Gospel Story Finder

James organized a dozen Scouts who worked with him to clean out underbrush, build a series of natural stair steps, and add half a mile to a hiking path in a remote area of Franklin State Forest outside Sewanee. They properly identified the trail with new blazing marks and corrected or eliminated old ones. “We hiked two hours in and two hours out, carrying a lot of gear both ways,” he says. It took two full days of work, not counting all the phone calls coordinating crews, material, and equipment. “But as we worked together, along with getting the job done, we joked and laughed and had a good time,” he says.

Shane (name has been changed) knows what it’s like to be a slave to drugs. He was experiencing major amounts of stress and depression in his life and wanted relief. He smoked his first marijuana joint when he was 16, only a week after he took his first drink of alcohol with some friends on New Year’s Eve.

“We thought it would be fun. And we wanted to be cool with each other and feel important and stuff,” he says. “I really didn’t know what I wanted. I should have stuck to my standards.”

His first experience with marijuana led him to other drugs like prescription pain killers and cocaine. In less than a year, Shane went from being an active Church member and a good student and worker to being a heroin addict, alienated from the Church and failing in school and at work. “In the end I was doing heroin seven or eight times a day. It went pretty fast.”

“I had a job, but I was stealing money, robbing houses, trying to rip off kids. I started selling drugs to make more money.” His health started to go downhill, too. “I got skinny, and I just really didn’t care about myself. I damaged my heart and lungs and other organs.”

His life was falling apart physically and spiritually. His family was suffering as well. “Watching Shane suffer emotionally, physically, and spiritually was very painful,” says his mother. “When one person struggles, the entire family is affected. It can also have devastating repercussions, even outside the immediate family. It was a very sad thing for all who knew Shane to experience.”

He was caught abusing prescription drugs and attended a treatment program. “I came back, and I got right back into it,” he says. He was suspended from school for a year and court-ordered to another treatment program. For Shane, getting caught and forced into treatment saved him.

His family stood with him through the treatment program, and they continue to support him as he struggles to get his life back. As they do this, they rely on the gospel and on the Savior’s Atonement.

“Without our Savior and His Atoning sacrifice, what hope would there be for somebody like Shane who has completely stripped themselves of all the survival keys the gospel gives?” Shane’s mother says.

“It’s hard to repent,” says Shane. “You go through a lot.”

Confessing to his priesthood leaders and others he had wronged was difficult. But Shane learned a new level of honesty as he worked through the process that will serve as a foundation for recovery throughout his life. He feels good about where he is now and is hopeful about the future.

For others, Shane has a warning: “Those kids that try to get you into drugs don’t really care about you. They just care about the drugs. You have to realize where drugs are going to lead you. Just never get yourself in that situation.”

“It definitely has changed my life,” Shane says. “I will always struggle with it.” But he is quick to point out that recovery and healing is possible for anybody caught up in drugs and that it’s never too late to stop.

Shane and his mother say they feel that not many people understood what their family went through. Many people ignored them and only a few talked directly about their struggles. Shane’s mother says, “The most wonderful thing anyone can do is to be open and honest. Ask how they are doing. Honest concern will help.”

Only a week had passed since Heather’s baptism, and she felt miserable. She could still remember the fresh, clean feeling that had warmed her as her father helped her back up the steps of the baptismal font. I want to feel this good forever, she had thought at the time. Now she wondered if that happiness would ever return.
Earlier today, with her best friend, Susan, running after her, Heather had raced up the three front steps, into the house, and straight to the family room. Even snacks couldn’t have pulled them away from their plans for the afternoon. Dad had brought home a new space video game the night before, and Heather had been anxious to show Susan how she’d mastered it already. As they had burst into the family room, Heather’s redheaded brother, Sean, was sprawled sideways in a chair, watching TV. He’d just finished gluing together a model airplane, which now rested on the small table in front of him.
“Susan and I want to play the video game now,” Heather had announced. “Will you please turn the TV off?”
“Just let me finish watching this program,” Sean had answered.
“But we can’t,” Heather had wailed. “Susan has to be home in just a few minutes.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I was here first,” Sean had said testily, “and I want to see the end of this show.”
Stiffening, Heather had said, “You always get here first; it’s not fair!” She had headed for the TV to turn it off. But before she’d gotten there, she had seen the newly completed model airplane. And before she’d thought twice about it, Heather had snatched the plane and thrown it to the floor. Bits of broken wood had flown in every direction. She hadn’t waited for Sean’s response but had grabbed Susan’s hand and said, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Now shame clutched at Heather. She longed to tell Sean that she was sorry that she had destroyed his model airplane. Apologizing wouldn’t restore it, though.
Heather couldn’t even manage her welcome smile and hug for Dad when he strolled in the front door from the office. The most she could muster was a quiet “Hi.”
Dad gave her a squeeze anyway and asked, “What’s wrong with my girl?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he asked.
Before any words could struggle out, tears spilled from Heather’s eyes. Her sobs changed to sniffles as she told the whole story. It surprised her that telling Dad helped ease some of the misery.
Dad listened until she finished. “Well,” he said calmly, “you must feel ashamed.”
Heather looked down at her knees and nodded.
“I’m disappointed in the way you’ve acted,” Dad went on, “but your feelings of shame are an important part of repentance. We can never really repent until we are sorry for what we’ve done. I can see that you really are sorry about the way that you acted. Now, what do you think you should do next?”
“I guess first I should tell Sean that I’m sorry,” Heather answered.
“I think that that is good idea. There is someone else whom you need to apologize to as well, Heather. Do you know who He is?”
“Heavenly Father. And I’ve already done that, Dad. I prayed just a little while ago and asked Him to forgive me.”
“That’s good,” Dad said. “I can see that you know a lot about repentance already. Now there’s one more important thing that you need to do.” He explained to her that she needed to make restitution by replacing Sean’s model airplane.
After apologizing to Sean, Heather went to check the contents of her bank. Three one-dollar bills were rolled and stuffed into the plastic money jar. Dad had said that it would probably cost at least five dollars to buy a new model kit, and just to make sure that she would have enough, Heather planned to earn at least three more dollars.
The next week was a busy one for Heather. She tended her younger brother whenever Mom needed her to. Mom also paid her to clean out some kitchen drawers and cupboards and to sweep the garage. Her neighbor, Mrs. Briggs, was glad to have Heather walk her dog during the week, which added to her earnings. She helped Dad, too, by raking the lawn and weeding the flower bed.
After supper on Friday she eagerly counted her money, “One, two, three, four, five, six.” She fingered the wrinkled bills carefully before returning them to the plastic jar. “… twenty, thirty, thirty-five—six dollars and thirty-five cents!” she cried triumphantly, pushing the last nickel back into the bank. With the bank held tightly in her hand, Heather ran to find her dad. He had promised to take her to buy the new airplane kit as soon as she was ready.
When they returned from the store, Heather could hardly wait to find Sean. She pulled a sack from behind her back and held it out to him. Slowly he took it from her and asked, “What’s this?”
“Just open it. You’ll see,” Heather replied.
Sean pulled the new model kit from the sack. As he reached in and pulled out a candy bar, too, Heather glowed with almost the same sensation she’d had when she’d been baptized. She felt almost like a balloon ready to pop as she watched the smile on Sean’s face widen into a grin.
“Thanks,” he said. “Want to help me make it?”

Lee W. Johnson, who was at the time Cubmaster of Pack 218, rescued his brother from underneath a fallen haystack. “My brother was covered by a haystack four feet deep and about 20 feet square. Where do you dig? In my mind a voice said, ‘Over here.’ I dug to within six inches of my unconscious brother, and the voice said, ‘Throw the pitch fork away.’ And there he was. You have to give somebody besides myself credit for something like that.” Brother Johnson is in the Benson Ward, Benson Utah Stake.

This story happened in the USA.
Jessica fidgeted nervously in the car on the way to her aunt and uncle’s ward. Christmas was only a few days away, but she didn’t feel like celebrating.
Earlier that week there had been a fire at her house. Everyone was safe, but their home was damaged. Many of their things were ruined. Jessica and her mom, brother, and two sisters had moved in with her uncle and aunt until their house could be fixed.
Jessica’s aunt smiled at her. “I know you’ll have a great time in our Primary,” she said.
Jessica wasn’t so sure. She was nervous to go to a different Primary. I won’t know anyone, she thought. Will they be nice to me?
Jessica tried not to think about the fire as she walked to Primary. She held her little cousin Sam’s hand and helped him find his seat. The Primary sang Christmas songs about Jesus. Jessica thought about how Joseph and Mary were away from their home when Jesus was born. She wondered if they felt lost and alone, like she felt right now.
When it was time for class, Jessica felt even more nervous. Another girl smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Anna. Do you want to sit by me in class?”
Jessica smiled back. “Sure.”
In class they read in the scriptures about when Jesus Christ was born. The teacher, Sister Rios, said that the Savior was Heavenly Father’s greatest gift to the world. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,”* she read to the class.
Jessica had never thought about Jesus as a gift before. She thought about their Christmas presents that had been ruined in the fire. She loved getting presents and was sad hers were gone. But she loved Jesus even more and knew He would never go away.
At the end of class, Sister Rios took out a few small boxes from her bag. Each one held a tiny carving of baby Jesus.
“I have a gift for each of you.” Sister Rios started passing out the boxes. “It can help you remember that God loves you so much that He sent His Son for you.” Then she looked at Jessica. “Jessica, I’m so sorry. I don’t have one for you. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Jessica looked down at her hands and tried not to cry. She didn’t know she was going to be here either. She wished she could be in her own home, in her own Primary class for Christmas.
Just then, someone placed a box in her lap. She looked up and saw Anna smiling at her. “Merry Christmas! You can have mine.”
Jessica gently touched the tiny baby Jesus figure. “Thank you! Merry Christmas to you too!”
After church, Mom gave her a hug. “How was Primary?” she asked.
“Good! I got this as a present.” Jessica smiled. “And I learned that Jesus is the best gift of all.”

At twenty-nine, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 p.m.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 p.m., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advance stages of pregnancy.

—Caroline Olsen, a 22-year-old interior design student from Brampton, Ontario, Canada, enjoyed her studies, but wondered if they were superficial.
“I started to feel like what I was doing was unimportant. I mean, why be a designer? Who does it help? “Then one of the faculty members sat down with me and said, ‘Carrie, the things you develop will help others. Our environment is the most important thing that surrounds us each day. It creates an atmosphere for our workplace or our family. If it’s a good environment, it will influence us to be better people.’
“All of a sudden I understood that what I was doing was important. Thanks to that teacher, I found out I was doing something good.”

This story happened in the USA.
Dominic climbed in the car and buckled his seat belt. “Where are we going?” he asked Mom.
“We’re going to serve someone,” Mom said. “A family needs help getting some food.”
They drove to a big gray building. Dominic had never been there before.
“What is this place?” he asked. “I thought we were going to the store to get food.”
Mom closed the car door. “It’s called a bishops’ storehouse. It’s kind of like a grocery store, except you don’t have to pay for the food here.”
Dominic’s eyes got big. “It’s all free?”
“Sort of,” Mom said. “When we fast, we can pay a fast offering, just like how we pay tithing. That money helps buy the food that goes into this storehouse. Then when someone from church doesn’t have enough money, they can ask the bishop for help and come here to get what they need. In places that don’t have a storehouse, the bishop has other ways to help.”
Dominic walked up to the door with Mom. “So the family we’re helping today doesn’t have enough money to buy food?”
“Not right now,” Mom said. “But that’s why we’re helping! All the members of the Church help each other, so none of us go hungry.”
Dominic nodded. “I’m glad they’ll be able to get food.”
“Me too. Now, let’s go! I’ll show you how it works.”
Dominic and Mom walked into the storehouse. It had rows of shelves with different things on them, like a store.
Mom pulled a paper out of her bag. “This is called a ‘food order.’ It’s a list of things the family needs. Our bishop and Relief Society President worked together to help them make the list.”
“You always use a list when you shop too, Mom!” Dominic said.
“That’s right! We’ll make sure to get everything on the list so the family has what they need.”
Mom got a shopping cart. Then a volunteer helped them find the things on the list. Dominic pushed the cart while Mom put the things inside it.
“OK, I think we’re done!” Mom looked at the list again. “Let’s make sure we have everything. Did we get bananas?”
“Yes!” Dominic said.
“Bread?”
“Yes!”
When they were done, the volunteer helped them put the food in their car. Dominic waved goodbye.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked as they drove home.
“Great!” Dominic said. “But also . . . not great.”
Mom looked surprised. “Why do you feel not great?”
“Because seeing all that food made me hungry! Can we have lunch when we go home?”
Mom smiled. “Of course! A hard worker like you needs food too.”
Dominic smiled back. He felt good inside for helping someone today.
What can you do to help people in need?
Illustrations by Dagmar Smith

And healing came from ministering to others in their loss—be they refugees in Europe, the abused or oppressed, or fellow Church leaders like Elder Paul V. Johnson of the Presidency of the Seventy, who had lost a daughter to cancer two months before joining Elder Kearon in the Europe Area Presidency in 2015.
“He and Sister Kearon were wonderful in helping us in that grieving and healing time,” Elder Johnson says. “They were so sensitive to our situation. I’ve always loved them for that.”

Illustration by Allen Garns
“The Westerland left yesterday,” my sister-in-law said as she greeted us at the Nadi International Airport in Fiji.
I was sad and disappointed at the news. The MV Westerland was the boat that was supposed to take us to see my elder brother on Rotuma Island. Rotuma is approximately 375 miles (600 km) northwest of Viti Levu, the largest of Fiji’s islands. If you miss the boat, you most likely have to wait days or even weeks for the next one.
A year earlier I had gone to Rotuma to help my brother renovate our grandmother’s house, and I left him because of a job-related disagreement. Now I wanted to see him face to face and tell him how sorry I was.
A week before my wife, Akata, and I flew to Fiji from Australia, my niece told me that the Westerland would be going to Rotuma the day before we were scheduled to arrive. I immediately called the boat’s office and pleaded with them to hold off the trip for two days.
“No, we couldn’t even if we wanted to,” came the reply. “The Rotuma Island Council has made preparations for a welcoming feast, and the boat needs to depart as scheduled.”
A thought flashed through my mind, and I decided to fast and pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I would very much like to catch that boat to Rotuma. I believe they can’t hold off departure another day or two, but Thou hast power to do it. Couldst Thou please remove just one bolt anywhere on the boat so as to stall the trip that I might board? I need to go to Rotuma and be reconciled with my brother.”
After we had heard the disappointing news, we made our way to the port on the other side of the island. There, however, we learned that the boat had experienced engine troubles and hadn’t left yet. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer! As it turned out, the entire engine—not just one bolt—had to be removed to repair a major oil leak.
When the boat finally left a week later, I was on board. When I arrived in Rotuma, I embraced my brother and apologized, and we restored our relationship. It was certainly a day of jubilation.
I will be forever grateful for this wonderful spiritual experience and for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is a testimony that miracles still occur today, that Heavenly Father lives and answers our sincere prayers, that prayer and fasting go hand in hand, and that the gospel is true—even in a small village on the tiny island of Rotuma.

A story is told of a group of smoke jumpers. These brave men and women fight forest fires by parachuting onto the ground above a fire and fighting it from the top down, while others fight it from below.
During one particularly large forest fire, an elite team of smoke jumpers assembled for a briefing before taking off in their airplane. The dispatcher—a wise and experienced firefighter—told the smoke jumpers that things were very volatile and that he could not give them precise instructions. Rather, the dispatcher instructed, the smoke jumpers should contact him by radio once they had parachuted onto the ridge above the fire. Then he would give them instructions as to the course they should take to begin to fight.
Quickly the smoke jumpers took off in their plane, parachuted onto the ridge above the raging fire, and assembled themselves for action. As they viewed the fire from above, they could see half a dozen possible paths they could take to begin their work.
In keeping with their agreement with the dispatcher, the leader of the team took out a handheld radio, found the proper frequency, and called the dispatcher to request instructions as to which path to take. But only static came back from the radio; they could not hear the dispatcher at all.
Presuming that the dispatcher was busy with other tasks, the smoke jumpers decided to wait 10 minutes and try again. But when they tried the dispatcher the second time, they received the same result—dead air and static and no instructions.
The smoke jumpers conferred with each other. They could still see several paths down the mountain that would put them in a good position to fight the fire. But they were concerned that they didn’t have any direction from the dispatcher. They worried that if they started moving down the path that looked best to them, they might actually be moving counter to the course the dispatcher wanted them to take and they would be forced to retrace their steps.
So they decided to wait on top of the ridge. Fifteen minutes later they tried the dispatcher again. Nothing. They took off their backpacks and found a place to sit down. Thirty minutes became an hour; an hour became two hours. They regularly tried to contact the dispatcher. But as before, they received only static in return.
The smoke jumpers decided to eat lunch. After that, when they still couldn’t contact the dispatcher, they reclined on their backpacks and took a nap. They were frustrated. If the dispatcher would just pay some attention to them and tell them which way to go, they would happily follow that course and begin their firefighting efforts. But the dispatcher seemed to be ignoring them, probably preoccupied with others. And they had decided that they weren’t going to move without the dispatcher’s directions. After all, those directions had been promised to them before they parachuted onto the ridge.
Seven hours after the smoke jumpers arrived at the top of the ridge, a weary crew chief from the group fighting the fire farther down the mountain came up the trail and found the smoke jumpers. He was flabbergasted. Approaching their leader, he asked, “What are you doing lounging around on the ridge? We really needed your help. The fire almost got away from us because we didn’t have help to contain it. And all this time you’ve just been relaxing up here on the ridge?”
The lead smoke jumper explained their predicament to the crew chief. They had been promised instructions from the dispatcher. They had been vigilant in trying to obtain those instructions. But the dispatcher had ignored them, never responding to their calls. True, they could see several paths down to the fire. But they were afraid they would take the wrong one. So they decided to wait until they had the promised instructions from the dispatcher.
The crew chief held out his hand and took the small radio the smoke jumpers had been using. He then walked about 50 yards (45 m) down one of the paths that led toward the fire. He stopped and tried the radio. The dispatcher’s voice came through loud and clear. The crew chief then walked back to the top of the ridge and traveled about 50 yards farther down another path. He stopped and called the dispatcher. Again the dispatcher’s voice came back immediately.
The crew chief hiked back to the smoke jumpers and tossed the radio to the leader, saying, “You are in a dead spot. All you had to do was start moving down one of the trails, and the dispatcher could have easily given you course corrections and brought you right into the spot where we needed you. Instead you lounged up here, and you were totally worthless to us.”

Many years ago John Orth worked in a foundry in Australia, and in a terrible accident, hot molten lead splashed onto his face and body. He was administered to, and some of the vision was restored to his right eye, but he was completely blind in his left. Because he couldn’t see well, he lost his job. He tried to get employment with his wife’s family, but their business failed due to the depression. He was forced to go door-to-door seeking odd jobs and handouts to pay for food and rent.

One year he did not pay any tithing and went to talk to the branch president. The branch president understood the situation but asked John to make it a matter of prayer and fasting so that he could find a way to pay his tithing. John and his wife, Alice, fasted and prayed and determined that the only thing of value they owned was her engagement ring—a beautiful ring bought in happier times. After much anguish they decided to take the ring to a pawnbroker and learned it was worth enough to pay their tithing and some other outstanding bills. That Sunday he went in to the branch president and paid his tithing. As he left the office, he happened to meet the mission president, who noticed his damaged eyes.

Brother Orth’s son, now serving as a bishop in Adelaide, later wrote: “We believe that [the mission president] was an eye doctor, for he was commonly called President Dr. Rees. He spoke to Dad and was able to examine him and offer suggestions to help his eyesight. Dad followed his advice, … and in due course sight was restored—15 percent sight to his left eye and 95 percent sight to his right eye—and with the help of glasses he could see again.” With his vision restored, John was never unemployed again; redeemed the ring, which is now a family heirloom; and paid a full tithing for the rest of his life. The Lord knew John Orth, and He knew who could help him.

“President Dr. Rees” was my mother’s father, and he probably never knew of the miracle that was wrought that day. Generations were blessed because a family decided they would pay their tithing regardless of the difficulty—and then met a man who “happened by” and “happened” to be an eye surgeon who was able to make a great difference in their life. While some may be tempted to believe these are just coincidences, I have confidence that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground but He knows it.

Our family didn’t know this story until two years ago, but we know this about our grandfather: he loved the Lord and tried to serve Him all his life. And we know this about the Lord: He knows who we are and where we are, and He knows who needs our help.

One night in family home evening, Papa handed Carol Ann a small card with a picture of Jesus and some words on it. “This is your very own scripture,” he explained. “It’s a verse in the Bible, and it says: ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ Think and pray about the scripture, and try to ‘liken’ it to yourself, as Nephi told us to do when we read in the Book of Mormon this morning.”
On Tuesday, Carol Ann asked Mama to read her the scripture again and again. By lunchtime she had memorized it.
That afternoon, she sat on the front porch in the sun with a kitten on her lap. She gently stroked its fur, and it licked her fingers with a little pink tongue and purred happily.
The kitten loves me, thought Carol Ann. I loved the kitten first, and then the kitten loved me.
On Wednesday, Carol Ann picked up things in Patty’s room. Later Patty gave her a grateful hug.
On Thursday, she dusted all the model cars in Brent’s room, and Brent gave her a happy smile and said, “Thanks.”
On Saturday, Papa washed the car. Carol Ann dried the hubcaps with a soft cloth until they shone. “You are a good helper,” Papa said. “I see that you have been thinking about your scripture all week. You really love people, and they love you back.”
Carol Ann was happy when she went to bed that night. She looked again at the card with the picture of Jesus. She knew that he loved her and that she loved him.

When I was 14 years old, I began my first job, earning 2 U.S. dollars per hour as a construction laborer. The paycheck for my first week totaled 80 dollars. I wanted to buy an eight-track tape stereo, which was the newest music technology at the time. The full-function model I wanted cost 320 dollars. I excitedly shared with Mom and Dad my intent to purchase the stereo after completing four weeks of work.
My parents wisely taught, “It will take more than four weeks to earn enough money to buy that music player. You should express gratitude to God for His many blessings by paying 10 percent of your income as tithing. You will need to pay the government about 10 percent in taxes. And you should learn while young to obey the counsel of prophets in preparing financially for the future, including your mission; we suggest you set aside 30 percent of your earnings in a savings account.”
My teenage mind quickly calculated that if I did as my parents taught, I would have only 40 dollars each week to spend, which meant I would have to work at least two months to purchase my desired stereo. I found myself at a critical decision point—would obtaining material possessions be my priority, or would I sacrifice to pay tithing and set aside savings?
For the Strength of Youth counsels: “Pay [tithing] first, even when you think you do not have enough money to meet your other needs. Doing so will help you develop greater faith, overcome selfishness, and be more receptive to the Spirit.”2
I decided at age 14 to pay an honest tithing for the remainder of my life. I determined to follow the prophet in saving money for my mission and future education. This experience also taught me to distinguish between wants and needs. I wanted the newest technology, but I did not need it. So I decided to buy a much less expensive model with fewer functions, and it was still performing well when I left on my mission.

My wife and I recently received a letter from one of our daughters that, in part, read, “I’ve become a nurse. Four of the six kids have the flu. I’m changing my ambitions from psychiatrist to nurse. Anyway, nobody in this family is sick in the head; we are just all sick.” Then in capital letters she wrote, “I WANT MY LIFE BACK!”
When we read the letter, we gave each other a knowing smile. But those last words, “I WANT MY LIFE BACK,” have stuck in my mind. My daughter’s situation was temporary and for a good cause, but I’ve been hearing more often about people who are filling their lives with meaningless and harmful things.
A cluttered life is a life that you do not have control of. It is a life in which the things you have surrounded yourself with, and allow to use up your time, are controlling you and negatively influencing your happiness and eternal progress.
Our lives can become cluttered by many things. Some are obvious, such as material things. We can surround ourselves with the material things to the extent that we have no time for the spiritual. Look around and you will see all the gadgets and toys and the nice and the fun things that cause us to squander and pay and to wander and play.
Other things that clutter our lives and use our time are not as obvious. They are more subtle and just seem to evolve, taking control of us.
Whenever I think of something subtle—something kind of hidden that we know is there if we stop to think about it but don’t suspect it of cluttering or negatively influencing our lives—I know Satan is busy at his work.
Nothing suits the devil better than to become a silent partner with us. He knows that we have agency and are at liberty to make choices for ourselves. He also knows that while in mortality we are subject to time. If by his subtle means he can become our silent partner, he can influence us to make wrong choices that use our time unwisely and prevent us from doing what we should.
I have learned that it is very difficult, if not impossible, to unclutter one’s life by starting at the top of the pile with the idea that the solution is to just get things sorted and better organized. It is nice to get better organized, but that is not enough. We must actually get rid of what we do not need.
To do this we need to develop a list of basics, a list of those things that are indispensable to our mortal welfare and happiness and our eternal salvation. This list must follow the gospel pattern and contain elements needed for our sanctification and perfection. It must be the product of inspiration and prayerful judgment. It should separate need from greed. It must be our best understanding of those things that are important as opposed to those things that are just interesting, between things we really need and things we just want.
We need to examine all the ways we use our time so we can better understand what we should really be spending our time doing. After all, we give our lives to that to which we give our time.
We must learn that none of the exciting and entertaining and fun things are worth it if they take us from the path that will lead us back home to our Heavenly Father.
We must remember that a person who is not living the basics of the gospel of Jesus Christ is not living them, no matter who or what has caused it. We must also remember that a family divided is a family divided, no matter who or what divides it.
We need to ask ourselves some serious and soul-searching questions. One of these would surely be, Do I have time for prayer? I don’t mean just an occasional, quick, repetitious prayer that is like giving a wave of the hand to your Father in Heaven as you pass Him on your way to something “important.” I mean sincere, honest, “from the depths of a contrite spirit and a broken heart” prayer; kneeling in humility, demonstrating to the Holy Father that you really love him; private prayer which involves you in the process of repentance and pleading for forgiveness and allows time for pondering and waiting for the answers to come.
The next question might be, Do I study the scriptures? If you do, you know that Lehi saw a rod of iron, which, interpreted, means the word of God (1 Ne. 11:1–23). Those who held to the rod, using it as a guide at all times, came safely through the mist of darkness and arrived at the tree of life and partook of its glorious fruit (1 Ne. 8:19, 30). I solemnly testify that the holy scriptures are the word of God. Constant study of them is the act of holding to the iron rod. They will guide you to the Tree of Life. If you are one who has said, “I want my life back,” I exhort you to go to the Tree of Life, where you will find the pure love of God.
God’s plan is a plan of simplicity. It involves being obedient to simple laws, laws that have within them an automatic blessing and happiness for obedience and an automatic punishment and unhappiness for their disobedience.
I urge you to clear away the clutter. Take your life back. Use your willpower. Learn to say no to those things that will rob you of your precious time and infringe upon your agency to choose to live in exactness to God’s plan of happiness and exaltation. Don’t let the subtle influences of Satan take away any part of your life. Keep it under your own control and operated by your own agency.
It is my humble prayer that by our choices we may preserve our individual agency from the subtleness of Satan and live our lives bright and clear and on the path that leads us back to the presence of our Heavenly Father.

I learned about the gospel together with my family in Barahona. One day, the missionaries came to our home. I was 11 years old. Somehow, I was delighted by what they taught us. Right now I do not remember all my feelings clearly, but what I can tell you is that I liked what they taught. We felt very good; they brought a very special spirit into our home. Thus, when the missionaries invited us to be baptized, I did not doubt; I accepted and entered the waters of baptism together with my mother. That was how I entered into the way and made my baptismal covenants with the Lord.

I was about 12 or 13 when our family decided that we wanted to visit some of the Church historical sites in upstate New York. For months we planned and replanned the trip.
As I got off the school bus on the last day of class, there parked in the driveway was the camper, that wonderful vehicle that was going to take us on our trip. My dad owned his own business, so we were fortunate to be able to take extended trips.
We saw Niagara Falls. We attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant and looked at the Joseph Smith farm. After a few rigorous days of touring, we arrived at the place I had dreamed of visiting someday, the Sacred Grove. This was the place where young Joseph Smith had the glorious vision that started the restoration of the gospel.
As we piled out of the camper, we all knew how special this place was. When we walked into the cool shade of those big trees, we were overcome by what had happened here. My dad suggested that we kneel and have a family prayer. We scouted around for a quiet, peaceful place, similar to the one where Joseph Smith might have knelt for an answer to his prayer.
As my father prayed, I felt the Spirit of God stronger than I had ever felt it before. It seemed to grasp my entire body. The feeling had such intensity that I could hardly remember to pick myself up off the ground. It was wonderful. It was at that time that my own testimony began to develop.
I gained my testimony because of a wonderful earthly father who had a strong desire to instill in his children the testimony he had, and because of a kind and loving Heavenly Father who knew that I would need the gospel in my life.

In 1981, my father, two close friends, and I went on an adventure in Alaska. We were to land on a remote lake and climb to some beautiful high country. In order to reduce the load we would have to personally carry, we wrapped our supplies in boxes, covered them with foam, attached large colored streamers, and threw them out the window of our bush plane at our intended destination.
After arriving, we searched and searched, but to our dismay, we could not find any of the boxes. Eventually we found one. It contained a small gas stove, a tarp, some candy, and a couple packages of Hamburger Helper—but no hamburger. We had no way to communicate with the outside world, and our scheduled pickup was a week later.
I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: One, do not throw your food out the window. Two, sometimes we have to face hard things.
Years before, during our misadventure in Alaska, I had quickly learned that blaming our circumstances on others—the pilot launching the food out in fading light—was not a solution. However, as we experienced physical exhaustion, lack of food, sickness, and sleeping on the ground during a major storm with only a tarp to cover us, I learned that “with God nothing shall be impossible.”8

Eleven-year-old Hansen P. of the Bangalore Second Branch, Bangalore India District, was excited. After church the older boys in the branch would be teaching him how to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament.
First, the boys who are teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood showed Hansen how they prepare the trays of bread and fill the cups with water.
Next, the priests read through the sacrament prayers and explained how they fold the tablecloths.
Finally, the deacons showed where they stand, how they pass the sacrament to the congregation, and how they help everyone be reverent.
“The Aaronic Priesthood is important,” Hansen says. “There is much I must do to prepare to receive it.”

My parents often attended meetings after church, and I would watch my three younger brothers and help them make lunch—though they were often short-tempered and hungry. Usually if they started fighting, I could solve the small problem quickly. But sometimes it was hard to make peace once a fight had started because I’d get agitated.
One afternoon, my brothers were having an especially hard time getting along. I found that my efforts to make peace only made things worse because I was upset. So I just made my own lunch and stopped talking. Finally, I announced, “I’m going to pray. Can we please be quiet for a minute?” Once they settled down, I asked for a blessing on the food. Before I closed the prayer, I added, “And please help us to be peacemakers.”
At first, they seemed not to hear and began fighting again. I was annoyed but knew I needed to be as loving and calm as I could be because I’d just prayed for peace. After a minute, I felt very calm. I ate without saying anything, and the boys eventually stopped fighting. I realized the peace I felt was an answer to a simple prayer. I had prayed to be a peacemaker, and my Heavenly Father had helped me stay calm when it was so tempting to yell. I know that He can truly give us peace.