Gospel Story Finder

I can remember well the first time I noticed Jamie. Her long dark hair was braided and pulled neatly behind her small head. Her eyes, large and soft with a brownish luster, peered timidly around the room as Sister Jones, one of the Primary presidency, led her to a seat. It was my first day as a Primary teacher in a new ward, yet even with my many thoughts about my recent marriage, new friends, and new calling, something about Jamie attracted my attention.
After we separated for classes I became absorbed in my lesson for the Valiant A class and for a time forgot that moment when I noticed Jamie. Five minutes into the lesson, however, a quiet knock sounded at the door and Sister Jones escorted Jamie to a chair within the circle we had formed. Her pretty face looked at the floor, glancing up only occasionally to reveal her high cheekbones and fine features. Her expression held a look of innocence and intelligence, which was hidden once more as her attention returned to the tiles on the floor. As the hour progressed, she became more and more involved in the activities, smiling frequently and answering questions about the prophets that we were studying. She listened with complete attention to the entire lesson, keeping her arms folded and talking only when discussion was invited.
When the other children had left for sacrament meeting, I turned from erasing the chalkboard to see her still sitting patiently, as though waiting for me to finish.
“Aren’t you going to sacrament meeting?” I asked, sitting down on the tiny chair beside her.
She smoothed the pleats of her neatly ironed dress and slowly looked up at me.
“Yes. May I go with you?” Her voice sounded wistful, as though the request might displease me.
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll help you find your parents, but we’ll have to hurry—the meeting will be starting soon.”
“My mom doesn’t come to church.”
“Oh, well, then it must be your grandma. Where is she?”
The small hands ceased their smoothing motions and dropped to her lap.
“No one comes with me. I just come by myself.”
“No one? Surely you have friends or relatives that bring you.”
She shook her head simply and took my hand as if to go. “May I sit with you, please?”
I smiled at the earnest little face. “Of course you may.”
She smiled, a warm expression radiating the love that small children can give spontaneously, and pulled me out the door toward the chapel.
After the meeting, the Sunday School president approached while Jamie was talking to my husband, Dave.
“I see you’ve met Jamie already. I was hoping that she would be assigned to your class.”
I pulled him farther aside. “Jamie told me that no one comes to church with her. How does she get here? Does one of the bishopric pick her up?”
He shook his head and smiled in a funny, confused way. “No. She just shows up on the doorstep of the chapel every Sunday, waiting for the meetings to start—and I mean every Sunday.”
As he left to attend to other business, I sat down and watched Jamie as she spoke to Dave. What inspires a child of her age to such diligent church attendance? Was it possible for a nine-year-old to possess that level of spiritual maturity? I decided to find out more about this puzzling little girl.
The week passed quickly as work and homemaking activities filled my time. Then it was Sunday, and my class was coming into Primary. It wasn’t until five minutes after the meeting had started that I saw Jamie, a little out of breath, slip into the back row. After class, she came up to talk as usual. Seeing her solemn expression, I couldn’t resist teasing her.
“That must be the first time you’ve ever been late to church in your life! You looked as though you had run all the way.”
She gazed up at me, taking in my comment with complete seriousness. “I’m sorry I was late. Last night, my friend invited me to sleep over, and I forgot that today was Sunday until very late. I ran home then, but I must have slept in.”
I was stunned. “You mean that you went home from your friend’s house all on your own?”
She nodded slowly, as though it had been a confession. My attitude of joking was quickly replaced by one of love and admiration. I resolved again to find out more about Jamie’s background.
Late that Sunday afternoon I went to Jamie’s house to deliver some class preparation materials. I walked up to the screen door and knocked. As the door swung open I was overwhelmed by the smell of thick cigarette smoke that hung in the darkened front room. The sour smell of beer blended with it to make my eyes water. Standing at the entrance was a large, heavyset man dressed in faded pants and an undershirt. His face, wide and unshaven, regarded me coldly, looking first at my Primary manual, then directly into my eyes. His own were red and bloodshot, but they gazed unblinking as I stammered to say something—anything.
“Is Jamie here? I have some things to give her for class.” I thought briefly that mentioning the nature of the class might be unwise. To my surprise, however, his features softened slightly. He seemed to have decided that I wasn’t a salesperson of any kind. He motioned for me to enter, so taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room.
The smoke hung about the ceiling, making my throat itch when I breathed. Through the haze I could see a shabby brown couch and matching chair. Sitting there, playing cards on a table, amid a pile of beer bottles, were two other men and a woman. The heavy drapes were drawn closely, allowing no sunlight into the room, which was lit only by a single bulb suspended from the ceiling.
The woman looked up at me with a puzzled expression. Though her hair was much lighter than Jamie’s, I could see features similar to Jamie’s behind the dark lipstick and eye makeup. The men, dressed much like the one who had answered the door, continued their game as if I wasn’t there. I repeated my question to the woman: “Is Jamie here? I have some things from class to give her.”
She nodded slowly and shuffled out of the room, returning in a few minutes.
“She’s not here. I think she’s out playing with a friend somewhere.”
“I see. Well, would you please give her these things? They are from a project that we did in class today.”
She took the pictures and book and placed them on a chair. The man standing by the door opened it for me and I emerged into the bright sunlight and sweet fall air.
As I walked home, my mind was filled with thoughts and pictures. How could that little girl have such spiritual maturity and devotion? Again and again I saw the darkness of the room contrasted with the light that shone from Jamie. Would she be able to continue attending church? How would she learn about the gospel outside of the classroom? What would motivate her to keep trying as the years passed? Then I paused as a scripture suddenly came to mind: “For behold, the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil.” (Moro. 7:16.)
The words echoed in my mind—every man, every woman, every girl, every little girl, no matter where she lives! How brightly that light shone within Jamie, magnified to brilliance by the darkness of her surroundings! I resolved to help her small light maintain its glow until it had a chance to grow and stand alone.
From then on, every week after church, Jamie spent some time at our house playing games, eating, and just talking. As time passed, we came to admire her inner strength more and more. She possessed a peace and serenity that affected everyone around her.
Then, as we were walking home one day, unexpectedly she said, “Sandy, I want to be baptized. I’m nine years old, and it’s time for me to be baptized, but I can’t get anyone to do it.”
I was filled with an overwhelming love for her as those big dark eyes gazed up at me with unusual intensity. I gave her a big hug and we skipped home together hand in hand.
Jamie was baptized a few months later by one of the missionaries assigned to our area. He and his companion went through the discussions with Jamie, and her mother consented for her to be baptized. Dave and I sat on the fourth row, just behind Jamie’s mother and sister. Her mother looked different somehow—a little happier since I had seen her at home. At first, she seemed a little uncomfortable in the chapel, but the spirit of the meeting seemed to put her at ease. When Jamie came out dressed in white, my heart swelled with love and wonder. She looked beautiful and pure, walking down the aisle. She smiled as she passed us, the happy smile of a nine-year-old, the loveliness of a daughter of God.
As the missionaries gave talks about faith and obedience, I watched her listening intently as always, and knew that those words were being taught by the Spirit even as the elders spoke. Then it was time to go to the font. Jamie didn’t hesitate as she stepped into the water. A thrill went through me, and the words of Christ, when he spoke, “Suffer [the] little children to come unto me” (Luke 18:16) took on new meaning as I watched a little one do exactly that. She was then confirmed, and I was grateful to hear an inspired priesthood bearer ask Heavenly Father to bless her family to support her as a Church member. I said “amen” to his prayer with particular enthusiasm, knowing that Jamie now had a Companion to guide her throughout her life in any circumstance. With the aid of the Holy Ghost, her tiny light will indeed grow, and she will know great joy in the kingdom of heaven.

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of the Panuco First Branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

“You win.”
I had just come out of the hotel’s elevator with my date. It was my high school senior prom—the day I had been looking forward to for months. The dinner and accompanying dance were held on the top floor of a local hotel in my hometown in upstate New York. Balloon arches and a long, red carpet led the way into the ballroom where the dance was being held.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It was my science teacher, Mr. Keenan.
“You win,” he repeated.
Laughing, I asked him what it was I had won.
“You have the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” he responded. “I want that dress for my daughters when they go to prom.”
“Oh, I’m sure he tells every girl that,” I thought, smiling.
Continuing, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but not many of the dresses I’ve seen so far tonight cover very much.”
I was a little taken aback by his comment. It was obvious that my dress was modest, but I didn’t think that others would care. I thanked him and continued into the dance.
Later in the evening, my date and I went to the photographer for pictures. When it was our turn to pose, the photographer looked at me and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dress.”
“I’m sure you tell every girl that her dress is gorgeous,” I said, voicing my earlier thoughts.
“Oh no,” his voice was serious. “I rarely tell a girl her dress is gorgeous.”
Rewind eight months to the previous fall. I knew my senior prom was going to be at the end of that school year, and in my excitement I started searching for a prom dress in September.
My friends and I spent several Saturdays shopping at local stores and trying on their selection of formal dresses. But in my hometown, finding a formal dress that went to at least the knees, wasn’t cut too low in the front or back, had sleeves, and was cute was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I could have rationalized wearing an immodest dress—it was just one night, only immodest dresses were available, and all of my friends would be wearing them. But I felt uncomfortable just trying them on, and I knew I would be uncomfortable the whole night of prom if I did wear one.
I started looking harder. I knew it would be difficult to find something in local stores, so I turned to the Internet. It took a bit of searching, but after a while, I found the dress of my dreams.
It was a little more expensive than the immodest dresses I had tried on, and I had to get a job to pay for it. But when I received it in the mail and tried it on, it fit perfectly and I felt comfortable. I knew I had made the right decision.
When I walked into prom that night, I never once felt uncomfortable. And I was grateful that I had chosen to stay modest. As my teacher said, I had won.

At the end of eighth grade, I was having a really hard time. It seemed like nothing was going my way.
I never saw my mom. She worked a night shift and took care of my aunt who was dying of cancer. My dad had died a year earlier. I felt very lost and alone, like I had no friends or family to comfort me. At school I was quiet and didn’t open up much. I quit hanging out with my friends. At the time, I didn’t think I was acting that differently. I tried to be myself and be as happy as I could. Now I look back and realize I was feeling down and falling even further.
A friend who I had just started hanging out with had a very strong testimony. She was in one of my classes, and one day, out of nowhere, she handed me a letter. In it, she described her hardships and expressed her testimony, which was one of the strongest testimonies I had ever read.
At the end of the letter there was the scripture, John 14:18: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
I felt as though God was telling me through my friend that I was not alone, even though I felt as though I had no friends or family. Now I know I will never be alone because I can go to my Heavenly Father through prayer. He will always be there.

Years later, at the age of 15, the Prophet’s nephew Joseph F. Smith was called to serve a mission in Hawaii. You will remember that he was only five when his father, Hyrum, was martyred. His mother, Mary Fielding, died when he was just 13. Upon arriving on the island of Maui, young Joseph fell gravely ill. Despite these and other adversities, he wrote to Elder George A. Smith: “I am ready to bear my testimony … at any time, or at any place, or in whatsoever circumstances I may be placed. … I am ready to go through thick and thin for this cause in which I am engaged” (quoted in Joseph Fielding Smith, comp., Life of Joseph F. Smith [1938], 176).

It was almost Christmas, and the year had been hard for my family. My dad’s job was not going well. At night I could hear my parents talk about Christmas and how they didn’t know what to do. They knew that they could tell us that we would have to go without giving presents to each other, but they didn’t know what they could do about Santa, because most of the kids were still young. I was 13 years old and the oldest of six. At nights I would lie in my bed and try to think of a way that I could help my family to have a good Christmas.
One night I had the idea that I could earn some money, buy gifts for my brothers and sisters, lay them out on Christmas Eve, and say that they were from Santa. The next day, I walked around my neighborhood asking people if there was any work that needed to be done so I could earn some money. For a couple weeks before Christmas, I worked to earn the money I needed.
Two days before Christmas Eve, a friend who was old enough to drive took me to the store so I could finish some Christmas shopping.
As I was walking down the aisles in the store, I was getting excited looking for things that I knew my brothers and sisters would like. Every present was chosen with much love, and I couldn’t wait for them to open these gifts. Spending all the money I earned, I took the gifts home and hid them in my room until Christmas Eve.
When Christmas Eve came, all of my brothers and sisters were excited. After having our Christmas dinner, we got ready for bed and laid our stockings out for Santa to fill. Going downstairs to my room, I set my alarm so I could wake up in the night to lay out the gifts I had bought. I knew that my mom and dad would be setting things up and going to bed late, so I tried to get as much sleep as I could so I wouldn’t be tired for Christmas day.
That night, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go to sleep. I hoped my parents would go to bed soon. After waiting a few hours, I got all the gifts that I bought and snuck upstairs. A warm feeling came over me as I set out the gifts. I couldn’t wait for morning to come. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night because I was so filled with excitement and love.
When morning came, we all ran upstairs to wake up Mom and Dad and to see what Santa had brought. Watching my brothers’ and sisters’ faces as they opened the gifts that I bought them was the best part of my day. When mom and dad realized there were other gifts, they started to cry.
I will never forget that Christmas and the feeling I felt. It was worth working hard to prepare for that day.

In the famous movie The African Queen, two refugees from World War I violence in East Africa are trying to reach the relative safety of Lake Victoria. After surviving many near disasters, their boat, The African Queen, is stranded in a marsh. Unable to tell which way the current is flowing and surrounded by high growth, the two refugees become disoriented and discouraged. At the end of their energy and faith, they are about to give up and die.
Then, in a moment of high drama, the camera through which we are viewing their peril rises, and with new perspective we see their true location. Out of sight to them, but just a few meters away, are the long-sought liberating waters of Lake Victoria.

Her older sister, Katie (12), was the first girl born into the Fox family in 110 years. For the first eight and a half years of her life, Katie wasn’t able to be physically active because of a spinal condition she was born with. When Carolyn was old enough, she spent a lot of time keeping Katie company. Two years ago, after receiving a priesthood blessing, Katie underwent back surgery to try to fix the problem with her back. Even her doctor couldn’t believe how well it went. Now, though Katie plays actively with her other friends, she and Carolyn still have a closeness that’s unmatched.
Because of that closeness, the sisters have learned much from each other. In Primary, Carolyn looks out for children who are having a hard time and helps them know that they have a friend and are loved. She learned to do that from her sister, Katie.

I close with another story, illustrating how the spirit of the work of Elijah crosses the boundaries of blood ties in fostering honor between parents and children. I recently conversed with a woman who, as a baby, was adopted into a Latter-day Saint home. When I asked how long she had known she was an adopted child, she told me that when she was four, her father had presented a family home evening lesson on the plan of salvation. In the course of that discussion, he explained that sometimes parents who desperately desire children are unable physically to bring them into this life. In such cases, he said, the parents may fast and plead with the Lord to help them find a special child whose biological parents are unable to care for their child. Her father took her in his arms and explained that was how Heavenly Father had sent her to them. Hearing this tender story, I felt certain that the promises the Lord made to this woman’s adoptive parents were planted in her heart, and the result was her lifelong peace of mind and sense of belonging.

As a young woman, I filled up pages in my journal about what I wanted my future husband to be like.
Pages. Multiple pages.
But when I got old enough to date seriously, I realized that dating can be an obstacle course. I caved and tried a dating app.
I soon discovered a common trap:
You swipe up on someone because you think they’re attractive, but you don’t know anything except that they’re possibly above average in height, looks, and salary (depending, of course, on how honest they are in their profile).
In a world where dating is often initiated through dating apps, many spend so much time window-shopping for potential partners that they tend to judge by outward characteristics only, forgetting to focus on what’s on the inside.
And if the prerequisite for marriage is a model-worthy face and body, what kind of marriage will that be?
Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said: “‘Falling in love’ is always from within, rather than from without. That is, physical attractiveness must be reinforced with mental and spiritual harmony if true love is to be born and have long life.”
It’s not bad to desire physical attraction in a future spouse. But if outward appearances are your only compass for finding an eternal companion, you will come up short; physical attractiveness is not a marker of compatibility or spirituality.
As Elder Widtsoe said, love comes from the inside, not the outside. I believe that when you find the person who portrays righteous inner qualities and traits compatible with yours, their spiritual attraction fosters and enhances all other kinds of attraction—even physical.
The scriptures teach, “The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).
Don’t fall into the trap of only caring what’s on the outside. Keeping covenants requires commitment, honesty, integrity, and humility. Search for a companion who embodies righteous spiritual attributes, and cultivate those attributes within yourself.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “In God’s plan of happiness, we are not so much looking for someone perfect but for a person with whom, throughout a lifetime, we can join efforts to create a loving, lasting, and more perfect relationship.”
In your journey to find a spouse, do you stop to look at your own progress to perfection or only seek and expect perfection in your partner?
When my sister was single and struggling with dating, she realized she might be making this mistake. So she drew a simple picture of her desired partner:
A stick figure with three—only three—of the most important attributes she wanted in a husband. No height requirements, no six-figure salary quota.
Within several months she started dating her future spouse. He was dedicated to the gospel, hardworking, and honest. Together they are working to create an eternal marriage.
Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared: “Marriage is not a match of two individuals who feel they are perfect for each other, although you may feel that at some time. Marriage is when two individuals love the Lord and each other by covenant … and nurture a celestial relationship.”
Let these truths guide you through the important decisions you will face as you date and search for an eternal companion. Whether your search is on a dating app, among friends, at a YSA conference, or elsewhere, remember the eternal, spiritual attributes that will bring you the most happiness.
It will take more than a second glance to learn what really matters. You will not find perfection, but when the right companion comes along, together with the Savior, you can be perfect for each other.

In a video series on mormonchannel.org, a young man named Bubba shares his story about how his life was headed for disaster.1 He had grown up in a violent home, where his father was murdered when Bubba was only three years old.
Bubba grew up choosing the same life he’d always seen. He joined a gang and started fights with anybody who crossed him. By high school he figured he would end up in prison before long. And he didn’t care.
God intervened. At this dangerous crossroads in his life, Bubba met a Latter-day Saint family who showed him loving kindness and goodness. He’d never been around people like this before—people who showed compassion and love. He started spending as much time with them as possible. When he asked the family why they acted the way they did, they said it was because of their faith in Jesus Christ.
He wanted to find out what they knew. He began praying and studying the scriptures. And soon he felt something he’d never felt before. “Surely there is a God, and He loves me!” Bubba says. With God’s help, Bubba began to build his life over again with Jesus Christ as the foundation, leaving his old life behind.
“My nature changed. Who I am as a human being is different than who I was. Now I have a purpose. I have a destiny,” he says. “I have somewhere that I’m going.”
These days Bubba sees his future with brightness, faith, and hope. “I know that it is only through Jesus Christ, my faith in Him, that will help me get to where I want to get to,” he says.2

After his mission, he studied sociology at Villareal University in Lima. But his first love was the performing arts, so he studied those too. In fact, his study of performing had begun much earlier, at age six. He faithfully attended religious instruction classes in the church to which he then belonged because afterward there were old movies for the youngsters, and he was enthralled by the silent film comedy of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd. Cesar was nine when missionaries brought the gospel to his family. By eleven, he was performing in his LDS branch’s talent shows.

After studying at Villareal University, Brother Aedo wanted to go to Europe for more advanced schooling in political science. He worked his way through several South and Central American countries performing as a mime until he had saved enough money to fly to Europe. “I went to Europe on my talent, nothing more,” he recalls.

A series of events he considers providential prevented him from enrolling immediately. He spent several weeks in late 1979 and early 1980 visiting with his sister in Geneva, Switzerland—long enough to determine that instead of political science he wanted to study mime with the man who is widely recognized as the master. Brother Aedo knew that through his faith it would happen, if he persevered. So he returned to Paris and was persistent enough that he was finally able to see Marcel Marceau and become one of his pupils.

He spent three years studying with Monsieur Marceau—not only the art of mime, but also dramatic art, classical and modern dance, acrobatics, and fencing. He was one of the few pupils able to earn his tuition and expenses through weekend performances and summer touring. Now he is studying with the man who taught the master, Monsieur Marceau’s eighty-six-year-old mentor, Etienne Decroux. He is also continuing his study of classical dance.

Comedy is a major part of his art. One of his distinctive sketches depicts a traveler who cannot leave because his overloaded suitcase will not budge. The suitcase hangs at the end of the mime’s arm, all the exertions of his body seemingly unable to move it—until he opens the bag and throws out one handkerchief!

His art also has its serious side. “I have much faith in Christ,” he emphasized, adding that talent is given to us on earth to help others, as the Savior taught. Brother Aedo uses his talent to help in obvious ways, by bringing cheer to others and, he hopes, by portraying uplifting aspects of life.

He likes to dramatize some of the stories of the scriptures. Typically, he illustrates with a demonstration. First, he is the humble, saintly brother making his offering to God, and then he is the proud, jealous, cruel one. An observer can feel the piety of Abel and the wrath of Cain.

Cesar Aedo’s art has also helped others in some very tangible ways. Through performing, he has been able to support one of his brothers on a mission to Canada and to bring two other brothers to Paris for schooling.

“I have been able to help all my family. I don’t want to praise myself; I owe thanks to God that I have been able to do this.”

Now thirty, he attends the Paris Singles Ward. Though his life to this point has been full of work, study, and service to others, he looks forward to marrying and building a family.

“Ya viene,” is his expression, common in Spanish-speaking countries. “It will come.”

Dealing with Divorce
Bret Bryce, 15, Farragut Ward
My parents got divorced about five years ago. We were in the living room on a Saturday morning. My parents came in and told us they were going to be separated for a while. I always thought we had the perfect family. I remember that everybody cried. We were really sad and scared. I felt like the world was about to end, a terrible sick feeling. I was praying and hoping that they would get back together. But it never happened. They each got married to other people, really good people.
I would tell kids going through the same thing that it’s not their fault. Just because your parents get divorced doesn’t mean they don’t love you.

McKay felt terrible! He had been playing with his bubblegum and gotten it all over his hands. Then, to make matters worse, he had wiped the bubblegum off his hands and onto his bedroom wall. He knew his mother and father would be coming to tuck him into bed any minute, and he was afraid. He didn’t want to get into trouble, so he piled a toy box and some toys on top of each other until they hid the bubblegum mess.
When Mother walked into his bedroom, she said, “McKay, why are your toys stacked up like that?”
He shrugged his shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t figure it out.
Father came in and sat next to McKay on the bed. “Well, shall we read scriptures?” he asked.
“Yes,” McKay said. He loved reading with his parents every night.
Father began to read the story of Jonah and the whale.* McKay closed his eyes and listened. He could understand why Jonah didn’t want to go to the city of Nineveh and teach his enemies about the gospel. That would be a scary and hard thing to do.
McKay’s father read about Jonah running away so that he wouldn’t have to obey God. But God knew where Jonah was no matter where he went. Heavenly Father had to send a whale to swallow Jonah in order to teach him a lesson.
McKay frowned. He thought about Jonah trying to run away and hide from God. McKay remembered the bubblegum mess on the wall. Even though his mother and father couldn’t see it, Heavenly Father could. “Mom, Dad,” McKay said, “I’m hiding something.” He went to the wall and uncovered the mess.
“Yikes!” Mother said. “I’ll get a washcloth and some cleaner.”
Father shook his head. “Why did you try to hide that?” he asked.
“Because I was afraid, and I didn’t want to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”
Mother handed him the washcloth. “Here,” she said. “I’ll spray the cleaner. You scrub.”
After he finished cleaning the wall, McKay knelt with his parents and said a prayer. Then, he climbed into bed. “I’m glad you learned a lesson tonight,” Father said.
McKay smiled and said, “And I didn’t even have to be swallowed by a whale!”
His parents laughed and kissed McKay good night. McKay didn’t feel terrible anymore. In fact, he fell asleep feeling great.

Illustration by Allen Garns
I was finishing my mission in the Illinois Chicago South Mission when I received special permission to visit a previous area and have dinner with the Tremillo family. I had served in their ward for a whole year and had grown close to them.
During dinner, Brother Tremillo encouraged me to share at least one message of happiness on my way home. He said the Lord would put someone on my flight who would need my help. I promised him that I would.
From that time to the time I left Chicago, I was also praying to receive confirmation that the Lord would accept my sacrifice of serving a mission.
Three weeks later, I boarded the plane that would take me home. As I approached my seat, the person in the seat next to mine looked up. “No way!” she said. “I can’t believe it!”
My first thought was, “Great, she hates Mormons!” When I sat down, she told me that her name was Kelly and that she was a recent convert. She expressed how happy she was that a missionary was sitting next to her. Kelly told me that the last person she had sat next to was anti-Mormon and unkind in how she expressed her opinion of Kelly’s newfound faith. Kelly was distraught and had questions. She had been praying for answers and comfort.
I said a prayer in my heart and testified of the truth of the gospel and of God’s love for His children, including her. I told her about the advice I had received from Brother Tremillo. I said that God had prepared this special moment just for her.
With tears in her eyes, Kelly thanked me. She also said, “I can tell that you were a good missionary and that the Lord accepts your sacrifice.” At that moment, I felt God’s deep love for me. It was my turn to cry. With tears in my eyes, I thanked Kelly and told her that she had been an answer to my prayer. I answered a few more of her questions, and we exchanged email addresses.
Our flight landed and we waved goodbye as she walked to her next flight. I will always be grateful that Heavenly Father was willing to bless us in such a tender way.

As another example, I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe for homemade soap included rendered animal fat and wood ashes. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that desperately needed a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did as a child, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

When I was a freshman in high school, the weightlifting coach asked me to join weightlifting.
“Mmm … no thanks,” I said. “Not my thing.”
But he kept at it. For weeks.
Finally, I tried it out. He was right: I really liked weightlifting. It was definitely weird at first; my body had never done anything like it before. But I grew to love the feeling of working out. I also loved my teammates and the competitions. And I started doing really well!
Now weightlifting is a huge part of my life. I practice every day for at least two or three hours, doing back squats, clean and jerks, and snatches. (And if you don’t know what any of those things are, don’t worry—neither did I!)
Like many things, weightlifting takes time and patience, and sometimes that can be difficult. Luckily, my family is always right there encouraging me, even when I complain about how sore I am (which is often). My dad always has ice packs and pep talks ready for me when I get home from practice. And my mom always sacrifices so I can go to competitions.
A few years ago, I went to one of those competitions in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. I was excited to compete against weightlifters from all over the country, but I was a little worried about being so far away from my family. To make it easier, my mom promised to text me scriptures and thoughtful messages every day.
The night before the competition, some kids threw a party. I thought it would be cool to go, so my roommate and I went to check it out. But right away I knew it wasn’t my kind of party. There were teenagers drinking, smoking, saying bad words, and dancing inappropriately. I knew I shouldn’t be there, but I was worried what my roommate might think. Or what the other competitors might think.
But then something popped into my head:
“Stand ye in holy places.”
It was from my favorite scripture, and one my mom had sent me that morning: Doctrine and Covenants 87:8: “Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the Lord come; for behold, it cometh quickly, saith the Lord. Amen.”
I don’t know why my mom sent me that scripture that day, but it’s one I’ve loved my entire life. I’ve had it memorized since I was eight, and again and again it has reminded me to have courage, be obedient, and stand for what I believe in.
“Stand ye in holy places.”
“I’m gonna go,” I said to my roommate. I explained about the scripture my mom had sent me that morning. “This is not a place I should be standing.”
My roommate told me she didn’t want to be there, either. She was uncomfortable too but hadn’t wanted to leave by herself and be seen as a loser. She thanked me for saying something, and we left.
The next morning, we found out that soon after we left, the kids who were at the party were caught and eliminated from the competition for drinking and doing drugs.
If I hadn’t been prompted to remember my mom’s verse, I might’ve been disqualified from the competition too. I ended up winning first place, so I’m really grateful I got to compete. (I think I thank my mom every single day for texting me.)
Winning a weightlifting competition is a pretty obvious and immediate blessing from keeping the commandments. But Doctrine and Covenants 87:8 doesn’t say, “Stand ye in holy places so you can win weightlifting competitions.” And John 14:15 doesn’t say, “If you want immediate blessings, keep my commandments.” It says, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” The Lord blesses us because He loves us. And we try to be holy and obedient because we trust and love the Lord.

Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.

One thing we always do as a family is go camping. We have camped in Colorado, Arizona, California, and Utah. Of all those states, I liked Colorado best because of Turquoise Lake.
It isn’t easy to squash seven people into a small car and ride for three straight hours. And to be honest, I wasn’t in a good mood anyway. At the time, I didn’t like camping with my family. Maybe I was going through a phase or something, but my idea of a good time was being at home, where I could use the telephone and hang out with my friends.
We all cheered when Dad announced that we had reached the camp. We couldn’t see the lake from where we were, so my brothers and sister and I started running toward it as soon as we could. Unfortunately Dad was too quick, and he called us all back to set up the tents. He explained that it was almost dark, and we needed to get the work done while we still had daylight.
After a night’s sleep, I woke up the next morning to the sound of a bird chirping merrily from the branches of a tree right above my tent. Mom was already awake getting breakfast started.
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“Not just yet,” she said.
Just then, I heard a frog croak and a splash coming from the direction of the lake.
Mom said, “Why don’t you take a look at the lake? If you hurry, you’ll be able to see the sunrise.”
Flashing her a grateful smile, I ran toward the hill that separated us from the lake. When I reached the top, I stopped for a moment and gasped, partly because I needed air and partly because the view below me was so beautiful.
The water in the lake was a turquoise color, and so clear I could actually see the fish swimming around in it. There were mountain peaks on the other side of the lake with snow still on them.
It was so quiet without my little brothers and sister running around making noise that I sat down on the hillside and enjoyed the scene that surrounded me. The lake was completely calm when I saw a ripple in the water. Then there was another ripple, and then another. The fish were jumping all around searching for their breakfast.
It was like a play had just begun, and the lake was the stage. The curtains had opened, and the actors had started their parts. From one side I saw a deer leading her fawn to the water’s edge. Next I heard the songs of a group of birds, as they chirped while the sun crept higher and higher. I watched as they flew off together, first turning to the right and then flying to the left and out of sight.
As the sun rose from behind the mountain range, I noticed a squirrel had stopped to watch as the colors of red and yellow filled the sky. We watched together while the sunlight raced across the lake before finally overwhelming us with the warm, first light of day.
Suddenly my thoughts of the moment seemed to change. Along with the rays of warmth, I experienced a type of tingling feeling all over my body as a new understanding filled my spirit. I was no longer just watching this morning miracle, but instead I had become part of the scene in the play. I realized the same immortal being who had created all of this beauty had also created me. I was just as much a piece of his artwork as was the lake, the animals, or the sunrise. It wasn’t until that moment on Turquoise Lake that I really understood that I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father.

Mildred Coloma Rivera was born on April 17, 1941, and grew up in rural San Manuel, Tarlac. She came from a large family, with her parents engaged in tedious farm work. “We were a poor family,” she recalls, “and we struggled economically, so I looked for opportunities to earn.”
In 1961, Mildred started working for an American family at Clark Air Base in Pampanga. The Apel family were Latter- day Saints and Mildred was intrigued by the family’s faith. She told the family head, Charles Apel, that she wanted to come to Church with them on Sunday, to which Brother Apel replied positively.
Mildred liked what she saw and felt. “I knew right away the Church was true,” she affirms, “and I was interested in the Church because of the friendliness of the Apel family and also the members.” She was taught gospel principles by members of the small Church unit in Clark, as there were no missionaries available in that area.
Mildred soon gained a testimony. “I want to be baptized,” she excitedly told the Apels. The Church was so new in the Philippines that the pioneering missionaries—who had been given authority to baptize converts—were too far away in Manila to know about Mildred and her request. Thus, unit leaders in Clark had to get special permission from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City to baptize her.
Mildred waited patiently and prayed for a positive response. Her prayers were answered when permission was granted to hold a baptismal service, which took place on August 5, 1961. On that day, Mildred Coloma Rivera was baptized by Brother Paul Sharp, becoming one of the very first members of the Church in the Philippines.
“I felt so elated that I kept thanking God for being baptized,” Mildred joyfully remembers. Sister Rivera became one of the pioneer members of the Angeles Branch and grew in her testimony of the restored gospel as she prayed, read the scriptures, and attended Church services.