Gospel Story Finder

He slapped his chunky palms on the table again. “Make da win stop—now,” he yelled. His face turned beet red.
She hadn’t seen Scotty this disturbed before. She felt a little frightened and wondered what would happen if she couldn’t distract him or change his mind. But worse than the fear of what he might do, his stubbornness and anger grated still tender wounds. It felt too much like when Mom and Dad had separated. Six eternal months ago. Impasse. No solution. They had been stubborn. They still were.
When she let herself, she could still hear the echoes of the fights, the name calling, the doors slamming. As terrible as those were, they were better than the deafening silences that followed. Her world had tilted, and her order slid out of control.
She often wondered if Dad’s business failure was the real cause of the trouble. All she knew for sure was that it seemed to start when the money wasn’t there any more. No new clothes. Bill collectors on the phone and at the door. For a month after the separation she sulked, mad at the world, mad at her parents, and mad at Heavenly Father. Stubborn was the reason the family was apart now. Mom and Dad both demanding that something change, when it couldn’t. Stubborn—like Scotty, only worse. They knew better. They went to church, they used to pray, and the family used to work. Scotty was stubborn. They chose it. The anger was back. If she wasn’t careful, it would come pouring out, out of control like it sometimes did. It would land on Scotty and that wasn’t fair.
It was plain though that Scotty wasn’t going to eat lunch unless she made the wind stop. Maybe if she said a prayer. The divorce had taught her about prayer. When her parents first separated, she almost blamed Heavenly Father for the pain she was feeling. At night she muffled her sobs with a tear-soaked pillow until she fell asleep. In the morning she was never sure if it was anger, or loss, or confusion that greeted her first. Finally, though, when it was all more than she could bear, she had learned to ask for help, and the Savior’s healing hand would touch her heart for a moment while he retrieved from some lost corner of darkness, her peace—the peace that kept slipping away, but not so fast anymore.

Hour after hour he rocks there, this beautiful little three-year-old stranger who is our son. Through the window the afternoon sun highlights his well-formed body and flawless features. Brothers and sisters run by, calling his name. He stares, riveted in his rhythmic rocking. Repeated attempts to hold him or share his world are stiffly rejected. … At night we lay him in bed, and our good night kisses are pushed away. … Half sleeping in the bedroom above, we hear the light switch being flicked on and off, on an off, by his tiny hand. Morning comes all too quickly, but he does not call or reach out for us. … We dress him and the cycle begins again. The English poet Alfred Tennyson unknowingly described our son Brian when he wrote, “He is so near and yet so far.”
As we watched our baby Brian develop, we grew uneasy with his unusual behavior. We were confused because he seemed so bright in some ways, and yet we could not reach him. His physical, social, and intellectual development were very irregular. Brian could hum the melody perfectly to “Softly Now the Light of Day” after hearing it only once, and yet he could not ask for a glass of milk. Even though he could undo latches and locks very rapidly, he had difficulty using a fork.
We also observed abnormalities in Brian’s responses to sensations. At one time he paid no attention to smells, and yet another time he would not taste any food without smelling it first. Sometimes oblivious to sudden loud noises such as the dropping of a cooking pot, at other times he could hear his father unwrapping a piece of candy in the next room. Similarly, Brian might exhibit no reaction to a hard bump on the head, but might arch his back as though burned when I touched him with my hand. I felt terribly frustrated when he would not allow me to comfort him at such times. I seemed only to add to his pain.
Our concern deepened with the passing months when Brian’s speech did not develop normally. When he talked, and he rarely did, he sounded very much like a robot, echoing back what other people had said but seldom expressing an original thought. Words were only meaningless collections of sounds to him.
Perhaps most frustrating to the family was Brian’s seemingly non-caring attitude toward others. He did not want to join in family activities, he did not respond to outreaches of brothers or sister, and he did not develop a respect for others’ property. Brian kept the family in a constant turmoil destroying mechanical equipment, tearing up books, and dropping things in our small fish aquarium. When he could find a screwdriver we had hidden for safety, he would use it on heating vents, door hinges, and electrical outlets. One day he managed to leave the house with a repairman’s screwdriver and had the taillights and rear view mirror removed from the repairman’s truck before the startled man could begin fixing the dishwasher!
It became necessary to have a lock on every door in the house to prevent him from destroying everything. Additional locks were installed on the outside doors to prevent him from running toward cars in the street. Unable to comprehend danger, he showed no change in expression as cars were suddenly brought to a halt to prevent hitting him. Heights also captivated him at one time, and we often found him standing on a second-story window ledge. Dealing with such frightening experiences daily left us exhausted and emotionally drained.
Looking back, we should have sought medical assistance much earlier; but it is difficult to see problems clearly when they develop slowly in a beautiful, seemingly “normal” little baby. He seemed like such a “happy” baby, never crying to be picked up. Later behavior problems were interpreted as an acute case of the “terrible twos,” the normal behavior of a developing two-year-old child. The slow speech was blamed on a premature birth and four older brothers and sisters who did all of Brian’s talking for him, while his inability to react socially with others was labeled an “independent streak” not uncommon in our family. We assumed that if we continued to love and care for him, he would somehow “grow out” of his problems.
Finally, when Brian turned three years old and the situation was still worsening, we sought medical help.
We went from expert to expert searching for a diagnosis. We heard Brain labeled “emotionally disturbed,” “abused,” and simply “a very unhappy little boy”—labels that were devastating to us because we loved and so desperately wanted to help our son. Other diagnoses of “mentally retarded,” “minimally brain damaged,” and “improperly developed nervous system,” were less shocking but no more helpful to us. Nothing seemed to fit, and no one had any specific suggestions for altering his behavior.
We had heard the term “autistic qualities” mentioned, so in desperation we attended a day-long autism workshop which we had read about in the newspaper. To our mingled relief and dismay, we agreed that Brian truly fit the characteristics and the symptoms of autism. We learned that autism is a lifelong developmental disability with 95 percent of its victims having to be placed in special care facilities. Our dreams of a mission and marriage for Brian suddenly disappeared as we realized the extremely limiting nature of this problem.
Even though this news was terribly discouraging, we were relieved to know at last the nature of his struggle. Feeling bewildered and alone in our situation, we took great comfort in meeting other parents of autistic children and sharing experiences with them. Their empathy and humor in examples of events similar to our own calmed our hurt spirits and made us realize we would not have to face this problem alone. Equally important, these parents offered us home care techniques, sources for written information, the names of doctors familiar with autism, and referrals to programs in the community designed to educate children like Brian.
Most significant, these parents made us feel better about ourselves. Once we met other parents of autistic children, we rapidly concluded that they were about as normal a group of individuals as we would find anywhere. These new friends, expressing their frustrations, fears and hopes, had feelings very similar to our own. Moreover, they seemed intelligent, compassionate, and levelheaded. This helped to remove any feelings of guilt that we had that we were somehow to blame for Brian’s condition.
We learned that there was no effective medical treatment for autism, but we were encouraged when we read of a certain kind of behavior therapy that had helped improve behavior in autistic children. However, we soon discovered that to enroll Brian in the only such program in the area would mean a wait of several years before he could start school.
In the meantime, my husband and I developed our own plan. We decided to provide a program at home until a placement in a school was possible. An understanding bishop gave me a prayerfully requested release as Relief Society president so my full energies could be focused on this challenge.
While persevering grandmothers babysat, I volunteered to work at the school for autistic children in order to gain some training as a therapist. Remodeling plans for our house halted, and money for new furniture was used to hire two therapists to work with Brian at home. The three of us worked in shifts, involving father and the other children where possible.
As Brian was taught the steps in paying attention, we were amazed at his progress and celebrated each little, hard-won success. This home approach was excellent for the immediate future because we were finally having positive interactions with Brian. However, in giving so much time and energy to Brian, we also realized that we must not neglect the other children.
Brian has now entered a school for autistic children, but our work with him at home is far from finished. Enthusiastic hopes have been replaced with more realistic thoughts of the future, and “flexibility” has become a motto. The class or techniques that work for him today may not be appropriate next month or next year. Undoubtedly, Brian will have extremely difficult teenage years, and he will never be “normal” like his brothers and sister. Nevertheless, he is developing his potential, and we all share the rewards of his progress.

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Well, there’s nothing to discuss. Our place is with the Kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.” Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints. With their faith in mind, the words of a familiar hymn take on added meaning:
Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword;
Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene’er we hear that glorious word.
Faith of our fathers, holy faith,
We will be true to thee till death!
Though winter’s chill was not yet past, heightened fears of mob attacks and swirling rumors of government intervention compelled President Young to set things in motion to get the Saints under way. He directed the first company of pioneer families to leave Nauvoo on February 4, 1846, a cold winter day. They drove their laden wagons and their livestock down Parley Street—a street that became known as the “Street of Tears”—to a landing where they were ferried across the river to Iowa. Chunks of ice floating in the river crunched against the sides of the flatboats and barges that carried the wagons across the Mississippi. A few weeks later, temperatures dropped even further and wagons could cross the river more easily over a bridge of ice.
Sister Wirthlin and I visited Nauvoo in early March this year. The weather was bitterly cold. As we stood in the chilling wind, looking out across the broad expanse of the Mississippi, we felt a deeper sense of appreciation and gratitude for those Saints as they left their beloved city. We wondered how they ever survived. What a sacrifice to leave behind so much for the uncertain future that lay ahead! No wonder so many tears were shed as the fleeing pioneers drove their wagons rumbling down Parley Street to cross the river with no hope of ever returning to their “City Beautiful.”
Once across the river, they camped temporarily at Sugar Creek before starting their trek west toward the Rocky Mountains. The journey, which historian H. H. Bancroft described as a migration without “parallel in the world’s history,” had begun.
When President Brigham Young joined the departing pioneers at their campsite in Iowa on February 15, 1846, the Lord revealed to him to begin organizing a modern “Camp of Israel.” On the first of March the advance company began its push westward across Iowa. Hardships caused by cold, snow, rain, mud, sickness, hunger, and death challenged the faith of these hardy pioneers. But they were determined to follow their leaders and to do, no matter the cost, what they believed fervently to be the will of God. Their faith was challenged, and for some it faltered in especially difficult times. But it did not fail them. Many were sustained by the assurances they had received in temple ordinances performed in the Nauvoo Temple.
One of the more difficult hardships endured by many of the sisters was delivering their babies under harsh, extreme conditions along the trail. Eliza R. Snow wrote that as the pioneers “journeyed onward, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances imaginable, except those to which they had been accustomed; some in tents, others in wagons—in rainstorms and in snowstorms.” Sister Snow went on to record in her journal that she “heard of one birth which occurred under the rude shelter of a hut, the sides of which were formed of blankets fastened to poles stuck in the ground, with a bark roof through which the rain was dripping. Kind sisters stood holding dishes to catch the water … , thus protecting the [little one] and its mother from a showerbath [on its entrance to] the stage of human life.”
What a sacrifice these good sisters made! Some mothers lost their own lives in childbirth. Many babies did not survive. My wife’s grandmother, Elizabeth Riter, was born at Winter Quarters in the back of a covered wagon during a rainstorm. Fortunately, both the mother and the newborn infant survived. With great love for the woman who gave life to her, Elizabeth often lovingly recounted how an umbrella was held over her mother throughout the ordeal to shield her from the water leaking through the wagon’s cover.
Let us never forget the faith of our fathers and the selfless sacrifice of our mothers, those pioneering Saints who set such an inspiring example of obedience. Let us remember them as we strive to be valiant servants in our work to “invite all to come unto Christ” and “be perfected in him.”

Cherry was 12 years old when her mom died. Cherry was not yet a member of the Church and felt that her life no longer had meaning. She felt broken and sad and alone. She even thought about taking her own life. Then she learned about the gospel, and she is now preparing to be baptized for her mom in the temple. She knows that because the Savior died and was resurrected, we will all be resurrected someday. Death is not the end.

Wouldn’t you get a little nervous if your high school counselor suddenly and unexpectedly called you into the office?
You would especially be nervous if you were Richard Aballay, a senior at a Catholic seminary in New York City. Richard had seen the commercials about the Mormon church on TV, had contacted the missionaries, and was baptized. But he hadn’t yet mentioned his baptism to anyone at the school, where boys prepare to become Catholic priests.
“How are you doing in your subjects?” the counselor began politely on that fateful day in late October.
“Fine,” said Richard, cautiously.
Then the counselor jumped to his real concern. “Are you affiliated with another church?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Why?”
“I have come to know the Savior better in this church. I know this church is doing more for me. It is the church of God.”
As the counselor began to lecture, warning Richard that being a member of a different church was grounds for dismissal, Richard thought how easy it would be to say he had made it all up. Then he could finish his senior year in peace.
“But I couldn’t do that,” Richard said later. “You can’t deny the truth when you have it.”
By the next day it was official: Richard had to leave.
The following week was torment, Richard said. But with much prayer, his family was able to find space for him in another good school.
“From that experience,” Richard says, “I have learned that the Lord will never abandon me.”
In fact, the experience gave Richard the chance to tell more people about the gospel, since his classmates wanted to know why he would leave school for his new beliefs.

Natalie laid her head on the back of her seat and looked out the window. She tried to focus on the houses and cars flashing past. But it wasn’t easy. A bunch of older kids at the back of the bus were saying bad words again. Loudly. And it wasn’t just swear words, either. The things they were talking about were not things Natalie wanted to hear.
Natalie wasn’t the only one who felt uneasy. Her friend Katy frowned and stared down at her hands. Thomas looked at Natalie and shrugged his shoulders. The bad language was bothering all of them!
Natalie peeked back at the older kids. Then she hurried and turned around before anyone saw her. She could ask them to stop, but that thought made her stomach flip-flop. It probably wouldn’t do much good anyway.
She decided to pray instead.
Dear Heavenly Father, she silently prayed. Please make them stop.
Natalie finished her prayer and waited. Nothing happened. The older kids kept saying the same bad words. Katy was still staring at her hands. Thomas still looked uncomfortable. Why didn’t Heavenly Father do something? Why didn’t He make them stop saying those bad words?
Please, Heavenly Father, she prayed silently.
Then a thought came into Natalie’s mind: Talk to the bus driver.
She scrunched up her nose. Talk to the bus driver? What if he yelled at her? What if the older kids saw her and made fun of her?
The thought came again. Talk to the bus driver.
Natalie felt a peaceful feeling.
Help me be brave, Heavenly Father, she prayed. As the bus pulled up to her stop, Natalie took a deep breath and walked up to the bus driver.
“Mr. Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“Um … some of the older kids in the back are saying really bad words,” Natalie said quietly. But then she felt a little braver. Her voice was a little stronger. “It makes other kids and me uncomfortable. Is there something you could do about it? Please?”
Mr. Avery glanced at the back of the bus through the rearview mirror. He nodded.
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to them.”
Natalie smiled and walked down the bus steps. She hopped off the last one and skipped home. She was feeling much better.
The next day, Mr. Avery smiled at Natalie as she got on the bus. “I talked to our friends in the back of the bus,” he said. “I reminded them that what they say affects those around them. I told them I didn’t want any bad language on our bus anymore. Let me know if it happens again.”
Natalie grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Avery.”
Natalie had a happy feeling in her heart. Heavenly Father had helped with the swearing. He didn’t make them stop. But He did help Natalie know what to do. He helped her be brave. And next time she needed courage to speak up, she knew she could do it with His help.

Here I recall a pioneer example of faith, commitment, and courage by some young men just about the age of our missionaries. A few months before the Prophet Joseph Smith was murdered at Carthage, some of his enemies plotted to kill him. As part of their plan, they sought to enlist others in their conspiracy. Among those they invited to a meeting in Nauvoo were two young men still in their teens, Robert Scott and Dennison L. Harris. Dennison’s father, Emer, was the older brother of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon. Being loyal to the Prophet, these young men immediately reported the invitation to Dennison’s father, who advised the Prophet Joseph and sought his advice. Joseph asked Emer Harris to request that the young men attend the meeting, pay strict attention to what was said, make no commitments, and report the entire matter to the Prophet.

As events proceeded, there were three meetings. They began by denouncing Joseph as a fallen prophet, proceeded to considering how Joseph could be overthrown, and concluded with specific planning to kill him. All of this the two young men reported to the Prophet Joseph after each meeting.

Before the third meeting, the Prophet foresaw what would happen and told the young men this would be the last meeting. He warned them that the conspirators might kill them when they refused the required oath to participate in the murderous scheme. He said he did not think the conspirators would shed their blood because they were so young, but he called upon their loyalty and courage in these words: “Don’t flinch. If you have to die, die like men, you will be martyrs to the cause, and your crowns can be no greater.” He renewed his original caution that they should not make any promises or enter into any covenants with the conspirators. Then he blessed them and expressed his love for their willingness to risk their lives for him.

As Joseph had foreseen, the third and final meeting required all present to unite in a solemn oath to destroy Joseph Smith. When the two boys refused, explaining that Joseph had never harmed them and they were unwilling to participate in his destruction, the leaders declared that since the boys knew the group’s plans, they must agree to join them or they must die on the spot. Knives were drawn.

Some protested killing the boys, especially since their parents knew of their presence, so their failure to return would cast suspicion on some of the conspirators. By the barest margin, the cautious course was chosen, and those who opposed killing prevailed. The boys were threatened with certain death if they ever revealed what had transpired in the meetings or who had participated, and they were then allowed to leave unharmed.

As the boys passed beyond the view of the guards, they were met by the Prophet, who was anxiously watching and praying for their safe return. They reported everything to him. He thanked and praised them, and then, for their safety, counseled them not to speak of this to anyone for 20 years or more.

Cooper’s video game system was getting old. Whenever he raced cars, the screen froze and he had to restart the game.
“Can I get a new game system for my birthday?” Cooper asked Dad.
Dad shook his head. “I don’t think it fits into our budget. Remember how we spent quite a bit of money last year to buy your guitar and pay for music lessons?”
Cooper frowned. He wasn’t taking music lessons anymore.
“What if I earn the money?” Cooper asked. “Then maybe you could help me order one online.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Dad said.
Cooper went to work doing extra chores and mowing lawns for neighbors. He saved all summer.
Finally he had enough money, and Dad sent it to an online seller advertising the best price for the gaming system Cooper wanted.
Cooper couldn’t wait. Whenever the mailman came, Cooper checked the mailbox. When a delivery truck came down his street, Cooper hoped it was bringing a package for him. But none of the trucks stopped at his house. Weeks went by.
“When is it going to get here?” Cooper asked.
Dad looked worried. “I’m not sure. The seller never sent me the tracking number.”
A few days later, Dad told Cooper some bad news. “I think the seller we chose is dishonest. I can’t contact him on the phone or through email.”
Cooper couldn’t believe it. “You mean he stole my money?”
“It looks that way.”
Cooper hoped it wasn’t true. At night he prayed for a way to still get the gaming system he’d earned. The next day he asked Dad if he could have one for Christmas, but Dad just said, “I’m sorry this happened. Next time we’ll both know to be more careful.”
It seemed there was only one thing left to do: start saving money again. But school had started and Cooper didn’t have as much time for extra chores. “It isn’t fair,” he complained to himself as he sat moping in his room one afternoon. Then he noticed something he hadn’t paid much attention to for a while—his guitar.
Cooper picked it up and tuned it. He strummed a few chords and played through the songs he’d learned. It didn’t take long because he hadn’t had many lessons. He sat with the guitar on his lap, his fingers itching to play something new. He wondered if he could make up a song of his own.
A few hours later, Cooper played his brand new song all the way through. It felt so great that he couldn’t wait to write another one.
Cooper practiced his guitar all winter. He read books about playing the guitar. And when he had time, he earned a little extra money.
When spring came, Dad said, “How are the savings coming? Are you ready to pick out a new gaming system?”
Cooper thought about it. “I don’t know if I want one anymore.”
Sometimes he played video games at his friends’ houses, but he hadn’t really missed playing them at home. Playing guitar was fun, and he felt like he’d accomplished something great every time he wrote or learned a new song.
“I think I’ll leave the money in savings until I know what I want to use it for,” Cooper said.
“Sounds smart.”
Cooper was surprised at how much fun he was having playing his guitar. All year long, his plan had been to play video games. Now he didn’t even miss them. Heavenly Father hadn’t helped him get the video game system, but He had blessed Cooper with something better—the ability to be happy without it.

When I was a kid, I really struggled with reading and writing. My mom tried to help and found different resources for me, but I still struggled, no matter how hard I tried. And then we found out that I had a learning disability that made it difficult for me to learn in the way other people do.
I had teachers who told me to just give up on reading and writing and to focus on things I could do. But my parents knew that I loved stories, and they felt it was important to help me. So, instead of dismissing reading and writing, my parents chose to foster my love of stories in different ways—especially through audiobooks and reading and writing exercises.
But I continued to struggle through middle school and high school.
When I decided to serve a mission, one of the most difficult things was reading the Book of Mormon and keeping a journal. It took me an entire hour to read just one page of the scriptures. Since I had never been great at writing, I wondered how I would be able to effectively document in my journal all the wonderful experiences I would have as a missionary.
But I kept trying and praying for the Lord’s help.
As time went by, I saw small changes. By the end of my mission, I was able to read better than I ever had in my life. And as I kept attempting to write in my journal, I suddenly learned that I actually enjoyed writing. When I finished my mission, I had filled five journals.
This experience taught me that when we turn to the Lord in our efforts, He can truly bring about miracles in our lives.
Sister Michelle D. Craig, former First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, taught:
“With Christ’s help, we can do all things. The scriptures promise that we will ‘find grace to help in time of need’ [Hebrews 4:16].
“The surprising truth is that our weaknesses can be a blessing when they humble us and turn us to Christ. Discontent becomes divine when we humbly approach Jesus Christ with our want, rather than hold back in self-pity.
“In fact, Jesus’s miracles often begin with a recognition of want, need, failure, or inadequacy. Remember the loaves and the fishes? … The disciples … didn’t have enough food, but they gave what they had to Jesus, and then He provided the miracle.”1
When I came home from my mission, I wondered if I would be capable of attending university. Because of my learning disability, I hadn’t planned on it when I was younger.
But since Heavenly Father had helped me during my mission, I had confidence that I could attend university and be successful. I went to school and not only became better at reading and writing but also began learning two other languages and wrote a novel. I am now pursuing a PhD in literature and history—something I never would have imagined for myself.
The prophet Jacob taught, “The Lord God showeth us our weakness that we may know that it is by his grace, and his great condescensions unto the children of men, that we have power to do these things” (Jacob 4:7).
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also taught that “the enabling and strengthening aspect of the Atonement [of Jesus Christ].” 2
Throughout my life, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have helped me take my fear of reading and writing and turn it into one of my greatest joys and strengths. I’ve learned that through our efforts to do better and to repent in moments when we make mistakes or struggle with our weaknesses, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can strengthen us to become more and do more than we ever thought possible.
Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, has taught:
“The grace of Christ is sufficient—sufficient to cover our debt, sufficient to transform us, and sufficient to help us as long as that transformation process takes. …
“… Don’t quit. Keep trying. Don’t look for escapes and excuses. Look for the Lord and His perfect strength. Don’t search for someone to blame. Search for someone to help you. Seek Christ, and, as you do, I promise you will feel the enabling power we call His amazing grace.”3
It can be easy to feel like giving up when we have tried over and over again to become better at something. From difficulties with sin to simply feeling like we aren’t good enough, the world is full of challenges that can test our strength and dampen our courage. And often, overcoming those challenges takes more time and patience than we expect.
But Jesus Christ can strengthen us and assist us in our unique challenges. I know He can because I have experienced it. It took my whole life up until my mission to finally overcome a major weakness—years and years of struggle and discouragement. But Christ was always there to support me, comfort me, and offer me joy along the journey.
And I know He is there for you too.

Now that she is a Laurel, Amy has also chosen a value project that is helping her come closer to Christ. “This year I’m really concentrating on getting to know Jesus Christ better,” she says. Realizing that the way to know Him better is to be more like Him, Amy made a list of all the attributes of Christ she could think of, with help from the scriptures. She came up with attributes like faith, charity, and generosity, and she tries to develop each of the qualities on her list one at a time.

I can still picture them. Those unforgettable, incredibly quiet Sundays spent outside in a neighborhood filled primarily with Latter-day Saints—and I wasn’t one of them.
I used to imagine a tumbleweed rolling slowly down my street as they did in old Western films, indicating that no one was around. I knew where my neighbors were (at church), I understood why my friends couldn’t play on Sundays, and I knew why only my family would be outside doing yard work on a blistering Sunday afternoon. At least, I thought I knew. Little did I realize that seminary and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would give me true insight and change my life for the better.
Fast-forward a few years from those childhood days: I was baptized when I was 11 years old. I’m not sure if an 11-year-old can choose to be baptized for the wrong reasons, but I believe I did. I didn’t fully understand the role of the Holy Ghost, and all I remember about my baptism was thinking, “I will finally be like my friends.”
To my dismay, I was still nothing like them. I assumed that once I was a member of the Church, my family would automatically attend church with me. When I realized my family was not going to attend church, I wondered if my friends knew how lucky they were. They would talk about how they didn’t like going to church or how they seemed to dread saying family prayers. I wanted so badly to tell them they shouldn’t be wishing away something so precious. I knew they had something special.
Yet I also didn’t fully embrace all that the gospel and the Church had to offer, even though I was baptized.
Then one day when I was a freshman in high school, something happened that changed everything: I ran into Brother Esplin.
“Excuse me,” he said as I tried to walk past him.
“Yes?” I replied.
“I’m Devin Esplin, Melissa Esplin’s husband. My wife talks about your volleyball potential all the time, and I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”
I stood there silently until a lightbulb finally went off in my head.
“Oh! Right, I love Coach Esplin!”
“Me too!” he said. “Anyway, I’m the seminary teacher here, and I was wondering if you would like to transfer into my class.”
“Well, I would, but I can’t,” I replied. “But I promise that next year I will!”
“I sure hope you do. It will be a great experience.”
“I will! I promise,” I said as I walked away. As I walked back to class, I couldn’t hide the smile on my face. This was my opportunity to find out for myself what the Church had to offer. This time I was going to learn about the Church for the right reasons. I was given a second chance, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.
My sophomore year was incredible. I was so excited to go to seminary and learn! The first few weeks were pretty crazy. I felt like a little child—I had a lot to learn. People would use words like repentance and the Atonement, and I felt ashamed because I had no idea what those terms meant. Mercifully, my class helped me learn and never made me feel like an outsider.
As the year progressed, I found myself craving more knowledge. I was amazed by the things that my peers would discuss. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who suffered trials. I was saddened that I had made it so far in life without focusing on the Savior and the gospel. As I began to understand what being a Latter-day Saint is all about, I knew I never wanted to give it up.
My junior year was the major turning point of my life. Because of seminary, I read the Book of Mormon for the first time. As I studied daily, my testimony grew, and I grew closer to my Heavenly Father. I learned that I can strengthen my testimony every day. I understood that I’m never alone.
Seminary is a blessing that has altered the course of my life forever. Every day, I now think about how grateful I am that I have my Savior to get me through trials and temptations.

I was born into a non-Christian family. As a boy, I would accompany my mother to Chinese temples to worship different gods. We would bring special cakes as an offering and burn incense to ask for the blessings we needed. If we needed work, we asked the god of riches; if we needed health, we asked the god of healing. I loved going with my mother because when the rituals were over, I got to eat all those delicious cakes.
Nevertheless, the great miracle came when I was 10 years old and we moved to Bolivia. I met the missionaries. They taught me about a God I had never heard of before.
They taught me that He is a living God, with a glorified body of flesh and bones; that He is my Heavenly Father, that He loves me, and that I am literally His child; that He sent Jesus Christ to earth to help me return to His presence and attain eternal life.
I was so amazed when they told me the story of Joseph Smith, who saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. Even though I didn’t speak Spanish and couldn’t understand all the words, I felt peace in my heart, and somehow I knew that what I was learning was good. Before they invited me to be baptized, I said to my two older sisters, who were already members of the Church, “I’ve already made up my mind. I’m getting baptized!”
The gospel of Jesus Christ changed my life for the better. It gave me an eternal purpose—to prepare to return to God’s presence with my family.

My grandmother left Lithuania after the First World War. Her husband had died fighting in the First World War. So, alone, she gathered her resources and travelled with her four children to Brazil to start a new life. It must have seemed to her that she was leaving her heritage behind, along with family, friends, and culture. She was traveling alone across the world to a country that did not speak her language. She knew she would never see her homeland again, but she couldn’t have imagined the importance that place would have for her grandchildren.
Twenty years ago, 60 years after that brave woman left her home, my brother Nelson and I travelled back to Lithuania together. We were on a journey to discover our long-lost family connection. We found more than we expected.
I believe we were moved by the spirit of Elijah to begin that search. We hoped, at least, to find the records of our ancestors so that we could give them the opportunity of receiving the covenants of God in the Lord’s House.
We only had scraps and pieces of clues to help us begin the search. We had a picture of a cousin named Marcelle who was a child when my grandmother left the country. We also had two postcards sent by Marcelle to our family in Brazil. They had been sent without a return address, but they had a post-office stamp naming the city from which it had been mailed. One postcard was mailed in 1935, and the other in 1945. They had been mailed from two different cities.
We would only be able to look for our family in Lithuania for four days before having to return home. Time was short. On our first day, we asked our guide to take us to the city the more recent postcard had been mailed from. We figured we should start there. We hoped the people in the most recent place she had lived might remember her.
After a two-hour drive, we noticed a mistake. Our guide had not followed our instructions. He had taken us to the city where the first postcard had come from. Disappointed, we asked the guide to take us to a Catholic Church, hoping we could find some information about the whereabouts of our cousin Marcelle or her family.
I can still picture in my mind the small Catholic Church we were taken to. As we arrived, I saw a priest locking the gate leading to the entrance of the church. He appeared to just be leaving.
We parked our car quickly and hurried to stop the priest to ask him if he had ever heard of a Marcelle Aidukaitis. To our surprise, he told us that he had known a woman by that name. She was a nun who had passed away 10 years earlier. He did not know if this was the Marcelle we were looking for, but he said he knew where her family’s home was and would be willing to take us there.
The family we met was indeed the family we were looking for. We had found our family in Lithuania. We had found a needle in the haystack on our very first try. A real miracle.
I still think of how God guided us that day. First, contrary to our instructions, our guide took us to a different city than the one we were expecting to go to. Next, we arrived at the Catholic Church at the precise moment the priest who remembered Marcelle was leaving the premises. If we had been delayed by only 30 seconds on that two-hour drive, we would have missed the priest. If the priest had not needed to take the time to lock up, we would have missed him. If anything had gone differently, I have no idea if we would have been able to find our family during that trip—if ever.
But God knew our intent, and He guided us exactly to where we needed to be.
Three days later, we had a family reunion with the relatives we found in Lithuania. There were over 60 family members present. An incredible thing.
God is so interested that we take the names of our own relatives to the temple, and to perform saving ordinances for them, that He will intervene in our plans to help us find them. When we show the least interest in looking for them, He will do miracles.
I invite all to experiment with the hand of God in this work by doing what we can to bring our own deceased relatives to the temple. May God bless us in this great cause.

Painting the signs has helped Raegan and Rylyn through challenges. “When Kendall was sick, there were times we didn’t really want to be in the house because it was hard for us to see. So we decided to go and paint, and that lifted the load a lot,” Raegan says.
Kendall eventually passed away at age 16. Raegan says, “It was hard, but we knew that families are forever. We knew that even if we didn’t have much time with her, if we do our part, it’ll help us be closer to being with Kendall and Kallen again.”

A few years ago, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s sat beside me. Her name was Patti, and she loved to talk.
Patti told me all about her family—about her husband and her son who had died. Our conversation went on until we were about to land. I said, “Patti, you have been talking for most of the flight. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, do you know you will see your deceased husband again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
Then I asked, “Do you know you will also see again your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. She had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
I asked, “Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?” I asked.
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and to her living daughter, who was already a member of the Church.
My friend Patti found the Lord Jesus Christ. Because of the temple sealing, she now knows her family is forever in the Lord.

It was a Thursday like any other. My husband, Jean-Pierre, had gone to work, the older children were at school, and the younger children and I were at home in Val d’Or, Quebec. It was a routine day, and I began my usual tasks of gathering laundry, cleaning rooms, and preparing meals.
By 2:30 that afternoon, I needed a break. Sitting down to rest for a few minutes, I picked up my scriptures. I had been reading the Book of Mormon, but for some reason, I opened the Pearl of Great Price instead and began reading the account of the Creation from the book of Moses.
As I read, something inexplicable happened. I couldn’t stop reading. I felt that I was understanding at a deeper level than I ever had before—understanding not just through the words, but through spiritual impressions. I couldn’t put the book down and completely forgot about the time. By the time my family returned home, I had neither finished the housework nor made dinner.
I didn’t know why I had had this marvelous experience until several days later when I saw Noël and Huguette Demers at church. They had just returned from a three-week vacation, during which they had gone to the Washington Temple, more than 1,600 kilometers from our home. Some weeks before they left, I had asked Brother and Sister Demers to do the temple work for some of my ancestors whose names I had sent to the temple. I hadn’t been endowed yet, so I couldn’t do the temple work myself. Noël and Huguette hadn’t known when they would be going to the temple, but they had promised they would do the temple work for my ancestors if possible. In the meantime, I had forgotten about my request.
That Sunday when I spoke with Noël and Huguette and learned that they had completed the temple work for my ancestors, I immediately wanted to know the exact day they had been in the temple. They had done the work the week before, they said, on a Thursday. Then I understood. That ordinary Thursday, when I was having the most extraordinary spiritual experience of my life, turned out to be the very day they were doing the temple work for my ancestors.
Ten years later, when I went to the temple for my own endowment, I understood and appreciated even more the gift my Heavenly Father gave me by allowing me to share in the spirit of the temple on that ordinary Thursday afternoon.

“Daddy,” Kelly said, “Will you help me say a prayer?”
“Of course, I will,” Daddy said. “Do you remember how to start a prayer?”
“Yes,” said Kelly. “‘Dear Heavenly Father.’ Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Daddy told her. “Now, what comes next?”
“We thank Him for our blessings.”
“Right again!” Daddy said. “Then what?”
“We ask Him for the things that we need.”
“And how should we end our prayer?” Daddy asked.
“‘In the name of Jesus Christ, amen!’ “ Kelly said excitedly. “I remembered all by myself!”
“Yes, you did,” Daddy agreed. “Do you know what things you want to thank Heavenly Father for?”
“I’m thankful for you and Mommy, and Tony and Kimmy, and Grandma and Grandpa. And I’m thankful for my friends to play with.”
“Do you know what you want to ask Heavenly Father for?” Daddy asked.
“To help me to be safe when I’m playing, to be nicer to Tony and Kimmy, to not get angry, and to remember to pick up my toys.”
“I’ll be glad to help you pray, Kelly,” Daddy said, “but it sounds like you can do it all by yourself.”
Kelly smiled at Daddy. “Yes, I can! But will you pray with me, Daddy?”
“I’d be honored to,” he said.

When I was 10, my family traveled to Idaho to visit my grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. My grandfather accidentally hit the family dog, Margie, with his car. There was so much commotion—Margie had to be taken to the veterinarian, and all of my cousins were crying. We were afraid that Margie would die.
Once again, I knew that I needed to pray. I was the only member of the Church there, and I took my cousins to a corner of the garden, asked them to kneel down, and we prayed that Margie would be all right. I felt that familiar feeling of the Holy Ghost telling me that everything would be fine. Hours later, Margie came home from the veterinarian with her legs bandaged up, but she was going to get better.
None of my cousins attended church of any kind. That experience of prayer probably was very unfamiliar to them. When Margie was driven away to the veterinarian, we thought there wasn’t a thing we could do to help, but I knew there was one thing we could do, and that was pray.

Years ago a friend of mine spoke of his grandmother. She had lived a full life, always faithful to the Lord and to His Church. Yet one of her grandsons chose a life of crime. He was finally sentenced to prison. My friend recalled that his grandmother, as she drove along a highway to visit her grandson in prison, had tears in her eyes as she prayed with anguish, “I’ve tried to live a good life. Why, why do I have this tragedy of a grandson who seems to have destroyed his life?”

The answer came to her mind in these words: “I gave him to you because I knew you could and would love him no matter what he did.”

Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”