Gospel Story Finder

That night he had a dream. In his dream he was fishing from a boat with Jed as they had done many times. It was the same lake in the mountains that they had been to that summer. At first he was catching fish, laughing with Jed, having a good time. Then the dream changed, and he was alone in the boat. The boat was leaking, and all he had was a plastic drinking cup. At first he was able to stay ahead of the water, but then it got worse. He bailed furiously to keep the boat from sinking, but he could see the water filling the boat. When he looked up, he saw Kim and Fitzie on the shore laughing at him, yelling for him to let the boat sink.
Suddenly he wrenched free of his dream. He was sweating, and his covers were in disarray. He got out of bed, turned on his light, and looked at the time. It was 12:30.
He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. All the offending thoughts poured down upon his mind in rapid succession.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. Putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, he walked outside on his front steps and sat down. The sky was free of clouds, and he could see the stars clearly. He found himself identifying some of the constellations that he had learned in Scouting.
Sitting there, he relived in his mind what Jed and he had gone through in order to both earn their Eagle Scout rank. He remembered how Jed was always in front, leading the way.
Suddenly he found an answer to his problems: “I’ll call Jed and ask if I can move out with his family!” His mind raced, picturing himself back again with his friends.
He hurried inside and went into the family room where there was an extension phone. He dialed the number of Jed’s home.
The sleepy voice of Jed’s mother answered the phone. He apologized for calling so late and asked if he could talk to Jed.
Jed answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes about small things. Then Jed asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“I want to move back there. Do you think your parents will let me move in with your family? I could get a job and pay them for room and board. My parents would probably help too.”
“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Jed answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it here. The people are really different.” He told Jed about the drugs and loose morals, painting it in as bad a light as he could.
Jed was unimpressed. “So what? I can find the same attitudes back here in our high school. Have you forgotten?”
Kevin felt as if his last hope was being yanked away. “No! It’s different. I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll end up being just like them.”
“Why don’t you try to set a good example?” Jed asked.
“I can’t. They’ll laugh at me. Let me come back.”
“Okay, if you need to, we’ll work it out. But Kevin, maybe you’ve got some missionary work you can do there.”
“No, not me. How can I convert them? They’ve nearly converted me.”
“Look,” Jed continued, “since we were in grade school, you’ve been somebody I’ve looked up to for help. You practically dragged me through to become an Eagle. You were always the one who was out ahead yelling for us to catch up.”
Kevin was stunned to hear Jed say that. “No, not me. You were the leader.”
“I had to hustle to stay up with you,” Jed insisted. “Didn’t you know that? Now find some friends there who will lift you up the way we helped each other.”
Kevin pictured in his mind the way the halls overflowed during a class change. “How will I find them? There are 2,000 kids in the school.”
“I don’t know. You’ll find a way. You always have before when you faced a challenge.”
They said good-bye, and Kevin hung up. He walked slowly to his room, lost in thought. Kneeling down by his bed, he began a long prayer: “Father in Heaven, I’ve got a problem …”
The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

On a winter day not long after her baptism, Renee found out one way in which the Holy Ghost would help and protect her. As she walked out the doors of her school, she thought she heard someone say, “Stop!” She hesitated and looked around. She couldn’t see anyone, so she started forward again. Once again, she thought she heard the voice say, “Stop!” She obeyed.
As soon as she stopped, a pile of snow with big chunks of ice slid off the roof of the building and landed right in front of her! Her heart beat fast as she looked at the snow pile. If those ice chunks had hit her head, she would have been badly hurt.
Renee knew that the Holy Ghost had warned her to stop. She knew that the Holy Ghost is the Helper that Nephi had promised. That night in her prayers, she thanked Heavenly Father for the gift of the Holy Ghost.

It was 14 February when I knelt across the altar in the Mesa Arizona Temple with my sister, Jennifer; my dad; and my mom. I was 15 years old and had been a member of the Church for a year. What had been only a goal a year before was now a reality. We were about to be sealed as a family for time and eternity.
Twenty-one years earlier, my parents, who were not yet members, married in a religious ceremony. The minister said the marriage was “until death do you part,” but my parents thought marriage should last forever. They signed letters to each other, and later to Jen and me, “Love for forever and three days.” It was their way of saying they hoped we would always be together.
It wasn’t until my dad started having back problems that we met a member of the Church. A therapist who helped my dad with back exercises began talking to my parents about the gospel. Slowly, they became interested and asked to meet the missionaries.
The first meeting we attended was a stake conference. Its theme was strengthening the family. For my mom, who had been searching for ways to make our family closer, the conference was an answer to prayer.
My prayers were answered too. After the missionaries invited us to be baptized, I began praying to know if the Church was true. As I read in John 14:26–27 about having the Holy Ghost and not being afraid, I knew it was true.
On 11 February 1996, my entire family was baptized. We had been attending the ward for only a few weeks, so we were shocked when dozens of people came to the baptism to show their support.
My family made a goal to be sealed in the temple as soon as we could. We began preparing to attend the temple, focusing on our relationships with each other and with the Savior. Our relationship as a family became more spiritual as we studied the scriptures and prayed together.
I tried to read everything the prophets had written about going to the temple. I also followed my Young Women leader’s suggestion and began saying “thank you” prayers. Instead of just asking Heavenly Father for things I wanted, I concentrated on thanking Him.
On the day of our sealing, we awoke excited. Today was the day! When we arrived at the temple, Jen and I walked around outside while my parents received their endowments. The weather was perfect. It was as if the flowers had bloomed for us.
Finally it was time for Jen and me, dressed in white, to join our parents in the sealing room. I remember being struck by how bright and pure and beautiful everything looked. As we knelt at the altar, I glanced in the mirrors and saw images of our family extending endlessly. I felt the Spirit bear witness that our family could be together forever.
When we walked outside after the sealing, we were again surprised at the number of people who had come to support us.
It wasn’t until a few days later that we realized we had been sealed exactly a year and three days after our baptism. Suddenly my parents’ signature, “Love for forever and three days,” took on a whole new meaning. Their wish had come true—we could now be a forever family.

Family history research in the nineteenth century was very difficult. Records of baptisms, marriages and burials were kept in local churches and required permission from their vicars to be viewed. Census records were not available.
Missionaries then coming to Britain were often returning British converts, or their children. Their calling was not just to teach the living, but also to find details of their own ancestors.
One such Elder was James Leaing McMurrin, who arrived on UK shores in the spring of 1884 and was assigned to Glasgow. He was delighted by this, as Scotland was the home of his ancestors. He eagerly endeavoured to find them, but sadly had no success.
Six months into his mission he was reassigned to Ireland. On learning of this, his aunt gave him the address of one Hugh McMurrin, who lived in Ireland. The Elder determined to visit him if possible. However, the address was not within his assigned area.
Sometime later, he and his companion went out to visit a family of Church members but got lost. It was getting late, and upon enquiring at a house the direction to the town they were seeking, the occupants offered the elders a meal and a bed for the night. After learning Elder McMurrin’s name, the couple told him of a neighbour they had by the name of Hugh McMurrin.
Astonished, but delighted, Elder McMurrin visited him and found he was the Hugh McMurrin his aunt had told him about. He had moved from the address his aunt had given him. From this gentleman he received the addresses of other McMurrins, whom he visited and who gave him nearly one hundred and fifty names of his ancestors.
Back in Salt Lake City, Janet McMurrin was tending to her dying father. In a conversation about the spirit world, she asked him when he went beyond the veil to tell Grandfather McMurrin that the family were unable to find any of his genealogy to do work for in the temple. He agreed to deliver the message, and shortly thereafter died.
A little time later, about the time that Elder McMurrin was being transferred to Ireland, Janet had a dream in which her father appeared to her. He informed her that he had delivered her message and had now come to tell her that “42 Islington” would do all the rest. With this she awoke and wondered what he could have meant by 42 Islingto”. Members in England at the time would have been able to tell her, but she had to wait for Elder McMurrin’s letter telling her of his changed assignment, one given him by the British Mission President, whose office was at 42 Islington, Liverpool.
When we do all we can, the Lord will do the rest.
Sometime later, in May 1899, Elder McMurrin was serving as part of the presidency of the European Mission. He attended the Scottish Conference, where he met a young David O. McKay (1873–1970).
President McKay later recounts, “I had learned by intimate association with him that James McMurrin was pure gold; his faith in the Gospel implicit; that no truer man, no more loyal man to what he thought was right, ever lived; so when he turned to me and gave what I thought then was more of a caution than a promise, his words made an indelible impression upon me. Paraphrasing the words of the Saviour to Peter, he said, ‘Let me say to you Brother David, Satan hath desired you that he may sift you as wheat, but God is mindful of you.’ Then he added, ‘If you will keep the faith you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.’ …
“I know that this incident means but little to others, but to me it connotes so much that is intimately precious and so profoundly important as a milestone in my life that I cherish it as a sacred possession.”1

In the famous movie The African Queen, two refugees from World War I violence in East Africa are trying to reach the relative safety of Lake Victoria. After surviving many near disasters, their boat, The African Queen, is stranded in a marsh. Unable to tell which way the current is flowing and surrounded by high growth, the two refugees become disoriented and discouraged. At the end of their energy and faith, they are about to give up and die.
Then, in a moment of high drama, the camera through which we are viewing their peril rises, and with new perspective we see their true location. Out of sight to them, but just a few meters away, are the long-sought liberating waters of Lake Victoria.

When COVID-19 hit in the spring of 2020, we all worried about how to continue the work. The African refugees are an extremely social and warm people, so the isolation was hard on them. Gone were the large group gatherings in homes of members and African friends alike. In May 2020, we held a ward fast and prayed that Heavenly Father would bless the lives of our African friends both temporally and spiritually and help them come unto Christ.
As was common throughout the Church, our missionaries began teaching online. They started a Facebook page about the Church in the Swahili language.
Our ward mission leader at the time, Brian McCann, said, “As we fasted for the Lord to help Swahili missionary work, in our minds we thought it meant Swahili missionary work in Spokane. But the Lord really showed us the use of technology during COVID-19, and all of a sudden the elders were showing up saying, ‘We’re teaching this person in Norway and this person in Uganda and this person in Kenya.’”
Sifa, an African refugee living in Norway, found the Facebook page and began taking the lessons very early in the morning, Spokane time. Sifa contacted her local missionaries, and together with the help of the missionaries in Spokane, she learned about the restored gospel. She and her son were baptized in Norway in December 2020. Sifa knew people in Uganda from her time as a refugee there, and soon we were teaching 20 people in a Ugandan refugee settlement.

Several years ago we lived in Garden Grove, California. I was a produce supervisor for a large grocery chain. I dropped by home and picked up my young son Lawrence, who was three at the time. We went out to visit a farm to see if we could procure produce for that company. I went into the sheds, examined the produce; then I was told that Jack, the farmer, was in the house. I went to the front door and rang the bell. A little lady, probably 85 years old, white-haired, frail, stood in the doorway.
I said, “Is Jack here?”
“No, he isn’t. His father just passed away, and he went to the hospital.” And then she began to weep, and I said, “Are you Jack’s mother?” She said, “Yes.”
“I’m terribly sorry about your husband.” And then I was no longer a produce buyer; I was a high priest in the Church, and I said to her, “Do you believe in the resurrection?”
“I guess so.”
And then I said, “The Savior said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ (John 11:25.) And ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.’” (John 14:2.) And I went on with several scriptures about the resurrection.
Then finally as I concluded I said, “Your husband will live again. He will be resurrected.” I said, “Do you believe that?” I couldn’t tell whether she did or not; I just knew she wasn’t comforted. So I said to her, “Do you believe in prayer?”
She said, “I used to pray, but lately if I get down on my knees I can’t get back up again. When I do pray, I forget what I’m supposed to pray about. And then when I’m down on my knees and no one comes, I just have to wait until someone does come.”
I said, “Would you like Lawrence and me to pray for you?”
She said, “Yes,” and opened the door and we went in.
I helped this sweet soul down onto her knees, and then we began to pray. I poured out my soul to the Lord to let a sweet blessing of comfort come to this spirit, to this little soul. About halfway through the prayer I felt a warmth and a peace come into my heart that I knew our prayers were answered.
At the close of the prayer, I stood up and lifted this soul again from her knees. Peace radiated from her face. I held her hands for a moment and looked into her eyes. There was peace there.
Lawrence and I left. She came over and stood in the doorway as we went out and climbed into the car.
Lawrence turned around and looked at her and then he said to me, “Dad, she sure was a sweet old grandma.”

Of all her designs, her most important project came as an assignment from President David O. McKay and Sister Belle S. Spafford, the Relief Society General President. They asked Rose Marie to help design temple clothing.
So instead of designing swimsuits in a large factory, Rose Marie set up her sewing machine in her own home. She spent hours cutting patterns and sewing white fabric. “This clothing is beautiful and sacred and precious,” she said. “Designing it is the most important calling of my life.”

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly, we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap.
But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!
If I had responded to my conscience when it first whispered that the prank was wrong, I would have avoided the whole stinking ordeal.

“There it is,” I whispered to Randy as we watched the magpie glide through the air and land in the poplar trees just this side of Jed Franklin’s place. We clutched our rocks and glared at the shiny black bird with the white tips on its tail and wings. Dad had said that he didn’t like magpies eating our vegetables, so Randy and I had chased it out of the garden. Chasing magpies was lots more fun than weeding.
“Do you think we ought to follow it over there, Russell?” Randy asked.
I thought about going back to the garden to finish weeding. I scratched my head. “Dad said that if they’re not chased miles away, they just come back.”
Randy swallowed. “But it’s on Mr. Franklin’s place now.”
I shuddered just a little. Jed Franklin was the meanest man I knew. He lived alone on a little run-down farm just down the road from us.
“I figure we can sneak over there through the trees without him seeing us,” I whispered.
Before Randy could answer, I started down the dirt lane toward the Franklin place. I heard Randy scramble after me. The magpie was still in the poplar tree when we got there. We each threw a rock.
“We didn’t throw close enough to it,” I muttered as I watched the magpie fly away, then perch itself right on top of Mr. Franklin’s new light pole. “We can chase it a lot farther away for sure from there,” I said excitedly.
“But, Russell,” Randy gasped, “we can’t go into Mr. Franklin’s yard!”
I stared ahead and suddenly grinned. “He’s not even there. His pickup’s gone.”
A few moments later Randy and I were hunched down by the corner of Mr. Franklin’s barn, looking almost straight up at the magpie. “Aim good,” I said.
I don’t know which rock went where. All I know is that we shattered Mr. Franklin’s new light! Glass flew everywhere.
We sprinted for home—past the poplar trees, across the dirt lane, and to the garden, where we should have been all afternoon. We grabbed our hoes and started chopping weeds as fast as we could. Even when we were finished, we kept looking for weeds where there weren’t any. And every few minutes we glanced toward the Franklin place.
It was almost suppertime when we heard Jed Franklin’s old pickup rumble down the road past our place to his. We didn’t dare stay in the garden after that. We put our hoes away and went into the house.
That night after we’d gone to bed and should have been sleeping, I lay on my pillow with my eyes wide open and a thousand things going through my mind. When I’d said my prayer that night, the words didn’t go anyplace. They just stayed in the room with me. “Are you awake?” I whispered to Randy, who was on the bottom bunk.
Randy kicked his covers back and muttered, “Yes. I can’t go to sleep. I keep thinking.”
“We didn’t mean to do it,” I argued. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Randy came back, “but Mr. Franklin still lost his light.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” I muttered.
The next morning, Randy and I were helping Dad fix a sagging barn door, when Mr. Franklin pulled up in his pickup. I took a step backward, bumping Randy and spilling a sack of nails on the ground. Mr. Franklin leaned out of his pickup and glared at us. “Well, they’ve done it again,” he snapped.
Dad straightened up. “Who did what?” Dad asked.
Mr. Franklin stared at Randy and me. I gulped, wondering how he’d found out. “They broke my new light,” he growled. “It hasn’t been in a week, and they knocked it out yesterday while I was away.”
“Who did it?” Dad asked.
I got ready to turn and run. I just knew Mr. Franklin was going to jab a finger at Randy and me and bellow, “They did!”
“Kids!” Mr. Franklin snorted. “Probably those kids on the three-wheelers. They’re always racing through my yard and driving up into the hills. They leave gates open, tear things up, and scare my stock. Now they’ve gone and knocked my light out. If I ever get my hands on them … !”
“Those guys on the three-wheelers sure saved us,” I muttered after Mr. Franklin had left and Dad had gone into the barn. “And we didn’t even have to lie or anything,” I said, smiling, but still feeling dark and sick inside. I kept thinking of something Mom had told us once. She had said that you could tell a huge lie just by being quiet when you knew the truth.
“Why does Mr. Franklin have to be such a mean old guy?” I asked Dad when he came back.
Dad thought for a moment, then answered, “Oh, he’s not mean. Just lonely.”
“He sure seems mean to me,” Randy said, “always running around with that ugly frown.”
Dad scratched his head. “Sometimes Jed looks mean and angry with everyone because nobody ever seems very nice to him.”
After we had finished the door, Randy and I sat in the barn and talked.
“I wish we hadn’t done it,” Randy said.
I nodded. “We ought to pay him for the light.”
Randy gasped. “But then we’d have to tell him we broke it in the first place.”
“Well, maybe we could work for him. We wouldn’t tell him why, and that way we could pay for the light without him even knowing it.”
It was the best idea we had had. We hated to hoe corn, but we knew Mr. Franklin had a little patch that needed hoeing, so we headed for it. The sun was hot, bugs buzzed around us, sweat trickled down the sides of our faces, our backs ached, and I even wore a blister on my hand. But for the first time since Randy and I had broken the light, I felt good because we were making up for what we had broken.
“What are you kids doing?” a voice boomed out at us as we were finishing the last two rows.
We whipped around, and there stood Mr. Franklin leaning against a fence post.
I gulped and licked my lips, “We’ve been hoeing your corn.”
“Why?”
“The corn needed hoeing,” Randy said.
“We wanted to,” I added. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind.” He almost smiled. “Mighty fine work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown wallet. “I guess you boys could use a little spending money.”
“We didn’t do it for money,” I burst out.
Mr. Franklin looked at me, then at Randy, who was nodding in agreement.
“But I’d like to pay,” Mr. Franklin said, counting out some money. “I don’t remember any kids ever helping me before. Sometimes kids come over and knock my lights and windows out, but this is the first time any showed up to help.” He held the money out. “I insist that you take it.”
We couldn’t make ourselves tell him about the light, so we took the money and headed for home, feeling worse than we’d felt before we hoed the corn.
“Why don’t we feel good, Russell?” Randy asked me. “I thought you were supposed to feel good after you did something good. I just feel rotten.”
“I guess it’s because we did something good just to cover up something bad.”
For a long time we stayed in the barn, thinking. We both knew that there was only one thing we could do to make us feel better, but we were both scared to do it.
“I’m going back,” I finally announced.
“Going back!” Randy gasped.
“I’m giving the money back.”
“But what will you tell him?”
I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just tell him the truth. That’s what we should have done to start with.”
It was hard going back to Mr. Franklin’s place, one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. I would rather have hoed a dozen fields of corn than explain what we had done to his light.
We found him by his old pickup. The hood was up, and he was hunched over the engine, banging and tugging with a wrench. His hands were greasy, his face was red, and he was chewing hard on a soggy toothpick.
As soon as he looked up and saw us, I pulled the money from my pocket and set it on the fender of the pickup. Then I stepped back and looked directly at him. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Randy was doing the same.
Mr. Franklin looked at the money. “What’s this for?” he demanded gruffly.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. I watched a tiny ant tug and pull at a piece of straw that was ten times bigger than it was, “We didn’t hoe the corn for money,” I explained in a raspy whisper. “We did it to pay for your light.”
“My light?” He straightened up and wiped his hands on his pants.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest that I thought it was going to burst. I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t have any breath to speak. I sucked in some air. “The kids on the three-wheelers didn’t break your light,” I wheezed. “We did.”
“But we didn’t mean to,” Randy got out. “We weren’t trying to be mean or anything. We were just trying to chase away that old magpie.”
“Did your dad make you come over here?” Mr. Franklin asked.
We shook our heads. “We’re sorry,” I mumbled. “That’s why we wanted to hoe your corn. To make things right.”
For a long time he just stared at us without saying anything. I could feel little drops of sweat trickle down my back. And a fat, pesky fly kept buzzing around my head, but I didn’t slap at it or anything.
Finally he took his toothpick from his mouth, flipped it into the dirt, and said, “Thanks, boys.” He even sounded nice. “I appreciate what you’ve done. Telling me about the light is more important than hoeing my corn.” He actually smiled. “Everybody makes mistakes, but only those who are really grown-up take the blame for them and make up for them.”
When Randy and I finally left the Franklin place, that dark, ugly feeling inside us was gone. I knew that that night I wouldn’t have any trouble saying my prayers or going to sleep.

I knew that coming back to the realities of life after a mission might be hard, so I wanted to do everything I could to stay on the covenant path.
So when my stake announced that the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple was looking for more ordinance workers, I volunteered. I had been praying for some direction in my life, and I also believed President Russell M. Nelson’s promise that “the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples.”
I couldn’t think of a better way to keep an ongoing appointment with the temple than to be an ordinance worker!
My life was so busy when I started working in the temple. I had university classes, and my temple shift was quite a few hours each week. It was a sacrifice—but a wonderful one.
Over time, I noticed that when I paid attention to the words of the covenants that the temple patrons were making, my own covenants started becoming more meaningful to me.
For one, I have always believed the truth that families can be eternal through the temple sealing. And helping patrons do work for their ancestors and seeing their deep love for their families inspired me to do my own family history work. I was able to do ordinances for my aunt and my grandmother who had passed away, and this made the blessings of those covenants become so precious to me.
Another time, while I was helping in the baptistry, I was observing all the beautiful faces of the patrons. While I helped them, I felt the Spirit as I thought about the Savior’s baptism. Seeing my brothers and sisters in the temple deepened my testimony of the privilege of making covenants with God.
I have served as an ordinance worker for five years now, and I have had so many simple but profound spiritual experiences like these. They remind me of how powerful our covenants with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are!
When I think about the blessings of covenants, I think of the people of Alma in Mosiah 24.
Despite facing so much hardship, Alma’s people remained faithful to Heavenly Father. They “pour[ed] out their hearts to him; and he did know the thoughts of their hearts” (verse 12). And in response, the Lord reminded them to “lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage” (verse 13).
He also promised that He would strengthen them and make their burdens light (see verses 14–15).
And as the people of Alma kept their covenants, their faithfulness and trust in Heavenly Father’s timing freed them from bondage, and they “pour[ed] out their thanks to God” (verse 21).
I feel like this is what we can experience every day as God’s covenant people. The temple reminds me that when I find myself in “bondage,” either from challenges in or outside of my control, my covenants bind me to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Because of this covenant relationship, I have access to Their healing and enabling power.
I’ve always been grateful for my temple covenants. But being an ordinance worker has helped me see them as the life-changing gifts they are.
President Nelson also reminded us that “the reward for keeping covenants with God is heavenly power—power that strengthens us to withstand our trials, temptations, and heartaches better. This power eases our way. Those who live the higher laws of Jesus Christ have access to His higher power. Thus, covenant keepers are entitled to a special kind of rest that comes to them through their covenantal relationship with God.”
You don’t have to be an ordinance worker to see the power of your covenants in your life. If you simply visit the temple as often as your circumstances allow you to, with a desire to learn more, I know you will see the blessings President Nelson promises.
Regardless of how close you are to a temple, pondering the deep, beautiful blessings of covenants and how they connect you to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can help you stay joyful and faithful on the covenant path.
This has been true for me.

During that time, I became friends with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They invited me to activities, and I always tried to attend every chance I had.
One day at church choir practice, For the Strength of Youth pamphlets were being passed around, and my friend handed one to me. As I read its messages about strengthening my relationship with Jesus Christ, I felt a hunger for truth ignite in me.
I wanted to know more about Him and His gospel. My friend gave me a Book of Mormon and invited me to ask Heavenly Father if its teachings were true, so I accepted her invitation.
When I read 2 Nephi 27:23, I felt so much comfort: “For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith.”
This scripture showed me just how powerful having faith in Jesus Christ could be. I wanted to believe in Him again. As I finished the book, I felt the Spirit testify of the truthfulness that Jesus Christ lives and that the Book of Mormon is true. I got baptized soon after and started living very differently than my family.

It was nearly Christmas. Mrs. Minerva, who lived alone in an upstairs apartment, got out the green plastic tree that she decorated every year. She stood the tree up in the corner of her living room. Then she sat down in her rocker and stared at it. Its branches were all bent out of shape.
“Little tree,” she said, “I’ve been happy with you for many years. But this year you look all worn-out. Anyway, I’m getting too old for a Christmas tree. I’ll just set you by the trash can and let them take you away.”
Tony lived on the floor below Mrs. Minerva. When he went outside to play that morning, he saw the tree by the trash can. “Wow!” he yelled. “What a lucky find!”
Tony dragged the tree to his apartment. He leaned it against the wall near the door. Then his mother called him inside.
Carl lived across the street from Tony. When he saw the old bent tree, he decided to fix it. In the sandpile behind his house, he found his big red pail. He filled the pail with sand and took it across the street.
Carl stuck the Christmas tree into the sand in the red pail. Then he fixed the bent branches.
The tree looked a lot better, and Carl felt good. But he did not want Tony to know who had fixed the Christmas tree, so he ran home.
Soon Karen came skipping home from school. Karen lived with her father in the apartment next to Tony. She saw the little plastic tree by Tony’s door. She thought, There’s a pretty green tree in a bright red pail. But it’s very plain.
That night Karen cut and pasted busily. She popped popcorn too. By bedtime, the table was full of red and white felt candy canes, foil stars, paper snowflakes, cotton snowmen, and popcorn chains.
Before she went to school the next morning, Karen decorated the tree with all the things she had made. Now it looked beautiful—just as a Christmas tree should!
When Tony went outside, his eyes lit up. “Mother! Mother!” he called. “Come see the magic Christmas tree. It was just an old, bent plastic tree yesterday. But now it’s a beautiful Christmas tree!”
And it was both beautiful and magic. Everyone who went by that day looked at the tree. Babies and little children laughed with joy when they saw it. Unhappy people smiled. People who didn’t know each other called out, “Merry Christmas!” as they passed.
On Christmas Eve, Carl, Tony, and Karen all went outside to look at the tree. Tony was happy that he had saved the tree from the trash. Carl was happy that he had fixed the tree and put it into his red pail. Karen was happy that she had made all the pretty things and hung them on the tree.
The children heard a noise above them. Looking up, they saw Mrs. Minerva. She was opening her window for some fresh air. An idea came to each of the children at the same time. Karen said, “Why don’t we take the Christmas tree up to Mrs. Minerva. She looks sad. Maybe its magic will make her happy again.”
And so they did. Carl and Tony carried the tree carefully up the steps. Karen ran ahead and rang Mrs. Minerva’s doorbell.
“Merry Christmas!” they cried when she opened the door. “Here is a Christmas tree for you.”
“What a beautiful tree!” Mrs. Minerva said. She did not know that it was her own old tree because it had changed so much.
When Mrs. Minerva saw the beautiful Christmas tree, she did feel much happier. She hurried to get glasses of milk for Karen and Carl and Tony. And she got a big plateful of cookies.
“This will be the best Christmas I’ve had in a long, long time,” she told the children. “That is a magic Christmas tree.”
And she was right.

Joseph wrote these feelings to his wife in an 1832 letter from New York City, where he had gone with Newel K. Whitney to buy goods for the Whitney store in Kirtland, Ohio. He had spent some time walking through the “most splendid part” of the city:
“The buildings are truly great and wonderful to the astonishing of every beholder and the language of my heart is like this: Can the great God of all the earth, maker of all things magnificent and splendid, be displeased with man for all these great inventions sought out by them? My answer is no. It cannot be, seeing these works are calculated to make men comfortable, wise, and happy. Therefore not for the works can the Lord be displeased, only against man is the anger of the Lord kindled because they give him not the glory.”
Then he wrote:
“I returned to my room to meditate and calm my mind. And behold, the thoughts of home, of Emma [his wife] and Julia [his daughter] rushes upon my mind like a flood and I could wish for a moment to be with them. My breast is filled with all the feelings and tenderness of a parent and a husband. … Yet when I reflect upon this great city … my bowels are filled with compassion towards them and I am determined to lift up my voice … and leave the event with God.”
He concluded,
“I prefer reading and praying and holding communion with the Holy Spirit and writing to you than walking the streets and beholding the distraction of man.”25

After college my sister Grace and I worked for a company with several other Latter-day Saints. Our employers were not members of the Church. When my sister became engaged, our employer planned a surprise bridal shower for her. I hoped she would respect our standards, but instead she ordered liquor, a male dancer, and a scandalous video.
Before the bridal shower, I felt the whispering of the Holy Ghost within me encouraging me to remind my boss of our standards. I grasped my Young Women medallion and thought of all the effort and sacrifices I had made when I was in Young Women to complete my personal progress. I prayed that I would be guided to stand a little taller at this time. I texted my employer my concerns, thinking that she might become offended. Nevertheless, my greatest desire was to please Heavenly Father.
When the party began, my boss didn’t talk to me or even smile at me. However, she did cancel the dancer and the video.
In the days following the party, my boss didn’t talk and laugh with me like she had before the party. However, I felt comfortable because I knew God was pleased with what I had done. About a week later, my relationship with my boss went back to normal. I know God softened her heart and helped her realize that I lived what I believed.
Lemy Labitag, Cagayan Valley, Philippines

My husband and I had been praying for another baby before we found out we were expecting. “Excited” hardly describes how we felt. Adding to our joy was the news that a friend’s baby was due the day before mine, and my sister-in-law’s baby was due four days later. Almost immediately, we started planning the play dates.
Nine weeks into my pregnancy, however, I started having seizures. Terrified, my husband and I rushed to the hospital for an ultrasound. At my appointment, I eagerly looked to the monitor and asked the technician if my baby was OK. He didn’t respond as he turned the monitor away from me.
I didn’t want to expect the worst, but when the technician left the room, fear seized me. I began to pray in a way I had never realized I could, asking for something—anything—that could give me peace.
Instantly, I was enveloped in a warm embrace and heard the “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12) reassure me that all would be well. I felt comforted and calm as I waited for the doctor to give me answers.
When the doctor arrived, he gently told my husband and me that our baby had died. Instantly, I again felt the Spirit’s warm embrace. I hurt, but I could not doubt the feeling that comforted me.
As I grieved during the following weeks, I turned to my Heavenly Father in frequent prayer. The calming reassurance of the Holy Ghost never left, and I knew that the Lord was watching over me. I gained a deeper understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ as I felt the Savior’s healing balm. On days when I felt I could not function, I could feel angelic hands bearing me up.
My husband and I prayed for continued comfort. We were both still sad, but neither of us doubted that through His Atonement, the Savior could cover our pain and loss.
This experience was incredibly difficult. At times it was almost too great to bear. But I am eternally grateful for the relationship I developed with my Heavenly Father and my Savior through this experience. Prayer can be one of our greatest resources.
I know that Heavenly Father really does care for His children and that He and His Son “will not leave [us] comfortless” (John 14:18).

I’ve been praying for a miracle for months.
In September of 2019, I went in for sinus surgery, and there was an unexpected complication that made me lose function in one eye. I had emergency surgery to try to fix the damaged eye, and my surgeon felt confident that it would be completely healed within three months. I also received several priesthood blessings where, each time, I was promised a full recovery.
But those three months came and went, and nothing changed.
I’ve been promised healing. Multiple times. But I’ve had surgery dates fall through and other setbacks and disappointments, and my eye is still far from healed.
This experience has brought me months of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical struggle. But every time I get another blessing, I’m always promised that I’ll be healed.
This got me thinking. What do we do when we’re waiting for miracles that don’t seem to be coming and when heaven seems silent? How can we move forward when we’re stuck in one of those in-between zones that life throws at us sometimes?
I’ve been chewing on this question for a while now, trying to make sense of my situation. I’ve also been thinking about all the miracles I’ve read about in the scriptures.
I studied all the times Jesus performed a miracle or healed someone during His ministry. And, to be honest, I was upset at first, because every single time someone was brought to Christ, He healed them immediately.
The woman with an issue of blood touches His robes, and instantly she’s healed. (See Mark 5.)
The man born blind asks for healing, so Christ tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. And in the moment he does, he’s healed. (See John 9.)
The leper seeks to be healed, and—in an instant—he’s completely cleansed. (See Matthew 8.)
Jairus’s daughter who has died is told to rise from the dead by the Savior, and she does. Right away! (See Mark 5.)
The man who is possessed is immediately set free when Christ calls out to him. (See Luke 4.)
This didn’t make any sense to me. All these miracles were instantaneous, so how come I was still waiting on mine? It seemed so unfair.
But after some pondering, the truth hit me: even though all these miracles were immediate, those who were healed had dealt with their hardships and sufferings for a long time beforehand.
The woman with the issue of blood suffered for 12 years and had exhausted all her emotional and financial resources before her miracle came.
The blind man knew nothing but blindness for his entire life before he was blessed with sight.
The leper suffered the terrifying onset of the leprosy and the pain of the disease, living as an outcast for who knows how long before he was healed.
Jairus’s daughter had suffered to the point of death before her miracle came.
The possessed man had been bound by the unclean spirits for some time before there was an opportunity for freedom.
This showed me that sometimes miracles don’t come right when the suffering begins. Each person had a journey with their pain and struggles before they were healed. And while some journeys were longer than others, the miracles of healing always came.
I wish I knew how long my journey with this trial will last, but maybe not knowing is the point. Challenges bring opportunities. We can choose to let our struggles shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. We can use this time of waiting to draw closer to the God who made us. We can connect and empathize with others in their suffering.
We always have a chance for good, growth, and development when we’re waiting on a miracle.
I hold on to hope and faith that my miracle of healing will come and that one day the promises I’ve received will be fulfilled. But in the meantime, I can be present in my journey with this pain. I can use this waiting time to become better, wiser, stronger, kinder, more patient, and more humble. I can deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Whatever miracle or promise you might be waiting for right now, no matter how long you’ve been waiting, don’t lose hope. Whatever Heavenly Father has promised you will come. But miracles come in His time and not our own. Don’t lose hope in Him. Don’t think heaven is silent. He is preparing the way for you. Focus on the present and do what you can do to move forward today in your journey. One step at a time. Keep holding on tight to hope as you wait for your miracle.
It will come.

One day I came home from track practice exhausted. I had a lot of homework due the next day, practice had been grueling, and I was hungry and tired. Trying not to think of all the chores I still had to do, I made it through the doors of my house. My thoughts weren’t so happy as I marched down to the basement. I was ready to lash out at anybody who was in my way. As I made my way into the kitchen, I smelled dinner, which was nearly ready, and saw that my sister was just finishing the dishes. The other rooms were also clean, and good music was playing on the radio. I dropped my stuff in my room and came out to see who had cleaned the place. I asked my sister about it, and she said, “I decided that you might like some supper. And the dishes needed to be done, and you weren’t going to be home for a while, so I just decided to surprise you.” I was overwhelmed. I hugged her. Making my way to my room, my entire attitude changed. Although my day had started off not so great, it ended well, because my sister decided to show an act of kindness. I knelt down and poured out my gratitude to my Father in Heaven.

I still remember that day. It could have been the most terrible day of my life if I hadn’t had the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was July 12, 2001, when my mother died of an illness that had struck on Sunday night and took her life the following Thursday morning. I was 16 years old. I had to miss exams in school to be with my family and attend my mother’s funeral services.
I went home from the funeral feeling completely undone. I had a great hole in my heart, a hole so huge I thought it would never heal. I lay down on the bed, broke into sobs, and asked myself, “Why did she have to go so soon? Why did she have to leave me?”
My 10-year-old brother and I decided to listen to some quiet Church hymns. I had that lonely, sad, comfortless feeling, and then a warm sensation came over me. I felt great peace and tranquillity. My sad expression vanished, as did the empty feeling in my chest.
I was still feeling this comforting spirit when I went with my family to the church where my relatives were mourning. All of my relatives were very sad, with some breaking into heartrending sobs. Deep pain was reflected in their faces. They looked at my family strangely, as if they wondered why we didn’t seem to feel as bad as they did. But my heart was beating calmly, and my whole body was filled with peace. I knew that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, was calming our pain. He was also testifying that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father live and that this is the true Church, with eternal covenants.
Afterward, I wrote in my journal: “Our mother didn’t want us to cry very much. I do feel sad, but still I have a great peace inside. I just have to be strong and live a good life so I can see her again. My faith and testimony have grown, and so have my desires to serve my God and my fellow man on a full-time mission. She will always be there, helping me stay on the right path. I know that families can be forever. On a day like today 15 years ago, my family and I were sealed as an eternal family in the Lima Peru Temple, and this is what comforts me.”
My family and I continue to experience many difficulties. But each time my testimony falters, I remember the time when the Holy Ghost comforted me and testified to me of the eternal truths of the gospel.

Before I met Ben, I was nearing the age of missionary service and had seriously considered serving a full-time mission. But then Ben entered my life, and I knew that Heavenly Father had a different plan for me.
When Ben and I got engaged, relatives who knew about my thoughts to serve a mission asked me about my choice, and I would tell them, “I decided that I wanted to pick my own missionary companion—and stay with him for eternity.”
When you’re married, you and your spouse have the chance to participate in the work of salvation together. Ben and I have found great joy in building a Christ-centered home, studying and living the gospel together, serving in the Church, and inviting others to come unto Christ. As we work together to build the kingdom of God, we grow closer, our love deepens, and life is more fulfilling.