Gospel Story Finder

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, they were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

Linda of California, USA, shared how a friend’s visits helped her: “I remember those special people in my life—especially those who really listened and conveyed the Spirit’s sweet counsel. After being widowed at 30 years old with five young children, I felt my Heavenly Father’s and Savior’s love more deeply because of my good friend Karen. She was always in tune and had her ‘listening ears’ on. I never felt alone as she consistently reminded me of the beautiful bond I have as a daughter of God.”

As I grew up in Perth, Australia, religion was hit-and-miss for me. I was christened a Methodist, attended denominational schools, and sporadically attended a Baptist congregation with my grandmother. Despite this spiritual inconsistency, praying seemed natural to me—thanks to my grandmother, who shared her faith and taught me to read from the Bible. I am grateful for her consistent influence in my life because, despite my worldly pursuits, I intuitively began to build a belief in Jesus Christ. As I reflect back, I realize that Heavenly Father was preparing my heart to receive the restored gospel.
One preparatory event happened when I was in an auto accident while visiting France. Moments after I was strongly prompted to fasten my seat belt, the car skidded and plummeted down a 20-foot (6-m) embankment. Because of the warning voice and because I regained use of my feet and legs while others with similar injuries are often left permanently paralyzed, I began to understand that a divine power much greater than I was in control.
Two years later, while I was back in France as an exchange student, Kayla Barth, a fellow student from California, boldly invited me to attend church with her. Kayla’s unbounded enthusiasm for the gospel fascinated me. I hung on to every word as she shared the plan of salvation. It all sounded so familiar, as if I had heard it before.
When I walked into the Angoulême chapel for the first time, it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I had come “home.” That same day, in the Gospel Essentials class, the missionary who was teaching shared a powerful testimony of the First Vision. As he explained how the Holy Ghost testifies to us, warmth radiated from my heart and filled my entire body. This powerful witness left an indelible impression on me, one that has carried me through trials that have tested my faith.
About a month after first stepping into the Angoulême chapel, I decided to be baptized. I was 18 and didn’t need parental permission. But when I called my family in Australia with the joyous news, I was shocked and disappointed to discover they had a negative attitude about the Church and opposed my desire to be baptized.
This weighed heavily on my heart. Should I go ahead against the wishes of my family, whom I loved dearly? Or should I delay baptism until I returned to Australia, where I faced the possibility of greater opposition?
Matthew 19:29 helped me make the decision: “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” Was I willing to put the Savior first—even before my family? The answer was yes, and on December 16, 1989, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My remaining time in France was filled with a peaceful joy I had never known before.
When I returned to Perth, my family welcomed me with open arms. But my attempts to share the gospel with them were met with stiff opposition. They even made arrangements for me to see religious “experts” who could “enlighten” me and help me to see the “error” of my chosen path. This was a great test of faith for me, and after an onslaught of anti-Mormon propaganda, I found myself questioning my decision.
Yet in the quiet chambers of my heart, I could not deny that what I had experienced in France was from God, so I sought the Lord’s Spirit to strengthen me. I fasted and prayed every Sunday for weeks, I buried myself in the scriptures, I received priesthood blessings for guidance and strength, and I attended church weekly to associate with the Saints. Instead of dwelling on what I couldn’t understand or didn’t know, I focused on those things that I did know: I am a child of God, Jesus is the Christ, Joseph Smith restored the Lord’s Church, the Book of Mormon and the Bible are the word of God, and families are forever. With this new perspective, my testimony began to grow and strengthen again.
The last challenge I had to face that year was the issue of being married in the temple without the presence of my family. A young man I had met in France and with whom I had been corresponding came from California to visit me for three weeks. It became clear to us both that we wanted to be married, but I was faced with another difficult decision: do I get married in the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity, or do I get married elsewhere so that my family can be a part of the ceremony?
I followed the counsel of my stake president and married in the temple in February 1991. At the time, my family felt deeply hurt, but they have come to recognize the Church as a blessing in my life. As they have watched our children grow in the gospel, they have expressed gratitude for the things that we are teaching them and for the kind of people they are becoming.
Recently one of my children expressed gratitude for the decision I made to accept the gospel and raise a family unto the Lord. Her sincerity moved me to tears because I realized that the decision to live the gospel had blessed not only my life but hers.
I am eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for the miracles and the influence of earthly angels who led me home to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Twenty years later I realize that all the trials, heartache, and risk of offending my family were worth it. The gospel is everything to me. It is true. It is my home.

When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.

As a young woman, I had planted myself upside down. My halfhearted efforts at attending church, paying tithing, and having regular prayer and scripture study had slowed my spiritual growth almost to a halt. In high school it became clear that I would need to choose between my current direction and the Lord’s direction. I then decided to replant myself, try my best, and rely on the Lord’s care.
With all my strength I began pushing up toward the Son, working my way past feelings of doubt, anger, insecurity, and selfishness. It wasn’t long before I realized how much Heavenly Father loves me, how much He has blessed me, and how much He wants me to reach my full potential as His daughter. I was given nourishment from Young Women leaders, bishops, seminary teachers, and friends. My righteous desire, however, was not without trials and tears. In His loving mercy, Heavenly Father gave me a push here and there when I felt that I could push no more. He helped me grow from my setbacks and successes. No sunflower, after having sensed the light of the sun, would bury itself back in the ground. I too could sense the light of the Son, and I would no longer hide myself from His goodness and joy. I would “follow the Son, with full purpose of heart” (2 Nephi 31:13).

Since that time, I have found that my testimony of the gospel has grown at the same rate as my conviction about the truth of the Book of Mormon. But the growth of my testimony has not come without its struggles.
When I told my family about my decision to be baptized, my father turned away in disgust. I was devastated! The man whom I loved and respected more than anyone else in the world was violently opposed to my decision about the most important matter of my life!
Later, a few months after I was baptized, I had my first encounter with anti-Mormon material. My parents had been given some tape recordings made by an individual known for his criticism of the Church, and they were really worried about what I had gotten myself into. When I listened to the tapes, I too was concerned.
Even though some of this negative information seemed plausible, my deep reaction was that it couldn’t be right. I had felt the Spirit too many times in studying the Church to deny its truthfulness, so I decided to investigate the anti-Mormon claims. I turned to the scriptures in prayerful study—especially the Book of Mormon. Knowledgeable Church members helped answer my questions. Afterward, I was more convinced than ever that I had made the right decision by joining the Church.
As a result, I made my own tape recording, personalizing it for my parents, and answered the major charges in the anti-Mormon material. I played the tape for my parents, and afterward my dad looked at me through his tears and said, “That was quite a sermon, son!” Then we hugged each other. This experience became the start of a new relationship between us.

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.
He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”
This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”
Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

It was turning out to be the worst Christmas Eve a missionary could have. All three of our baptisms scheduled for Christmas day had just fallen through. Instead of the “white” Christmas my companion and I were hoping for, it was going to be just another hot day in Chile.
To top it off, our Christmas Eve dinner invitation was cancelled. Chileans hold their big celebration on Christmas Eve, so it was like missing out on Christmas dinner.
As my companion and I walked dejectedly past the small, fenced-in chapel, the branch president stopped us and asked where we were spending Christmas Eve. We told him we had no plans. He then invited us to his home that evening for dinner.
That night we went to the branch president’s house, a small structure covered with a tin roof. At the table, my companion and I were invited to sit in the chairs usually reserved for the branch president and his wife. They graciously shared their meal with us. It must have been a sacrifice for them to feed two hungry missionaries, especially with only a few hours’ notice. Then this kind family gave my companion and me each a wonderful gift of a white handkerchief.
We didn’t get our “white” Christmas with lots of baptisms. Instead, we learned from a young, humble branch president that it is, indeed, “more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).
Lester Dimit served in the Chile Santiago South Mission; he is a member of the Reedville Ward, Cedar Mill Oregon Stake.

The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.

At a 20-year high school reunion, one of the graduates had a surprising conversation with one of her classmates that went something like this:
“I came to this reunion after all these years hoping you would be here so I could thank you. My high school experience was hard for me. You may not have known it, but you were the only friend I had in high school. I wondered if maybe the seminary teacher had assigned you to be nice to me. Did he?”
“No, he didn’t assign me.”
“Well, you didn’t know it, but every day I looked for you because I knew that you would talk to me. You made me feel better about myself. Now I am married and have a large family. During these past years I have thought many times of what you meant to me, and I wanted to tell you that.”

We have subscribed to the New Era from day one, and now, even though our youngest child is on a mission, I wouldn’t even consider letting our subscription expire. I turn to the New Era constantly as I prepare for my teaching responsibilities. I taught seminary for four years, and I felt the New Era was so important that I formulated questions from the magazine that my students could answer for bonus points. The response was so great that I allowed them to give a brief synopsis of the article from which the question was taken if they cared to, and many times they did. To me, that was a good indicator of their enthusiasm for the New Era.

Some years ago I read an article that told of the less-than-spectacular career of a quarterback on the football team of a small rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear he was not going to be all-state or all-American. Indeed, it didn’t look like he was going to be all-anything, except perhaps all battered and bruised. He was the fourth of the four quarterbacks.
By season’s end he had never been called into a game and had given up hope. During the final game of the year he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then it came again, right from the coach’s lips, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? His first impulse was to lapse into a coma. His second was to pretend he didn’t hear. His third was to say, “Wait, coach. Wait while I put on my shoes.” He did the only manly thing. Strapping on his helmet as he ran, he made straight for the huddle; his white-stockinged feet were conspicuous to the players on both teams, as well as to the spectators and the coach, who also must have been ready to lapse into a coma.
He called the play, but the shock of his first game was obviously a little disconcerting. By the time he took the snap from center he had forgotten the play he had called. His teammates moved to the right, but he gamely went left. There, alone against the world, he met the opposition head-on and was swallowed up in the snarl of the onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes” (Improvement Era, Sept. 1969, 44).

Before my conversion, I used to read novels and magazines that did nothing for my spirituality. But following my baptism, I happened to find a copy of L‘Etoile (French) with an article “Come unto Me” that seemed to be written just for me. The Spirit inspired me to read the article several times. Since then, worldly books and magazines no longer interest me.
I read each issue of the magazine, and I especially enjoy the articles and testimonies of Saints all over the world because their testimonies help to increase mine.
I would encourage everyone to read and use the Church magazines to improve their lives and feel of the Spirit.
Bokota B. LouisonKinsuka First Branch, Kinshasa Zaire Masina District

I would like to share my testimony on obedience and how the Lord taught me to trust Him during one of the most difficult periods of my life. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, my world felt uncertain and unstable. I was filled with fear, anxiety, and many unanswered questions.
During that time, I received the opportunity to attend FSY 2025, with the theme “Look unto Christ.” My first reaction was to refuse. I questioned how I could leave my mother and focus on anything else while my family was going through such pain. And at that time obedience felt confusing because my heart was torn between fear and faith. I prayed sincerely, asking the Lord what He wanted me to do.
At the very last moment, I chose to be obedient to the prompt I felt to attend FSY 2025 despite my worries. This decision was not easy. Obedience for me meant trusting the Lord more than my fears and believing that He could use this experience for a greater purpose. While at FSY, I learned that looking unto Christ is an act of obedience choosing Him when life feels overwhelming.
Through obedience, the Lord strengthened me. My anxiety softened, my faith deepened, and I felt peace that I could not create on my own. I realized that obedience does not remove trials, but it prepares us to face them with Christ by our side.
When I returned home, I shared what I had learned with my parents. The strength I gained through obedience did not stay with me alone; it helped my family as well. I saw how the Lord multiplied my small acts of obedience into comfort, reassurance, and renewed faith for those I love.
This experience taught me that obedience is not always about understanding the outcome, it is about trusting the One who leads us. I testify that when we choose to obey the Lord, even when it feels painful or uncertain, He blesses us in ways we cannot foresee. As we look unto Christ and follow His guidance, He carries us and our families through every trial. ?

I remember very clearly an experience I had when I was about twelve years old. It was a Saturday, and my father and I were at the meetinghouse, preparing the building for meetings the next day. All of a sudden, my father stopped. “I feel that we need to go home,” he said. So we locked up the building and left.
At home, Dad took a shower and put on his suit. Almost immediately the phone rang. My mother, who had left earlier in the day to attend a Primary leadership meeting, had been in a terrible car accident. She and the other sisters in the car had been taken to the hospital. The doctors didn’t expect my mother to live.
My father left immediately for the hospital. I had a paper route and left to deliver my papers. I didn’t understand exactly what had happened, but I knew that my mother was hurt very seriously. During my route, I stopped and knelt in a secluded area. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father, asking Him to bless and help my mother. I felt a strong assurance that she would be all right.
After I finished my paper route, I stopped to visit my younger sister, who was baby-sitting. We knelt together and prayed for my mother. Afterward, we felt a deep sense of peace.
In the months that followed, we relied heavily on those feelings we had received as we prayed. My mother had sustained very serious brain damage, and she was in a coma for weeks. Even after she returned home, she was never the same. Her physical and mental health was fragile, and her memory had been affected. But she had a profound faith and a deep love for us, her children.
That experience strengthened my testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. When I knelt to pray for my mother that first time, I hadn’t known just how badly she had been hurt. In fact, I prayed that her arm would not be broken. But Heavenly Father understood.

My husband, Alvaro, entered his first marathon while he was in high school in Colombia. Much to his surprise, he won!
After that, he decided to start running more seriously. But he needed a pair of running shoes, and they were expensive. His parents were struggling to support their family of eight, and he hesitated to ask them if they would buy the shoes. However, when they realized how determined he was to run, they bought the shoes.
Alvaro joined the high school track team and trained daily. But as his first competition approached, the shoes began to wear out. Two weeks before the race, the soles tore away from the tops of the shoes. Alvaro didn’t want to ask his parents for another pair of shoes, so he found some thread and sewed them back together.
On the day of the race, Alvaro started off strongly and stayed comfortably with the group of runners as they circled the track. With only a few laps to go, he pulled away from the other runners to take the lead. At that same moment, the wire worked loose from the sole of his shoe and began to dig into his foot. Despite the pain he felt as the wire pierced his skin, he thought to himself, “I can’t give up.”
He didn’t. Running with determination, he crossed the finish line in first place—but with his foot cut and bleeding in several places.

I used to feel like my mom didn’t understand me. It seemed that all she cared about were her rules. How could she understand me? She had never done anything wrong in her life.
I decided I could do better without her, so I started to define myself in opposition to her. She always wore nice skirts and dresses. I always wore big, shabby jeans. She followed rules of etiquette meticulously. I ignored them. She did everything she could to invite the Spirit into our home. I listened to counter-culture music. She worked to avoid even the appearance of evil. I hung out with kids who were in trouble, and even though I wasn’t participating in their serious transgressions, Mom knew I was on the edge.
My mom spent many rough nights worrying about me. One night she got up to check on me and found a pile of pillows shaped like a sleeping form beneath my open window. When I got home after my mom had spent a long night calling my friends, the police, and anyone else she could think of, I was told I was grounded until further notice.
Soon after, feeling angry and rebellious, I found myself in the principal’s office at school. Knowing that I could identify the culprits of a recent prank, he explained to me that if I didn’t tell him who the guilty party was he would suspend me instead of them. I defiantly kept silent. So he called my mom and told her I would be staying home the next day.
This time she was really angry. While waiting for me to come home and considering an appropriate punishment, she was getting a box out of storage in our unfinished attic. Distracted, she took a wrong step between the beams, which sent her crashing through the insulation, drywall, and plaster of the ceiling onto the floor of the dining room below. Still gathering her bearings in that painful pile of rubble, the thought came to her: your relationship with Michelle is this sensitive right now. One wrong step and the floor will fall out from under you and will be permanently damaged.
When I got home from school, I expected a lecture. Instead, when Mom greeted me, she gently showed me what had happened and explained that she loved me and that she had been prompted to take special care of our relationship and needed my help. I looked at her legs, black and blue from the ankles up and covered with some fierce looking scrapes. All I could think was how amazing it was that as the ceiling gave way beneath her, her first thought was for me. Even I was humbled. We prayed together for help to learn to love and accept.
It wasn’t easy. I really had to work to change my attitude. Looking back, I realize that, all along, she only had my welfare in mind. I eventually found out that Mom was a really fun person. We looked for ways to spend time together in positive situations, doing things we both enjoyed. I learned to allow her to function in roles other than disciplinarian. And most importantly, I learned to change my perspective. Instead of being embarrassed by our “old-fashioned” home, I came to love bringing friends over. I finally realized that I was equally responsible for the success of our relationship.
I guess I’m the one who should have fallen through the ceiling, but I doubt I would have heard the Spirit at the crucial moment. I’ll always be grateful for a mother willing to love me into loving her.

Some years ago near the end of a plane trip that I was on on an assignment, the stewardess came along asking what we wanted as a refreshment, as a drink. And I told her that I would take a 7-Up or some lemon drink.
As she brought it to me and handed me the drink, she noticed my tie pin. And on my tie pin, which I have here in my hand—we were using these in the Scottish Mission years ago—there was the crest of the royal family of England. But in the center of that crest we had emblazed the London Temple. And so on this tie pin was the temple with that crest around it. As the stewardess handed me the 7-Up, she said, “My, that’s an unusual tie pin. What is on it?”
And I said, “That’s a temple.”
And this young lady said, “A temple? A temple of what?”
And I said, “A temple of the Lord.”
And she said, “A what?”
And I said, “It’s a temple of the Lord.”
And I could see some interest in her, and she said, ”What church do you belong to?”
I told her of our Church, and then I said to her, because I could see there was some interest, “If you will give me your name and address, I will have some young men come by and call on you, and they will tell you about this temple and about temples.”
She looked at me rather strangely and walked away. Then in a few moments she came back and handed me a little slip of paper with her name, Penny Harryman, with a Los Angeles address.
I called the mission president, and I told him, as we always do, “Send two of your best. I want you to go out and visit with this young lady,” because I had said to her, “I’ll have some young men come and see you, and if you do what they will ask you to do and listen to them, I promise you that you can have the greatest blessings that could come into your life.”
A little over a year later, a telephone call came into my office one day, and a girl’s voice said, “My name is Penny Harryman. Do you remember me?”
And I said, “Of course I do.”
She said, “Could you arrange to marry my fiancé and me in the Salt Lake Temple if we could arrange the time?”
I said, “Of course I would.”
And while I was sealing this young lady to this young man that she had met during that course of events, I found that her mother was walking around Temple Square in Salt Lake, wondering what we were doing to her daughter in the temple because she wasn’t permitted to be there.

Recently a man told how he became lost in the middle of a ward with 500 members: “My wife and I had our first contact with the Church when two sweet, spiritual missionaries called. They came, they taught, they converted. We literally lived off their spirit. Like many converts know, the first thing after you are baptized, those two wonderful elders are transferred.

“It was extremely difficult for us to keep that same spirit. We felt we could not go it alone. We withdrew from Church activity. My wife told the visiting teachers not to come back, and the home teachers were asked to leave us alone.

“I suppose in the elders quorum one morning they discussed some ‘lost’ brethren who needed to be ‘found.’ Yes, I was lost. One day there came a knock at our front door. As I opened it, I saw a young, smiling, freckled-faced man who said he was the elders quorum president and asked if he could talk to me for a few minutes.

“In the coming weeks he came many times to bring us vegetables from his garden, eggs from his chickens, a birthday card for our daughter. Sometimes he came just to talk. He got me involved in the sports program. He even apologized for anyone who may have hurt our feelings. What did he do that got us back? He loved us. He was sincere. He cared. He gave me his personal testimony. He helped me to search my soul. He helped me to pray to my Father in heaven.

“For the love this man gave my family, we will be eternally grateful. The Lord has poured out his blessings on us. We have been to the temple of the Lord and sealed for eternity. We have returned to the temple many times and gained further light and knowledge promised to us.

“I am now working with this elders quorum president as his counselor. My wife is teaching Primary and is a visiting teacher. I was lost, but because someone cared, someone took time, someone took the risk of showing his love and concern, I was found and was able to lead my family back to the Lord.” He went on to say, “I plead with all members of the Church to look around and help guide lost children back to their Heavenly Father.”

The first time I attended a Church meeting, I heard many words that didn’t make sense to me. Who were the Beehives? What was the Aaronic Priesthood? the Relief Society?
If this is the first time you have attended a Church meeting and you are feeling confused by something you don’t understand, do not worry! I was clueless too. But I still remember the impressions, the new feelings of peace and joy I experienced. I did not know it then, but the Holy Ghost was whispering to my ears and to my heart, “This is right.”