Gospel Story Finder

I will never forget the day decades ago when I was sitting in early-morning seminary in Michigan. My teacher was talking about the mission to the Zoramites in the Book of Mormon. All of a sudden, he jumped up on the table and began to read in a loud voice the Rameumptom prayer. That woke us all up! It has been many years, but that is seared in my memory. A group of teenagers were profoundly impacted by a teacher who was role-playing.

Once I received a text from my Young Women leader that really changed my perspective. My brother had just gotten married and I had posted a few pictures on Instagram. My leader said:
“I’ve been thinking about you. I see comments that people make on your Instagram. They say things like ‘you’re gorgeous,’ and ‘you look so perfect.’ Jill, please remember, NO ONE is perfect, and you don’t have to be.”
Then she talked about the things that really matter and wrote:
“Being ‘gorgeous’ has nothing to do with how you look but with who you are. Look up 1 Samuel 16:7. Don’t pay too much attention to what people say about how you look. Listen to those who care about your heart.”
This was the best advice I have ever received. It made me think about how important it is to remember the things that really matter and to not get consumed with the things that don’t matter. And it also helped me to not let things like people’s comments about my looks affect how I view myself, but instead to listen to the people who care about my heart.

A while ago, my parents went away for a few days and I stayed with my grandmother. When it was time for bed, she said: “Megan, come say your bedtime prayer.”
“I don’t know how,” I said.
“It’s easy,” she explained. “You start out by calling upon Heavenly Father. Then you thank Him for your blessings. After that you can ask Him for whatever you need. It’s also important to ask Him to help other people. Then you end your prayer by saying ‘in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’”
“That doesn’t sound so hard.”
“It isn’t,” she replied. “Let’s try it.”
Every night after that, I said my prayers and my grandmother helped me. The last night I was with her, she sat down on the bed beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. Her eyes were kind, and her voice sounded quiet and serious.
“Megan,” she said, “I want you to remember that your Heavenly Father loves you and that He is always near. Don’t forget to talk to Him. Since I’ve joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I know that it’s very important to stay close to Heavenly Father and Jesus. You will be much happier and have a more peaceful life. I know that your parents aren’t interested in the Church at this time, but maybe someday they will be.”
After I went home, I tried really hard to do what my grandmother said. Sometimes I couldn’t think of very much to say when I prayed, and sometimes I was awfully tired. After a while I started to forget, and many days would go by before I realized I hadn’t said my prayers. When I was away from my grandmother, it didn’t seem so important anymore.
Then something happened that made me remember what my grandmother had told me. Mom and Dad and I were traveling to visit my uncle, who was sick in the hospital. It had been snowing for a long time, and the wind sounded like a siren. It was getting harder and harder to see because of all the blowing snow in the dark night. Mom said we should turn back. Dad said we should keep going because my uncle needed us. As we went around a corner, the car didn’t turn—it went straight into a ditch! We were fine, but the car was hopelessly buried in snow.
Dad went up to the highway. He was gone a long time, and when he came back, he looked cold and tired. “I couldn’t see a yard in front of my face,” he said.
“Did any cars go by?” asked Mom.
“A few, but they didn’t seem to see me. They just kept going.”
“If we start the car,” said Mom, “at least we could keep warm.”
“We need to get the car up on the road first,” said Dad. “There’s too much snow packed around it. I’m going back up to the road to see if I can get help.”
By then the wind sounded like a person who was screaming for help. My feet throbbed with cold, and I was shivering hard. I felt afraid, more afraid than I had ever felt in my whole life. I started to cry.
“It’s all right, Megan,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “Your father will take care of us.”
When Mom said “father,” I remembered that I had another father, a Heavenly Father, and that my grandmother had said He would always be there if I needed Him.
I slid off the car seat onto the cold hard floor. I knelt down and folded my hands in front of me and closed my eyes. I thanked Heavenly Father for Mom and Dad and for my two pet mice, Sylvester and Henry, and for Gladys, my goldfish. I told Him that I needed His help, and that my grandmother had told me He would help me. I asked Him to please get us out of the ditch. I told Him that I was sorry I had forgotten to say my prayers. Then I ended my prayer the way my grandmother had taught me, in the name of Jesus Christ.
“What are you doing, Megan?” Mom asked as she peered down at me.
“I was saying a prayer,” I said.
There was a moment of silence, and I thought for sure that she would get mad, but she didn’t. I heard a small coughing sound, like she was trying to get a lump out of her throat. Then she said, “I don’t suppose a prayer will hurt.”
I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm and peaceful. I climbed up into the front seat beside Mom. I sang some songs. Mom even sang a few of them with me. Quite a long time passed, but things didn’t seem so bad anymore. We were in the middle of “Jesus Loves Me” when we heard a roaring sound, and a few moments later Dad opened the car door and poked his head inside.
“Get out of the car,” he said. “A truck driver’s going to pull us out with his rig.”
“Thank goodness!” Mom exclaimed. “Someone finally saw you!”
“Well, it was kind of strange,” Dad said. “This trucker was going really slow. In fact, he was hardly moving at all. When I thanked him for stopping, he told me he did it because he kept getting this feeling that he should slow down. He said the feeling got so strong that he couldn’t ignore it, so he stopped. That’s when he saw me.”
“That is strange,” said Mom.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I said out loud.
Mom looked at me. Dad looked at me. Then they both looked away without saying anything at all. As I scrambled through the snow toward the truck, I knew that tonight, and every night after this, I would remember to say my prayers.

The Savior taught that the first and great commandment is to love God and that the second, which “is like unto it,” is to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–39). The Four Corners area—where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah come together—is home to the Navajo Nation, a place where, for Latter-day Saints, “love God” and “love your neighbor” have become a way of life. Here’s what some Church members in the area have to say about living the second great commandment.
Yellowman family
“People like being included. They just need to be invited.”
The home of Tom and Gina Yellowman, in Kirtland, New Mexico, is a place where friends and neighbors gather regularly for dinners. “But there’s a catch,” Gina says as she, her son, and her daughter prepare fry bread in the kitchen. “You can only come if you bring someone from your ward who hasn’t been attending church or someone, member or not, who needs a friend.”
She explains: “We kept meeting people who felt isolated. So we decided to have a barbecue where they could get to know others. For example, my niece came. She’s a high school volleyball coach, and a couple of her players and their families came too. Two of the girls on the team hadn’t realized before that they are both members of the Church.
“And there are people who live across the river on the reservation, but they didn’t know each other. When they came here, they figured out, ‘Hey, we’re neighbors,’ and now they have friends nearby who share the same standards, people they can turn to for help or just to borrow a potato because they live far from the grocery store. That was our goal—to bring people together so they can support each other.”
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat” (Matthew 25:35).
The Yellowmans say that the dinners are an extension of a family tradition of providing food to others. Tom explains: “It started one night when we took our children out for hamburgers. We didn’t have a lot of money, so it was a special treat. When we got there, we saw some homeless people in the parking lot. We bought a couple of extra meals and let the kids hand them the food.”
After that, each Christmas season the family prepared small bags of food to give to people without a home. Extended family members joined in, so did friends, and soon they were distributing 75 to 100 bags in Farmington and Shiprock.
“When my kids and their cousins hand out these bags,” Tom says, “they tell people how grateful they are to be able to give them food.”
“One man even asked us to pray with him,” says Toma, Tom and Gina’s 22-year-old son. “That made the experience particularly meaningful to me.”
“We grow to love those whom we serve.”
The Yellowmans also know that loving your neighbor starts with loving your family. That includes Sister Yellowman’s father, Wallace Thompson, who lives in an outbuilding next to the family home. Daughter Tayla, age 27, says she likes having her acheii (maternal grandfather) nearby. “He’s helped me to learn about our native language,” she says. “I’ve also gotten to know him as a person. He’s such a character! He’s got his own style of humor. He’s also very direct, so be ready for that. But it’s been a blessing to really get to know him.”
Trevor, a 19-year-old son, says he helped care for acheii after he had open-heart surgery. “He didn’t have full use of his hands, and he couldn’t reach his back,” Trevor says. “So I helped him to bathe.” As he served his grandfather, a bond of love grew between them.

When I was presiding over a mission in Central America, we received an elder who had the following beautiful experience, which illustrates the nearness of the Lord and his willingness to help in our moment of need. This elder was a little older than the usual 19-year-old missionary. He was a convert to the Church, had been released from the military service, and had subsequently prepared for a mission. He received his call and entered the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City. While there he said to himself, “I had a testimony, but where is it? If I am going to spend my own money on a mission, then I must know if Joseph Smith was, in fact, a true prophet of God.”

That night he knelt in his room and lifted his thoughts to his Father concerning the Prophet Joseph Smith. To his disappointment, he received no confirming experience and proceeded the next day to his meetings. It was the day when a General Authority was to speak to them. Not feeling much interest, he sat at the back, behind the other 305 missionaries who were present. When President N. Eldon Tanner walked in the room, the elder thought to himself, “Well, he looks like any other well-dressed businessman of the day, not necessarily like a prophet.”

As President Tanner began his talk, the elder, still feeling his disappointment, had little desire to listen to him. But as the minutes went on, he began to listen more intently. All at once President Tanner requested, “Would all missionaries who are 24 years old please stand up?” Now, how many missionaries of that age do you suppose were present? Just one: this elder. President Tanner asked him to come up to the front, which he reluctantly did.

As he approached President Tanner, he received the testimony he had asked for the night before of the divine calling of the Prophet of God. President Tanner then asked the elder if he would bear his testimony regarding the divine nature of the calling of Joseph the Prophet. He bore his testimony, declaring that he knew that Joseph was divinely called and was in truth a prophet.

It was stuck, completely, 100 percent stuck. I couldn’t pull the knee brace up any farther, but I also couldn’t pull it down to get it off. The doctor came back in, and I had to explain my predicament.
“You’re bigger than I thought,” was his comment.
After successfully wrestling the next larger size up my leg, I was ready to leave. The doctor’s nurse stopped me and apologized for the doctor’s comment.
“I told him you just don’t say things like that to girls. He meant you are tall.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I get it all the time.”

My name is Rachell. I live in a little town called Frannie, Wyoming. It is a farming community. There is a small grade school here, a post office, and a few small businesses. Frannie has a gas station that also sells a few groceries and other things.
I am the only girl in my school who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My closest friends at school are good people, but none of them belongs to the Church. Sometimes I have to stand up for what I know is right. Usually my friends respect me for it.
One Saturday about three months before I turned eight, I was playing with a classmate at her house. We played with dolls and then put in a movie to watch. I could soon tell that the movie wasn’t one I should watch because it had swear words in it, so we turned it off and decided to go to the gas-station-store for some bubble gum. I didn’t have any money with me, but I thought my friend had some.
When we got to the store, my friend took a package of gum, handed it to me, and whispered, “Take this.”
That’s when I found out that she didn’t have any money. “No!” I said.
“Just take it,” she insisted.
I tried to put the gum back, but again she said, “Take it!”
I felt nervous and scared and confused. I took the gum, and we left the store, pretending that we didn’t have anything.
I felt bad inside. What I had done was wrong. My friend wanted me to go back to her house, but I felt like going home. When I walked in the door, my mother was there, and I told her what had happened.
We talked about honesty and repentance and what Jesus Christ would want me to do. I wanted to make things right. Mom offered to go back to the store with me so that I could correct my mistake. I was a little afraid to go back, but the feeling that I needed to right my wrong was stronger than my fear.
When we got to the store, I told the lady who worked there what I had done, apologized, and paid for the gum. With tears in her eyes she thanked me for being honest. I was still shaky when I left the store with my mom, but I felt much better.
When it was time for me to be baptized a few months later, I felt good about the bubble-gum experience. I knew that even though my action had been wrong, I had done what Jesus Christ would want me to do by correcting my mistake. I felt clean inside.

I am a missionary recovering from an accident and am in the Royal Perth Hospital in Western Australia. I began to feel quite alone and separated from missionary work until one of the nurses who is a Mormon brought some New Eras for me to read. All I can say is thank you for the spiritual nourishment this special magazine provides. It has given me an extra incentive to convert the youth of Australia and bring them to a realization of the eternal truths embodied in this latter-day literature. Days in the hospital aren’t so mundane now!
Elder Anthony WellerAustralia Perth Mission

One warm June day, a friend called and explained that her family was planning a week-long float trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho's pristine wilderness territory. In order to go on the trip, her family had applied and been selected for a permit for a group of about 25 people. A family that was scheduled to go had cancelled and, with just four weeks to prepare, my friend invited me and my family to join the group. The invitation excited me! I couldn't wait to go on such an adventure. I imagined forging large white water rapids, the sun shining on our faces as we smiled and whooped with joy. In my mind I could see my husband and daughters' delight, as we shared this incredible experience together.

That evening, I chatted with my husband about his day at work, making small talk as we prepared dinner. Just when he seemed most relaxed, I slipped in the offer to join our friend and her family in floating the Middle Fork. My husband looked shocked! He was surprised I would consider such a trip knowing I couldn't swim. And I wouldn't say we are a camping family. Our idea of camping involves indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and flattening irons. We had little time to prepare. My husband, always the cautious planner, wanted time to think about the trip before making a commitment.

Two days later I came home from work and there on our kitchen table were four new sleeping bags! Despite some reservations about my inability to swim and our overall lack of preparation, my husband agreed to the trip.

We began preparing for this unexpected adventure. My brother Marty, an experienced white water raftsman, talked to me about rafting safety. He told me that sometimes people just pop out of the boat. He explained that if I found myself in the water, I should pull my knees up close to my chest, placing my body in a sitting position, pull my elbows in close to my body, and use my hands to navigate my direction in the water. This whole idea seemed a bit preposterous to me. Why would someone just pop out of the boat? I asked. My brother carefully explained how that might happen, enjoying the naivety of the question. Our preparations continued. We purchased a tent, lanterns, clothing, and a map of the river. My family was given a large white cooler for food storage. I carefully organized our cooler, placing items that would be needed later in the week at the bottom of the cooler, with lunch and snack items that would be needed immediately on the top. The morning we were to depart, I checked the cooler one more time. It was perfect! In my mind's eye I could see my family asking for something; I would be able to find the desired item in seconds. My family would beam, knowing their wife and mom was the most efficient and organized woman on the trip!

My husband took the cooler to a central point to load on a trailer. When he returned he explained that the coolers had been reorganized. All our lunch food was placed in a cooler we would share with my friend and her family. The items that would be needed later in the week to prepare and serve dinner to the group were placed in another cooler and duct taped shut. Although this seemed like a logical decision to my husband, I felt my plan of perfection had been altered. We drove to an area near Stanley, Idaho, and spent the night. We were surrounded by majestic mountains and forests. The beauty that surrounded me filled my soul with peace. The next morning we launched our loaded boats down a long ramp. Once we were at the water's edge, we made final preparations to place our rafts in the water. My husband, youngest daughter, Ashlyn, and I were in the same boat. Our captain had floated the river several times, but had never oared a boat before. My oldest daughter, Karly, was placed in another boat with our Bishop, an experienced oarsman. We were finally ready! Everything was going just as planned. We floated through the splendors of the forest that enveloped us, cresting large whitewater rapids and enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly, our boat hit a very large boulder. The pressure of the water pushed against the raft, wrapping it around the rock. I remember seeing my daughter and husband catapulted out of the raft into the cold, rushing whitewater. And then I saw my own feet entering the same frigid water. Suddenly the current pulled me to the middle of the river. I looked back to see my husband reaching for Ashlyn and breathed a sigh of relief knowing they were safe. My journey, however, was far from over.

The current was so swift I had no control. At the mercy of the river. I was swirling around and couldn't see where I was going. Unable to control my course, I bashed into rocks. Within seconds I was thrust into whitewater. In the middle of the rapids I realized I was being pushed down into the water and my life jacket was floating up. I didn't know it at the time, but in order for a lifejacket to work correctly you must cinch it tight to your body. I prefer loose fitting clothing and so, I did not tighten my lifejacket. The end result was that the lifejacket floated and I was pushed under the water. So, I did what any reasonable woman would do in the same situation. I screamed, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" inhaling large amounts of river water in the process. At this point I realized I needed to follow the counsel I had received from my brother. I pulled my knees up to my chest and pulled my lifejacket down with my hands. With the lifejacket close to my body, I floated to the top of the water and could breathe. What a relief! That relief, however, was only momentary as I realized that holding on to the lifejacket meant I couldn't use my hands to navigate. The current continued to move me rapidly forward, throwing me against rocks as I spun, at times floating backward, with no ability to see where I was going.

As the current changed direction, I could see another section of large white water rapids looming ahead of me. I knew my only hope was to try to stop myself against one of the boulders I could see in the clear, cold water. I could see a rock ahead of me and decided to try to extend my legs in an effort to catch myself against the rock. Because the current was so strong, I was concerned I might break my leg, but knew I had to find a way to stop myself. I slowly stretched out my legs and caught myself against the rock. I used all my strength to push against the current that was relentlessly trying to force me off the rock. Exhaling with exhaustion, I examined my surroundings, noting more whitewater just downstream. I wasn't sure how long I could hold on before I would again be carried into the whitewater. I found comfort knowing my family was behind me somewhere, safe and sound.

The temporary safety of my rock shelter was shattered as I heard my youngest daughter, Ashlyn, call out, "Mom! Mom!" I turned to see Ashlyn in the middle of the current and realized she had just traversed the same frigid water and class three rapids I had. I yelled at Ashlyn to swim to the shore. As Ashlyn swam, I uttered a humble and sincere prayer, asking my Father in Heaven to protect my daughters and to keep my husband safe.

As soon as Ashlyn got to shore, she turned towards me and began to sob. She yelled, "Mom! Mom!" I could hear the terror in her voice and became frightened that she would try to swim to me. I told her to stay on the shore where she was safe. At that moment, I heard my husband's voice. I cannot begin to describe my joy when I saw my husband on a raft coming to my rescue. He was reassuring me and telling me to hang on. Inwardly I thought, "No problem! I'm not going anywhere, at least if I can help it." And then, he did what any great husband and father would do. He oared to the shore to check on Ashlyn, telling me that help was on the way.

I exhaled, looking down stream, unsure if my exhausted body could hold onto the safety of my rock much longer. As I began to mentally prepare myself to be carried away by the current, our bishop threw a line to me and pulled me into the safety of his boat. I later learned the current had pulled Ashlyn from her father's grasp, carrying her past the boat that held my oldest daughter, Karly.

“Can’t we go any faster?” I asked anxiously as we rode along the graveled highway in our newly purchased secondhand pickup.
Mama smiled. “Why the big hurry?” she teased as if she didn’t know.
“I can hardly wait to buy the shoes,” I answered. I was so excited, for it had been nearly a year since I was 11 1/4 and had been taken to the store to buy new shoes. I had thought lately that they would never wear out, and I knew they wouldn’t be replaced until they did. But at last Mama had spoken the long-awaited words.
“I think it’s time to buy you another pair of shoes,” she said. “There is certainly no more wear in those.”
The town with the big country store was four long miles away, and it seemed like forever before we finally arrived.
As soon as we were parked, I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the building. I hurried past the canned goods, down through the hardwares, and wasn’t quite to the shoe department when suddenly I saw them. There on a middle shelf that was tilted up a little was a pair of bright red shoes sitting on a silver stand. I stopped short and caught my breath in awe at the beauty of their color and the daintiness of their sandal-type straps. Printed on a cardboard in the background were the words, “Newest 1940 Fashion in Footwear.” For a long time I stood and looked.
Mama came up behind me, and I led her directly to the shelf.
“May I have these?” I asked hopefully. Mama studied the shoes for a long moment.
“They aren’t very practical,” she said finally, “and you know they will have to last a long time. I think we should buy something more sturdy.”
“I’ll be ever so careful with them,” I coaxed. “Please.”
The clerk came up and measured my foot.
“The red shoes are a half size too small,” she said, “and it is the only pair we have left. However,” she added when she saw the disappointed look on my face, “sometimes sandal-type slippers run a little larger than the average shoe. Would you like to try them on and see?”
Mama reasoned with me, telling me my feet needed room to grow even if the shoes did fit now.
“But maybe there is a little extra room,” I said. “May I at least try them on and see?” I put my whole being into the pleading expression of my eyes.
“Well,” Mama puckered her forehead into a sort of deep-thought furrow for a moment before she answered, “all right.” I had the feeling that she sensed how important this was to me.
The shoes, with a built-in toe and heel, felt tight, but nevertheless I succeeded without too much effort in getting them both on, and I stood and looked down in admiration.
“May I have them?” I asked, feeling, without doubt, that I could stretch the tiny straps in a short period of time to fit comfortably.
The shoes didn’t look too small, but Mama seemed certain that there wasn’t enough room for my feet to grow.
“They will be getting more of this style in next summer,” she said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and buy a pair then.”
My hopes declined. I was sure there would never be another pair of shoes as beautiful as these, but I said nothing. Mama focused her forehead into another deep-thought wrinkle as she walked over and picked up a pair of brown oxfords in the size I needed.
“Why don’t you try these on,” she said, “then you can make the decision yourself.”
I was elated. Even though I had made decisions before, I had never made one as important as this. I felt that Mama considered me sort of an adult, and I knew that she understood about 12-year-olds and growing up.
As I slipped one of the brown shoes on and tied the lace, it felt good in comparison to the red one on my other foot. I pondered silently as I tried to decide fairly, considering the good and bad points of each pair of shoes. The oxfords would last longer, and they were more comfortable, but they were so brown and plain, sort of ordinary looking really, and besides, they were the kind I had always worn. The red shoes were beautiful, and I wanted something different. If I was careful, they could last a long time. Admittedly, they did squeeze, but I could suffer for a day or two if need be, for I was very sure that I could stretch them in that length of time. Yes, I would take the red ones.
Mama didn’t say anything as she paid the clerk. After all, she had told me the decision was mine.
I strutted toward the door and was so preoccupied with how much older the shoes made me look that I knocked over a small display of cooking utensils and bumped into the candy counter on my way out. I was so happy over my purchase that I didn’t ask Mama what she had in the other package she was carrying when she got in the pickup.
The next two days I wore the pretty shoes in misery. Then a blister appeared on each of my big toes, and the misery turned to agony. Furthermore, I was becoming discouraged, for the tiny straps weren’t stretching at all as I had felt so sure they would.
If Mama saw me wrap small white strips of cloth around my toes to protect the blisters, she made no mention of it. I went outdoors as often as I could and slipped the shoes off. The cool air felt good on my hot feet, and each time I stayed out as long as I dared.
Slowly, out of desperation and pain, I became more brave, and the shoes lay forgotten on the floor of my closet as I went barefoot both inside the house and out. Mama, I am very sure, was aware of my bare feet, but as she didn’t question me, I hoped she supposed that I was trying to be careful of the shoes and make them last as long as the brown ones would have.
With Sunday came the sudden realization that I couldn’t possibly go barefoot to church. I put off the dreaded task of wearing the shoes until the last minute, and it wasn’t until everyone was ready to go that I carefully started the insertion of my foot into one of the slippers. As it entered the enclosure at the end of the shoe, my big toe rebelled hotly, and I pulled it quickly out. Several times I tried to put on the shoe, but each time my foot resented the tight squeeze and throbbed the resentment painfully.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. With tears close to my eyes and the red shoes held firmly in my hands, I went to Mama. My lip quivered, but I was determined not to cry. After all, I was 13 years old, in ten months, that is. I stood for a minute trying to gain my composure and to think of something sort of, well, mature to say.
“They pinch and they hurt,” I blurted out honestly.
Her answer came as such a surprise that all I could do was stand with my mouth open saying nothing.
“We do not always make the right decisions,” Mama said as she went to a drawer and took out a package containing the brown shoes. As she handed them to me she added softly, “And sometimes it takes a pinch of hurt to help us be more wise the next time we have something important to decide.”

Some years ago, President Romney and I were sitting in my office. The door opened and a fine young man came in with a troubled look on his face, and he said, “Brethren, I am going to the temple for the first time tomorrow. I have made some mistakes in the past, and I have gone to my bishop and my stake president, and I have made a clean disclosure of it all; and after a period of repentance and assurance that I have not returned again to those mistakes, they have now adjudged me ready to go to the temple. But, brethren, that is not enough. I want to know, and how can I know, that the Lord has forgiven me, also.”

What would you answer one who would come to you asking that question? As we pondered for a moment, we remembered King Benjamin’s address contained in the book of Mosiah. Here was a group of people who now were asking for baptism, and they said they viewed themselves in their carnal state:
“… And they all cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; …
“… after they had spoken these words the Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience. …” (Mosiah 4:2–3.)
There was the answer.
If the time comes when you have done all that you can to repent of your sins, whoever you are, wherever you are, and have made amends and restitution to the best of your ability; if it be something that will affect your standing in the Church and you have gone to the proper authorities, then you will want that confirming answer as to whether or not the Lord has accepted of you. In your soul-searching, if you seek for and you find that peace of conscience, by that token you may know that the Lord has accepted of your repentance. Satan would have you think otherwise and sometimes persuade you that now having made one mistake, you might go on and on with no turning back. That is one of the great falsehoods. The miracle of forgiveness is available to all of those who turn from their evil doings and return no more, because the Lord has said in a revelation to us in our day: “… go your ways and sin no more; but unto that soul who sinneth [meaning again] shall the former sins return, saith the Lord your God.” (D&C 82:7.) Have that in mind, all of you who may be troubled with a burden of sin.
And to you who are teachers, may you help to lift that great burden from those who are carrying it, and who have their conscience so seared that they are kept from activity, and they don’t know where to go to find the answers. You help them to that day of repentance and restitution, in order that they too may have that peace of conscience, the confirming of the Spirit of the Lord that he has accepted of their repentance.

This was the greatest lesson I learned as a missionary in Argentina many years ago. Throughout my mission I did my best, and we were blessed with success, but my first year was different from my second year. The first year my motives were not completely pure. I wanted to lead the mission in baptisms, to move up the mission ladder, and to impress others. Thankfully, I was matched with a more consecrated companion, who showed me how to love and enjoy the people more, how to serve them with heart and soul, and how to forget myself and go to work with love. My focus and motives changed—I truly got a new heart—and I came home different than when I left.

As a young girl, my grandmother, Chasty Olsen Harris, had a similar experience. She was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached it, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played. Except for this impelling revelation, she and the children would have been lost.

In January 1844, Joseph Smith announced his candidacy for President of the United States, but on June 27, Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed in Carthage Jail. The next morning their bodies were placed in two wagons, covered with branches to shade them, then driven to Nauvoo. They arrived in Nauvoo about three o’clock in the afternoon and were met by huge crowds of silent people. It was the saddest day Nauvoo or the Church had ever known.
John Taylor, who was with Joseph at Carthage, wrote, “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it” (D&C 135:3).
Many of the anti-Mormons thought that Joseph’s death would bring an end to the Church, but it did not. The Saints knew that the Church was God’s Church, not Joseph’s, and so they carried on God’s work. Instead of dying out, the Church continued to grow. What the mobs did not understand was that the faith of the Saints was much stronger than their fear.

At just 18 years old, Brother Iniobong Sunday is making waves in his community after training in barbering at the Gathering Place in the Ikot Akpatek Nigeria Stake. Now a skilled trainer, he is dedicated to teaching others the art of barbering, empowering them with valuable skills for their future.
In addition to mentoring aspiring barbers, Iniobong is actively offering his hair-cutting services within the community. He is saving his earnings to fund his upcoming missionary service, showcasing his commitment to personal growth and community service.
Grateful for the spiritual and practical blessings he has gained, Iniobong’s journey highlights the transformative power of the training received at the Gathering Place, where challenges lead to growth and opportunity. His story is an inspiring example of how investing in oneself can positively impact others and the community.

Several months ago, with another General Authority, I visited the beautiful island of Tahiti. Our airplane arrived at the Papeete airport at about four o’clock in the morning. We were met by a group of local Church leaders headed by regional representative Victor Cave. We quickly gathered our luggage and went to the hotel to get what rest we could before the day’s activities began.
As we drove through the quiet streets in the early morning light, we saw a man crossing the road in front of Brother Cave’s car. Brother Cave slowed the car to give the man plenty of time to cross and told us, “That man is from the local ward. He is hurrying to get to the temple. The first session of the temple doesn’t begin until nine o’clock, but he wants to be there well in advance.”
“How far away does he live?” he was asked. The answer: “Two or three blocks.” Brother Cave said that the caretakers open the temple gates early and that this man comes in and watches the day begin from within the sacred grounds surrounding the beautiful temple.
I marveled at the faith of that man, who is willing to give up his sleep and other activities in order to meditate and contemplate. Some would no doubt say, “How foolish! What a waste of time that could be spent sleeping or studying.” I hope that in those special hours of meditation and contemplation that faithful man is coming to know himself and his Creator.
Like that man crossing the street in Papeete at 4:00 A.M., hurrying to the temple, we can enjoy an untroubled conscience in the temples of God. Having a simple, untroubled faith can lift us above the selfish, sordid, and greedy aspects of the world toward peace and eternal life.

Feeling especially limited one day, I went to speak at a Primary on overcoming disabilities. The Primary had invited four people with disabilities to teach the children about the different handicaps that people face. Upon entering the cultural hall, I was upset that it had taken me so long to get ready that morning and that I had missed breakfast because no one was around to cook it for me. I was thinking of things that I could do if I only had more access to my physical body.
Three of the guests that the Primary had invited were in wheelchairs, and as I looked closer I noticed that one of the men was a quadriplegic with an injury like mine. I did not understand why the Primary had asked two of us to come with the same limitations. Confused, I continued to watch him, and as I did I noticed that he moved his arms when he spoke. Looking closer, I was amazed. He was using sign language—the man was deaf. He had the same disability that I had, but more than that, he was deaf. He had someone help him get dressed, cook his food, and get into his van. And on top of that, he did it all by communicating in sign language. As if that weren’t enough, the sign language he used employed his arms, for his disability, like mine, had taken from him the ability to use his hands.
His spirit refused to give up. He had limitations, but his spirit was constantly taking him outside of his barriers. In my life since my accident, I had heard people say that it would be impossible to live with such an incredible physical disability and be deaf. People probably told him the same things, but his spirit yearned to live and be functional, and so he was.
My life changed that day as his spirit inspired me to change. I left with a renewed belief in myself and in the things that I could do. He gave me the strength so that when people said I could not do something, I just asked for the chance to try. He had an indomitable spirit, and when my spirit touched his, it was inspired to be indomitable as well. All this came from a man who, unknowingly, taught me that it does not matter what our physical situation is; but what does matter is the thankful spirit with which we receive the blessings the Lord gives us. The greater man is not the one with a hundred blessings which he takes for granted, but the man with one blessing who praises his God for his bounty.

The conflict of Identity vs. Role Confusion during our teenage years is difficult for many. During this time we incorporate our personal beliefs with those of society and begin to make decisions about the future. When I was a teen, I would occasionally defy my parents’ suggestions regarding my performance in life. I remember very distinctly being frustrated with my mother one day as she proposed recommendations for my future. As my mother was advising me, I angrily turned and began to walk away—and then I heard her quietly comment, “I only want you to be a better person than I am.” My heart immediately softened, and I wondered how anyone could possibly be better than my own dear mother. I have since apologized for my behavior, but her comment (or rather her challenge to me to be a better person) has stayed with me throughout my life. As a teen, and even now, that challenge has motivated me to be a better person—it taught me the importance of applying my learning.

Our little blue Volkswagen rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car that contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town of Potlatch, Idaho (population 880), for the big city of Lewiston, Idaho (population 26,000), was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that the sidewalks, drive-ins, and paper mill of this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.

After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August drew to a close, I began to get more excited about attending this big junior high school that had almost as many people as the whole town of Potlatch.

With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to first period English. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.

As the days continued, I found that, miracle of miracles, the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the Monkees, hamburgers with mustard, and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival junior high school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to Potlatch for my senior year. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.

Although I was a member of the Church, when we lived in Potlatch I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house. (There was at that time no branch in Potlatch, and our family seldom traveled the half-hour distance to the nearest ward.) When we moved to Lewiston, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa, and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, and even after she explained it to me, I figured it must be something like 4-H. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.

Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “Oh, well, another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”

Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

Let me share a story that happened right here on this campus not long ago, that not only brought others to the gospel, but brought happiness to all who know Indy.

I met Indy three years ago, when she was involved in the Desi Association here at BYU-Idaho. Indy grew up in Sri Lanka and moved to Maryland during the 8th grade. Indy became very close to two friends at school, one was a member of our faith and the other was not. Indy was Buddhist. She loved these friends and after high school reunited with them one evening only to discover that her non-member friend had joined the Church. Those good friends invited her to visit the visitor center at the Washington DC Temple with them. She felt the spirit there and accepted the opportunity to hear the missionary lessons. About this time, President Monson had just been called as the prophet. She said that she heard President Monson bear testimony of the Savior and it was so powerful. Those two experiences really helped her. She decided to join the Church. This was tough on her family, especially her parents. They love Indy very much and had traditional plans for her. Indy bore her testimony to her mother and said that she knew the church is true and needed to be baptized. Her parents really struggled. Indy chose to come to BYU-Idaho. She took her baptismal covenants seriously and served in the gospel. She tried to be an example to her two sisters, which eventually followed her out here to school and attend here now. Her parents began to soften, as they saw the joy and goodness the gospel brought to their daughter. Through Indy's example, and others, her sisters have joined the church. Indy started to date Josh (I am proud to have had a hand in that). They decided to get married. I remember how nervous she was to tell her parents. It was hard, but now they love Josh and their new little granddaughter. Because Indy chose to come into the fold of God, and be one of His people, she has found joy and happiness with an eternal family. Because of Indy's commitment to the covenants she made, she has also helped others find the gospel.