting car. “Justin probably grabbed my scriptures,” she muttered angrily.
Three-year-old Justin liked snooping in his sister’s belongings. Her homework and books and baseball equipment were always disappearing. Later she would find them in the strangest places. Her soccer shin guards ended up in the refrigerator once. Justin had put them in the vegetable bin. Sometimes it was funny.
But it wasn’t funny today. It never was on Sundays. Even though her Valiant A teacher picked her up every week for church, Molly felt like she was alone. She was the only child in the ward whose family didn’t go to church with her.
On Saturday nights she set her alarm clock for 7:00 A.M. When it went off, she got up and took a quiet bath and fixed her own breakfast. Everybody else was still asleep, although sometimes Justin came out to the kitchen in his pajamas and ate a bowl of cereal with her.
By the time she left, Mom and Dad would be in the living room, reading the Sunday newspaper, its pages spread out all over the couch. Later they would play tennis. In her mind Molly could imagine them hitting the ball back and forth across the net, laughing and enjoying the cool fall weather. Justin would be running after the stray balls and giggling.
Her parents never stopped her from going to church, but they never went with her, either. Most of the time Molly tried not to mind. But sometimes it hurt.
Mom and Dad came to a meeting at church only once—to see her baptism. Molly had insisted that she wanted to be baptized. She had been awfully disappointed because her father wasn’t the one to baptize her. And afterward her parents had left without staying to visit with the other people in the ward who had attended.
Sister Cook always told Molly to give her family time to feel more comfortable with the ward members. Someday her parents would regain their testimonies that the gospel was true and would come back to church.
One Sunday morning Sister Cook had given a lesson about the bishop and the ward family. The bishop was like a father to the ward, she had said. He was there to help the ward members—to help and counsel them, just as a father does. The members of the church were like brothers and sisters, and they could be like one big, happy family.
Thinking of that had helped for a while, but when she looked around the chapel at all the families sitting together, Molly again felt sad. It just wasn’t the same sitting next to Sister Cook’s family during sacrament meeting.
Today, at the end of Primary, the Primary president, Sister Miller, passed out the speaking parts for the Children’s Sacrament Meeting Presentation. She gave Molly a folded slip of paper and winked at her. The paper read: “Your topic is ‘Because Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, they have given me a special earthly family.’ Tell two or three reasons why your family is special to you.”
Molly read the paper twice on the way home. She felt as if someone had knocked the breath out of her. Why did Sister Miller give me a talk about families? I can’t do this assignment. Doesn’t she know how I feel? My family isn’t active at all. They don’t even like church! It isn’t fair!
When Sister Cook pulled up to her house, Molly mumbled good-bye, slammed the car door, and ran up the sidewalk. The entry hall shook when she slammed the front door too.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Mom asked. Still wearing her tennis clothes, she was putting the rackets and balls in the hall closet.
“Nothing.” Molly started for her bedroom, then turned back to look at her mother. “I have a part in the Primary Sacrament Meeting Presentation. I’ll get to speak at the pulpit, just like the bishop.”
“That’s nice.”
“It’s in three weeks. Will you and Dad and Justin come and hear me give my talk?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “We’ll see.” She smiled and went into the kitchen to fix lunch.
That’s what Mom had said last year when Molly had had a part in the Book of Mormon program. But they hadn’t gone.
Molly almost crumpled up her piece of paper and threw it in the wastebasket. Then she remembered last year when she had told the story of Nephi building the ship. Nephi had believed that the Lord would help him, and he had prayed for guidance to build a ship so that he and his family could cross the ocean. Well, that’s what she would do too. Just like Nephi, she would pray for help and the Lord would help her.
Suddenly Molly had a warm, peaceful feeling. She felt that the spirit of the Holy Ghost was with her, just as she had been promised.
As she spent the next three weeks preparing and practicing her talk, she started noticing the many things that her parents did for her and how much they loved her.
Mom fixed her favorite snacks, helped her with science projects, and always rushed to hug her when she came home from school. Dad played soccer and softball with her, and at bedtime he would tell her the most wonderful stories. It was always a warm, special time for just the two of them. Even though Justin sometimes seemed like a pest, she was happy that he was her brother. They sang funny songs and giggled, read books, and played at the park together.
Finally the day of the program came. Sister Cook picked her up, and she sat in her assigned seat near the pulpit.
When the Primary children sang “I Am a Child of God” and “I Lived in Heaven,” Molly felt close to her ward “family.” And she remembered how much Heavenly Father loved her. She had three wonderful families—a heavenly family, a ward family, and an earthly family!
When it was her turn to go to the microphone, Sister Cook gave her an encouraging smile. And when she started her topic, saying, “Because Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, they have given me a special earthly family.” Molly was glad that Sister Miller had given her this talk. She didn’t feel hurt or angry anymore about going to church alone. Even though they didn’t come to church with her, she really did have a special earthly family.
Just then the back door to the chapel opened. Molly’s heart began to pound as Mom, Dad, and Justin quietly walked into the chapel and found a place to sit. They smiled at her, and she couldn’t help grinning back. She started her talk over again: “Because Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, they have given me a special earthly family.” And she knew that it was true.

I have a friend named Jake, who, although he is not LDS, is a strong Christian. This past year we often chatted on Facebook. Jake often asks me questions about our religion, and I will use the scripture masteries to help him understand our beliefs. Jake believes in the Bible, so I often share a Bible scripture mastery and then share a Book of Mormon scripture that goes along with it.
One time he asked a question about our view of heaven. I was able to share the plan of salvation with him and refer to 1 Corinthians 15:40–42 to help him understand. By using the scripture mastery verses, I helped Jake to understand that we believe in the Bible.
Through the Internet I’ve shared the gospel and my own personal testimony of the Church. Jake often posts religious videos on Facebook and asks me to watch them. Afterwards, we discuss it, and a few times I’ve linked him to the Mormon Messages channel on YouTube.
Computers can be used for harm. However, we can and should use computers to share the gospel with friends and family.

“I give up,” Sandy sighed sadly. “I can’t think of anything. I never can when it’s my week.”
It was Monday afternoon, and Sandy was in charge of the family home evening activity. Justin and Carol had the easy parts—the prayer and the scripture. The cupcakes Mom made for refreshments were already frosted and dotted with red sprinkles.
Just as Sandy started to ask her mom for an idea, Justin ran into the kitchen with his best friend, Stanley, right behind him. Justin bounced his basketball on the kitchen floor with one hand while his other hand reached out for one of the sweet-smelling cupcakes.
“No you don’t,” Mom said quickly. “If you take one and Stanley takes one, and if Carol comes home with her friends, the next thing you know, there’ll be a chain reaction and all the cupcakes will be gone!”
“Aw, Mom.” Justin frowned and bounced his ball back outside.
After he left, Sandy thought about what her mother had said. “What’s a chain reaction?” she asked.
“Well,” Mom replied, “it’s when one thing causes something else to happen, and the second thing causes a third thing to happen, and so on. It’s like a little bit of snow can be the start of a big snowball. You know—one thing leads to another.”
Mom’s explanation started a chain reaction of thoughts in Sandy’s mind, and suddenly she had a wonderful idea. She bounced over to the sink where her mother was peeling potatoes. “Mom, do we have to eat the cupcakes for family home evening?”
“I thought that was your favorite part. What did you want to do with them?”
Sandy grinned. “Can we give them away?” she asked.
“I suppose so. Why?”
“I can’t tell you now,” Sandy said mysteriously. “I have work to do.”
Sandy hurried to her bedroom and took out a pencil and some paper. Slowly and carefully, she made up a poem:
You can play the chain-reaction game;
It isn’t hard to do.
Next family night just hide some treats,
Like these we hid for you.
But when you make a special treat
And take it out to hide it, Don’t forget to run real fast—
And leave this poem beside it!
After Sandy made two copies of the poem, she ran back to the kitchen to wrap up two packages of cupcakes.
That night during family home evening, Sandy explained her chain-reaction game to her family. As soon as it was dark, they quietly hurried down to the Moffitt’s house with one package of cupcakes. They put it on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and hid behind the bushes. Mrs. Moffitt came out and exclaimed happily when she found the surprise.
Sandy’s family went just as secretively over to the Stavros’s house on the next block and left the other package for them.
A few weeks later, while Sandy was helping Carol set the table for dinner before their family home evening started, the doorbell rang. Mom was stirring spaghetti sauce, so Dad went to answer the door. There on the doorstep was a fancy paper plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies. And taped to the top of the plastic wrap was a copy of Sandy’s poem!
Dad laughed. “Sandy,” he called, “I’ve discovered the best part of your chain-reaction game!”

A translator in the Philippines discovered another problem. He completed his translation of the Gospel of John, printed it, and gave some copies to the tribe he was with. Nobody liked it, and nobody read it. After some investigation, he found that the native language had two forms for stories, one for fiction and one for true stories. In his translation, he had used the fictional form. He redid the translation in the other form, and the new version was a success.