Gospel Story Finder

He was taught well by his parents, but as a teenage farm boy he desired his own personal witness of the reality of God and his work.
“One day in my youth I was hunting cattle. While climbing a steep hill, I stopped to let my horse rest, and there, once again, an intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the Restored Gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster.
“At the conclusion of the prayer, I arose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony’s head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself: ‘No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.’”
He had learned a great lesson. A young Latter-day Saint does not get conviction merely by asking the Lord, but by combining that asking with work, service, sacrifice, and obedience to God’s commandments.

Primary also played a big part in helping me develop a testimony of the gospel. Many of my teachers encouraged me and helped me understand what I needed to do to gain a testimony. It was a gradual process. I finally realized I could not live off Mother’s or Dad’s testimony forever. I took the advice my Primary teachers had given me and read the Book of Mormon, prayed about it, and found out for myself it is true.

“Meet you at the graveyard.” That was the byword for the Pleasant Hill First Ward Young Men and Young Women, Walnut Creek California Stake, for their super service project. They met at the cemetery in Martinez, California, carrying rakes, hoes, and shovels that were put to good use during the next few hours. Some of the older volunteers started cataloguing the graves, too, to help with the genealogical records for the graveyard. The cemetery was the only one in the county during 1850 through 1870, so many of the pioneers who settled that part of the San Francisco Bay Area are buried there. Despite the rain, the group of 35 volunteers transformed the badly neglected cemetery into an orderly, well-cared-for place.

In 1962, Elder Harold B. Lee, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, used a very practical modern example of that principle. “It is sometimes very interesting to get the reaction of people,” he observed. “I recall when President McKay announced to the Church that the First Council of Seventy were being ordained high priests in order to extend their usefulness and to give them authority to act when no other General Authority could be present. I went down to Phoenix, Arizona, and I found a Seventy who was very much disturbed. He said to me, ‘Didn’t the Prophet Joseph Smith say that this was contrary to the order of heaven to name high priests as presidents of the First Council of Seventy when they were named in the beginning?’
“And I said, ‘Well, I had understood that he did, but had you ever thought that what was contrary to the order of heaven in 1840 might not be contrary to the order of heaven in 1960?’ You see, he had not thought of that. He … was following a dead prophet, and he was forgetting that there is a living prophet today. Hence the importance of our stressing the word ‘living.’” (“The Place of the Living Prophet, Seer, and Revelator,” address given to Seminary and Institute Faculty at BYU on July, 1964.)

A few weeks after my husband died unexpectedly, I came home from work tired and depressed. My sons met me at the door with two pieces of interesting information: we still had no water (it had stopped running in the middle of the night), and in about two hours there was a Cub Scout fathers and sons’ cake contest and sale, and they needed a cake.
When I walked into the kitchen, I could see that dirty dishes had multiplied alarmingly. There was hardly any space for mixing a cake, and we still needed to solve our water problem!
I located a simple cake recipe and recruited a son, against his will, to give his younger brothers directions. Then I changed clothes, rummaged around in the barn for a pipe wrench, and crawled down into the well. I had watched my husband fix the pump several times and had no doubt that in a few minutes I could have it running.
The connections looked OK. I rattled the switch box to get the bugs out of it and tapped it with the wrench. Nothing. I kicked the pipe. Nothing. I mashed my finger while trying to unscrew the plug to prime it. It wouldn’t budge. Nothing worked.
I must have spent an hour down the well trying everything I could think of. I despaired. What on earth am I doing down in this hole hammering on a stupid pump when I should be in a nice, clean kitchen being a mother? Why do my children have to go through life and Cub Scout cake sales without a father? Is this fair?
Unable to fix the water problem, I gave up and went to the meeting—late. I sat on a chair in the back of the hall, and the boys took their sad little cake to the table at the front. There were cakes that looked like Cub Scout caps, cakes with trees and birds, cakes with patriotic flags. Then there was our cake. My sons had decorated it to look like Cyclops, with one giant eyeball made of purple and blue frosting in the middle. They had added lots of wiggly red lines to make the eyeball look bloodshot.
I sat there in the dark feeling sorry for myself. When I could no longer keep back the tears of frustration and self-pity, I slipped out and went into the rest room.
A Relief Society sister in the group saw me go. She followed me, and before long I had poured out the entire story. She put her arm around me, gave me a hug, and then suggested the names of a couple of reliable plumbers. Plumbers? What a novel idea! It was revolutionary to me. When the water doesn’t work on a farm, you tell your husband, and he tinkers around with the pump for a little while, and everything is OK. It had never crossed my mind to call a plumber! I realized that maybe it would be all right to make decisions that were different from how my husband would have done things. Maybe things would look up after all.
At the end of the evening, the cake sale began. My boys stood on the stage, grinning and holding the grotesque eyeball cake. A sweet little grandmother ended up paying a respectable price for it. As she went up on stage to get the cake, she said she couldn’t tell exactly what it was supposed to be, but she really liked the colors. My boys, thank goodness, just smiled and kept their mouths shut.
Those two wonderful women knew about charity. In a simple way, they each saw a need and then spontaneously went out of their way to fill it. They would probably say it was just a small thing; I doubt they even remember the incident. But it was not a small thing to me.

One day at recess, Madison saw a girl who was crying because someone had said something mean to her. Madison felt bad for the girl and walked over to comfort her. “Would you like to play with me?” she asked the girl.
That day, Madison served with her heart. She followed the example of Jesus Christ and showed love to someone in need. We can show our love for Heavenly Father by serving others with our heart, our might, our mind, and our strength. We can serve with our whole selves!

I knew the Prophet. While I was nine, I attended a school kept by a Miss Mitchell in his brother Hyrum’s brick office.
I was passing the Prophet’s house one morning when he called me to him and asked what book I read at school. I replied, “The Book of Mormon.” He seemed pleased. Taking me into the house, he then gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon to use at school. It was a gift I greatly prized.
—Jesse N. Smith

9. An International Holiday. Plan with three or four other couples to celebrate the Chinese New Year, Jewish Rosh Hashanah or Hanukkah, Hawaiian Kuhio Day, Irish St. Patrick’s Day, Mexican Cinco de Mayo, or any one of the many holidays from the nations of the world. Find out what the people do on their special holiday, what they traditionally eat, how they celebrate, and why. This may take a bit of study and planning, but it can be very rewarding and interesting. With so many returned missionaries to aid you, this shouldn’t be difficult. One young couple celebrated the Chinese New Year with firecrackers and a Chinese dinner served on a low table. Everyone ate while seated on cushions on the floor. After dinner each person was given a piece of paper and asked to think up an original Chinese proverb. The host couple gave a brief account of how the Chinese celebrate their new year. Background music and artwork from the country had been checked out of the local library, and for a few special hours, everyone enjoyed being part of a distant land.

Students in the Rigby, Idaho, seminary liked the October ’92 FYI’s goal jar idea so much they took it a step farther. Not only did they cut out all the goals from the New Era and put them in specially decorated jars, but they added goals of their own from the New Testament and general conference.
In addition, they started a project where one student would give another student a bead when the student was caught doing something nice or cheerful for someone else. Students string the beads and use them for bracelets, bookmarks, etc., and they say it encourages them to make a positive difference at their schools. One student said, “I found myself watching just for good things and decided that I wanted to do good too.”

Once when I was 16 years old, I was in a restaurant with some friends from church. A man who knew one of us came in. He said, “I want to invite all of you to drink some liquor right here and now.”
I remember standing up and saying, “None of us drink liquor. And if you want to drink, go find somewhere else to do it.”
This man was in his early 20s and much larger than I was—a very strong man—and he became mad. He brought a glass of liquor to me and said, “I’m going to make you drink this!”
I said, “Don’t try it. There could be unfortunate consequences.” He tried to grab me and force me to drink the liquor. The next thing I knew, the man was lying on the floor. I really didn’t have the strength to defend myself against that man, but Heavenly Father provided what I lacked.
Much later, when I was a husband, father, and businessman, I was invited to attend a lunch with the president of the Republic of Guatemala. I found myself in a room with many other guests. When the president entered, waiters poured liquor so that everyone could join in a toast. But I covered my glass with my hand. The president said, “Mr. Pérez, won’t you join me in a toast?”
I replied, “Mr. President, if you’re asking me if I will wish you success in your government, I will. But if you’re asking me if I will drink liquor, I will not. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If that is a problem, I can leave right now.”
He said, “No, no.” They drank their liquor, and we sat down. A little later the president said, “Tell me something of your church,” and I did.
It doesn’t matter where we are or whom we are with, we can always stand by our principles. If we make a firm decision once and for all, when temptations arise we don’t have to think, “What am I going to do?” or “What am I not going to do?” The decision is already made.
We are never alone. Even though His creation is so immense, our Father in Heaven knows that you live and that I live. He knows our hearts. He knows our thoughts. He has given us His perfect plan of happiness because He loves us. He is always searching for ways to bless us.

After I finished high school, I was working to save money for a mission. Soon my desire to serve a mission became lost because I enjoyed the money I was making. It would have been a sacrifice to go on a mission because the money I earned helped support my family. Each time I started filling out my mission forms, I thought about the money I would be giving up, and I dropped my forms and continued working.
As my friends left on missions, I felt bad because I knew I should also be getting ready to go. This caused me to examine myself. I thought, “Sustaining the prophet and my leaders is not just raising my right hand. It’s doing what they say and obeying our Heavenly Father’s commandments.”
Now was the time to serve a mission, so I submitted my mission papers to the bishop. It was the second happiest day of my life. The happiest was the day my bishop called me to his office and gave me a white envelope with my mission call to the Nigeria Ibadan Mission. My heart was full of joy.
In the missionary training center, I became better acquainted with the doctrines of the gospel and learned marvelous things. I was also able to receive my endowment in the temple. I am so grateful for my decision to come on a mission, and I have never regretted it. I too have grown spiritually on my mission. I believe it is because I am helping people receive the same gospel blessings that have brought so much happiness to me and my family.

While attending a conference in the East the other day, I listened to the experience of an engineer who joined the Church some months ago. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will. One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this meant? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat, walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired, his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”
“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife had been on her knees.
Then, before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God who had given them everything seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. This required only a little careful budgeting of the hours of the week. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life.

Géoffroy wanted to go on a mission. He didn’t have enough money, so he sold his farm. A few months later, he received a mission call to the Ivory Coast. He was the first missionary from Benin to get a mission call!
His dedication helped him for years. Because of his faith, and that of other members, many more people were baptized. His branch became a ward. That ward is now part of the first stake in Benin!
Géoffroy Koussemou continues to work hard and rely on God. He knows that great things can happen with God’s help.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.
As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.

When I was young, I had a testimony of the gospel, coupled with misperceptions of the Church. Feeling I couldn’t measure up to standards, I often struggled with unfounded guilt. I hadn’t understood the pure meaning of Christ’s Atonement or of God’s deeply loving nature. I didn’t have a strong enough relationship with either of Them. Although I felt truth in gospel doctrine, I chose another way to live.
As a young single adult in 2003, I was a couple of years into inactivity and making choices that didn’t align with the gospel. My boyfriend, Jason (who is now my husband), and I found ourselves having a child together before we were married and placing that beloved baby for adoption. He was adopted by a loving couple in the Church. Following that experience, I then earned my degree, started a career, married Jason, and started a family with him.
In 2018, following an 18-year absence from the Church, I felt prompted to have our three young children blessed. Following their blessings, I experienced recurring thoughts to find the Savior and that something bigger was coming on the horizon. Slowly—and painfully, I might add—Jason, with our children, joined me in a journey back to the Church starting in early 2019. With encouragement from friends placed along our path by God, we took baby steps in gentle progression toward the Savior. We did this through small, incremental goals over a two-year process.
Come 2021, my conversion to the gospel felt sturdy. I was committed to prayer, scripture study, and attending virtual church during COVID to propel my ongoing transformation. Yet I still didn’t have the power of God that was required for my specific life circumstance. I was struggling with ongoing mental health concerns, battling to maintain sobriety from substance abuse, and dealing with other life struggles out of my control—all during a season of relentless traumas resulting from the pandemic. I was determined to handle it myself, but in truth, I required the Redeemer—I literally needed to be saved!
Our prophet’s words that Jesus Christ was with me as I faced these mountains offered hope.
“Everything good in life—every potential blessing of eternal significance—begins with faith. Allowing God to prevail in our lives begins with faith that He is willing to guide us. True repentance begins with faith that Jesus Christ has the power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us.”3
I had faith in the Savior but wasn’t sure how to connect with His power. I wanted to take the sacrament and be in the temple. Both were out of reach during this time of disappointment, grief, white-knuckled sobriety, and home seclusion.
Over time, even with frequent prayer, I couldn’t cope on my own another day. After another family cancer diagnosis, this time for my spouse, I relapsed and reached for alcohol in desperate escape. I hit my lowest point ever, but all I wanted was to be near Christ. I felt hopeless in my imperfect faith, believed I had sinned terribly, and thought God was disappointed.
At this heartbreaking point, I exercised my last ounce of faith to surrender my will to God. I needed access to His power through the priesthood. I couldn’t move forward on my own.
So in meek faith I requested a priesthood blessing.
Knowing my struggles, friends felt inspired to bless me with renewed capacity and counsel. Through the Spirit, I was told that all my progress hadn’t been lost and that I should seek professional resources in support of my mental health struggles. Most important, I was blessed to realize the healing power of my Savior, that Jesus and God would make up the difference as I put forth my effort with a deepened faith in Them.
Hearing specific priesthood promises gave me hope that God’s power would now set me on a healing course.
“Faith will always propel us forward. Faith always increases our access to godly power.”4
With renewed faith in Jesus Christ, I found that the priesthood blessing—given in His name and by His authority—provided the springboard I needed. I reached for my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to strengthen my connection to Them daily. I made immediate and significant progress. God placed resources to support my mental health struggles. Daily preoccupations with alcohol were eradicated. I immersed myself in wholesome media and deep gospel education, honored the Sabbath, improved my language, talked of the Savior throughout each day, and created a sacred space in my home for prayer.
Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler, by Heinrich Hofmann
I now understand that the Savior is my advocate, my friend, my champion, my encourager, and my healer through His atoning gift of love. This was my game changer in connecting with Him. He helped me reprioritize, leaving behind the cares and habits that weren’t serving my soul. Miraculously, as I’ve made prayer and spiritual habits more meaningful, I’ve received personal revelation! I accept increased guidance from the Spirit for how my family can keep moving toward Him.
“He works miracles today, and He will work miracles tomorrow.”5
Since April 2021 conference, these promises have proved true as I’ve helped my family faithfully follow God’s path. The heavens are opened, and miracles have been showered upon us:
Fear is replaced with safety through the healing power of Jesus Christ.
I’m blessed with influence to bring a more nurturing presence to our lives.
The Holy Ghost is present in our home. Our children delight in daily scriptures, family prayer, Christian music, and pictures of Jesus and temples.
My husband, Jason, has been baptized, holds the Aaronic Priesthood, and is preparing to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Preoccupations with unhealthy escape have lessened. My past self, doing her best at the time, would reach for chemicals to cope. Now I come in prayer for strength.
I have received my temple endowment and now attend the temple regularly. Jason is preparing to receive his endowment, and our goal is to be sealed as a family sometime in 2022.
Our birth son is grown, has been accepted to pre-med but has decided to serve a mission first, and is enjoying the relationship between our two families.
Mindalyn (right) with her birth son, DJ, and his adoptive mother, Stacy, on the day DJ received his temple endowment.
Family photographs courtesy of the author
In an ongoing process, I’m in programs to address mental health, where God has shown His hand throughout.
Despite ongoing trials of family deaths, layoffs, cancer, and sobriety, I now realize that I have access to God’s tenderness through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The promises of power through priesthood blessings strengthen my life exponentially.
Mercifully, I’ve grown a sincere relationship with my Savior and Eternal Father.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power.”6
How generous and true is this prophetic teaching from President Nelson! I used to think the gospel was complicated. I’ve now learned through experience that even with imperfect faith, I have access to His divine power, which will move our mountains of trials—what a gift!
Mindalyn with family and friends outside the Redlands California Temple.
It’s crystal clear that God and Christ love me. They see each of us as worthy for rescue! As we desire to reach for Him, the Savior’s grace is sufficient for all. I’m grateful for our living and cheerfully loving prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, and the heavenly revelation he shares with us. He is God’s prophet on earth. Following our prophet’s teachings has changed my life forever. I share my witness from experience that “faith is the power that enables the unlikely to accomplish the impossible.”7
The gospel of Jesus Christ is one of power, of grace, of love! What is required from me is continued desire to reach for Them and show up with my imperfect offerings. Christ, through His Atonement, will make up the difference.
The author lives in California.

When we were children, a line on the ground had special significance. Whenever boyhood tempers caused disagreement, the time-honored solution called for a line on the ground. The antagonists stood on opposite sides of the line, attempting to act as intimidating as possible. Someone would say, “Step over the line and you’ll be sorry,” though they usually didn’t say it in those genteel words. In those moments I learned the great value of a line on the ground and the consequences of stepping over it. In the years that have followed, I have come to understand that figurative lines on the ground are placed there by a loving Heavenly Father who seeks to protect us from Lucifer’s army. While each of us may have dozens of lines on the ground in our life today, I would like to discuss just one of them—the line that says, “Keep each person’s name safe in your home.”

During the early years of my service as a General Authority, I was privileged to be in company with Elder Marion D. Hanks on one occasion when he related the following story. I use it here with his permission:

Oscar Kirkham was one of the great men of the Church and among the Church’s most respected Scouters. He served in the First Council of the Seventy and was a significant presence wherever he went. Often in meetings he would rise to a “point of personal privilege” and then, when recognized, would proceed to say something good about someone. Near the end of his life, he spoke briefly at Brigham Young University on the theme “say the good word.” On the morning that Elder Kirkham died, Elder Hanks was invited to the Kirkham family home. There he was handed a small, inexpensive notebook in which Elder Kirkham had kept his notes. The last two entries were: “Say the good word” and “Your name is safe in our home” (see Marion D. Hanks, foreword to Say the Good Word, by Oscar A. Kirkham [1958], 4).

What a blessing it would be if all of us could follow that counsel, if each of our names truly could be safe in the home of others. Have you noticed how easy it is to cross over the line and find fault with other people? All too often we seek to be excused from the very behavior we condemn in others. Mercy for me, justice for everyone else is a much too common addiction. When we deal with the name and reputation of another, we deal with something sacred in the sight of the Lord.

There are those among us who would recoil in horror at the thought of stealing another person’s money or property but who don’t give a second thought to stealing another person’s good name or reputation.

The old adage “Never judge another man until you have walked a mile in his footsteps” is as good advice today as it was the day it was first uttered. Someone once said:
There is so much good in the worst of us,
And so much bad in the best of us,
That it ill behooves any of us
To find fault with the rest of us.
[In Hazel Felleman, sel., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), 615]

The principle is not new, nor is it unique to our day and time. The book of Psalms from the Old Testament contains this urgent warning from the Lord: “Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off” (Ps. 101:5).

James, a servant of the Lord in the meridian of time, repeated this eternal truth when he said: “Speak not evil one of another, brethren. He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law. …
“… Who art thou that judgest another?” (James 4:11–12).

And in this latter day, the Lord renewed His long-taught command in a revelation given through the prophet Brigham Young: “Cease to speak evil one of another” (D&C 136:23).

It is most significant to me that this simple commandment is set forth just a few verses from the Lord’s words on the penalty for disobedience: “Be diligent in keeping all my commandments, lest judgments come upon you, and your faith fail you, and your enemies triumph over you” (D&C 136:42).

To those who doubt the importance of the commandment, may I pose two simple questions: (1) How can you say you love your fellowman when behind his back you seek to diminish his good name and reputation? (2) How can you say you love your God when you cannot even love your neighbor?

Any feeble attempt to justify such conduct only brings more forcibly to mind those explosive words of the Savior found in the book of Matthew:
“O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? …
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned” (Matt. 12:34, 36–37).

I would like to say a few words to the Primary children who may be listening. Children, I’ve been trying to teach your moms and dads something very important, but I need your help. I’ll make you a deal. If you will promise to listen very carefully, I promise not to talk very long.

Do you remember the story of Bambi, the little deer, and all of his friends in the forest? If you do, you will remember that one of Bambi’s good friends was a rabbit named Thumper. Thumper was about your age. He was a neat rabbit, but he had one problem. He kept saying bad things about people. One day Bambi was in the forest learning to walk, and he fell down. Thumper just couldn’t resist the temptation. “He doesn’t walk very good, does he?” Thumper blurted out. His mother felt very bad and said, “What did your father tell you this morning?” And then Thumper, looking down at his feet and kind of shifting his weight, said, “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.” That’s a good piece of advice that all of us need to follow. What I need you to do, young people, is this. If you hear anyone in your family start to say something bad about someone else, will you please just stamp your foot and say in a loud voice, “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.” Now, even though that isn’t correct English, everyone will understand exactly what you mean. Now, Moms and Dads, that ought to make it a little easier to live the commandment.

I pray that the Lord will bless each of us that we may never cross over the line on the ground and that we may live so that it can be said, “Your name is safe in our home.”

In 1990 we were living in the small town of Sale, in Victoria, Australia. We were happily busy with family, Church, and work commitments. On a beautiful summer Saturday just before Christmas, we decided to visit some parks and a favorite beach. After enjoying a wonderful day playing as a family, we packed everyone into the car and headed home. While driving, I momentarily fell asleep and caused a head-on car accident. After some moments of recovery, I looked around the vehicle. My wife, Maxine, had a badly broken leg and was struggling to breathe. She had a broken sternum. Our three daughters were in shock but thankfully appeared to be OK. I had some minor injuries. But our five-month-old son was unresponsive.
Amid the stress and confusion of that accident scene, our eldest daughter, 11-year-old Kate, said with urgency, “Dad, you need to give Jarom a blessing.” After some struggle, my daughters and I managed to get out of the car. Maxine couldn’t be moved. Carefully I picked Jarom up; then, while lying on the ground on my back, I gently placed him on my chest and gave him a priesthood blessing. By the time the ambulance arrived about 40 minutes later, Jarom was conscious.
That night I left three family members in the hospital and took a hushed taxi ride home with two of my daughters. Through the long night, I pled with Heavenly Father that my family and those injured in the other vehicle would recover. Mercifully, my prayers and fervently offered prayers by many others were answered. All were healed over time, a great blessing and tender mercy.
Yet I continued to have deep feelings of guilt and remorse for causing such a terrible accident. I would wake during the night and relive the horrific events. I struggled for years to forgive myself and to find peace. Then, as a priesthood leader, while assisting others to repent and helping them to feel the compassion, mercy, and love of the Savior, I realized that He could heal me.
The Savior’s healing and redeeming power applies to accidental mistakes, poor decisions, challenges, and trials of every kind—as well as to our sins. As I turned to Him, my feelings of guilt and remorse were gradually replaced with peace and rest.

Several weeks ago I returned to my old high school for the first time in years. I was visiting a stake conference that was being held in the school’s auditorium. As I walked down the halls, a flood of memories began to pour into my mind. I remembered exactly how I felt when I attended high school as a young woman—insecure, unsure of myself, self-conscious, and so, so desirous to fit in. I went into the auditorium. Again a flood of memories came to mind. I was familiar with every detail of that auditorium. Only one thing had changed—me.
That day I had the opportunity to stand on the stage as I had done in high school many times as a student officer. I even saw some of my former classmates in the audience—some I had dated! But this time, instead of conducting an assembly, I had the privilege—there in my high school auditorium—to “stand as a witness” and bear my testimony of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

On 26 October 1964 the city of Kingston, Jamaica, officially recorded the birth of twins. This was the beginning for me. I never knew my parents. I was raised by my grandmother. The first home I knew was a one-room wooden shack in the ghetto.
While growing up in the severe poverty of the ghetto, I realized how hard my grandmother worked for us. She would rise at five o’clock every morning from the tattered old bed she shared with five other family members. After waking us kids, she would take us to search for bricks. With the bricks we collected, Grandma built an oven to bake bread that would be sold to neighbors. Grandma struggled every day, yet she always had a smile on her face and seemed happy.
We didn’t have running water in our shack that combined with many others to form a compound. There was one main pipe. Everyone caught their water there in buckets. We had to take the water on our heads to our homes. The water pipe was surrounded by a green, muddy area; the children used it for a playground. Ghetto children didn’t always wear clothes. Usually they were just covered with mud and dirt. The toilets and bath places were placed in the center of the compound so everyone could use them.
Low self-esteem and lack of money in the neighborhood caused many there to turn to immorality as an escape. This led to higher population and congestion in the ghetto. Most people didn’t work; they depended on the government for food. To obtain nice clothes and other material possessions they would often steal.
My best friend was born outside in the streets. Her mother was only fourteen years old at the time. Following in her mother’s footsteps, my friend had her first child at the age of thirteen, making her mother a grandmother at age twenty-seven. She had her third child by the age of nineteen. After leaving her third boyfriend, she moved in with her mother, adding her three children to her mother’s six. My friend had the responsibility for nine children under the age of seven before she reached her twentieth birthday. As I looked at my friend’s life, I realized that I wanted something better for myself. I wanted a home and a family. I knew I had to leave the ghetto.
My grandma had taught me to pray at night before going to bed. But to whom was I praying? What was he like? Where did he come from? These were questions that couldn’t be answered. I felt as if I were in a dark and dreary world with no hope of light.
Determined to understand more about this mystery, I started attending the church to which we then belonged, because Grandma said God could be found there. But it didn’t do much good. It confused me more. They taught me about Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost, who, I was told, belonged to and were one with God.
I visited many other churches. When we studied the Bible and the life of Christ, I felt a very different feeling.
I discovered that this feeling had something to do with Christ, the Bible, the Holy Ghost, and God, but I was still confused. I started to pray and have trust in the Lord. Still, there was something missing. Although I could have the good feeling while reading the Bible, I couldn’t have that feeling with me all the time.
One teacher told me a way to retain this feeling was by being baptized, so I was baptized. But nothing changed. All churches seemed the same, so I decided to stay home and study on my own. I found myself praying more intensely for the Lord to help me find the true path that led to him. He heard my prayers.
I met a young man, and we became friends. For the next ten months we shared our ideas and thoughts about many things, but never religion. One day I found that my friend traveled with a Bible, so I asked him if he went to church and what the name of his church was. It was some long name—The Church of Jesus Christ of something something Saints. I wasn’t the least bit interested—it sounded like just another church to me.
My friend later told me he was going to serve the Lord for two years in another country. I figured he was going to be a pastor. When he left, I began to wonder what his church was like, and I began to search for their meeting place.
I found it a few months later, but I also found something more. As I walked through the doors of the meetinghouse, I felt a feeling impossible to describe; it was joy, peace, comfort, certainty, and happiness all in one. It was like coming home. My questions had now been answered.
The members of the church welcomed me with open arms. At first, I was reluctant to accept these welcomes because it was a little too much. I wasn’t used to so many people. They welcomed me whether they knew me or not. At the end of the meeting, a calm feeling came over me, and I heard these words in my mind: “Debbie, this is the place, and these are the people you have been searching for.”
Looking back, I see that my life in the ghetto was difficult and that a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances, no matter where we are. He desires above all things that we find true happiness.

Illiam Jones lives in a place of fairy tales and myths. It’s the Isle of Man, located in the sea between England and Ireland. And, naturally, there’s a legend about how the island came to be.
“A giant from England and a giant from Ireland were having an argument,” ten-year-old Illiam explains. “They got so angry with each other that the giant from England picked up a rock and threw it at the giant from Ireland. But he couldn’t throw it far enough to reach Ireland. It landed in the middle of the ocean and became the Isle of Man.”
Although the Isle of Man is part of the United Kingdom, it has its own money, its own stamps, and a flag and coat of arms featuring a symbol with three legs. People who live on the Isle of Man speak English, but some people know an older language, Manx.
The Isle of Man has many things to remind you of its heritage—steam and electric railways; the world’s largest working water wheel; a village folk museum; and Tynwald Hill, where Vikings used to meet to make their laws. Every year, the Isle of Man is the site of motorcycle, bicycle, and automobile races.
The island is also known for unusual animals, like the Manx cat, which has no tail, and the Loghton sheep, which has four horns—two pointing up and two curling down.
But for Illiam, the Isle of Man is just home. He says the races mostly bring noise and crowds to Douglas, the city where he lives. He thinks all the tourists staring at the sheep “make the sheep seem like show-offs, trying to be ‘posh’ with their four horns.” He’s more keen on playing football (soccer), going to school, and eating “chips,” or fried potatoes.
Most of all, Illiam loves to sing with his seven-year-old sister, Voirrey (the Manx name for Mary). They often sing duets in their ward, and sometimes they’re asked to sing in other religions’ churches.
“I love to sing,” Illiam says. “My favorite hymn is ‘As I Have Loved You.’ I’ve sung it at nearly every single baptism held in our ward.”
His own baptism was an occasion to remember. “It was the best day of my whole life!” he says exuberantly.
School teachers, friends, and friends’ parents all came, and each received a small handmade paper book from Illiam and his mother, with poems, pictures, photos, and Illiam’s written testimony.
“It helped them to be better informed about our church and its teachings,” Illiam says.
When he was baptized, he says, “I felt like the Holy Ghost was with me all the time, especially when I went under the water.” He had a special feeling that he was very close to Heavenly Father and that Jesus was proud of him.
Illiam also loves to go to Primary. “I love the sing-alongs, and when we act out stories from the scriptures. But most of all, I like learning about Heavenly Father and Jesus. Learning about them is the most important thing in life, so that you can do the things they want you to do.”
On an island where myths and fairy tales abound, Illiam Jones has clearly learned a lot about knowing the truth.