Gospel Story Finder

For a more specific example of this realization, not too long ago, I was reading books that my friends (many of whom are members of the Church) were reading.
Often, I would be enjoying the stories, only to be unexpectedly jarred by profanity or sexual content.
For a while, I convinced myself this wasn’t a big deal. They were just books, right? Everyone from the millions of readers on social media to my friends seemed to be reading them with no complaints.
So how could I not agree?
I enjoyed these books and wanted to be part of conversations about them! Deep down, though, they were affecting me and my outlook on life and relationships. But I was afraid to stop reading them because I didn’t want to be seen as prudish or immature.
The Lord offers this warning: “The weak things of the world shall come forth and break down the mighty and strong ones, that man should not counsel his fellow man, neither trust in the arm of flesh” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:19).
This helped me realize I needed to be honest with myself.
I was justifying my behavior by following everyone else’s choices. I was fearing their judgment and ignoring the Spirit’s red flags instead of heeding His warnings.
A few years ago, President Nelson invited us to fast from social media for 10 days. While studying his challenge recently, I noticed that in addition to social media, he included “any other media that bring negative and impure thoughts to your mind.”
So I started taking note of what content I am sensitive to. I’ve tried to establish better habits with the media I consume. Media use isn’t inherently bad, but it’s always important to make sure we pay attention to the Spirit when consuming it.
If you are having trouble knowing where to make changes in your media habits, try asking yourself questions like these:
Are you feeling uplifted and inspired? Or numb and lonely?
Have you felt any discomfort that might be prompting you to step away from certain content?
Are you feeling a need to “fit in” with others by watching or reading certain media?
Are you being honest with yourself?
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently taught, “It takes a courageous and a willing heart to pause and pursue an honest and meek introspection to acknowledge the presence of weaknesses of the flesh in our life that may impede our ability to submit ourselves to God, and ultimately decide to adopt His way rather than our own.”
And he’s right. It can be hard to acknowledge our weaknesses and make changes that align with God instead of the world. I still have a lot of work to do when it comes to my media choices (and all my choices), but I’m striving to do better each day.
We have the beautiful promise of having the Spirit as our constant companion as we renew our covenants through the sacrament each week and through the gift of repentance. As we do this—and are truly honest with ourselves—we can “resensitize” our hearts to His guiding influence.
I know that we can always try again when we don’t always make choices that align with the Lord’s commandments. But by focusing on Jesus Christ, we can increase the Spirit’s influence in our lives and limit the world’s.

I went off to school that fall. I was on the track team, and though I was not a star that year, I ran straight and hard. When I came home that summer, I had an interview with my bishop to begin the work of serving a mission. It didn’t take place in a bishop’s office, but in a blue, two-story home in south San Francisco. I sat on the edge of a bed, and the bishop pulled close his favorite old chair. He seemed a little hesitant. His eyes were wet.
“Tom, you are a Rosa,” he began. “And you are a Latter-day Saint.”
“Yes.”
“If you honor your family, you will honor your church. If you honor your church, you will honor your family.”
“I understand that.”
After asking me the normal missionary interview questions, he concluded, “You will do good. You will be a fine missionary.”
Then he told me to go help Mom in the kitchen. I looked back at him as I left. His hair was mostly gray now, and his arms were not as thickly muscled as before. He sat in his chair and stared out the window at ten thousand sparkling lights on the hillside across the bay from our home. I wondered if he knew how proud I was to be his son and how much it meant to me to share his good name. I walked downstairs realizing that all those years I had been running, my father had been growing, and I would never lack for someone to look up to.

I also remember the day I discovered death. I was 16 and had a brand-new 20-gauge shotgun. I had gone pheasant hunting that morning and, like every hunt since I had been given the gun, had failed to hit anything. It was late afternoon, and I was skirting a hill north of my home when I saw a bird standing about 18 meters in front of me. I raised the shotgun and fired. A cloud of dust and feathers signaled a direct hit.
I ran to the spot and there found, flapping painfully on the ground, a wounded meadowlark. It stopped moving as I reached down to pick it up. Instantly, the excitement drained from the day, and in the pit of my stomach grew a sickness I’ve since learned to call disgust. I had killed, not for food or for any other useful reason, but simply for the pleasure of killing. I was ashamed. The meadowlark was gone—and with it a small part of my youth.

At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.
“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.
About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.
On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.
A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”
Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.

For me and my wife, Karri, our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative. Though we met in the sixth grade (as a sidenote, I fell for her hard in elementary school—she took a little bit longer), it was as a young married couple at BYU–Hawaii when we became determined to put our faith in Jesus Christ. We entered with almost nothing and left tightly bound to each other and to the Savior, Jesus Christ. As our relationship with Jesus Christ grew during that time, it allowed the BYU–Hawaii experience to transform us. That experience prepared us for our lives today and will prove to have prepared us for the life to come. Just as our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative for us, your experience at BYU can be transformative if you involve Jesus Christ in the journey!

I enjoy all the Church magazines very much. Until I left home and went on a mission, I never fully realized how filled they were with the words of the Lord as spoken through his prophets and other inspired men and women. I am working diligently to share the gospel with a girl back home in Virginia, and I have been turning more and more to the Church magazines in my efforts to fully answer her many questions.
My missionary apartment has a good-sized stack of Church magazines, of course, so one day I went through the whole stack, picking out those that I thought my friend would benefit from. When I finished, the stack I had picked out was larger than the stack that was left. I knew I couldn’t send that many magazines, so I tried again. About halfway through I stopped because every magazine had at least one good article or message. Finally I gritted my teeth and picked out the very best, but I still sent her a good-sized stack, along with a subscription to the New Era and the Ensign. I know that every one of those 23 issues will help her testimony grow, just as anyone reading them, member or nonmember, will be touched by them in some way.
Elder WoodmanIowa Des Moines Mission

1. Grace was nervous. She was going to sing with her little brother, Ethan, in sacrament meeting.
2. When it was time for Grace and Ethan to sing, Grace looked at Mom. “You can do it, Grace,” Mom whispered.
3. Grace and Ethan walked to the front of the chapel and stood behind the podium so that everyone could see them. Grace saw Dad smiling at her.
4. When the music started, Grace and Ethan sang “Jesus Has Risen.” Grace remembered all of the words and all of the notes.
5. When the song ended, Grace gave Ethan a big hug. Grace felt happy inside.
6. Grace and Ethan walked back to their seats and sat next to Mom and Dad. They were happy too. “That was beautiful,” Dad whispered.
7. Grace smiled. She was glad she and her brother could sing about Jesus.

In closing I want to share a special moment in the history of these united institutions. 1966 was very important in the history of the Polynesian Cultural Center. Since the opening of the PCC in 1963 great efforts had been expended to make the Center well known. These efforts seemed to lead to a grand pinnacle with a mainland tour of the Night Show in late summer of 1966. The PCC student performers toured Southern California and Utah. The show, titled, "Festival Polynesia," consisted of 175 performers.

After months of dedicated rehearsing the two-week tour began at Hollywood Bowl on August 31, 1966. Almost one hundred thousand people attended the four performances, the largest audiences of the season. Newspaper and magazine reviews were nearly ecstatic. Robert Riley, music critic of the Los Angeles Times, wrote, "In the 50 years of its history, it is unlikely that Hollywood Bowl has ever been the scene of a more uniquely beautiful spectacle than 'Festival Polynesia,'" and that the show was providing "nights of never-to-be-forgotten gifts on Los Angeles. " One critic said the presentation of the fire-knife dancers was "utterly spectacular, with flaming torches tossed about recklessly and men with seemingly asbestos skins rivaling Indian fakirs in their disregard of danger as they leaped over the flames and smothered them with their bare bodies." Portions of "Festival Polynesia" were taped during the day at the Bowl for showing on September 18, on the "Ed Sullivan Show. " For the PCC this was all a smashing success.

For a group of Latter-day Saint students from the islands the tour would have been disappointing without a visit to the center of the Mormon Church. After a train trip to Salt Lake City, the group performed six times at the Highland High School auditorium. The performances were extremely well accepted, but for the Church College of Hawai'i students, their visit in his office at Church headquarters with President David O. McKay, the founder of the College and the PCC, and again the next day with him at his home in Huntsville, Utah, were the highlights of the tour. Ninety-two-year-old President McKay and his wife, Emma Rae, greeted the Polynesian students on the front porch of their country home. Having visited in 1921 all of the island groups represented, and again during the 1950s, President McKay had a special attachment and affection for the farewell songs of the islands. Among the farewell songs sung that day in Huntsville was Samoa's "Goodbye My Feleni," goodbye my friend. The words, "Oh, I never will forget you," touched every heart. As Craig Ferre wrote, "Having never lost sight of his goals for the Polynesians, [President] McKay had been instrumental in making possible, in a sense, for them to be there. Now at first hand he was able to witness the fruits of his labors. And surely all those assembled there never forgot that experience. As they were about to leave, President McKay told them: 'This is marvelous. I never will forget you. You make this spot more hallowed.'"

Before I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 14, my family lived in a house that belonged to Sister Gladys, a member of the Church. I was not interested in anything Sister Gladys said about the Church because I believed I was happy as I was.
Then, after much suffering, my father died. My mother and I loved him with all our hearts. His death did not leave my mother and me well off—either economically or spiritually.
My life became filled with bitterness and pain. Sometimes I thought God did not love me and had forsaken us. My mom had to go to work, and I was alone all day, crying and remembering the things we had done with my dad. I didn’t have many friends and didn’t want to do anything.
One day, Julian, Sister Gladys’s son, asked me if I wanted to talk to the missionaries. I told him no at first, but he seemed so disappointed I decided I would.
The missionaries greeted me kindly and introduced themselves. They looked so happy I decided to take the discussions.
During one of the discussions, they told me I could see my father again, he could be baptized by proxy, and we could be an eternal family. From that moment, I knew God had heard me and He loved me greatly. I decided to be baptized.
After my baptism, I wanted to share the truth with my mother, but she was not interested. We argued a lot because I had changed religions.
I kept praying and hoping that someday my mother would be baptized. After three years and many prayers, her heart was softened and she joined the Church. Now we live very happily, and our goal is to be sealed in the temple. And as if these were not enough blessings, the Church is now building a temple in my country!
I know that this is the true Church and that God loves us very much. I know that I am going to see my father again and that we can be a happy, eternal family.

Several years ago, while serving as a bishop, an individual came to me one night who wanted to talk. I could tell his heart was very heavy. Essentially, he wanted to get something off his chest, and it was something that had occurred many years before, while he was married with a young family. When he told me about it, he also indicated that he had thought about confessing the issue to previous bishops, but he had always worried about what they would think of him. He explained that it was bothering him more than ever before. You see, he had known it was wrong at the time he had done it, but minimized it, convincing himself that because it was not a widespread, ongoing thing that he had done, it could be "brushed off." This brother had served faithfully in the Church and was a wonderful husband and father. However, over the years, he had never forgotten his actions, and his recollection of it was like a ball and chain that he had carried around all those years. Are we more concerned about what others might think of us when making decisions in our lives, and does it impact our ability to choose the right? Are we considerate enough to ourselves to be honest with ourselves? Are there things in our life that we justify because it is a "little thing" but, if we are to be completely honest with ourselves, we may need to forsake them, confess, and apply the Atonement so that we truthfully can say we are honest and possess integrity? In the case of this good man, he had justified his actions, but in fact he knew it was wrong and sought to deny what he already knew to be true.

I recall my first acquaintance with Elder Spencer W. Kimball many years ago when he served as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve and I served as a young bishop in Salt Lake City. One morning, when I answered my telephone, a voice said, “This is Elder Spencer W. Kimball. I have a favor to ask of you. In your ward, hidden away behind a large building on Fifth South Street, is a tiny trailer home. Living there is Margaret Bird, a Navajo widow. She feels unwanted, unneeded, and lost. Could you and the Relief Society presidency seek her out, extend to her the hand of fellowship, and provide her a special welcome?” This we did.
A miracle resulted. Margaret Bird blossomed in her newfound environment. Despair disappeared. The widow in her affliction had been visited. The lost sheep had been found. Each one who participated in the simple human drama emerged a better person.
In reality, the true shepherd was the concerned Apostle who, leaving the ninety and nine of his ministry, went in search of the precious soul who was lost. Spencer W. Kimball had walked the pathway Jesus walked.

President Benson, I’m proud to say that Primary children have this year read and discussed the Book of Mormon. Nine-year-old Matt in Wisconsin spoke in the children’s sacrament meeting presentation in his ward recently about something he had learned that brought him peace. He said:
“When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, and my ward. Luckily we got to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months, and we missed having a house and our ‘precious things.’
“My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would ‘prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
“I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brothers and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.”

After I had been married for a few years and just before I finished my master’s degree at BYU, the Lord blessed us with a child. Everything seemed normal with the pregnancy, until I delivered. Thankfully my son was just fine, but I nearly bled to death during the birth and then again six weeks later. It turns out I have a condition called Asherman’s syndrome, which causes excessive growth of scar tissue in my womb. As a consequence, when I get pregnant, the baby’s placenta grows lobes in and around scar tissue, resembling more of an octopus than the nice round organ that it is supposed to be. It also makes delivering the placenta extremely difficult. However, we did not learn this at the time, and after an emergency ­dilation and curettage procedure, I thought all was well.

Upon becoming pregnant with our second child during my PhD program at Arizona State University, signs began to indicate that all was not well. After a frantic drive to the emergency room in the middle of the night because I had awoken in a pool of blood, we found out that our precious baby had implanted right at the opening of the cervix—a condition called placenta previa—­having nowhere else to go due to scar tissue. After six more months of hospital visits, scares of losing the baby, and being driven around in a disabilities cart to all my classes at ASU, I delivered a second healthy baby boy. And, once again, I nearly bled to death, this time quite significantly, to the point of having some serious complications and needing blood transfusions. It was then that I discovered my problem and was told that I would likely not be able to have any more children.

Now I had two beautiful boys, and I certainly felt blessed beyond measure, but I had always had it in my mind that I would have a bigger family, and this news was devastating.

At this point I had two problems to fix—two puzzles to solve—and I needed two solutions:
1. My soul had been injured. I longed for more children and my heart ached. How would I heal my soul?
2. My body was broken. How would I heal my body?

I know that the Lord can do all things. He could remove my trials from me and grant me a miraculous healing, without me lifting a finger. But I can tell you with fervent belief that my trials have a purpose; they have made me stronger and more empathetic. I am grateful for my trials. As the Lord explained to Joseph Smith:

If fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and . . . if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. [D&C 122:7]

So I needed this trial, and the Lord had a plan. I could have just sat back and prayed, putting all responsibility on God, and waited for Him to bestow a miracle upon me. Instead I went and searched diligently “out of the best books” (D&C 109:7), learned all that I could learn, and sought the guidance of the medical community in helping me navigate these uncharted waters—all with a prayer continually in my heart that God would help me bring my own miracle to pass.

After finding a world-renowned surgeon who specialized in Asherman’s syndrome, my husband and I headed to California for several surgeries, long agonizing nights in hotels with me sick from pain medications, and complicated recoveries.

But a year later I brought my son Gage into the world, and after another round of surgeries, I brought my fourth son, Emmitt, into the world four years later. I have been greatly blessed. So many women with this condition never have children at all, and I feel deep sorrow and sympathy for their plight. For whatever reason, the Lord saw fit to bless me with a miracle. But that miracle came about through the angels who work in medicine and the healing of my soul through much prayer and supplication. I am grateful that I can have both at work in my life.

You are a lucky one if nobody has even offered you a cigarette. I was not so lucky.

It began with what I thought was going to be dinner at a small cafe. After we were on our way, my best friend informed me that really we were going to a party at someone’s house. Instead of insisting that I be taken home right away, I went along. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two came when I decided that I looked stupid being the only one not drinking, so I gave in and had a few drinks. That started my trouble with alcohol.

I wish I could let someone else feel the way it feels when you are in that kind of a prison. Your whole sense of reality is numbed to the point that you don’t care what you do anymore. So be scared! It will save a lot of tears and heartache, and maybe your life if you’ll only be scared!

Always know that there is a way back if you stray from the iron rod. But it saves you a lot of pain and time and embarrassment if you never let go.

Just remember that your Heavenly Father loves you so much that he gave his Son for you. Please don’t throw that away.

Name withheld

I like chemistry, football, fried chicken, a cute girl, and strawberry malts. I guess you can say that I am an average American guy—except for one thing. I don’t think anyone who has a sister like mine can be all average. I mean, she doesn’t just giggle, comb her hair for hours, fill your nostrils with the aroma of hair spray, and monopolize the bathroom to put on her make-up, but she saves things too. Like when she came home from kindergarten the first day carrying an empty milk carton. That’s when it started.
“You’re not supposed to bring that home,” I told her. “When you get through drinking the milk, you throw the carton in the trash can.”
“I know,” she answered as she opened a drawer and tucked it neatly inside, “but I want to save it.”
“What for?” I persisted. “Are you going to make something out of it?”
“No,” she said, closing the drawer, “I’m just going to save it.”
“Boy, that’s dumb. Mom,” I called, pursuing the subject further, “Lisa has a milk carton in her drawer, and it will probably sour and smell the whole house up. She isn’t going to use it, so why is she saving it?”
Mom smiled. “Well,” she said, “this is her first day at school, the first time she’s been given milk in a small carton. I guess it represents a happy memory.”
That was just the beginning. She saved everything. I mean I can understand kids saving useful things like marbles, bicycle valve caps, and bugs for scientific research. I could even understand my sister saving outdated clothes to remodel, because Mom said that was being conservative, but I think everything that came into her possession she kept. The older she got the more she saved. She saved test papers, banquet favors, pressed corsages, ticket stubs, and programs.
Now, I suppose all this would have been tolerable if it hadn’t been for the string. Suddenly she started saving string. Not long lengths, but bits and pieces.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“For nothing,” she snapped defensively. “I’m just saving it. Is there a law against that?”
I couldn’t believe it. I decided she was a real dumb-dumb. Now, don’t get me wrong. Just because I thought she was dumb didn’t mean I didn’t like her, and it didn’t mean that anyone else could make fun of her, for if they did they would have me to settle with. Like the time Mom said I couldn’t go fishing with Jim unless I took Lisa along. She and Dad were planning to be gone for the day, and she didn’t want Lisa to stay home alone. Boy, I was pretty burned up over that. A twelve-year-old guy having to take his kid sister fishing! I grumbled and complained and yelled at her all the way. But when Jim started yelling at her and grumbling because she was along, it made me plain boil.
“What’s the matter with Lisa going fishing with us?” I bristled. “She’s my sister, and if she wants to go fishing, she can.”
Jim was so surprised he didn’t say anything. Lisa was so surprised she dropped the rock she had been holding, and I was so surprised at what I had said that I picked it up and gave it back to her—to save.
But what really takes the cake about all this saving is what I discovered the day Mom was helping Lisa clean her room. I stepped in to see if either of them could tell me what had happened to my blue sweat shirt. I knew if Lisa had seen it, it was safe, but Mom sometimes got carried away and burned things just because they were ten years old, full of holes, and covered with paint smears and grease spots. She never burned things like banquet favors or pressed corsages, just sweat shirts.
“I didn’t burn it,” Mom said patiently. “I didn’t throw it away. In fact, I haven’t seen it since the day you were washing the car with it.”
“Oh, yes!” I remembered and was standing there wondering if I had hung it up to dry so it would be wearable to goof around in, when I caught sight of the curler bag on Lisa’s bed. It wasn’t the bag that captured my attention exactly, it was the fact that instead of curlers it was full of string, bits and pieces.
“What in the world!” I picked it up and read the small neatly handwritten note pasted on the outside, “String too short to use.”
I started laughing.
“Give it here,” Lisa cried, snatching it out of my hands.
“String too short to use!” I doubled over with laughter. “Man, I can’t believe you’re for real.”
“Mother!” Lisa was close to tears.
“Son—” Mom started.
“But she says herself that the string is too short to use.” I defended myself. “If she can’t use it then she isn’t being conservative, and I don’t believe this represents memories. No one has that many happy memories,” I teased as I darted out the door still laughing.
Actually the string incident came in very handy, for I used it constantly as a weapon. For instance, when Lisa started teasing me when I let my hair grow longer than usual, I reminded her of her useless string, and she said no more.
Then I met this kind of special girl. She liked football and fried chicken and strawberry malts; and I liked her.
When we got married, I decided I was the luckiest guy ever. It was somewhere around this time I decided that I was pretty lucky not to be all average. In fact, it was the evening Ann and I were looking at our wedding gifts in our apartment. I picked up this one gift, and as a kind of lump came in my throat, I realized that if it had been a large amount of money, it wouldn’t have been as nice as it was. The homemade article represented many things, among them a kind of forgiveness.
Ann came up in back of the chair in which I was sitting and put her arms around my neck. “I wonder who that is from,” she said as she leaned over and read the unsigned note pinned on the pretty velvet cushion.
I started to tell her, but the lump in my throat kept me from speaking. “I’ll explain later,” I said finally.
Then I unpinned the note and read the neatly handwritten message once more.
It said, “This cushion is filled with all my love and the string too short to use.”

There are many opportunities all around us to be missionaries—we just need to recognize them. I was recently on an airplane flying home from England. I started talking to the man sitting next to me. We talked for a while about business and other things, but finally I said that I wanted to tell him about a very special book, the Book of Mormon. We spent the next four hours talking about it, and when we were through, he said, “This has truly changed my life.” All it took was the courage to open my mouth. The Lord will often tell us what to say.

In New Zealand, it isn’t just the girls who get a summer camp. The young men of Tokoroa recently received invites to a “missionary training camp” to promote both Scouting and missionary service.
The camp was divided into four “missions,” and the boys were taught first aid, problem solving alone, and problem solving with a quorum. They listened to guest speakers talk about missionary skills and preparation. They had a number of experiences that helped them grow physically, mentally, and spiritually.
“I enjoyed it soooooo much,” said Lucky Manu. “It has built my confidence to serve the Lord, wear the badge, and be proud to be a missionary.”

A wedge of young people climbed the last hill looking upward to the first rays of the morning sun. For college students they seemed strangely quiet as they approached the little clearing. It was a time for spiritual rejuvenation and the culmination of the Utah State University student ward reunion, according to Don Thorpe, photographer. First the sacrament was passed to all present. Then the sweet feelings inside became vocal in the testimony meeting as someone said:

“I attended the Palmyra Pageant and a testimony meeting in the Sacred Grove; now I have the same feeling here as I did at that holy place.” Others voiced similar feelings. Tears came gently to the surface. “Somehow now I feel my life hasn’t been all that it should have been. … I want to do better.” Warming smiles were shared, and strangers became close friends in an instant. There was an aura of love all around; no one feared saying what was felt inside; understanding sank deep into full hearts.

Nearly all of the forty students present had stood on their feet to voice their love and dedication when the meeting finished almost two and a half hours later. Again there was a reverent stillness as the group filed down the hill. They were leaving this spot of sacred experience, but the moment would stay in their memories.

Growing up, I believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ with all my heart, and I did everything I could to live righteously. And I wanted and expected my family to live righteously as well. The knowledge of the gospel gave me more joy than anything else in my life, especially knowing that I could be with my family for eternity.
So you can imagine how confused and hurt I was when my older brother started growing more and more distant from the gospel and also from my family and me. Ultimately, he left the Church altogether.
For a while, it felt like my world had exploded. I had so many questions:
How could he leave?
How could he not want all the blessings that living the gospel brings?
Doesn’t he want to be with our family forever?
At the beginning, I was angry with my brother. When I would hear my friends talk about how protective their older brothers were and how close their family was, I would feel devastated that my brother and I hadn’t talked for a long time. My dream of being together with my entire family in heaven seemed to be slipping away.
I would often look at the seemingly “perfect” families at church and feel like my family was doing something wrong. If we were righteous enough, wouldn’t my brother come back to the Church? But no matter what we did, my brother still wouldn’t come back.
I prayed to Heavenly Father about my brother all the time. I felt so angry and hurt. I would ask things like, “Why is this happening?” “Can’t you help him know the truth?” “Please change something!”
I did this for a while, and nothing changed. I didn’t understand why God wasn’t doing anything. But then, one day, something finally clicked. I realized there was something I could do.
I could love.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught:
“When you truly desire to bless and lift up those around you—then the power of the pure love of Christ can work in your heart and life.
“As you become fluent in [the language of the love of Christ] and use it in your interactions with others, they will recognize something in you that may awaken in them a long-hidden feeling to search for the right way on the journey back to their heavenly home. After all, the language of love is their true native language too.”1
Things started to change when I showed my brother my love for him instead of trying to change him. I started to pray for him out of love rather than anger. I could see that his heart was beginning to soften—not necessarily toward the gospel, but toward my family and me. And I realized that my heart needed to soften toward him too (see Mosiah 5:7). I began to see his goodness again, and I started to accept and respect his decisions, even though they were different from mine. I know those changes to my heart and mind could have only been made through the healing power of Jesus Christ.
Heavenly Father really does answer our prayers for others, even if it is not always in the way we expect him to. But just as Heavenly Father heard Alma the Elder’s prayers for his son, He hears our prayers for those we love (see Mosiah 27:14). And even though we might have to have a lot of patience and hope, our continuous prayers and faith for others really do have a mighty influence on them—and us. Much more than we might ever know.
My brother hasn’t come back to the Church, and I don’t think he plans to anytime soon. But I’ve learned that he has his own agency and that even if he chooses differently than I do, I can love and respect him anyway. We have a better relationship than we’ve had in years because of the love we show each other. I don’t always agree with his choices or his opinions, but by doing my best to understand him better, I’ve been able to get a glimpse of just how much Heavenly Father loves and knows each of His children.
The key to keeping families together and reaching each other’s hearts isn’t condemning each other’s choices; ultimately it’s love—the pure love of Christ. I can never force my brother to return to the gospel, but I can love him and help him know that he is always welcome.
I still pray and fast for my brother, and yet I’ve realized that his choices are his own. Our journey back to Heavenly Father is an individual one between each of us and Him. But we can turn to Heavenly Father and the Savior for help in supporting one another on our individual journeys and loving one another all the same.
I don’t know what will happen in the end when it comes to my eternal family, and sometimes I feel a little heartbroken when I think about it. But I take comfort in the words of President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency:
“Trust in the Lord. …
“[This] applies to unanswered questions about sealings in the next life or desired readjustments because of events or transgressions in mortality. There is so much we do not know that our only sure reliance is to trust in the Lord and His love for His children.”2
And that’s what I choose to do—to trust in the Lord and to share His love—no matter what.

I used to keep all my money in my sock drawer. It was really simple to budget: when I ran out, well, I ran out. But managing my money from my dresser drawer forever just wasn’t realistic. I found that out when I got my first job and then again when I went away to college. My expenses seemed to skyrocket, and keeping track of my money was no longer an easy task. I wanted to be better at managing my money, but setting up a budget at that point appeared overwhelming. If only I had known how easy and important it is.