Gospel Story Finder

I sat anxiously in the back seat of the car as my parents and I made our way to our stake patriarch’s house to receive my patriarchal blessing.
A few weeks before, I had been praying earnestly about receiving my patriarchal blessing, and realized that I had many questions that I felt would be answered if I received it.
Those same thoughts filled my mind as we arrived at the patriarch’s house. When we got inside, he asked me questions, mainly about my life and my interests so he could get to know me better. Then he gave me my patriarchal blessing.
I had faith that my questions would be answered, and they were. But one thing that I didn’t anticipate—a feeling that I will never forget—is how well Heavenly Father knows me.

Mary Wilkenson awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the tent. It had rained on and off for days, and she longed for sunlight to break through the gray cloud cover. Perhaps today the company would finally be assembled.
Mary and her eight brothers and sisters had traveled with their parents across the sea from Bradford, England. At times it had seemed that the angry black sea would engulf the ship, but they had made it to the eastern shore of America and then continued on to Winter Quarters.
Mary couldn’t wait to get going again. The thought of living among the Saints in Salt Lake filled her with excitement. But waiting for Captain Henry Miller’s company to be made up was taking its toll on Mary’s family. Their makeshift tent did little to protect them from the cold.
Mother had taken ill a few days ago. She lay wrapped up in the few blankets that neighbors could spare. Mary stood up and folded up the little blanket that made her bed, threw her shawl over her head, and went outside to find what little food she could for breakfast. Her arms and legs dragged in exhaustion.
A cold wind whipped through the camp, forcing Mary to cling tightly to her shawl. Just then, thunder exploded in the sky. Wincing at the sound, she looked up to see large black clouds directly overhead. And then the rain started pouring. The wind blew the rain so hard that it felt like pebbles hitting her bare hands and face. She ran back to the tent, taking refuge inside.
“What’s happening, Mary?” four-year-old Eliza asked. The thunder sounded again, exploding like a cannon, and the tent shook in the fierce wind. Eliza started to cry. Mary picked Eliza up, trying to comfort her while giving instructions to the other children to secure the tent. Muddy water began to seep in under the edges.
“Hurry, we must take care of Mother,” Mary said. “Grab those two boxes. We’ll raise up her bed so she doesn’t get wet.” Moving quickly, the children lifted up Mother and her bed just as water started pouring into the tent. It was as if the tent were suddenly in the middle of a river. The wind howled, and they could hear other tents falling to the ground. Father frantically ran into the tent and sighed with relief when he saw Mother’s bed already raised above the ground. His clothing was soaked.
“Mary, boys, our tent is about to blow away!” he shouted. By now the cold water came up above the children’s knees. The tent rattled furiously. Father grabbed hold of one of the tent poles, and Mary and her brothers followed his example. “Hold fast, hold it with all of your might!” Father yelled. The younger children huddled together, crying. In her weakened condition, Mother began silently crying. She was unable to help any of her children and had to lie there as the cold water rose around her. The water, now two feet deep, began carrying their belongings out of the tent. The children cried harder.
“Mary! Mary! Sing a hymn, Mary,” Father called. Mary squinted, trying to keep the stinging rain out of her eyes, and swallowed. Then in a shaky voice she began singing, “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.” The soft melody seemed to overpower the howling wind. At first Mary’s voice was faint, but as she sang she found strength. She sang louder and louder until her clear, sweet voice filled the small dwelling. By the time Mary finished, all had stopped crying. She began another song, this time joined by Father and one of her brothers. The music brought a warm spirit of peace into the wind-blown tent.
“That’s right, my girl, sing on and all will be well,” Brother Halifant called from outside. “Keep singing.” And Mary did. Hymn after hymn provided comfort. Soon even Eliza sang along enthusiastically, the music making her forget her fear. At last the walls of the tent quit shaking and the wind retreated. Mary exhaled in relief. She let go of the pole, her fingers aching from holding it so tightly. After tending to Mother, she tried to dump the water from the few belongings the current of rainwater had left behind.
“Everyone, come! We’re gathering for prayer,” a loud voice called through the camp. Mary took Eliza’s hand and walked with the family to where the Saints were gathering. Every other tent except the Wilkensons’ and one other had been blown down. The water had carried away trunks and boxes and lodged them in the brown mud. Mary tried to walk so that her legs would not touch her icy wet clothing, and little Eliza shivered in her wet nightgown.
They all bowed their heads in prayer, pleading for strength and comfort. Then Brother McAlister spoke. “Brothers and sisters, the storm is over. We made it through, and the Lord has heard our prayers.” Brother McAlister surveyed the crowd. Everyone was wet, and many had mud smeared across their clothing and faces. “I promise that the Lord will protect everyone from taking cold. No one will get sick because of the storm.”
Mary wiped the tears from her eyes with her numb hands. She knew the Lord would protect her and her family—she had felt His love as she sang.
As the days passed, no one caught a cold. Those who were already sick, including Mother, did not get any worse. Within a few days, the Wilkensons were packing up to start moving across the plains. As Mary helped load the wagon, she softly hummed the song that had brought peace to their tent a few days before, finding strength for the journey ahead.

One family created a learning experience while displaying their Nativity figures. The figures of Mary and Joseph were placed near the stable. The figures of the shepherds and sheep were placed nearby. But the figures of the wise men and camels were situated across the room. As Christmas Eve approached, they moved the figures of the wise men closer and closer to the stable scene. On Christmas Eve, the figure of the baby Jesus was placed in the manger and the shepherds were moved close around the stable. The wise men were moved close by.

The Junior Prom was just a few weeks away, and I was 16. This year I could actually go. All I needed was a date.
Finally, one week before the dance a nice young man asked to take me to the prom. All the way home on the school bus (I lived on a farm in Oregon), I felt as excited as a kid waiting for Christmas. I ran the half mile from the bus stop to my home.
“Mom, you will not believe this. The most wonderful thing has happened.” The words burst out like firecrackers. “I’ve got a date for the Junior Prom!” I danced around the kitchen as my mother reacted with appropriate enthusiasm.
Then it hit me, and I said, “I’ve got a serious problem. I don’t have a thing to wear.” And I didn’t. I was one of nine children, and we didn’t have much money. I had a wonderful mother with many talents, but they did not include being able to take a piece of material and turn it into a beautiful prom dress. I knew I was asking for more than my share when I said, “Is there any way I could buy a formal?”
There wasn’t much opportunity to earn money with all the work I did helping out at home. The problem was presented to my dad, and my prayers had to have made the top ten list of Most Fervent.
“This is very important to you, isn’t it, sweetheart?” my dad said. And the tone of his voice made me feel another miracle was on its way. “We’ll find the money. You’ve got to have a formal.” I hugged him and proclaimed him to be the most wonderful father on earth.
The next day Mother and I went shopping. Do you know what the styles were in the 50s when I was 16? Strapless evening gowns. And President David O. McKay taught modesty then just as President Ezra Taft Benson does today. Some things never change. Styles do, but the need to be modest never does.
As I stood in the dress shop that day, I knew these strapless gowns were not modest. But that’s all there was. We went to another shop, and again only strapless evening gowns. We went to yet another shop and found the same story. As I looked down the rack in the last shop, my eye was pulled to a beautiful peach gown with rows and rows of the kind of ruffles I’d dreamed of. I said, “Oh, Mom, look! It’s so beautiful. Can I try it on? I know I can’t get it because it’s strapless, but it’s so pretty. Can I just try it on, you know, to see if I really look good in this color?”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just try it on,” Mom said. And with that I was off to the dressing room. Quickly I put it on, zipped it up, and looked in the mirror. It took my breath away. I had to have this dress. And besides it occurred to me that if strapless was all there was in the dress shops then guess what everyone at the dance would be wearing. All of a sudden I wanted to be “in.”
I walked out wearing the dress and said, “Mom, we have searched everywhere and there just isn’t anything, so I guess we’re just forced into this purchase.”
She smiled and said, “No we’re not. But it is beautiful, and it does come up quite high. Maybe we could get some material and add to the top to make it modest.”
Feeling slightly foiled, I thanked her profusely. We bought the dress and the material and headed for home.
The next day, before my mother had a chance to make the needed adjustments for my dress, the phone rang. My brother and his wife, 400 miles away in Provo, Utah, called to say they had just given birth to the very first grandchild in our family and they needed Mother’s help. She was so excited, she was on a bus in a matter of hours and forgot all about making the additions to my dress. And so did I, sort of.
The night of the prom arrived, and Mother was still gone. The thought of going to the prom in my gorgeous new strapless evening gown created a pulse rate I could actually see. About 15 minutes before my date was to arrive I was ready and walked out into the living room. There was my dad.
He took one look at me and said, incredulously, “Where did you get that dress?”
And I replied with feigned innocence, “Mother bought it for me.”
He was not convinced. “Mother would never buy you that dress without a plan. Now tell me the plan.”
“There was a plan, Daddy. Mom was going to add some material to the top, but she didn’t get a chance before she left. And, Daddy, I’m just sick about it, but I have to go this way.”
My dad was not persuaded. He firmly asked. “Where’s the material?” I could feel cardiac arrest coming on.
“Bring it to me, and a needle and thread and scissors, too. Quickly.” I went to get the items thinking, “I have never seen those big calloused hands sew anything but seeds.”
Daddy held up the material and looked it over, then laid it on the table and folded it until it was a band about six inches wide. He then took one end of it and began sewing it to one side of the top of my dress, using tiny little stitches, the kind you can’t pull out. Then he wrapped it around my shoulders, cut off the excess, and stitched the end firmly in place on the other side. He fanned the fabric out, and I was modest.
As I stood there I thought, “Tonight is the night I die.”
I went to my mirror to look at the damage. To my surprise it didn’t look too bad. A ruffle hid most of the stitches. Just then the doorbell rang, and there was my date.
That night, as we danced around the floor amidst all those bare shoulders, something happened. Nobody else knew it happened, but I knew because it happened inside of me. Suddenly I was filled with an overwhelming love for my dad. It surprised me. Somehow, throughout my whole being, I knew how much my dad loved me. He loved me enough to insist that I not go to a dance dressed immodestly. It felt good.
I don’t think anything bad would have happened to me that night if I had gone with bare shoulders, but I might have really enjoyed being “of the world.” After compromising in this area, I might have found it easier to do other things contrary to gospel teachings.
You don’t live in the era of the strapless evening gown as I did. Instead you live in the era of the gownless evening strap. But you’ll make it. I know you can because President Benson said, “It is not by chance that you have been reserved to come to earth in this last dispensation of the fulness of time. … You are ‘youth of the noble birthright’” (Ensign, Nov. 1986, p. 81). And one way to exemplify that is to follow the prophet’s counsel to dress modestly.

Daniel Jacobs, who recently returned from his mission to Tallahassee, Florida, remembers being part of the original temple-going group. Even though he sometimes had to get up early to go, he never thought of it as a sacrifice. “How could it be a sacrifice when we felt so good doing it? All we had to do was wake up, and we had all the energy we needed,” he remembers. “It was a powerful lesson to me—that making time for the gospel is not a matter of convenience. You show your devotion to the Lord by putting His work first, and He blesses you with the strength to do it.”
He says that lesson helped him endure the challenges he faced on his mission. “When things were hard, I would think back to that experience and put more effort into serving the Lord. I know He will support me as I do His work.”

Three years after Daniel was born he was followed by his brother, Austin. For me as a dad, it’s been great to watch both boys become best friends. And Austin has been just as fun as Daniel in his own way. He enjoys building and destroying block towers, and one of his favorite activities is to fearlessly wrestle me as if I stand no chance against his four-year-old powers. Of course, I give in and let him win—so I guess I reinforce his belief. But it’s so much fun. I know he’ll be a great wrestler, but what I want most is for him to wrestle “against the rulers of the darkness of this world” and “against spiritual wickedness” like it says in the scriptures (Ephesians 6:12). And I hope I’m helping to prepare him to do that.

My family has a tradition of drawing names for Christmas. It began when we were all still quite young and had to buy presents for each other from the meager handfuls of change in our piggy banks. We decided that it would be better to buy one brother or sister a nice gift than to buy smaller ones for all six. Secrecy was part of the tradition during our growing up years. At times we went to great lengths to keep one another from knowing whose name we had, or to be the first one to figure out who everyone else had. It added an air of mystery and excitement to the gift giving.
One year when I was in my early teens, my younger brother Eric drew my name. Christmas morning there was a present wrapped and under the tree from Eric to me. When my turn to open a present came, I tore the festive paper from the package while Eric watched in anticipation. When the package was finally open and I saw the gift, I stopped in astonishment. Eric had bought me an imitation turquoise necklace.
Now before you get visions of a dainty necklace that could be worn inconspicuously with nearly anything, let me describe it. The necklace hung halfway to my waist when I wore it. The main stone was at least the size of a silver dollar, and all the way up the chain were smaller stones. The setting was cheap tin fashioned to vaguely resemble the silver settings of genuine turquoise jewelry. Protruding from between the stones on the chain were geometric shapes of metal. In short, the necklace was huge.
Now, I was at an age when one is not extremely sensitive to the feelings of others (especially if they are the feelings of a younger brother), but somehow I realized that in Eric’s mind the necklace was exquisitely beautiful. Perhaps it was the look of rapture in his eyes, but I could imagine how he had searched for just the right gift for me and how excited he had felt when he finally found that necklace. So that left me with just one problem: What was I going to do with it?
This problem was compounded by the fact that gaudy turquoise jewelry was not the vogue right then. And even had it been, this was not the kind of necklace one could wear with just anything. So the necklace sat on my dresser for several weeks while I pondered what to do with it.
Then one Sunday morning I decided that it could wait no longer; it was time to wear the necklace—in public. (I had already decided that when I did wear it, it would be to church where there would not be so many of my friends to see it.) I chose a plain denim skirt and a white sweater to go with the necklace. When I was dressed, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time trying to decide if my appearance was acceptable. I almost changed into a different outfit—one without the necklace—but finally heaved a sigh and went upstairs.
Eric and my younger sister, Gaigh, were in the living room. When I entered, Eric’s face brightened and he turned to Gaigh.
Then in a triumphant tone of voice he said, “See, I told you she liked it!”
Knowing the two and the constant brother-sister bickering between them, it was not hard to figure out what had gone on.
“She doesn’t like your present,” Gaigh had probably taunted.
“Yes, she does,” Eric would have replied in that defensive tone we all take when we are ardently defending something of which we are not totally convinced ourselves. Now as I wore the necklace, Eric was vindicated.
Standing there, seeing the look of delight on his face at the sight of the necklace hanging around my neck, I realized that wearing the necklace was more important than all the embarrassment I might receive by doing so. After all, it was a gift given in the true spirit of giving. I would have been ungrateful to have accepted it in a manner any less gracious than the manner it had been given in.
That day I found an unexpected pleasure in wearing the necklace. When people asked about it (and many did because it was not the kind of thing one can easily ignore), I announced proudly that my brother had given it to me.
I’ve received many gifts since then. Some have been exactly what I’ve hoped for, others not. But each time I have tried to remember that behind each gift is a giver. And to offend someone who gives, no matter how humble or startling their gift, is to commit the grave sin of ingratitude.
I don’t have the necklace anymore. I doubt I wore it more than half a dozen times. And I think it was sent off to the thrift store when I sorted through my things while packing for college. In fact, I’m not even sure what made me remember it now, but the other night lying in bed I thought of the necklace and wished I still had it. Not because it is any more the style now than it was then, but because of the tender memories it holds—memories of the eagerness of a young boy in giving a gift, and the lesson an older sister learned in receiving it.

“Happy Birthday, Itte petit,” my mother whispered to me as we awoke early one morning in the Japanese concentration camp in Java, Indonesia. “You are nine years old—a big girl. Pretty soon we’ll be able to celebrate your birthday in freedom, with cakes and lemonade and ice cream. You’ll see!
“You have always been a special child, born to me because you have a destiny. You have come to earth to live because you have a goal to reach. There is a purpose for your life, and being in this camp is only temporary.” Softly, my mother insisted that some day the war would end and peace would prevail.
My older sister, younger sister, and younger brother had been with us in the camp for eighteen months—ever since Japanese soldiers had forced us from our home. Our three older brothers were in another camp. We knew that my father was in a camp in Japan or the Philippines because of his involvement in the resistance against the invasion of Indonesia.
I was depressed and lonely. The world was so unfair! We were confined behind barbed wire, infested with fleas and lice, and plagued with flies and mosquitoes. Each person was allotted only one and one-half meters of space in our cramped, hot building. People bickered and were unkind to each other, children were always crying, and we had to take turns going to the latrine.
“What will my tenth birthday be like?” I wondered. “Will I be free?” How I wished I could walk on soft green grass—roll in it, smell it! How wonderful it would be to sing if I wanted to, scream if I wanted to, or just be by myself!
One day, the need to be alone made me disregard my mother’s warning to stay close to our building. I wandered away, taking my only possession—a stick—with me. My mother often wrote on the ground with that stick, making a game of teaching us the letters. She also told us Bible stories and stories about things we used to do or things she had done as a child.
I was thinking about these “good old times” as I wandered farther and farther away from the main compound, toward the outskirts of camp and the feared barbed wires. Oblivious to my surroundings, I was dreaming about our old house in the mountains, my pony, and my toys. Oh, why had I left my doll—Pop Mientje—sitting in the chair when the soldiers came to take us away? I had been too frightened and too sleepy to think of my old rag doll, and I had left her at home. How I wished I had her now!
I also missed my nanny, the older Javanese woman who used to watch over me. When I had been frightened or had hurt myself it was my nanny—Baboe Kit—who had comforted and consoled me. I could still remember the feel of her sweet, soft hands caressing me, the smell of her fragrance, and the sound of her voice whispering consoling words. I even imagined that I could hear her call out to me: “Nonny Kitty, Kitty!”
But wait! Listen … It was not my imagination.
I heard it again: “Nonny Kitty, Kitty. Very carefully, look to your left. I am in the bushes. Don’t come too near. The barbed wire is very sharp, and they say there are land mines around here.”
Carefully, I turned my head and looked into the underbrush. There she was: my nanny!
“You have come to take me away from this awful camp?” I asked.
“No, Nonny. I have come to give you something because it is your birthday.”
I came closer, pretending to play with the stick on the ground.
“Nanny, please, I want to come with you. I hate it here. Please let me touch you. Oh, Baboe Kit, please!”
Her voice became stern. She told me to keep very still, to keep my voice down, and to listen to what she had to say.
“I brought you Pop Mientje to keep you company because baboes are not allowed in this camp, and it is too dangerous for a European child to live in the village. Always say your prayers to ask for strength to endure what you have to endure, because Allah is wise and all-knowing. He knows when the war will end and is only testing us to see if we can stay faithful and endure to the end. And the end will be sweet to us. Take Pop Mientje, and promise me that you will not lose her. Take her with you wherever you go. If you do that, she will bring you happiness one day.”
I knew that whatever Nanny told me was true, and I had learned to obey her at all times. But at that moment I needed her touch—no matter how dangerous it was. I shifted my position and crawled toward the barbed wires. She handed me Pop Mientje. Our hands touched. She stroked my hand.
“Oh, please take me with you! Please don’t go away!” I threw the doll aside and reached out for her with both hands, cutting my face as I brushed against the barbed wire to press my body closer to her. I could smell her fragrance. I closed my eyes, savoring the seconds of feeling her hands caress my face.
“Go, Nonny. Go now, quickly. Take the doll and go quickly. I have to go. Quickly!”
I was not quick enough. A sentry saw us. He saw her run away, and took aim and shot my nanny—my Baboe Kit—in the back. A gaping wound appeared, and she turned around and waved at me with her hand, as if to say, “It is okay!”
Amid the confusion of shouting sentries and screaming women that followed the shooting, no one paid attention to me. I stood there in shock, unable to move. Someone picked up Pop Mientje and handed her to me. I stooped to pick up the stick, and as I straightened up, I saw a Japanese soldier standing in front of me. He looked at me and whispered, “Go quickly.”
I ran all the way to our compound. I had been saved by my enemy—a Japanese soldier! My mother was waiting for me. She had been looking for me all over. When she saw me running toward her with Pop Mientje, she knew that I had seen Baboe Kit.
I told her what had happened. “If only I had been a little bit quicker! If I had not been so slow and had listened to her, Baboe Kit would be alive!”
My mother folded me into her arms and comforted me, telling me over and over again that what had happened was not my fault.
I wrestled with guilt for many years before I fully understood the meaning of Baboe Kit’s sacrifice. Meanwhile, I took Pop Mientje with me everywhere.

On the day of my baptism, I felt clean, pure, and truly perfect. I loved the feeling so much that I made a goal to stay perfect forever. I will never sin again, I told myself.
Fast-forward one day.
I wanted to play with my big sister’s new Barbie doll, but she wouldn’t let me, no matter how hard I tried to convince her. So, in a rage that made me forget my goal to remain sin-free, I grabbed a pair of scissors while she wasn’t looking and cut off all her doll’s hair.
Admittedly, I was somehow under the impression that the doll’s hair would grow back. But as I sat looking at all the synthetic hairs piled in my lap, I felt the sting of having ruined my newly perfected life.
When my sister found out, she was furious. My parents explained to me that the doll’s hair would not grow back. Guilt and regret overwhelmed me as I watched my sister cry at the sight of her forever-bald doll.
With a little time and a lot of apologizing on my part, my sister forgave me. But I still never forgot how disappointed I felt for having given up my perfect life all too quickly.
As painful as it was as an eight-year-old to realize I made a mistake the day after my baptism, Heavenly Father provided a way for me to repent. Through the Savior’s perfect example and sacrifice, we can overcome our sins and make good choices that bring us blessings.

When Sister Anderson was a Scout leader, Jared’s class went to the planetarium at Idaho State University. They loved watching the constellations, and he still enjoys identifying many of them. Last summer Jared and his mother often put blankets on the grass and watched the stars from their front lawn.
“That is where we have had some of our best talks,” Sister Anderson says. “They are more than astronomy talks. We talk about the premortal existence and the hereafter, all under the stars. We talk about problems and how we can best face the life we have ahead of us.”

Dear New Era:
I have always been touched by the stories in the New Era, but over the past year it has been a backbone in my life. Last year, I applied to be a foreign exchange student in Germany. The month before my final interviews, the New Era had two stories about foreign exchange students! I have been chosen to go to Germany, and I am looking forward to seeing how the New Era will help me while I’m there.
Love,Trina SwansonSalisbury, Maryland

Also seeing a need for masks and desiring to help, women of the Relief Society residing in the coastal town of Wonthaggi, Australia, completed 91 masks for the Carinya Nursing Home.
The masks were originally to be donated to the Carinya staff and to be given to visitors, as personal protection equipment was in short supply.
The project had already commenced when the government was able to provide enough equipment for the staff. Consequently, the masks were used as a fundraiser for the home.
Due to COVID-19 restrictions, Carinya management could not do their usual fundraising. They were very grateful to the women of the Wonthaggi Branch for their speedy sewing skills, producing masks that generated more than $500 for the aged care home.
Ourania Fielding, a church leader, commented on how the masks were made with love. “I’ll never forget…the unity we felt as we worked together to help in our local community.”

We went on a boat. A money machine there was stuck. A woman said, “Why did the machine give me one euro (about 88¢) when I was supposed to get 20 marks (about $2.96)?” A man told her to look for the code on the left, but the woman couldn’t find it.
I looked for it and found it. The woman didn’t tell me thank you. I thought, “What a silly woman!” But then I thought about what I was thinking and was sorry. I prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, I am sorry for what I was thinking, so I am apologizing. I am very, very sorry about it.”

I’m reminded of a phone call I received several years ago from our daughter, Michelle. With tender emotion she said, “Mom, I just had the most incredible experience with Ashley.” Ashley is her daughter who was five years old at the time. Michelle described the morning as being one of constant squabbling between Ashley and three-year-old Andrew—one wouldn’t share and the other would hit. After helping them work things out, Michelle went to check the baby.

Soon, Ashley came running in, angry that Andrew wasn’t sharing. Michelle reminded Ashley of the commitment they had made in home evening to be more kind to each other.

She asked Ashley if she wanted to pray and ask for Heavenly Father’s help, but Ashley, still very angry, responded, “No.” When asked if she believed Heavenly Father would answer her prayer, Ashley said she didn’t know. Her mother asked her to try and gently took her hands and knelt down with her.

Michelle suggested that Ashley could ask Heavenly Father to help Andrew share—and help her be kind. The thought of Heavenly Father helping her little brother share must have piqued Ashley’s interest, and she began to pray, first asking Heavenly Father to help Andrew share. As she asked Him to help her be kind, she began to cry. Ashley ended her prayer and buried her head on her mother’s shoulder. Michelle held her and asked why she was crying. Ashley said she didn’t know.

Her mother said, “I think I know why you’re crying. Do you feel good inside?” Ashley nodded, and her mother continued, “This is the Spirit helping you feel this way. It’s Heavenly Father’s way of telling you He loves you and will help you.”

She asked Ashley if she believed this, if she believed Heavenly Father could help her. With her little eyes full of tears, Ashley said she did.

Sometimes the most powerful way to teach our children to understand a doctrine is to teach in the context of what they are experiencing right at that moment. These moments are spontaneous and unplanned and happen in the normal flow of family life. They come and go quickly, so we need to be alert and recognize a teaching moment when our children come to us with a question or worry, when they have problems getting along with siblings or friends, when they need to control their anger, when they make a mistake, or when they need to make a decision. (See Teaching, No Greater Call: A Resource Guide for Gospel Teaching [1999], 140–41; Marriage and Family Relations Instructor’s Manual [2000], 61.)

If we are ready and will let the Spirit guide in these situations, our children will be taught with greater effect and understanding.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. There he was, standing at the pulpit. I had never seen Brother John at church before, let alone heard him bear his testimony. A month later he came to church and bore his testimony again.
It all started one Sunday morning in priesthood executive committee meeting. I was serving as the Young Men president. We had just read from the Church Handbook of Instructions, and the bishop was sitting quietly, pondering. Then he looked up and said, “I want our Aaronic Priesthood brethren to begin collecting fast offerings from less-active members.” He asked us to involve the teachers and priests.
I was surprised. In Cape Town, South Africa, most members live far from each other. It takes about 35 minutes to drive from one side of our ward to the other. The young men had never collected fast offerings before because they couldn’t walk to members’ homes—the distance was too great, and we were concerned about their safety.
As a committee we came up with a plan as we discussed how we might overcome these obstacles. The elders quorum agreed to assign brethren to take the young men to several homes on the Saturday before each fast Sunday. We split the ward into areas and assigned each companionship to visit a few active families and a few less-active families. We realized that our plan would be a good opportunity for the brethren to get to know the youth and for the youth to receive counsel from the elders.
When we presented the plan to the young men, they were eager to try it. We reminded them to wear Sunday clothes and that this was part of their sacred responsibility to watch over the ward.
I was assigned to take my younger brother, Andrew. The following Saturday we visited everyone on our list, but most people weren’t home. The last member we visited was Brother John, whom we didn’t know well.
Andrew got out of the car, knocked on the door, and waited. He was just about to return to the car when the door opened. Andrew shook Brother John’s hand and said, “Hello, my name is Andrew, and I’m from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Tomorrow is fast Sunday, and the bishop has asked us to visit members to receive any fast-offering donations they wish to make.”
He handed Brother John an envelope. Brother John was surprised, but he walked inside with the envelope. After a few minutes he emerged from the house with a smile. He politely thanked Andrew and handed the envelope to him. I got out of the car, and we all chatted for a while. As we were leaving, Brother John waved goodbye and said, “Make sure you come next month.” Andrew was excited all the way back to the chapel, where we turned in our envelopes to a member of the bishopric.
The next month we made sure to visit Brother John. Again, he was friendly. After a few months he began attending church on fast Sunday. Our Saturday visits reminded him of his Sunday meetings, and he would come the next day.
We were excited when Brother John became active in the Church. We felt a special bond with him. Words cannot express the joy that came to us because one soul had returned to the fold. Within a few months, he was attending regularly, and soon he was called to serve in the elders quorum presidency.
For us, the highlight of this experience came when Brother John was asked to speak in sacrament meeting about tithes and offerings. At the end of his talk he spoke about Andrew’s first visit.
With moistened eyes he said: “Andrew, you will never know the impact you had on my life that Saturday morning when you came to my door with that blue envelope. You may have thought it was a waste of time, but blessings came into my life because you provided me with an opportunity to pay my fast offering. Your service is one reason I am here today.”

He was introduced by a friend to the English language classes the missionaries presented. That led to the discussions and an invitation to attend Church.
“I attended the investigators’ class. What I heard there made little sense to me at first. I was an active Buddhist in a family of active Buddhists. But the name of Jesus touched my heart. I remember as a boy hearing Protestant missionaries talk of Jesus and Christianity. My parents and relatives did not like Christians and they said harsh things about them and about Jesus. I couldn’t help but wonder about this man Jesus. What happened to him? Why did my family talk only of bad things about him?
“So when the missionaries talked to me of Jesus, I decided to invite them to my cousin’s home where I was living while going to school. He and his family listened to some of the discussions, but then stopped.
“I continued with the discussions and with attending church, and I finally gained a testimony.
“I was baptized when I was eighteen years old.

Following the meeting on this beautiful morning, Elder Barry Bennett, Area mission medical advisor, and his wife, Christine, traveled with the mission president and his wife about 90 minutes on rough dirt roads out to the villages surrounding the city of Lae. It rains every day of the year here, and the area is spectacularly beautiful and green. The humble homes are often built on stilts so when the floods come, they don’t get washed away.
With the country’s growing population, there is one physician for every 20,000 people. Local medical challenges include tuberculosis, dengue, and malaria. The purpose of Elder Bennett’s trip to this country was to assess available medical care in Lae. He was pleasantly surprised with the capability of the three hospitals he visited.
During their visit, the Bennetts also met with missionaries and spoke to them about these medical issues and how to stay healthy.

A decade later I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I realized the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely on the testimony of my father. But I felt I still did not have the whole truth, and I longed to know why I felt compelled never to drink, smoke, or swear and to remain morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first Black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, U.S. president Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons I received many recognitions and awards.
In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.

I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.

Let me tell you about a young lady who charted her course ahead of time. A recently called member of a bishopric with his lovely wife at his side thankfully related this situation. He said, “She deserves much of the credit for my present course in life. When we were dating years ago, I took her for a ride in my car to a secluded area. We parked. As I started to make some intimate advances she felt were improper, she said, ‘All of my life I have planned on being married in the temple. Don’t you disqualify me!’” She had charted her course before she got into troubled waters.