Gospel Story Finder

In some ways I know how Elijah felt. It is difficult to try and convince a people whose hearts are not ready for the word of the Lord. And yet I benefit from the keys Elijah restored to the prophet Joseph Smith in the Kirtland Temple. How? Let me share. One night I dreamt about a brother who had passed on. We were in a room. There were three people in the room; Andy, my brother, my mom and me. Andy was speaking to my Mom in Chamorro, "Ma u yu" Translated he was saying, "I am thirsty." Using my gospel knowledge, I interpreted this to mean he was ready for what the Savior described as "living waters." He was ready for the gospel of Jesus Christ. Most dreams, I don't remember but this one stayed with me. I had to do my brother's work in the temple but how. I needed to ask my mom permission to do his work. I kept praying for courage and the ability to say the right words to my mom. When the opportunity came, I asked my mom. I said, "Mom you know how in the Catholic Church you honor your loved ones that have died by offering mass; I want to do the same especially for Andy. We have our own way of honoring our dead. Is it alright if I do this work for Andy?" I told her about my dream and with no hesitation she said, "Go ahead because I know you love your brother." Tears of joy welled up in my eyes and I immediately thanked the Lord for placing words in my mouth. I couldn't have said it any better.

Isn't this how it is. Before Chad and I had children, we knew everything there was to know about raising children. When friends were having problems with teenagers, we were there to help with free advice. Babies, no problem. I found that I was generally one of the most patient people I knew, particularly with other people's children. But almost immediately after I had Marissa I discovered there were serious limitations to my patience. Shortly after Marissa was born, we were awakened by her one night (after several nights with not enough sleep). She was hot, with a high fever. I found myself irritated, scared, and fatigued beyond anything I had ever felt before. Chad and I found ourselves quite unsure of what to do. We feared that her high fever would lead to brain convulsions and ultimately brain damage. We put her in a cool bath. She screamed louder and her temperature dropped only slightly. I hardly knew what to do and found myself angry at Chad for not knowing any more than I did. Like Sariah, I was afraid for my child. I was absolutely exhausted and found myself snapping at my sick baby and my exhausted husband. I remember thinking: "I need my mother. She is more patient and knows more than I do."

Like my mother, I learned slowly, line upon line, how to be more patient with babies. But I was shocked, I tell you, shocked, when I discovered that being patient with Marissa and Elle as eight-years old is different than being patient with a baby. And being patient with a 13-year old is different than being patient with an eight-year old. As my children get older, I add layers and layers to the depth and breadth of my patience.

Quite recently I was privileged to observe this process in the life of a brother named Stan, who had been less active for some 45 years. He had lived a good life and supported both his wife and son in their activity as faithful members in the Church. Yet for personal reasons he chose to remain outside the fellowship of the Church. Even so, each month he welcomed the home teachers.

During February 2006, Stan received new home teachers. Their first visit was pleasant enough, although Stan showed no real interest in the gospel or in any matters remotely associated with spiritual things. Their next visit did little to alter their initial observations, even though Stan was a little warmer and friendlier. On their third visit, however, there was a visible change in Stan’s countenance and demeanor. To their utmost surprise and even before they were able to present their message, Stan interrupted them with a number of thoughtful questions. In the ensuing discussion he also recounted his experiences during the past month, in which he and his wife had commenced reading one chapter a day from the Book of Mormon.

Elder Bruce R. McConkie eloquently described the type of reawakening Stan experienced: “Here is a man who gains a copy of this blessed book, begins to read it, and continues … until, having read it all, his famished soul is filled with the bread of life. He cannot lay it aside or ignore its teachings. It is as though the waters of life are flowing into the barren deserts of his soul, quenching the arid, empty feeling that theretofore separated him from his God.”

The home teachers were reminded of the remarkable power of the Book of Mormon and how very real the influence of the Spirit of the Lord is when we turn to its sacred pages. They also more fully understood the Prophet Joseph Smith’s declaration “that the Book of Mormon [is] the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”

Stan’s thirst for learning and rediscovery of the restored gospel soon expanded his reading beyond one chapter a day, accompanied by deep soul-searching and fervent prayer. To those who sometimes are concerned whether the Lord will actually hear their prayers, the Savior reminds us:

“If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? …

“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give good gifts, through the Holy Spirit, to them that ask him?”

Our beloved prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, also counseled: “You can’t do it alone. … You need the help of the Lord … and the marvelous thing is that you have the opportunity to pray, with the expectation that your prayers will be heard and answered. … He stands ready to help.”

During August of 2006, Stan ventured alongside his ever-faithful wife into his ward sacrament meeting—his first in 45 years. There, with a humble and prayerful heart, he listened to the simple sacramental prayers offered by the youthful priests. Feeling unworthy and sensing something of the depth and the meaning of this most holy ordinance, he reflected deeply and painfully without partaking of the bread or the water for a number of weeks.

President Joseph Fielding Smith, in a tender testimony many years ago, said: “In my judgment the sacrament meeting is the most sacred, the most holy, of all the meetings of the Church. When I reflect upon the gathering of the Savior and his apostles on that memorable night when he introduced the sacrament … my heart is filled with wonderment and my feelings are touched. I consider that gathering one of the most solemn and wonderful since the beginning of time.”

Stan continued studying, praying, attending church, and receiving appropriate counsel and encouragement from his home teachers. Then the day arrived when, joyfully, he felt he was ready to put forth his hand to partake of the precious sacrament. When we partake worthily, thoughtfully, and reverently of the holy sacrament, we are enabled to become “partakers of the divine nature” because of the Atonement of Christ and the power of the Holy Ghost.

As Stan returned to activity in the Church, he received a calling and, some months later, was ordained an elder.

In July 2007, Stan and his wife knelt across the altar in a house of the Lord and, by the authority and eternal law of God, were married for time and for all eternity.

Another lesson I learned on the football field was at the bottom of a pile of 10 other players. It was the Rocky Mountain Conference championship game, and the play called for me to run the ball up the middle to score the go-ahead touchdown. I took the handoff and plunged into the line. I knew I was close to the goal line, but I didn’t know how close. Although I was pinned at the bottom of the pile, I reached my fingers forward a couple of inches and I could feel it. The goal line was two inches away.
At that moment I was tempted to push the ball forward. I could have done it. And when the refs finally pulled the players off the pile, I would have been a hero. No one would have ever known.
I had dreamed of this moment from the time I was a boy. And it was right there within my reach. But then I remembered the words of my mother. “Joseph,” she had often said to me, “do what is right, no matter the consequence. Do what is right and things will turn out OK.”
I wanted so desperately to score that touchdown. But more than being a hero in the eyes of my friends, I wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my mother. And so I left the ball where it was—two inches from the goal line.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a defining experience. Had I moved the ball, I could have been a champion for a moment, but the reward of temporary glory would have carried with it too steep and too lasting a price. It would have engraved upon my conscience a scar that would have stayed with me the remainder of my life. I knew I must do what is right.

The pale yellow light from the lantern Christian Monson carried threw dark, dancing shadows against the gray stone walls of the Fredrikstad (Norway) Prison. Christian hesitated at the heavy oak door that led from the prison office to the cells below. His heart was racing. He knew that if his plan to release the two prisoners was discovered, he would also be made a prisoner here.
Christian felt the cold smoothness of the jailer’s keys, and he felt the weight of irrevocable decision. He drew a long, deep breath, inserted the key in the lock, and turned it; there was the clicking sound of metal. With his free hand he pulled the door open. The air from the cells was dank and fetid—the stench of unwashed men and stale cellar air.
Quietly Christian walked down the stone steps to the long rows of cells that the warden of the prison had placed in his care as a night guard. At the bottom of the steps he stopped and hung the lantern on the hook that protruded from the wall. The light fell bright on his face. It revealed a tall, 14-year-old Norwegian boy with bright, sky-blue eyes and straight, tawny-colored hair. His face was smooth and fair and normally full of laughter and mischief, but in the flickering lantern light it was firm and serious.
Christian walked across the floor to the cell on the far left, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the door.
“Elders!” His voice was soft.
Light fell on two villainous-looking men who were standing near the door and waiting. Both wore shaggy beards and long hair, dark with grease and dirt. Their faces were sallow and pocked with small red sores. Their clothes were filthy and tattered, rotting in the damp air.
In the year he had worked in the prison Christian had seen many men who looked like these two—filthy, rotting men with cold, empty eyes that followed him with hate. But these two were different. Their clothes, their hair, and their skin looked the same as any of the men who had spent several months in the prison. It was in the eyes where Christian had noticed a difference; the eyes of these two were warm and alive and strong.
Elder Hanson smiled and grasped Christian’s shoulder with a powerful hand.
“Father in heaven is pleased with your courage, Christian,” he said.
“We had better hurry,” the other man, Elder Nelson, said, stepping out of his cell. “But let’s pray first.”
Minutes later Christian and the two Mormon elders walked out of the prison. Elder Hanson, a tall barrel-chested man, stopped, stretched out his arms, and in a long, slow breath drank in the cold, clean-tasting night air.
They spoke in whispers as they walked. Then they began walking down the narrow streets toward a rocky point in the fjord.
“Brother Monson, what will your parents do?” Elder Nelson asked.
“I don’t know, Elder Nelson. I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I tried to tell my mother, but she wouldn’t listen. And my father—he’s a proud man, proud of Norway, proud of the Lutheran Church, proud of his own beliefs. My mother might understand, but I’m afraid my father will not even try.”
Christian stopped and faced Elder Nelson, his breath making a white plume in the darkness.
“There’s pain in this truth of yours, Elder Nelson.” He turned and began walking again.
Elder Nelson nodded and pulled his coat tighter against the cold. He well understood the problem. He and Elder Hanson had been put into prison because of that same intolerance.
Christian broke the silence again.
“Many years ago, I was very young at the time, my grandfather told me that there are steps in life that can change my future and the future of entire generations. He told me I should take those steps, carefully, in the direction I believe to be right, no matter how difficult they appear to be. I know this is right.”
They reached the shoreline and walked along it until they came to a small cove. The shoreline was rocky and smelled of the ocean and seaweed.
The three of them walked out into the water. The water felt warm compared to the night air. There was the sound of waves washing gently against the rocks on the shore, soft and rhythmic.
Christian thought back over the past two months, about the long hours he had searched and compared the catechism of his church with the Bible and the teachings of the two elders.
He remembered the warmth deep inside when he found the answers for which he had searched and prayed. With the memory a peaceful feeling washed over his mind, over the pain he felt in the weight of decision.
In the moonlight Elder Hanson raised his arm to the square. In his mind’s eyes Christian could see John the Baptist and Christ in the Jordan River and he could hear Paul speaking on being buried and raised again with Christ. He heard Elder Hanson’s voice and the baptismal prayer. He felt the power of the prayer and a sudden rush of water.
Before the first reds and golds of morning streaked the horizon, the two elders were back in their cell and Christian was at the desk, in the front office of the prison, waiting for the day guard to relieve him. In the quiet stillness of morning he wondered where this step he had taken would lead him, and he wondered how he would tell his parents.

One week after a recent assignment to create the first stake in Moscow, Russia,1 I attended a district conference in St. Petersburg. While speaking about my gratitude for early missionaries and local leaders who brought strength to the Church in Russia, I mentioned the name of Vyacheslav Efimov. He was the first Russian convert to become a mission president. He and his wife did wonderfully well in that assignment. Not long after they had completed their mission, and much to our sorrow, President Efimov suddenly passed away.2 He was only 52 years of age.
While speaking of this pioneering couple, I felt impressed to ask the congregation if Sister Efimov might be present. Far in the rear of the room, a woman stood. I invited her to come to the microphone. Yes, it was Sister Galina Efimov. She spoke with conviction and bore a powerful testimony of the Lord, of His gospel, and of His restored Church. She and her husband had been sealed in the holy temple. She said they were united forever. They were still missionary companions, she on this side of the veil and he on the other side.3 With tears of joy, she thanked God for sacred temple covenants. I wept too, with full realization that the everlasting unity exemplified by this faithful couple was the righteous result of making, keeping, and honoring sacred covenants.

I had the opportunity as a boy of being raised on a ranch. I had many opportunities to work outdoors side by side with my father and three brothers. On our ranch we raised beef cattle, sheep, horses and often had milk cows, chickens, and even pigs. On any given day in the summer when we were not in school my dad would get us up early and take us out to the fields and get us started on some task that needed to be done that day. Sometimes we would be working together and other times we would be left to ourselves to complete the task. It often seemed rather simple when dad would describe what he would like us to do. But frequently it didn’t turn out that way. One day my dad took me to a pasture where our bucks (or rams) were. He explained to me that he wanted me to herd the bucks from where they were now to another pasture that was probably a half a mile away. He left me with one of our dogs to help. It didn’t seem like too difficult of a job. So I told him I understood and he left. Our dog named Queen and I began to herd the 30 bucks towards our destination. Things were going quite well until we came upon a stream of water that didn’t have a bridge. For those of you who are not familiar with sheep, they do not like water. Well I knew they didn’t like water but I could see that the water was not very deep so I thought I could get them to cross the stream. So I began to yell and whistle and rush the bucks, trying to scare them into the stream. I also knew that sheep would follow each other almost anywhere, so I thought if I could get one across the stream the others would likely follow. Even with the help of Queen we couldn’t get the bucks to go into the water. I even got so desperate that I caught one of the bucks and waded out into the stream myself pulling the buck with me all the way to the other side. I was thinking that if the others could see one on the other side they would be willing to go across with it. Well, as I let go of the buck that I had just pulled across onto dry land, he could see the other sheep on the opposite side of the stream and he jumped back into the stream and went back to where the others were. Now I was standing on the opposite side of the stream by myself, and the bucks were all running off in the other direction. What seemed to be a simple task had become very complicated and challenging.

I think that sometimes our lives our like this experience, in that we may be going along living life quite smoothly and then an unexpected obstacle may get in our way. Sometimes these obstacles are created by our own bad choices and other times we had nothing to do with putting the obstacle there. Regardless of the source of the challenge it can be very difficult to overcome and seem overwhelming to us. Fortunately, we have been given tools to assist us as we face these challenges in our lives. Elder Richard G. Scott; states
As you seek spiritual knowledge, search for principles. Carefully separate them from the detail used to explain them. Principles are concentrated truth, packaged for application to a wide variety of circumstances. A true principle makes decisions clear even under the most confusing and compelling circumstances. It is worth great effort to organize the truth we gather into simple statements of principle.
At times in our lives, the trials we are facing do seem to be very compelling and confusing. It is comforting to me to know that if I apply correct principles to my challenges the decisions that I make can become clearer. Elder Boyd K. Packer explained,
From doctrine, we learn principles of conduct, how to respond to problems of everyday living, even failures, for they to are provided for in the doctrines.
Principles are general and abstract; they do not refer to specifics. Principles relate to the “big picture.” Living by principles means using them to make decisions in the situations we encounter. I would like to mention three of these gospel principles that I feel would help us as we face the challenges in our lives. I recognize that this is not a complete list of principles to apply; however, it is a place to start.

Initially I served as a teaching missionary in the England Manchester Mission, but after a few months I fell ill and came home in the spring of 2022. I transferred to the Nordic Service Mission area, together with an elder from Sweden and a sister from Finland. We were the first missionaries in the Nordic Service Mission area which covers Finland, Sweden, Denmark and Norway. Our mission leaders live on the outskirts of Stockholm, Sweden, Elder and Sister Hägglund.
Today we have seven service missionaries in the Nordic region. There is a sister in Denmark, two elders and a sister in Sweden, two sisters in Finland and me in Norway. Since there are so few missionaries, the mission, the district and the zone are one and the same. We meet once a week via Zoom for district meetings, updates and devotionals. I am serving as the district/zone leader. I have conversations with each of the missionaries once a week, at the end of the week we all submit a report to our mission leaders about how our service is going.
In my service, I carry out work for charities and private individuals. In our service mission, we try to find projects that the missionaries themselves have an interest in and have skills in. My main assignment based in Oslo, is called Operation Wood (Operasjon Ved). It is a charity that goes back more than 50 years. Every year, Oslo municipality receives a certain amount of timber donated from Løvenskjold, which owns large forests around Oslo. Oslo municipality provides a place to work, and volunteers who come and cut, dry and split the wood. The volunteers mostly consist of some retired gentlemen and me.
From October to March, with the help of the Lions Club, we drive out to families or individuals that need help with heating during the winter. During this period, we deliver approximately 160,000 kilos of firewood.
The reason why I do a lot of work with timber is because I started splitting wood in kindergarten as a three-year-old boy. I really liked this and over the years have developed a great interest in this work and find great joy in this kind of activity.
It feels meaningful to be part of the long and important tradition we have in Norway of managing, refining and using the forest to sustain life in a sensible way.
I have also done some work for private individuals. Felling trees and splitting them into firewood that they can use themselves. I also help with other practical work in the ways I can, like putting up some sports equipment.
The goal of my mission, as stated in our mission’s purpose; is to help others come to Christ by serving them as the Saviour would. We do our best to be worthy representatives as we carry His name in the service we do. Unlike the teaching missionaries, we are not called to preach. We are called to serve. We help show that the Church is not just knocking on doors and handing out copies of the Book of Mormon, but that we are also a Church that wants to contribute to society.
A particular scripture that I treasure in relation to my service as a service missionary is Mosiah 2:17 where King Benjamin taught his people about service: “And behold, I tell you these things that you may learn . . . that when you are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
I finish my mission in December 2023. I served for 24 months as a full-time missionary.

Karl was born in 1907. He lived with his parents and a brother in a small town near Berlin, Germany. As a teenager Karl became interested in languages and wanted to study English and French. At fifteen years old he went to work as an apprentice in a factory that made eyeglasses. When he was seventeen he met two Mormon missionaries. His interest in the English language led him to take the English classes offered by the missionaries. In exchange for them teaching him English, Karl had to listen to the missionaries preach the gospel.

Karl and his mother joined the Church on July 30, 1924. His father joined in August of that year, but his brother never joined the Church. In 1928 Karl received a mission call to the German-Austrian Mission. While serving in Basel, Switzerland, he met a young woman, Alma, and after his mission he returned to that area to work. They fell in love, but jobs were scarce, so Karl returned to his hometown to start a farm with his father. Alma followed, and in December 1930 they were married. In 1940 Karl was drafted into the German army, leaving behind his wife and young daughter.

Back in Europe Karl’s faith and prayers helped him endure hardships during the war. His constant prayer was that he would not kill anyone or be killed but be permitted to return to his family. He described his ordeal as experiencing all the plagues. He told of having so many lice in his uniform that when he had the chance to be near a fire, he put his coat in it to kill the pests. One of his colleagues tried that same method, but it did not go as well for him. Instead of killing the lice, the heat acted as an incubator, and the lice multiplied to an unbearable level.

In May 1945 Karl learned that the war was over, but while he was trying to reach his home, he was captured by Russian soldiers. They sent him to a prison camp in Siberia. Lack of food, demanding work, illness, and harsh treatment by the guards took their toll on Karl’s health. After eight weeks he was so sick that his heart started to fail. He was sent to see the camp doctor, who used a dirty needle to give him a shot. Within a short time Karl had a serious infection.

During his captivity he pled with the Lord to keep him alive and strong enough to return to his family. Karl promised the Lord he would serve him for the rest of his life to the best of his ability.

In October 1945 a rumor went around the camp that most of the sick inmates in the prison camp would be sent back to their countries. In November the medical staff made a list of all the men who were to be sent home immediately. Karl’s name was not on that list. He called on the Lord, asking for His help. He was desperate to go home because he knew he would not live much longer in the prison camp. He asked the doctor to look through the list again. It still was not there. The doctor started looking through the lists for other countries and finally found Karl’s name on the Hungarian list. The doctor corrected the error, and Karl was put on a train for home.

The trip took two weeks. There were train cars full of prisoners returning to their homes. The prisoners were not given much food, so the strongest men would hunt for food when the train stopped. If the guards caught them, they were shot. Besides the limited food supply, it was cold. Every morning the guards would come to each train car and ask if there were any dead. Every morning there would be ten to twelve men who had died during the night.

Eventually Karl returned home, ill and emaciated. His wife and his mother nursed him back to health. Karl survived the war but faced additional struggles as a Church member in East Germany. Through guidance by the Spirit and protection from the Lord, he and his family escaped East Germany and eventually were led to Utah. Karl kept his promise to the Lord. He dedicated his life to the gospel and professionally spent many years working in various employment opportunities in the Church.

“But how can you go on a mission? I’m getting married, and you’re the only member of my family who can come. You’re my mom! I mean, it’s only the most important day of my life. What kind of wedding is it going to be for me with no family to celebrate?”
I remember the conversation as if it were yesterday. I was a freshman from California going to Brigham Young University planning to marry George, a quiet boy from Manti, Utah, who had just returned from his mission to Italy. My parents had divorced when I was 12, but I had a wonderful non-LDS father, two inactive sisters, and a devout and adventurous LDS mom who, at age 47, had decided to go on a mission. She would leave just months before my scheduled wedding day in the Manti Utah Temple.
Mom hadn’t intentionally planned to miss my wedding, but she hadn’t told anyone about sending in her mission papers. George and I had surprised everyone, including ourselves, with a Valentine engagement and a May wedding date. I cried for days. It seemed the event I’d been so anxiously awaiting was now a source of great sorrow and disappointment.
George called my dad to explain why we were getting married in the temple, since my dad would not be able to attend. My father’s voice was thick with emotion as he questioned my fiancé. George explained how much he loved me and how he wanted to convey that love by entering into a marriage that, if worked toward, would last through eternity. He also told my father how much we loved and respected him.
My father shared his feelings of love for us and said he understood, but listening on the other line, I could hear tones of doubt and disappointment in his voice. I was his youngest child, and he wouldn’t even have the chance to give me away in a traditional wedding. I hung up the phone and cried for two more days.
My mom left for her mission, and I concentrated on school and preparing for finals. Preparations for my May wedding almost became an afterthought. In fact, my attention would not have been as focused on wedding plans if a girl in my dorm, Teresa, had not also become engaged on Valentine’s Day.
Teresa and her fiancé were planning to marry in the Salt Lake Temple and have a large reception afterwards. Each weekend she would go to Salt Lake to work with her mother on the preparations. And each Monday, Teresa would return with stories about their progress, including a detailed description of her beautiful dress.
I was making my own dress, and since I only managed a C minus on my apron project in 10th grade home economics class, the design was, needless to say, simple. I had chosen cotton material with six satin-covered buttons down the front and a bit of lace around each cuff. It cost 30 dollars. My terrific dorm mom helped me put it together during finals week.
I remember sitting at the sewing machine late one night picking out stitches from yet another seam and grumbling about Teresa’s professional fittings into a gown with yards and yards of cascading white satin draped with hand-sewn French lace. I could imagine that Teresa must look like a dream bride as the seamstress would pamper and pin and her mother would compliment and cry.
I’d cry, too, every time I thought about Teresa and her plans. It wasn’t that Teresa was flaunting her good fortune. It was me, not she, who had some repenting to do.
I awoke on my wedding day to sunshine and the smell of lilacs. I pushed open the small second-story window and felt a gentle May breeze dance its way past me into the room. The Manti Utah Temple stood gleaming on the hillside, beckoning.
As I turned from the window, I saw my simple white dress hanging on a wall hook by the side of the bed. Someone had lovingly pressed out the travel wrinkles and quietly hung it there while I was sleeping. Tears welled up in my eyes. I missed my mom, dad, and sisters. I wanted them with me. How could I possibly get married with no family, no reception, and no gorgeous gown?
Then, as my eyes rested on my 30-dollar dress, the Spirit spoke clearly to my soul: What you do in faith is rewarded in power.
I caught my breath. I wasn’t marrying for this moment, or even this lifetime, but for eternity. Against earthly disappointments, I was manifesting my testimony in action. I loved my Heavenly Father, I had faith in His system of marriage, and because of that faith He would bless our union with power.
It was true. We are now celebrating nearly 30 years of joyful commitment. Even though there have been times of miscommunication, disappointment, and struggle, the power of eternal bonding has pulled us through. We look across the breakfast table at each other and think, There is my very best friend.
The power has also extended to other family members. My mother and I are great friends. And my father, even though he has now passed on, truly did honor and respect George and me as “young people with stability in this crazy, mixed-up world.” My sisters, although still not active in the Church, are beginning to see some consistency in what George and I have put together.
Please don’t think I’m flaunting my good fortune. I’m just so exuberant about the wondrous ability God has to bless our lives if we put our faith in Him. It’s that simple. Love Him, trust Him, and the miracle of eternal sealing can happen, even in a 30-dollar dress.

I was so excited to know if Heavenly Father wanted me to be a member of the Church or not and to know if the Book of Mormon was true. But I was confused about how to get an answer. My mom told me to stop and feel when I pray. She told me that if you feel the same, you should keep praying. If you feel bad, the answer is no. And if you feel happy, then the answer is yes. That night I prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, thank you for my day. Please tell me if the Book of Mormon is true. I want to be a member of the Church, and is that what I should do?” I waited, and then I felt joy. I said, “Thank you for answering me. Amen.” Heavenly Father said yes, and I know that Heavenly Father loves me.
James H., age 8, Arizona, USA

As I finished washing the dishes, I glanced out the window and saw my eight-year-old brother dangling a long pole in the swimming pool. His tangled brown hair hung in his eyes, and his clothes were splashed with water. He always managed to avoid helping with the chores, and today was no different. I watched as he carefully steadied the pole in the water, lifted it, and tapped it on the concrete deck.
“What’s he doing?” I wondered. I decided to go outside and see what time-wasting activity had kept him from helping me.
“What are you doing, Ben?” I asked as I walked over to where he stood.
“Saving bees,” he replied. I could now see that each time he steadied the pole, it was beneath a bee. He then lifted the bee out of the water and placed it on the warm concrete to let the bee dry its wings and fly away.
“But some of them won’t hold on,” he continued. “I try to save them, but they just keep trying to swim and won’t grab the pole.”
“Great,” I thought. “One less bee to sting me.” I began walking back toward the house, determined to waste no more of my time.
Then Ben spoke again. “It’s like Jesus,” he said.
I stopped and walked back to my little brother. “What do you mean?” I asked, confused by that comparison.
“I try to save the bees from drowning, but they have to choose to grab the pole. I can’t force them,” he explained. “And that’s like Jesus and us. He wants to save us, but we have to choose to follow Him and accept the Atonement. He can’t force us.” And with that simple analogy, Ben went back to saving the bees.
As I thought about what he said, I realized how much I was like one of the drowning bees. When I faced a struggle in my life, I was prone to battle it out alone, convinced I was strong enough to make it. Trusting the Savior enough to stop “treading water” was difficult. But as I watched Ben patiently pull each bee out of the water, I began to understand how willing the Savior is to help me.
I gave Ben a hug and returned to the house, letting him continue his work. And I promised myself the next time I saw a pole coming toward me, I would have the faith to grab on tight and let the Savior lift me up.

“It’s Christmas!” my sister and I screamed, running into our parents’ bedroom. Every Christmas we set an alarm and woke our parents up at 5:00 a.m. on the dot. That year, we tried to act like everything was normal, but Christmas felt very different. It was different because my grandpa was dying. He had been fighting brain cancer for two years, and in the last couple of days, he had gone downhill.
We were still opening presents when Grandma called to say that Grandpa wasn’t doing well. My mom and dad went to say goodbye to him, and my sister and I were taken to a relative’s house for the day. Later that Christmas evening, Grandpa died. We were heartbroken.
I was sad that Grandpa had died and upset that it was on Christmas. But his death helped me remember why Christmas is important in the first place. It is a day to remember Jesus Christ’s birth. He was born so that death could be overcome. And so, even though Christmas that year was a day of mourning, it was also a day of rejoicing because I knew that through Jesus Christ’s birth, life, and Atonement, I would see Grandpa again.
Jessica S., Utah, USA

My turn in the line came, and the official-looking woman asked for my name. She looked at her list and said, “So you’re the young man from Utah.”
“You mean I’m the only one?” I asked.
“Yes, you’re our only student here from Utah.” She then handed me my nametag with a bold “Utah” printed below my name. As I clipped it on, I felt like I was being branded.
I walked to the hotel elevators with my luggage. Five other high school students with nametags like mine crowded into the elevator. “Hey, you’re from Utah. Are you a Mormon?” said a tall guy.
I felt out of place with all of these student leaders from all over the country. “Yes,” I hesitantly admitted.
“Yeah, my minister told me all about you. You’re the guys who believe in John Smith and his golden glasses, right?”
“I think you mean Joseph Smith,” I responded.
“Yeah, that’s right. He’s the one who said he saw all those angels and stuff. You don’t actually believe any of that, do you?”
I didn’t even know what to say. The other students in the elevator were all staring right at me. I had just arrived, and already everyone thought I was different. I became a little defensive and spoke up.
“I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.”
Where had that come from? I wondered. I didn’t know I had it in me. But the words felt true as they left my mouth.
“Yeah, my minister told me that you were all just a bunch of religious nuts,” he said.
With that, there was an uncomfortable pause as the elevator door opened to our floor. As we gathered our luggage, the tall student walked down the hall laughing to himself. I felt a little humiliated.
Right then, a voice from behind me asked, “Hey, don’t Mormons have some sort of another Bible?”
Oh no. Here we go again, I thought. I turned to see one of the students who had been in the elevator with me, a very tan guy named Christopher from California.
“It’s called the Book of Mormon,” I said, half wanting to drop the subject. I picked up my bags and started walking down the hall.
“Is that the book that Joseph Smith translated?” Christopher asked.
“Yeah, it is,” I answered. I kept on walking, not wanting to embarrass myself any more.
“Well, do you know how I could get one?”
A phrase from a scripture that had been taught to me by my ninth-grade seminary teacher suddenly came to my mind. “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ” (Rom. 1:16). As this thought entered my mind, I felt ashamed that I had been so embarrassed.
For the rest of my week with all of the student leaders, that same scripture wouldn’t leave my mind. I was asked all sorts of questions about the Church, and I made many friends. As I answered the questions that I could, I discovered I was proud of my religion. I think I learned as much about myself as they did.
I gave Christopher a Book of Mormon, and he later wrote to me, telling me he had invited the missionaries to his home.
I learned that I don’t have to be embarrassed by my beliefs. I know this is the true gospel of Christ, and I am not ashamed of it.

Quite recently, I was privileged to observe this process in the life of a brother named Stan, who had been less active for some 45 years. He had lived a good life and supported both his wife and son in their activity as faithful members in the Church. Yet for personal reasons he chose to remain outside the fellowship of the Church. Even so, each month he welcomed the home teachers.

During February 2006, Stan received new home teachers. Their first visit was pleasant enough, although Stan showed no real interest in the gospel or in any matters remotely associated with spiritual things. Their next visit did little to alter their initial observations, even though Stan was a little warmer and friendlier. On their third visit, however, there was a visible change in Stan’s countenance and demeanor. To their utmost surprise and even before they were able to present their message, Stan interrupted them with a number of thoughtful questions. In the ensuing discussion he also recounted his experiences during the past month, in which he and his wife had commenced reading one chapter a day from the Book of Mormon.

Elder Bruce R. McConkie eloquently described the type of reawakening Stan experienced: “Here is a man who gains a copy of this blessed book, begins to read it, and continues … until, having read it all, his famished soul is filled with the bread of life. He cannot lay it aside or ignore its teachings. It is as though the waters of life are flowing into the barren deserts of his soul, quenching the arid, empty feeling that theretofore separated him from his God.”

The home teachers were reminded of the remarkable power of the Book of Mormon and how very real the influence of the Spirit of the Lord is when we turn to its sacred pages. They also more fully understood the Prophet Joseph Smith’s declaration “that the Book of Mormon [is] the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”

Stan’s thirst for learning and rediscovery of the restored gospel soon expanded his reading beyond one chapter a day, accompanied by deep soul-searching and fervent prayer. To those who sometimes are concerned whether the Lord will actually hear their prayers, the Savior reminds us:

“If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? …

“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give good gifts, through the Holy Spirit, to them that ask him?”

Our beloved prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, also counseled: “You can’t do it alone. … You need the help of the Lord … and the marvelous thing is that you have the opportunity to pray, with the expectation that your prayers will be heard and answered. … He stands ready to help.”

During August of 2006, Stan ventured alongside his ever-faithful wife into his ward sacrament meeting—his first in 45 years. There, with a humble and prayerful heart, he listened to the simple sacramental prayers offered by the youthful priests. Feeling unworthy and sensing something of the depth and the meaning of this most holy ordinance, he reflected deeply and painfully without partaking of the bread or the water for a number of weeks.

President Joseph Fielding Smith, in a tender testimony many years ago, said: “In my judgment the sacrament meeting is the most sacred, the most holy, of all the meetings of the Church. When I reflect upon the gathering of the Savior and his apostles on that memorable night when he introduced the sacrament … my heart is filled with wonderment and my feelings are touched. I consider that gathering one of the most solemn and wonderful since the beginning of time.”

Stan continued studying, praying, attending church, and receiving appropriate counsel and encouragement from his home teachers. Then the day arrived when, joyfully, he felt he was ready to put forth his hand to partake of the precious sacrament. When we partake worthily, thoughtfully, and reverently of the holy sacrament, we are enabled to become “partakers of the divine nature” because of the Atonement of Christ and the power of the Holy Ghost.

As Stan returned to activity in the Church, he received a calling and, some months later, was ordained an elder. In July 2007, Stan and his wife knelt across the altar in a house of the Lord and, by the authority and eternal law of God, were married for time and for all eternity.

Steve Hammond, 14, of King Salmon, Alaska, is an Eagle Scout, but he didn’t have a troop to help him reach his goal. Steve was following in the footsteps of his 16-year-old brother, David. Both boys earned their Eagle badges as Lone Scouts.
Their father became a registered Scoutmaster so he could supervise their work. He wanted his sons to do their work the right way. He says, “I was probably tougher on them than another Scoutmaster would have been.”
Steve had a wonderful time earning his fishing merit badge. He hooked a 36-pound king salmon.
Steve and David made something of a competition out of earning merit badges. They received their awards together in a special court of honor. As an Eagle project, Steve and David took on the restoration of a nearby Russian Orthodox church cemetery.
Steve and David are in the King Salmon Branch, Alaska Anchorage Mission.

The last speaker, an elderly gentleman from another stake, was introduced.
“May I share a short Christmas story with you?” he began. “It’s a true one. In fact, it involves someone I know in my ward across town. I am the home teacher of a young family who has suffered much these last few months. The father lost his job, and their baby has been terribly ill. Although the bishop worked with the family and ward members helped, too, it still wasn’t enough. The parents used all their savings just to keep their baby alive. I had gone to their home this past week with baked goods from my wife, hoping to help them through their holidays.
“As I talked with the father, he told me how they had gathered as a family to discuss a problem. It was tithing settlement last Sunday. They had to decide whether to pay tithing or to use their tithing money for groceries. That good father said that he told his children that they must first obey Heavenly Father. They decided to pay their tithing.
“How I worried about them! On Christmas morning, I hurried to their home. I was amazed at what I found! The children were playing with toys, and I could smell food cooking in the kitchen!
“As I entered, the children excitedly told me about their Christmas Eve. Santa had come early; he had left many presents.
“The mother then explained how they had gathered the papers and boxes after opening all their gifts on Christmas Eve. She had thrown most of the papers into the fireplace. As she crawled into bed, she worried about not having enough money to buy groceries. But she fell asleep knowing they had been given enough food for Christmas Day.
“Early the next morning, she noticed a red envelope on the floor.
“With tears in her eyes, she told me that when she opened it, there was money inside—and a note, which read: ‘Merry Christmas! You don’t know us. We don’t know you. We want you to have these gifts so you can celebrate with us the birth of our Savior.’”
The elderly man was so full of emotion that he could hardly finish his talk. “I guess we’ll never know who delivered those gifts on Christmas Eve, but they must be very special people who know what Christmas is all about.”

I’ve learned, too, that silence can also be productive, even though it makes us very anxious. A fine colleague and friend called my office shortly after I had been sustained as a General Authority to ask for an appointment. I was out, but happily my secretary scheduled an appointment, and it was for more than a mere ten minutes. The friend came. I greeted him warmly, but, contrary to my usual style, I stayed mostly silent. His eyes brimmed with tears as finally he said that, as he had listened to conference, he knew he needed to come and set things right. I resisted the impulse to intervene reassuringly, since I knew of nothing that was wrong. He then continued, saying that he was becoming active in the Church again and knew he needed to repair certain relationships. Happily, again I resisted stemming his flow of feeling. With courage and tenderness, he indicated that at times he had said things about me that were untrue and unkind. He wanted to seek my forgiveness. Only then did I respond by telling him of my regard for him and my unawareness of and unconcern over what he had reportedly said. Most importantly, I told him of my love and admiration and forgiveness. We embraced. I expressed then my admiration also for his courage and for his manhood. He then said how difficult it had been to come that day and how he had almost called to cancel the appointment. We spoke together of the wisdom contained in Matthew 18:15 and Jesus’ counsel therein as to what we should do when there are impasses in human relationships: “Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother.” I love that man and respect him for taking the initiative, since I had been unaware of the matter. He is fully and effectively active in the kingdom today. He needed to say what he said more than I needed to hear it, but I am so grateful I did not rush in to fill the silence that morning in the lesson he taught me so well.

My father’s patriarchal blessing was brief, and at first he felt it was somewhat generic. However, he later realized the significance of one of the promises. He was told he would play a key role in bringing the gospel to many countries. As a young man he served in the Germany Frankfurt Mission, so he initially thought that promise referred to just two countries: the United States and Germany. But in 1990 he was called to preside over the Austria Vienna Mission. In 1991, Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia were added to his mission, and in 1992 he brought the first missionaries into Albania. Since then, my parents have served in Salzburg, Austria, the Johannesburg South Africa MTC, and Thailand. As a young man, my dad didn’t know what God had planned for him, but God did—and it was all foretold in his patriarchal blessing.

During an interview while I served in an elders quorum presidency, I asked a fellow quorum member if he had ever felt and acted on a spiritual prompting. He thought for a moment and shared an experience.
One afternoon he was washing dishes when he received a strong impression to go knock on a neighbor’s door. He did not understand why, but the prompting was powerful and urgent. He stopped what he was doing and left right away.
He arrived at his neighbor’s door, not knowing what to do or say, and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. There was still no answer. Concluding that no one was home, he turned to leave but then felt another prompting.
He walked back to the door and simply said, “Sister, I love you.” Then he departed.
He thought this experience was unusual, and he felt a little embarrassed by it. I told him that the Lord does not always tell us the reasons for promptings, but we should never feel embarrassed for acting on them. This brother moved away shortly after our interview.
During a fast and testimony meeting a year later, a sister I did not know walked to the stand to bear her testimony. Through tears, she explained that she had been away from the Church for several years, and during that time she became so depressed that she felt she could not go on any longer.
“Heavenly Father, if You really exist and if You really love me,” she prayed, “tell me now so I understand!”
Almost immediately, she heard a knock on her door and then another. When she didn’t answer, she heard a voice say, “Sister, I love you.”
She said feelings of love overwhelmed her, and she found new strength to face her troubled life. She said things were still not great, but her life was improving.
I had no part in this experience, but I have still been blessed. I gained insight into how two seemingly unrelated acts of faith demonstrated that our Father in Heaven knows all of us, and He calls upon us to act on promptings to help His children. I am grateful for, and cherish, this knowledge.