Gospel Story Finder

“Mom, can I look for buried treasure?” Cindy asked.
Her mother looked up from the book she was reading and said, “Of course, but stay around the camp.”
“I will.” Cindy loved camping with her family and looking for buried treasure. She picked up a small shovel and a blue bag.
As she walked around the camp, she found a gray feather. “I wonder what bird lost this?” she said as she put it into her blue bag.
A few feet farther away, she saw something shiny sticking out of the dirt. With her shovel, she dug up a small stone. Cindy rolled the stone in her hands and said, “Jesus made this.” She put the stone into her blue bag with the feather.
Cindy noticed tiny purple flowers growing everywhere. She knew that she was not supposed to pick the flowers, so she got down on her knees and smelled their sweet fragrance.
Cindy walked some more. In a clump of tall grass, she spotted a baby rabbit and said, “I wonder where its mother is?” She didn’t put the baby rabbit into her bag, either.
Then she noticed something strange in the dirt. She began to dig. In seconds she dug up a rusty tin can. It wasn’t pretty like the other things she had found. She was going to bury it again, then remembered what her parents and Primary teachers had taught her about choosing the right. She knew that the right thing to do was to put it into her bag, take it back to camp, and throw it into the trash bag.
Cindy began to sing her favorite Primary song, “Choose the Right Way.”* As she sang, she continued to enjoy the treasures Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had put all around her.

Tate lay awake in the darkness, blinking back tears. He had prayed for help, but it seemed like a heavy black cloud hung over him, shutting out the Spirit.
What if I never forget that awful TV show? he worried.
A few days ago, he had finished his homework early and flipped on the TV. But he hadn’t expected to see something like that on the screen. Tate was so shocked that he forgot to turn off the television as quickly as he should have.
It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to watch a scene like that, but now he couldn’t forget it. Sometimes it popped into his head in the middle of school, at the dinner table—even during church. At times like that, he was glad Mom and Dad couldn’t read his mind. Tate’s parents had taught him not to look at pictures of people without clothes on. He knew that they also expected him to avoid violent TV shows, movies, and video games.
“Now I know why,” Tate mumbled to himself.
Tate got out of bed and onto his knees again. What could he do?
“Heavenly Father,” Tate whispered. “Please help me stop thinking about what I saw.” He wiped away the tears that had been forming in his eyes and listened. His heart beat faster. He thought he felt the Holy Ghost prompting him, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He needed to tell his parents.
“Why?” Tate wondered. He would feel like a baby going into his parents’ room in the middle of the night. And to tell them? He felt embarrassed and sick all over again.
Then a clear thought came into his mind: Heavenly Father wanted him to be happy. Heavenly Father wanted him to feel the Spirit again, to think about good things, and to be honest with his family. He especially wanted Tate to become a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder when he turned 12 in a few months. Tate realized that if he held on to what he had seen and kept it a secret, he would stay unhappy about it.
Tate knew he needed help—and the Holy Ghost had just told him where to find it.
Tate looked at the digital clock’s glowing numbers beside his bed. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He stood up and headed into the dark hallway toward his parents’ room. Swallowing nervously, he tapped on their door.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Tate, is that you?” came Mom’s sleepy voice.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said. “Can we talk? And can I maybe get a blessing?”
Dad clicked on his bedside lamp and invited Tate inside. For the first time in days, Tate felt warmth, hope, and light.

This story took place in Guatemala.
“I’m so excited to go to church at the chapel!” Anahí said at breakfast.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Anahí and her family hadn’t been able to go to church in person for almost two years. But today they would finally be able to! Anahí was glad she could see her friends and have the sacrament with their ward again.
Anahí and her family sat down in the chapel. Anahí waved to her friends.
Soon it was time for the sacrament. After the hymn, Anahí folded her arms and bowed her head. She listened to the sacrament prayer. Then she looked at a little picture of Jesus. It helped her remember to be reverent.
A young man brought the tray to their row. But when the tray reached Anahí, it was empty!
Then Anahí looked closer. In the corner of the tray, there was one crumb left. She picked it up and put it in her mouth.
For the rest of the day, Anahí worried. She kept thinking about the tiny piece of bread. All through dinner she worried. She didn’t even eat her ice cream for dessert. She just sat at the table while Mami washed dishes.
Did the sacrament count if I only took a crumb? she thought.
Mami dried her hands on a towel. “Is something wrong, love?”
Anahí shook her head no.
“Well, your melted ice cream makes me think something is bothering you.” Mami smiled and sat down next to Anahí. “What is it?”
Tears filled Anahí’s eyes. “I was excited to take the sacrament today. But when the tray got to me, there was only a crumb of bread left.” She took a big breath. “Did I take the sacrament wrong?”
“No,” Mami said. She hugged Anahí close. “I saw you looking at the little picture of Jesus you carry in your scriptures. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about how Jesus loves me. And about the nail prints in His hands and feet. And all He did for us.”
“Don’t you see?” Mami asked. “That’s why we take the bread and water. To remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us.”
“So the size of the bread doesn’t matter?”
“No. What matters is how you felt as you remembered the Savior,” Mami said. “And even though you just had a tiny piece of bread, Jesus’s love for you is not tiny. He loves you so, so much.”
Anahí smiled. She knew Mami was right. The sacrament could always be a special time to remember Jesus—even with just a tiny piece of bread.

One of the greatest privileges for me and my wife, Renee, is to meet with the Saints where we serve. We hear their stories, we witness their losses, we share their grief, and we rejoice with their success. We have witnessed many of the blessings and miracles that the Savior has bestowed upon the faithful. We have met people who have gone through the impossible, who have suffered the unthinkable.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.
What gives them the power to go through hard things? What gives an extra layer of strength to go on when everything seems lost?
I have found that the source of that strength is faith in Jesus Christ as we intentionally seek to come unto Him each and every day.
The prophet Jacob taught, “And he cometh into the world that he may save all men if they will hearken unto his voice; for behold, he suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children, who belong to the family of Adam.”
At times, having faith in Jesus Christ may seem like something impossible, almost unattainable. We may think that coming unto Christ requires a strength, power, and perfection we don’t have, and we just can’t find the energy to do it all. But what I have learned from all these people is that faith in Jesus Christ is what gives us the energy to begin the journey. Sometimes we may think, “I need to fix my life before I come to Jesus,” but the truth is that we come to Jesus to fix our lives through Him.
We don’t come to Jesus because we are perfect. We come to Him because we are flawed and in Him we can “be perfected.”
How do we begin exercising a little bit of faith every day? For me it begins in the morning: When I wake up, instead of looking at my phone, I say a prayer. Even a simple prayer. Then I read a scripture. This helps me with my weekly covenant that I make as I partake of the sacrament to “always remember him.” When I begin my day with a prayer and a scripture, I can “remember Him” when I do look at my phone. I can “remember Him” when I face problems and conflicts, and I try to face them like Jesus would.
When I “remember Him,” I feel a desire to change, to repent. I find the source of energy to keep my covenants, and I feel the influence of the Holy Ghost in my life “and keep his commandments which he has given [me]; that [I] may always have his Spirit.” It helps me to endure to the end. Or at least to the end of the day! And in those days that I fail to remember Him all day, He is still there, loving me and telling me, “It’s OK; you can try again tomorrow.”
Although we are imperfect at remembering Him, our loving Heavenly Father never fails to remember us.
One of the mistakes we often make is to think that keeping covenants, or the promises we make to God, is somehow a transaction we make with Him: I obey, and He protects me from anything bad ever happening to me. I pay my tithing, and I will never lose my job or the fire will not burn my house. But then when things don’t go as we expected, we cry unto the Lord, “Carest thou not that I perish?”
Our covenants are not merely transactional; they are transformational. Through my covenants I receive sanctifying, strengthening power of Jesus Christ, which allows me to become a new person, to forgive what seems unforgivable, to overcome the impossible. Intentionally remembering Jesus Christ always is powerful; it gives me added strength to “keep his commandments which he has given [me].” It helps me to be nicer, to smile for no reason, to be a peacemaker, to avoid conflict, to let God prevail in my life.
When our pain or the pain of someone we love is so much that we can’t bear it, remembering Jesus Christ and coming unto Him can lighten the burden, soften the heart, and ease the pain. This is the power that enabled a father beyond his natural capacity to sustain his daughter through the physical and emotional pain of losing her leg.
When Elder Soares visited Argentina last June and asked Flavia about her tragic accident, she faithfully replied, “I experienced turmoil, bitterness, anger, and hate when [this happened]. Something that helped me was not to ask, ‘why me?’ but ‘what for?’ … This was something that brought me closer to others and the Lord. … Instead of distancing myself from Him, I had to cling to Him.”
President Nelson taught: “The reward for keeping covenants with God is heavenly power—power that strengthens us to withstand our trials, temptations, and heartaches better. … Thus, covenant keepers are entitled to a special kind of rest.” This is the kind of rest and peace I saw in the eyes of the widow, despite the heartache she felt of missing her husband every day.
The New Testament tells of a time when Jesus and His disciples were on a ship:
“And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship. …
“And he was … asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?
“And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. …
“And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?”
I have always been intrigued by this story. Did the Lord expect them to use their faith to calm the storm? To rebuke the winds? Faith in Jesus Christ is the feeling of peace to withstand the storm, knowing that we will not perish because He is in the ship with us.
This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.
I am grateful for the opportunity that Renee and I had to meet some of these extraordinary Saints, for their many examples of faith, strength, and perseverance. For stories of heartbreak and disappointment that will never make the front page of a newspaper or ever go viral. For the pictures that are not taken of tears shed and prayers offered after a loss or a traumatic divorce; for the posts that are never made of the fear, the sorrow, and the pain that become bearable thanks to faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. These people strengthen my own faith, and for that I am deeply grateful.
I know this is the Church of Jesus Christ. I know that He stands ready to endow us with His power if we come to Him each and every day. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One older brother taught me an important lesson when I was five years old. That was when my twin, Karl, and I received a puppy. We did not understand the responsibilities that come with having a pet—we thought it was just another toy that didn’t require any particular care. We didn’t worry too much about giving the dog food or water or taking care of it. But we had an older brother who felt just the opposite. He had a great love for animals. He saw the need and took care of our puppy.
That dog grew up thinking that it belonged to our brother, and we used to argue about whose dog it was. Karl and I insisted that it was our dog, and we had contests with our older brother to see whom the dog would go to if we called to it. The dog always went to our brother.
The dog understood loyalty and the love our brother showed it. This experience taught me a powerful lesson about the law of the harvest, which tells us that as you sow, so shall you reap. My brother planted love when he took care of our dog, and he reaped the rewards of trust and loyalty.

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.
When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.
I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.
My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

Dear Journal,
Today I watched general conference at the church. Sometimes I get bored because conference seems too long for my ten-year-old body. But today I decided to follow the advice of my Primary teacher. She told me that I’d get more out of the talks if I listened carefully and figured out how I could use what was said in my life. I tried very hard to do that, and I think I did pretty well.
When President Hunter gave the last talk, I listened especially hard. I can’t remember everything he said, but I know that he asked us to be more like Jesus Christ. I’m going to try.

When I returned from my mission, I found it necessary to go to firesides and devotionals almost weekly to maintain my spirituality. The speakers fed me with their gospel insights, and I appreciated the way those insights made me feel. I had studied and taught the gospel for two years, but I didn’t seem to have the necessary skills to feed myself on a regular basis. I was just reading the scriptures and not really searching them diligently.

Gospel study is much like learning to paint. It is not intuitive or natural for everyone. We would not think of giving someone a paint palette and expect that person to become an artist immediately. Becoming a self-reliant gospel learner is the same. We can’t expect to discover great insights on a regular basis if we haven’t learned some basic gospel-study skills. President Packer explained that the scriptures “contain the fulness of the everlasting gospel, an eternity of knowledge. But one must learn to use them or the search will be discouraging.”6

That’s how it was for me—discouraging—when I first tried to find meaning and guidance from my scripture study. So I began to analyze how the speakers got their insights. It took a while, but I eventually saw how they extracted specific statements of doctrine from the scriptures; how they mined meaningful teachings about the Savior from the verses; how they formulated life-guiding principles from scriptural phrases; how they interpreted symbols; and how they connected the teachings of prophets and apostles to specific verses of scripture.

As I continued my study of the scriptures and the teachings of prophets and apostles, I found myself asking questions:
What doctrine is being taught in these verses, and what do I learn about that doctrine?
Where and when have I seen this gospel principle effectively applied?
What do I learn about Heavenly Father and His plan for my happiness?
What do I learn about Jesus Christ and His Atonement?
What does the Lord want me to learn from this?
What inspired thoughts and feelings am I receiving as I read?
Is there something here that helps me with a current challenge in my life?
What do I learn that will help me live from day to day?

As my scripture study changed, so did my teaching. I became more interested in helping people discover gospel truths that would guide them than I was in telling them what the scriptures meant to me.7 It thrilled me to see the joy others felt when they discovered something new. It was, and is, one of the most gratifying experiences of my teaching experience.

I also found that when I helped those I taught consistently use the skills and questions above, their ability to become self-reliant gospel learners accelerated. They didn’t have to go through the long process I went through.

Gustavo: On our first date, Claudiana listed some important things she wanted me to know about her.
She didn’t want to date just to have a boyfriend. She wanted to find someone who was looking for a relationship that could eventually lead to marriage.
She wanted a spouse who shared her values and beliefs.
At the time, I was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Claudiana made it clear that, although she didn’t want to impose her faith on me, she believed that sharing values would lead to a healthier and happier marriage.
Claudiana: I was worried that Gustavo would think I was crazy for telling him these things on our first date. But I wanted him to understand my expectations and that I wasn’t going to spend time on a relationship that could end in disappointment. Gustavo respected my standards and was interested in my faith—and because of this, I was willing to give him a chance. Making my expectations clear allowed us to be on the same page early in our relationship and reinforced our commitment to one another when times got hard.

Tommy Wilson had always been my best friend, even though he wasn’t like most of the friends I ran around with at school. Actually, Tommy was old enough to be my grandpa, but that didn’t matter to me. He lived next door, and ever since I was old enough to play outside by myself, I had spent a lot of time with Tommy.
Tommy had his very own garage. It wasn’t just a place to park a car, but a repair shop. In fact, he didn’t even park his car in the garage because there were so many tools—and usually a customer’s car—in it.
Although I had to be careful and do more watching than touching, Tommy let me hang around his garage and help him by getting him tools or holding a spark plug or even undoing a bolt he’d loosened.
But Tommy didn’t work just on cars; he was a carpenter too. He could make anything. Once he even made me a bed out of big, thick boards. He sanded them smooth, then bolted them together so that the bed was extra strong. When he was finished, he stepped back and grinned. Then in his big, gruff voice he boomed, “Jared, that’s a boy’s bed! You could jump on that all day and it would never come apart.”
Sister Wilson had died a long time ago, so some days Tommy came to our house for dinner. And sometimes after supper I’d sit with Tommy on his front porch and he would tell me about the places he’d seen and the things he’d done. He had been a lumberjack in Oregon and had fished in the ocean and had driven a bulldozer in Wyoming and had even drilled for oil in Texas!
There was no doubt about it—Tommy was my best friend. That’s why one thing kept bothering me: Tommy would take me lots of places with him, but he wouldn’t ever go to church with me. He didn’t go to church with anybody, for that matter. Sometimes he came to our family home evenings, but whenever I was helping him and tried to talk about the Church, he just cleared his throat, asked for a tool, or pretended he didn’t hear me.
When I talked to Dad about it, he put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Well, Jared, I don’t have the answer to that one. Tommy might be afraid of people, or maybe he’s upset about something that happened in the past. The decision to go to church must be his choice. The Lord doesn’t force us to do anything. But you and I need to help Tommy if we can. If we just love him and continue inviting him to come to church with us, maybe he will someday.”
I already loved Tommy, and he knew that, so the next day I said to him, “How would you like to come to church with me next Sunday?”
“Can you hand me that screwdriver?”
I handed him the screwdriver and licked my lips. “I wouldn’t miss church for anything,” I said, “and that’s not just because it’s the right thing to do. I like church, and so would you. Will you come with me?”
“Do you see that wrench by your foot? Will you hand it to me?”
I didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Tommy to forget that I’d been asking him about church. Then I said, “Will you answer me one question, Tommy?”
“Sure, Jared. What is it?”
“Have you ever gone to church?”
He started to clear his throat, so I hurried and said, “You promised, Tommy. You promised you’d answer my question. We’re best friends, and I just want to know.”
“Yeah, I’ve been to church. When I was your age, I went all the time.”
“What happened? Why did you stop?”
“You said one question.”
“But I just want to know. Then if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t ask.”
Tommy walked over and sat down on an upturned bucket. He picked up two spark plugs and rolled them around in his hands. “I always went to church before my dad died,” he began. “I was eleven when he died. After that we were really poor, so I didn’t have anything nice to wear. I went to church anyway, but I was worried that the kids would make fun of me. Well, they didn’t—at least not at first. Then one Sunday I had to wear my dad’s big, old dress shoes. They were all I had except my work boots, and I couldn’t wear them to church. I was worried about going to church that day, but I went. That was the last time.”
“Did they make fun of your shoes?”
Tommy nodded. “I decided then that I’d never go back. I never have.”
For a long time neither one of us said anything. I felt real bad, and I wished that I had been with Tommy when he was a boy so I could have helped him out. But I wasn’t even born then.
“People wouldn’t laugh at you now, Tommy,” I said. “I know they wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.”
Later I told Dad about my conversation with Tommy. We decided to stop every Sunday on our way to church and ask Tommy to come with us. But he never went with us. He just smiled and called, “No thanks. Not today.”
Then one Sunday my Primary teacher, Sister Poulsen, talked about missions and how we were all supposed to prepare for our missions. She said that when we grew up we might even get sent to Russia or Africa or India. It sounded exciting, and I was ready to go right then, even if I wasn’t nineteen yet. Then I remembered Tommy, and I thought, How can I preach to the people in Russia or China when I can’t even get my best friend to go to church?
Each Sunday Dad and I stopped by for Tommy, and I prayed for him, too, but he still didn’t come to church. I thought I was doing all that I could, but deep inside I knew I hadn’t done quite enough.
For our Primary sacrament meeting we had learned songs like “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission,” and I had to give a little talk about saving money for my mission. As we were practicing our parts before sacrament meeting the day of our program, I knew there was no way I could sing those songs and say my talk while Tommy was in his garage working.
I slipped over to my mom, who was a Primary teacher, and told her what I was going to do. Then I ran the two blocks to Tommy’s house. I was panting and puffing when I ran up Tommy’s driveway, and I could hear him pounding on something inside the garage. When I stepped inside, he stopped pounding and asked, “What are you doing here, Jared? Aren’t you supposed to be in church? I thought you were singing in a program today.”
I stared at his greasy hands and dirty pants and messy hair. I looked away from him and mumbled, “I came to get you, Tommy. I had to.”
“What?”
“Aren’t we best friends, Tommy?”
“Why sure. You know that.”
“Then I need you to be there. I can’t sing those songs and say my talk unless you’re there. It just isn’t right. I thought I could do it without you, but now I know that I can’t.”
“Well, Jared, I’m not dressed, and I’m all dirty and greasy.”
“I can wait for you. If you hurry, we can make it.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to church for years …”
I could tell he was thinking about it, so I started talking really fast. “You just have to, Tommy, because I need you there. Just this once, so you can hear my program, and then if you don’t want to ever go back, well, then … But I know you’ll like it, and you’ll want to go all the time.”
He put his tools away and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s been a long time, Jared. I just don’t think—”
“You can sit with me,” I interrupted, “except when I sing. Then I have to go up front. But if you’re afraid to sit alone, I’ll stay right with you, because they don’t really need me to sing.”
Tommy smiled. “Do you really want me to go that badly?” he asked.
I could feel my eyes start to burn. I looked at the ground and nodded my head because I couldn’t say anything.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Tommy was going to church! I was so excited I wanted to yell. Then I got scared. What if somebody laughed at Tommy? What if nobody talked to him? What if he got upset and decided never to go back?
I started to shake, and my stomach got all fluffy and full of tickles. There was only one thing I could do. I found a clean old blanket and knelt down on it and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I know You want Tommy to go to church, and I want him to go too. But I need some help. I invited him, and he’s going, but somebody’s got to tell the people at church not to laugh at him or make him feel bad. I can’t do that part, but You can. Help them to love Tommy as much as I do. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Pretty soon Tommy came back wearing a clean shirt and pants, and his hands were washed and his hair was combed. As we walked to church, I could tell that he was worried and scared because he didn’t talk much and he kept putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out again. I was scared, too—maybe more than Tommy—but I didn’t tell him that. I just took his hand when we went into the church.
Everything was quiet when we walked in. The chapel was full, and Bishop Call was just starting to welcome everyone to sacrament meeting. I saw room for us right next to Mom and Dad, so I pulled him over there as fast as I could.
I was so scared that I didn’t dare look at anyone. Then Dad reached over and shook Tommy’s hand and whispered, “It’s good to see you, Tommy.” Brother Baker leaned over my shoulder and whispered, “Brother Wilson, good to have you here.” Brother and Sister Roberts, who were sitting in front of us, turned around and smiled. After that I wasn’t scared any more, because I knew Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
I remembered all of my talk without looking at my paper or down at Mom. And when I sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission,” I sang as loud as I could, because I was ready to go.
After the closing prayer, I tried to hurry back to my seat so that Tommy wouldn’t be alone, but I didn’t have to. By the time I got to Tommy, he was surrounded by people. Why, it looked like the whole ward wanted to shake his hand!
It was a long time after the meeting ended before Tommy and I started home. We didn’t say anything until we stopped in front of his house; then I asked, “Can I pick you up next Sunday? I don’t have to sing or do anything special, but I’d sure like you to come.”
Tommy’s eyes were all watery, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand. “No, Jared, I won’t let you stop for me next Sunday.”
I couldn’t believe it! I thought he had liked going to church. I didn’t know what to say.
Then Tommy said, “Next week I’ll take you to church.”
Tommy didn’t work in his garage on Sundays after that, because every Sunday he went to church. And when I’m old enough, I can go to India or Russia or any other place and feel good about preaching the gospel to all those strangers because now my best friend goes to church.

In 1988 life was normal for Jared Anderson of Pocatello, Idaho. Like many other ten-year-old boys in the United States, he had a newspaper delivery route and chores around the house. He loved to play basketball and baseball and ride bicycles with his friends. But during that year his life changed quite dramatically when he suddenly became responsible for helping take care of his mother.
Thirteen-year-old Jared still remembers the pain he felt when he heard that his mother had collapsed with a seizure one April Sunday in 1988. Jared was visiting that day at his grandmother’s home when a telephone call came from the hospital. Tests and surgery later that week confirmed that Marcia Anderson had two types of brain cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live.
“I was really scared,” Jared recalls. “It was so frightening to hear that my mother was dying. She has been my best friend. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her.”
Now Jared also tries to be there when his mom needs him. He is the youngest of four children in Neil and Marcia Anderson’s family and has the most time at home to be with his mom. Jared’s oldest sister, Trina, is married; his brother, Shane, is on a mission in Roanoke, Virginia; and his sister Kim is a senior in high school.
After Sister Anderson’s surgery, she had to relearn everything—how to walk, speak, read, write, and dress herself. She has been involved in extensive physical therapy—all of which Jared has learned to help her with. She still suffers from seizures. So nurses taught Jared how to reduce the risk of injury during a seizure by catching her when she falls.
“Jared has a kind of sixth sense,” his mother says, “and he always seems to get there to help me at the very moment I need him.” But Jared explains that any boy would do that for a mom he loved.
Jared and his family have cheered their mother on as she has outlived the doctors’ predictions. He has helped her progress from bed to wheelchair to walking again. Through it all, Jared has turned to his Heavenly Father for help. “Even when she’s having seizures, I always stop and pray for help. But I remember also to ask Heavenly Father that his will be done.” He adds, “It has taught me a lot about patience.”
Although Jared’s mother needs much physical support, she is still a great emotional support to her son. “My mother lets me talk about how hurt I feel and how angry I get that she has to suffer,” Jared says. “Sometimes we cry as we talk.”

Aren’t we all a little bit like this? After a recent medical procedure, my very capable doctors explained what I needed to do to heal properly. But first I had to relearn something about myself I should have known for a long time: as a patient, I’m not very patient.

Consequently I decided to expedite the healing process by undertaking my own Internet search. I suppose I expected to discover truth of which my doctors were unaware or had tried to keep from me.

It took me a little while before I realized the irony of what I was doing. Of course, researching things for ourselves is not a bad idea. But I was disregarding truth I could rely on and instead found myself being drawn to the often outlandish claims of Internet lore.

Sometimes the truth may just seem too straightforward, too plain, and too simple for us to fully appreciate its great value. So we set aside what we have experienced and know to be true in pursuit of more mysterious or complicated information. Hopefully we will learn that when we chase after shadows, we are pursuing matters that have little substance and value.

When it comes to spiritual truth, how can we know that we are on the right path?

One way is by asking the right questions—the kind that help us ponder our progress and evaluate how things are working for us. Questions like:

“Does my life have meaning?”
“Do I believe in God?”
“Do I believe that God knows and loves me?”
“Do I believe that God hears and answers my prayers?”
“Am I truly happy?”
“Are my efforts leading me to the highest spiritual goals and values in life?”

Profound questions regarding the purpose of life have led many individuals and families throughout the world to search for truth. Often that search has led them to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to the restored gospel.

I wonder if we as Church members might also benefit from asking ourselves from time to time: “Is my experience in the Church working for me? Is it bringing me closer to Christ? Is it blessing me and my family with peace and joy as promised in the gospel?”

Alma posed similar questions to Church members in Zarahemla when he asked: “Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts? … [And] can [you] feel [it] now?” Such contemplation may help us to refocus or realign our daily efforts with the divine plan of salvation.

Many members will answer with great warmth that their experience as a member of the Church is working exceptionally well for them. They will testify that whether during times of poverty or prosperity, whether things are pleasant or painful, they find great meaning, peace, and joy because of their commitment to the Lord and their dedicated service in the Church. Every day I meet Church members who are filled with a radiant joy and who demonstrate in word and deed that their lives are immeasurably enriched by the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

But I also recognize that there are some who have a less-than-fulfilling experience—who feel that their membership in the Church sometimes isn’t quite what they had hoped for.

This saddens me because I know firsthand how the gospel can invigorate and renew one’s spirit—how it can fill our hearts with hope and our minds with light. I know for myself how the fruits of the gospel of Jesus Christ can transform lives from the ordinary and dreary to the extraordinary and sublime.

But why does it seem to work better for some than for others? What is the difference between those whose experience in the Church fills their souls with songs of redeeming love and those who feel that something is lacking?

As I have pondered these questions, a flood of thoughts came to mind. Today I’d like to share two.

First: are we making our discipleship too complicated?

This beautiful gospel is so simple a child can grasp it, yet so profound and complex that it will take a lifetime—even an eternity—of study and discovery to fully understand it.

But sometimes we take the beautiful lily of God’s truth and gild it with layer upon layer of man-made good ideas, programs, and expectations. Each one, by itself, might be helpful and appropriate for a certain time and circumstance, but when they are laid on top of each other, they can create a mountain of sediment that becomes so thick and heavy that we risk losing sight of that precious flower we once loved so dearly.

Therefore, as leaders we must strictly protect the Church and the gospel in its purity and plainness and avoid putting unnecessary burdens on our members.

And all of us, as members of the Church, we need to make a conscientious effort to devote our energy and time to the things that truly matter, while uplifting our fellowmen and building the kingdom of God.

One sister, a Relief Society instructor, was known for preparing flawless lessons. One time she decided to create a beautiful quilt that would serve as the perfect backdrop to the theme of her lesson. But life intervened—there were children to pick up from school, a neighbor who needed help moving, a husband who had a fever, and a friend who felt lonely. The day of the lesson approached, and the quilt was not completed. Finally, the night before her lesson, she did not sleep much as she worked all night on the quilt.

The next day she was exhausted and barely able to organize her thoughts, but she bravely stood and delivered her lesson.

And the quilt was stunning—the stitches were perfect, the colors vibrant, and the design intricate. And at the center of it all was a single word that triumphantly echoed the theme of her lesson: “Simplify.”

Brothers and sisters, living the gospel doesn’t need to be complicated.

It is really straightforward. It could be described like this:

Hearing the word of God with earnest intent leads us to believe in God and to trust His promises.
The more we trust God, the more our hearts are filled with love for Him and for each other.
Because of our love for God, we desire to follow Him and bring our actions in alignment with His word.
Because we love God, we want to serve Him; we want to bless the lives of others and help the poor and the needy.
The more we walk in this path of discipleship, the more we desire to learn the word of God.
And so it goes, each step leading to the next and filling us with ever-increasing faith, hope, and charity.

It is beautifully simple, and it works beautifully.

Brothers and sisters, if you ever think that the gospel isn’t working so well for you, I invite you to step back, look at your life from a higher plane, and simplify your approach to discipleship. Focus on the basic doctrines, principles, and applications of the gospel. I promise that God will guide and bless you on your path to a fulfilling life, and the gospel will definitely work better for you.

My second suggestion is: start where you are.

Sometimes we feel discouraged because we are not “more” of something—more spiritual, respected, intelligent, healthy, rich, friendly, or capable. Naturally, there is nothing wrong with wanting to improve. God created us to grow and progress. But remember, our weaknesses can help us to be humble and turn us to Christ, who will “make weak things become strong.” Satan, on the other hand, uses our weaknesses to the point that we are discouraged from even trying.

I learned in my life that we don’t need to be “more” of anything to start to become the person God intended us to become.

God will take you as you are at this very moment and begin to work with you. All you need is a willing heart, a desire to believe, and trust in the Lord.

Gideon saw himself as a poor farmer, the least of his father’s house. But God saw him as a mighty man of valor.

When Samuel chose Saul to be king, Saul tried to talk him out of it. Saul was from one of the smallest tribes of the house of Israel. How could he be king? But God saw him as “a choice young man.”

Even the great prophet Moses felt so overwhelmed and discouraged at one point that he wanted to give up and die. But God did not give up on Moses.

My dear brothers and sisters, if we look at ourselves only through our mortal eyes, we may not see ourselves as good enough. But our Heavenly Father sees us as who we truly are and who we can become. He sees us as His sons and daughters, as beings of eternal light with everlasting potential and with a divine destiny.

The Savior’s sacrifice opened the door of salvation for all to return to God. His “grace is sufficient for all [who] humble themselves before [God].” His grace is the enabling power that allows access into God’s kingdoms of salvation. Because of His grace, we will all be resurrected and saved in a kingdom of glory.

Even the lowest kingdom of glory, the telestial kingdom, “surpasses all understanding,” and numberless people will inherit this salvation.

But the Savior’s grace can do much more for us. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we aspire to something unimaginably greater. It is exaltation in the celestial kingdom. It is life eternal in the presence of our Father in Heaven. It is the greatest gift of God. In the celestial kingdom, we receive “of his fulness, and of his glory.” Indeed, all that the Father hath shall be given unto us.

Exaltation is our goal; discipleship is our journey.

As you exercise a little faith and begin your walk as a peaceable follower of our Lord Jesus Christ, your heart will change. Your whole being will be filled with light.

God will help you become something greater than you ever thought possible. And you will discover that the gospel of Jesus Christ is indeed working in your life. It works.

Brothers and sisters, dear friends, I pray that we will focus on “the simplicity that is in Christ” and allow His grace to lift and carry us during our journey from where we are now to our glorious destiny in our Father’s presence.

As we do so and someone asks us, “How is being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints working for you?” we will be able to say with pride, in all humility, and with great joy, “It works wonderfully! Thank you for asking! Would you like to know more?”

This is my hope, my prayer, my testimony, and my blessing in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The night was very dark. The children cuddled close to their parents. The hand of tiny Thorvald squeezed his father’s and pretty little Astra clung to Ibine. Anthon looked down at Thor and remembered his own childhood. He remembered the cows he had herded, the wooden shoes he had worn in winter, his own sister who died in a terrible blizzard too far from home to get help. He remembered the worried look of his father who couldn’t support his family of nine during the mid-1800s war with Germany. He remembered working from 2:00 in the morning until 11:00 at night on a farm in order to help. He remembered crying in bed at night. “I wondered what I was sent on this earth for. I couldn’t see what good I was doing. All I could see ahead was endless work to no real worthwhile end.”
The frigid cold gripped Anton’s face, and he wondered if the children or Ibine were uncomfortable. The chilling breeze made him think of glacier ice, and he remembered learning that ice-age glaciers had left his Denmark an undulating flatland well suited to farming and agriculture. He was grateful that at least a few years of formal education were mandatory—that his country believed in the virtues of learning and working. He saw ships’ masts in the harbor poking above the fields.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant; new country?”
Then he and his little family turned the corner of the last block. They could see the ice-covered water clearly. Anthon felt the whitened wool next to his skin. He had been ordered to wear it constantly since his illness. His illness! Yes, he remembered the birth of his testimony. He had been healed after 12 months of life and death struggle with pneumonia. The elders had said that with faith and a special blessing called administration he could be healed. He had submitted to their counsel and believed. Shortly after, Anthon had resolutely cleared away the dark clouds that had been gathering around his search for truth. He told the ministers of the other churches that he could not serve two masters. (See Matt. 6:24.) They had been good neighborhood friends, but with his decision to join the Mormons, that friendship ended—the ministers gave him up as a lost soul.
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to their warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.
“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came from my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”

May I now paint a picture of such a situation. In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Recent orthopedic surgery performed by Dr. Oborn had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania. I’m sure fervent prayers were offered by this doctor who had done all he could without a walking aid for the boy. Blindness can hamper a child, but inability to walk, to run, to play can injure his precious spirit.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40-foot container filled with 40,000 pounds of needed supplies, including food, clothing, medicine, blankets, and toys. The project deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped that day.
No one involved with the project knew of the particular need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a child’s walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn was present as it was opened. Every item it contained would be put to immediate use at the orphanage. As the Headlee family introduced themselves to Dr. Oborn, he said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members responded, “I can vaguely remember something like a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member was dispatched back into the container, crawling among all the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he lifted it up and cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker was a willing vessel and surely would agree.
Who was the angel of mercy touched by the Lord to play a vital role in this human drama? Her name is Kristin. She is the daughter of Kurt and Melodie Bestor. Kristin was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika. The two children have spent long days and worrisome nights in the hospital. Modern medicine, lovingly practiced, along with help from our Heavenly Father have brought a measure of mobility to each. Neither is downhearted. Both inspire others to carry on. Last month Kristin and Erika entertained guests celebrating the 75th anniversary of Primary Children’s Medical Center. They sang with their father and mother, and then the girls movingly sang a duet. Each person in the audience had red-rimmed eyes; handkerchiefs were everywhere displayed. These girls, this family, had overcome sorrow and brought joy to the lives of others.
Kristin’s father said to me that evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefited.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair. “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord. You have been the instrument in the Lord’s hands to answer a doctor’s prayer, a child’s wish.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration held for the benefit of children, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own “Thank you” to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

It was a busy summer for Matt Morris, a senior at Indio (California) High School. Just before the spring term ended, he was elected student body-president of the 2,500-student school and was also chosen to represent the United States in a series of wrestling tournaments in Japan.
Matt, who was named most outstanding wrestler on his school’s junior varsity team last season and who has also competed on the varsity squad the past two years, was selected for the trip to Japan on the basis of wrestling, scholastic achievement, and citizenship.
“He is a leader and leads by doing things right,” said his wrestling coach, John Rice, upon announcing the selection. “He is very coachable and a real student of wrestling, as well as being outstanding both academically and morally. We tried to choose somebody who would be a good representative of the United States, and with Matt there was just no question.”
The team, made up of wrestlers from the Southern California Section of the Amateur Athletic Union, would take part in as many as ten matches during a 25-day stay in Japan in August.
Matt is an active member of Indio Ward, Palm Springs California Stake, and has served as president of the deacons and teachers quorums and as vice president of his school class.
“I was certainly surprised but also thrilled and honored to be able to represent our country in Japan,” he said. “I know that there are better wrestlers than I am at our school and that other things were involved in the decision. It’s nice to know that doing your best and trying to be good can have its rewards.”
The 16-year-old youth, who has nearly a straight A average, has won awards for his piano-playing ability, breeds pigeons for a hobby, and is quick to acknowledge that support from his family has been important in his busy life.
“The willingness of my family to help me has made it possible for me to put so much time into wrestling and my other activities,” he said.

Frost was still in the air the morning the young men and women went door-to-door in their ward areas reminding people to donate items in good or reparable condition. Couches, lamps, dolls, toasters, an adding machine, desks, chairs, and other household wares soon bulged the sides of two large trucks, with more contributions still coming. One neighborhood florist donated a whole van full of Christmas decorations. One young man, enthused by the spirit of giving, pedaled up on his used bicycle and donated it to the drive. Half a dozen truckloads of usable items were amassed during the day.

Thirty-eight years ago my husband and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple by President Gordon B. Hinckley. The counsel and direction he gave us that day have become a beacon for our lives. When we left the temple as husband and wife, we went to a park near the temple grounds and recorded in a journal the words of wisdom we had received. He counseled us to always remember our prayers night and morning, to pray as a couple and as a family. He counseled us to always pay a full and honest tithing. He counseled us to read the scriptures daily and to apply the principles in our lives. And he counseled us to remain worthy. He said, “Always live in such a way that when you need the Lord’s blessings, you can call upon Him and receive them because you are worthy.” He said: “There will come times in your life when you will need immediate blessings. You will need to live in such a way that they will be granted—not out of mercy but because you are worthy.” I didn’t comprehend then what that meant, but in the 38 years that have followed, we have called upon our Father in Heaven for many “immediate blessings.” Daily, these holy habits and righteous routines have helped steady us on the path that leads back into our Father’s presence. And today I say, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”

This story took place in the USA.
Janie closed her book and sighed happily. This book was her favorite! She had already finished it three times. She loved to read!
“Do you think I could build a little library?” Janie asked Mom and Dad later that day. She wanted to help others by sharing books with them.
“What’s a little library?” Dad asked.
“It’s a box that you put outside with books in it,” Janie said. “People can borrow them for free. Or they can leave books for others to read.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “We can help you build it.”
“Thanks!” said Janie. “Maybe we can have a bake sale to earn money for the supplies!”Janie and her sister, Carli, made signs announcing the bake sale. They placed them around the neighborhood. Mom and Dad let people know about the bake sale online. Janie was so excited!
Janie had a lot of fun making the treats. She made cookies, crispy cereal bars, and snowball cakes.
Soon the day of the bake sale came. Janie, Carli, and their friend Bella put a table in the front yard. They sold treats to a lot of their neighbors. Some people donated extra money too. Janie put all the money in a special jar.
After the bake sale, Janie had another idea. She entered some of her favorite treats into a contest at the county fair and won a prize! She put the prize money in the jar with the other money for her little library.
Now that Janie had the money for the little library, she needed books to fill it with. She went from door to door and asked her neighbors to donate books they didn’t need anymore. Some friends came by to give Janie their books too.
It was finally time to build her little library. Janie used the money she’d earned to buy supplies. She drew a design of the box and made measurements. Dad helped her cut the wood, and Janie helped him put the pieces together.
Mom filled in the cracks and seams to keep the water out when it rained. Janie helped hang up a sign telling people to take a book or share a book.
Finally Janie and her family took the box out to the front yard next to their big, shady tree. Dad put a post in the ground, and together they put the box on the post. They had made a little library!
Dad placed three heavy rocks around the post. “That should keep it from blowing over,” he said.
“I love it!” Janie said. “Now we can put the books inside.” They filled the little library with the donated books.
After that, Janie went to check the little library every day. She loved to see what books people added or took out. One day she saw a little girl choose one of Janie’s own favorite books! She was so glad she could help her neighbors by sharing books in the little library.
Illustration by Barbara Bongini

John Sonnenberg, a great Regional Representative, related this experience as a young dentist. They had seven children, all young, and only one car. When his wife went to town she had to take the bus. One day she and the seven children were waiting for the bus. When the bus stopped, the children and Sister Sonnenberg boarded. She put her token in and then stood and put one token in the box for each of her seven children. The bus driver was amazed, and he said, “Lady, are these all your children, or is this a picnic?”
She responded, “They are all my children, and it’s no picnic!”

When I was a young boy in Long Island, New York, a robin built her nest every year on the roof of our home. We used to watch as she had her little ones. She fed them and nurtured them. And when it was time for them to fly, she gently and lovingly would nudge them out of the nest. They would glide to the ground, their wings fluttering—unsure, afraid, and not knowing how to fly. Then the mother would go down to the ground and help them learn how to find their food and teach them how to fly. She wanted to help them to be on their own.

It brought me great sorrow each year when I would find a young bird that tried to “do it alone.” Often he would be found dead in the rock garden below among the lilies of the valley.