Gospel Story Finder

Daniel’s eyes lit up as he tore the last of the wrapping paper off the box. He lifted off the lid, then shouted, “Yippee! They’re just what I wanted!”
Inside the box were a pair of shiny, new cowboy boots. They were black and had a white design stitched on them. Daniel had wanted cowboy boots for a long time.
“Try them on,” his five-year-old brother, Steven, said.
“Yes! Yes! Try them on!” echoed Daniel’s three-year-old sister, Sara. Carefully he lifted the right boot out of the box. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the smooth black leather.
“I hope you like them,” Mom said. “Dad thought that they would be just right for you.”
Daniel nodded happily. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he admired them. He gently pulled the boot onto his right foot, lifted the other boot out of the box, and pulled it onto his left foot. He wiggled his toes inside the boots. Then he stood up, stomped his feet, and jumped twice. They fit perfectly!
“It looks like they’re just the right size,” Dad said.
“Thanks, Mom and Dad! They’re just what I wanted!” Daniel leaned forward on his feet, then rocked back. He balanced on one foot, then the other.
“I think he likes them,” Dad whispered to Mom.
“Just be careful with them,” Mom cautioned. “If you get them in the water or get them muddy or scuffed up, they won’t look new anymore.”
“I’ll take real good care of my boots!” Daniel promised as he bent over and ran his hand along the shiny black toe.
He did take good care of his cowboy boots. He always jumped over any water on the sidewalk. He never skipped through any mud puddles, and he always walked very carefully so that he wouldn’t make scuff marks on them. Every night when he took them off, he shined them with a soft cloth, then placed them side by side next to his bed. The cowboy boots stayed black, shiny, and new-looking.
Early one morning, as Daniel was finishing his breakfast, his mother asked him if he would go to the post office and mail a letter for her.
“Sure, Mom.”
“Be sure you wear a jacket, Daniel. It looks like the wind is picking up.”
After he put on his jacket and hat, he took the letter from his mother and started out for the post office.
The sky was overcast, it was windy, and it looked like it might rain. But Daniel was so happy to be wearing his new boots, that he didn’t notice. He skipped down the sidewalk and soon reached the post office. He mailed Mom’s letter and started home. The wind was blowing hard, so he zipped up his jacket and adjusted his hat so that it would not blow off. Then he started to jog. He passed Mr. Campbell’s bakery and Mrs. Goodson’s little sewing shop. He hurried past the Tuckers’ house and the Andersons’. By then, the wind was so strong that leaves and bits of paper were flying through the air, and dust was getting in his eyes.
Suddenly he stopped. He saw something very strange—a large white object flying by him! He blinked the dust out of his eyes and looked again. The flying white object was a man’s shirt! It fluttered, twisted, and flopped, then came to a stop right in a huge mud puddle!
“Catch that shirt!” A breathless voice exclaimed behind him. “I’ve been chasing it for five minutes! Oh, look at it now!”
Daniel turned around just as Mrs. Tucker caught up to him.
“I hung my laundry out on the clothesline this morning,” she said, panting from her run. “The breeze was quite nice, and I thought that it would dry my clothes quickly.” She took a deep breath. “But it suddenly got so windy! Now look at the shirt!” she moaned. “My husband needed to wear it tonight. Oh, now what am I going to do?” She threw her hands up in the air.
“I’ll get it for you, Mrs. Tucker,” Daniel quickly volunteered.
Mrs. Tucker’s face brightened. “Could you do that?” She looked hopeful. “I have to get the rest of my laundry off the clothesline before anything else blows away! Thank you so much!” Mrs. Tucker was already hurrying home.
Daniel stepped cautiously toward the huge mud puddle. It was starting to rain, and he didn’t want any mud splashing on his boots. The shirt had landed in the middle of the muddy water. He bent down and tried to reach it, but his arms weren’t long enough. He stood up and looked around for a long stick that he could pull the shirt out with. There were no long sticks anywhere, but he saw a short one a few feet away. He picked it up. It might work, he thought.
He squatted and reached out over the puddle as far as he could, but the stick wasn’t quite long enough. He inched closer to the water and stretched the stick out a little farther. But it was just too short. The shirt was still out of reach. He tried again, stretching the tiniest bit farther. …
Suddenly Daniel lost his balance. He tried to keep himself from falling, but he couldn’t stop himself and fell face first into the muddy water!
He stood up, grabbed the shirt, and jumped out of the dirty puddle. He was soaked! Mud and water dripped from his head and arms. His hat was crooked and it had dirty water dripping from the brim. As he wiped a dirty sleeve across his face, he looked down at his feet. His wonderful boots were wet and covered with a thick layer of mud! Daniel couldn’t even see the white stitching on the sides. He began stomping his feet on the sidewalk to shake the mud off of his boots, but not much came off. He wiped his jacket sleeve across the toe of each boot. It came away muddy, and it didn’t help much.
Upset, Daniel tucked the dirty white shirt under his arm and walked slowly to Mrs. Tucker’s house. It was still raining a little, but he didn’t even notice. All he could think about was his boots. No longer were they black, shiny, and new-looking. Now they’re ruined! he thought.
Daniel returned the shirt to a very grateful Mrs. Tucker. She thanked him and gave him a homemade chocolate chip cookie. He took a little bite as he walked home. But even though chocolate chip cookies were his favorite, he could barely taste it. All he could think about was his boots.
He felt so miserable that he didn’t see the little girl standing under a tree. He did hear her crying, though. It was Katie. She played with his sister, Sara. “What’s wrong, Katie?” he asked.
“My kitten climbed this tree when it started to get windy, and I can’t get her down.”
“I’ll help you.” Katie pointed to the top of the tree where a frightened kitten was clinging to a branch, and Daniel started to climb the tree. The wet branches grabbed at his jacket and scraped his legs and hands as he climbed toward the kitten. Finally he reached her. He gently lifted her off the branch, tucked her into the front of his jacket, and climbed down the tree.
Katie was very happy to have her pet safe and sound. She thanked Daniel and ran off cradling the kitten in her arms.
Daniel felt good. He was glad that he had helped Katie. But as he looked down to zip his jacket, he saw his boots—they were not only wet and muddy, they were also scratched and scuffed! Daniel sighed sadly. He was sure that his parents wouldn’t be very happy when they saw his boots.
He was going up the lane to his house, when he saw Dad trying to herd the new lambs back into their pen. “Do you need some help, Dad?” Dad gave him a long look. He noticed Daniel’s dirty face and muddy, wet clothes. He saw the scratched cowboy boots. “It looks like you’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Daniel glumly nodded.
“Well, I could sure use some help getting these lambs back into their pen. There’s a hole in the fence, and they found it!”
Daniel climbed over the fence into the lamb pen. Then he took the lambs when his father handed them over the fence. Soon all the lambs were back where they belonged. Then he helped his father fasten new wire across the hole in the fence so that the lambs couldn’t get out again.
“Thanks for the help, Son. Let’s go back to the house. It looks like it’s going to rain really hard in a few minutes!”
Daniel climbed up the fence and swung his leg over. He heard a ripping sound. He looked at his right foot in dismay. A loose wire had torn three inches on the side of his right boot. His eyes filled with tears.
Dad helped him down from the fence. “I think I can fix that with some heavy thread,” he said as he examined the tear.
Daniel just nodded slowly. His cowboy boots were really ruined now, even though he had tried hard to take care of them.
Later, in the warm kitchen, Daniel sat at the table with a cup of hot chocolate. It tasted good, but it didn’t do much to warm his spirits.
Mom put down the dish towel she had been using and sat by him. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your boots?” she asked gently.
Daniel told her about getting the shirt out of the mud puddle for Mrs. Tucker, about rescuing Katie’s kitten, and about helping Dad put the lambs back into their pen. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I really tried hard to take care of my boots.”
“I’ve noticed how well you take care of your boots,” she told him. “I’ve seen how gently you polish them and how carefully you take them off and put them away. It makes me very happy to know that you are so responsible.” She reached over and took his hand. “I’m also very pleased that you helped Mrs. Tucker, Katie, and Daddy today. Your boots may not be as shiny as they used to be, but it was only because you were serving others. That’s what our Savior wants us to do.
“You were always happy to wear your new boots because you had taken care of them. They may not look as new or as clean as they used to now, but every time you wear them, you will remember why.” She reached over and hugged him. “You know, Daniel, helping others is more important than clean, shiny boots.”
Daniel thought about that and felt happier.
“Let’s go clean your boots,” Mom said. “Then Daddy can sew up the tear. Of course,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “they won’t be as bright or shiny as they used to be, but we’ll know the reason why, won’t we?”
“Yes—my boots are muddy because I was helping people, like Jesus wants me to!”

When Liisa, 20, first heard about the job at the Delfinaario (dolphin aquarium), she was excited. She had good qualifications. In the Finnish equivalent of high school, she had studied biology, but also mathematics, science, physics, and chemistry.
“All those things are part of the job,” she explains. “And I’ve always been interested in animals.” And the job would help her earn money to pay for college in Sweden. Her enthusiasm and background paid off. She was hired.

While living in Argentina, Luis’s Polish parents, though not Christian, raised him in a good, religious environment. Invited one day when he was 17 years old to talk to a seminary class about the Old Testament, he gladly obliged. He felt at home with the youth in the class and continued to attend the early-morning meetings to answer their questions. “I thought I was teaching them,” he says, “but they were teaching me.” Luis became interested in finding out about the Book of Mormon, and one day he began reading it. “As I read, it slowly came to me who Jesus Christ really was—the Messiah!” he recalls. “This affected me profoundly. I read all night long.” After receiving an answer to his prayers, he decided to be baptized, despite the strong disapproval of his family. “I had a great desire to study and make up for all I felt I’d missed,” he says. In time he married Laura Moltó, the daughter of his seminary teacher, and soon after began serving in leadership positions, first in the ward, now in the stake.

It was four days before Christmas, and the excitement in our family was almost tangible. Heidi was busy wrapping her gifts for Mom, while Erin was fascinated by the brightly colored lights twinkling in the window. I was excited because tonight the company John worked for was treating the employees and their wives to dinner and a show.
After dropping the girls off at the baby-sitter’s, John and I were on our way. We used the time as we drove to the company party to reflect on our many blessings.
The party was a huge success. It was well after midnight when we pulled into the driveway. John went ahead to open the door and turn the lights on, while I wrapped our two sleeping girls in blankets to protect them against the wintry night air.
Suddenly, John came running back to me, shouting, “We’ve been robbed!” With Erin in my arms, I felt a chill run through me. After checking the house, we discovered that all our Christmas presents were gone. The thieves had taken everything—even our tithing receipts and patriarchal blessings. We were devastated! What could we do? We felt so helpless.
Instead of enjoying the fun of customary family events connected with the celebration of the birth of our Savior, we struggled with a cold and empty feeling. The gifts could surely be replaced, but the love and care that went into each gift and its wrapping could not.
We held a family council and decided to stay indoors and celebrate Christmas quietly, keeping our focus on a celebration of the Savior’s birth.
That Sunday, news of the robbery spread. Sunday evening, as John and I sat in the living room with the lights out, we heard the sound of car doors slamming. We both jumped, thinking the burglars had come back. Quickly we dashed to the front door. We couldn’t believe what we saw.
Tiny reflections of lighted candles flickered in the frosty air as 25 ward members sang carols to brighten our spirits. It was hard for us to hold back our tears.
As they drove off, we felt joy replace the bitterness in our hearts. When we walked back into the house, the phone was ringing—the first of many phone calls that night from neighbors wondering how they could help us. We turned on Erin’s favorite twinkling lights and decided to have a Christmas celebration, no matter how small.
The following day was Christmas Eve. About 11:00 A.M. it began—visit after visit from Church members with presents and food. One sister was prompted to give us money, and it turned out to be the same amount that had been stolen. Boy Scouts came and made their contribution. Members from a neighboring stake heard of the robbery and sent Santa himself. Heidi could not believe her eyes. This parade of love and aid continued until about midnight.
By the time we went to bed that Christmas Eve, our hearts were filled with gratitude to others. Exemplifying the spirit of Christmas, those who responded to our need had turned a nightmare into a festival of Christlike love.

Mother sighed. “It’s a picture of my cousin Kenny and me. Kenny was my best friend too. We both loved the early spring, when buds began to form on brown branches, green grass peeked out from patches of melting snow, and the river roared through the farm with spring runoff. Kenny was deaf and couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the spring sun warm his back as he played with Bridget, his huge pet sheep who was about to have baby lambs.
“We were both five. We talked to each other with our own made-up sign language. I loved playing with his large collection of farm toys, and he was always willing to share them.
“On that beautiful spring afternoon, the snow had been totally replaced by a carpet of green grass, and the creek had calmed from a roar to a strong, pleasant chuckle. Our mothers decided to let us go fishing.
“I was eager to try out my new bamboo fishing pole. A real fishing pole. Always before I had used a thick stick, like the one Kenny was still using.
“We sat side by side on our little perch, not moving so that we wouldn’t scare the fish. I threw my line into the creek, just the way my mother had shown me, being careful not to get it tangled. Kenny just sat there with his stick-pole, a sad expression on his face. Oh no! I thought. He wants a new pole too.
“Soon he motioned to me in our own private language that he wanted to use my new fishing pole. I shrugged him away, pretending not to understand. He tried again, more insistent this time. I looked away, pointedly ignoring him. Frustrated, he tried to pull the pole out of my hands.
“I pried his fingers off my pole and pushed him away. I wanted to tell him, ‘Just let me use it first for a little while. I’ll let you try it if you’ll only wait until I’m ready.’ But I didn’t know how.
“He was hurt and turned away. I reached over to pinch him, angry because he wouldn’t let me enjoy my new pole even for a moment.
“I looked up to see my mother taking our picture. My face burned with shame. I felt small and little and mean. I didn’t feel like fishing anymore.
“Handing my precious new pole to Kenny, I left to go play with Bridget. I loved to put my fingers deep into her soft wool. I looked back to see that Kenny was offering me his thick stick and motioning for me to come back and sit by him, but I ignored him.
“We had a picnic that day on the vast green lawn, with fancy little sandwiches cut in the shape of hearts, pink lemonade, and Aunt Dorothy’s angel food cake. We laughed when Bridget tried to steal a nibble.
“That was the last time I ever got to play with Kenny. Our mothers had planned this special day for us because Kenny was going into the hospital to have surgery, which the doctors hoped would help his ears.
“But something went wrong. Kenny died. My mother said that Kenny went to live with Jesus. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay right here with us.
“I missed him terribly. His mother put away all his farm toys and never got them out again. I wanted to play with them because then I could pretend that he was playing with me.
“Mom’s pictures came back from being developed, and the pinch was in that picture! Mom had the picture made big and ordered several copies so that Grandma and all my aunts and uncles could have a picture of Kenny.
“I have always felt sad about that mean pinch. Every time I see that picture of Kenny and me fishing, it makes me feel bad.”

One of these for Kathy and me came early in our marriage when I was struggling as a first-year law student and she was overwhelmed by her first teaching position. We barely met in all of our individual comings and goings, and our relationship with each other was suffering noticeably. Even Sundays were burdensome as we tried to fulfill our Church callings and catch up on our studies and school preparation. Finally we sat down one evening and decided if our marriage was the most important part of our lives, we had better start acting like it was. We agreed to completely honor the Sabbath by refraining from work, including our studies, and by devoting ourselves to the building of a stronger marriage. There was an immediate surge in our feelings toward each other and noticeable improvement in other areas, including my grades and Kathy’s teaching. Twenty-six years later we are still faced with many similar choices and issues. I hope and pray we are still resolving them in favor of the things that matter most.

I’m grateful for the example of a father who, as a busy executive of a great supermarket chain, still found the time to demonstrate by his concern that groceries were less important than his boy.

Like many young men, I once had a paper route; and I had to get up early in the morning to deliver them. One morning I woke up and looked outdoors to see one of those torrential Arkansas downpours. I thought we were in for another flood! As I prepared to go out in that rain, my father came into the room dressed in his business suit. “Get in the car, Paul,” he said. “I’ll drive you around your route this morning.” This meant that he would have to go without his own breakfast.

On that morning, in addition to the heavy rain, the papers came late. By the time we had them delivered, it was considerably past the hour that my father had to be to work. And on this particular morning he had scheduled a very important board meeting.

He arrived at the meeting late, walked into the board room, and announced, “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen, but I had to deliver my papers this morning.”

Do you think that there was ever any doubt in my mind as to my father’s greatest concern? Interestingly, I don’t recall too many lessons my parents verbally taught, but their example is still a part of me till this day.

When the Second World War erupted, all American missionaries had to return home. Local Swedish men were then asked to serve as missionaries. C. Fritz Johansson, who had joined the Church in 1931, was called as the new mission president. One year before the war, he sold his grocery store business and became a missionary with his wife and three children. When the war was over, President Johansson and seven missionaries from Sweden were called to reopen missionary work in Finland, which had stopped because of the war.

Only two hours after I had gathered the parts, some coming from as near as the trash can and broom closet, I was aiming my homemade telescope into the night sky. At first all I saw was a bunch of smeared blotches, but by moving the eyepiece in and out I was able to focus my telescope, and what a spectacle opened before my eyes! I saw four of Jupiter’s moons, not to mention the huge planet itself, craters on the moon, and the rings of Saturn. As the year progressed, I was able to see the crescent of Venus and the white polar caps of Mars. I even saw the white oval of our nearest galaxy, Andromeda, the nebula in Orion, and the Pleiades (a cluster of stars shining through some interstellar gasses). I saw double stars, the Milky Way, and many other beautiful celestial bodies. I even tried looking at the sun, but it didn’t take long (about a millioneth of a second!) for me to find out that looking at the sun is not a safe thing to do! I managed to get around the problem, without buying a special sun filter, by projecting the sun’s image onto a piece of paper. I held a piece of white paper behind the telescope, about four inches away from the eyepiece, and much to my surprise, there was the sun. It was a very bright circle with little black dots covering its surface. I later learned that these dots were sun spots, regions on the sun’s surface where the temperature is somewhat cooler.
The telescope I built was a very simple one. It consisted of one big lens that I attached to the front of a mailing tube and two smaller lenses out of which I built an eyepiece that slid into the bigger tube. The big lens was salvaged from an old camera, while the two smaller lenses were toy magnifying glasses I bought from the drug store. I even hammered three broom sticks together and made a simple yet sturdy tripod on which I mounted my scope.

Illustrations by Scott Snow
When I first met Tyler, he was the last person I would ever have imagined joining the Church. Even as we became friends, I never really considered talking to him about my beliefs, since I was sure he would never be interested. Thankfully, the Lord had other plans.
As I was sitting in bed one night, my phone buzzed, and a text from Tyler read, “Who is God to you?” Surprised, I answered with a simple testimony, and Tyler responded with more questions about what I meant. Over the next several weeks we continued to talk about gospel questions, and the Spirit worked in Tyler’s life, teaching and testifying of the truth. It was awesome to watch as Tyler voluntarily started to change his life out of a sincere desire to do God’s will. His earrings came out, the profanity stopped, and he started reading the Bible on his own.
That April, I finally invited him to come to church, where he soon became a regular. However, certain doctrines and principles that didn’t match his lifestyle kept him from fully embracing the gospel. He wanted to be a Latter-day Saint; he just wanted other things more. After a few weeks, he started going to a different Christian church.
“Heavenly Father, I know this gospel is true. So why couldn’t Tyler accept it?” I prayed in hurt frustration. This wasn’t the ending I’d had in mind.
Weeks later, a sister at church asked how Tyler was doing and where he was. “Oh, he’s fine,” I answered awkwardly. “He’s going to another church now.”
“He felt something here,” she insisted. “He’ll be back.” I nodded politely, unconvinced.
As the summer progressed and I moved away to attend college, I realized that although things hadn’t worked out as I had hoped, I had to trust that God still knew and loved my friend more than I could imagine and that He had a plan for Tyler. “Maybe in the next life Tyler will accept the fulness of the gospel,” I thought. I resolved that no matter what, I would pray to love as God loves—being patient and kind, always believing, hoping, and enduring.
One Sunday in late January, Tyler texted me, asking, “Where do we go after we die?” I was hesitant to give him a sincere answer because of some of our recent exchanges, but he convinced me that he was asking in earnest, so I sheepishly gave him a better explanation of the plan of salvation. He seemed to accept it, which surprised me. Then he really surprised me by telling me he had been praying about things for a long time and had decided to make some pretty serious lifestyle changes—changes that would open up the possibility of Church membership. I was ecstatic.
Now that Church membership was an option for Tyler, he had many questions. He met with the missionaries in my family’s home, and my parents gave him a Book of Mormon I had written my testimony in years before but had never given away. As Tyler seriously read and prayed about it, and as I and others fasted and prayed for Tyler, the Lord blessed him. The power of the Book of Mormon began to work in Tyler’s life, and his testimony of the gospel grew. Though he brought up some tough questions that I didn’t have answers for, the truth withstood every criticism.
I couldn’t relate to all of Tyler’s individual struggles, but I knew and shared my testimony that there is One who knows every pain and trial perfectly and that by relying on His Atonement we can have the strength to accomplish anything. It wasn’t always easy for Tyler, but while he investigated the Church, his faith and trust in the Lord enabled him to prepare for baptism. As he grew and changed, I gained a new appreciation for our Savior’s Atonement and love for us and how we can be absolutely cleansed of every sin and imperfection.
And so last April, my brother Nathan had the opportunity to baptize Tyler. Since then, Tyler has received the gift of the Holy Ghost, been ordained a priest, and given away dozens of copies of the Book of Mormon. Tyler is an example of strength and faith to those he meets. And although his trials are not over, he is an inspiration to me in the way he lives close to the Spirit by doing the “little things” like reading his scriptures and earnestly praying. His life is a reminder to me of the power of the Atonement and the love of our Savior to help us overcome anything that stands in our way. The Church is true!

“Mom, something happened at school today that’s really bothering me.” Angie dropped her backpack on the floor and flopped down on the couch.
Mom looked up from the book she was reading. “Oh? What happened?”
“Well, there’s a new boy named Musa in my class.”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “Did you talk to him?”
“No, and I don’t want to!” Angie said. “He’s mean.”
“What did he do?”
Angie scowled. “I saw him walking to school with his sister. He made her walk behind him the whole way! Every time she tried to walk next to him, he’d hurry and get in front of her. It made me so mad.”
Mom frowned. “That doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe he could use a friend like you to show him how to treat others with love.”
Just then, Angie’s younger sister, Meghan, rushed in. “Mom, guess what? There’s a new girl in my class! Her name is Dalia Kader. Isn’t that a beautiful name?”
“I think her brother is in my class,” Angie said.
“Really? You’re so lucky.”
Angie frowned. “Lucky? Why?”
“Dalia told me all about him!”
“I bet she did,” Angie muttered.
“She said she had to put some eye drops in this morning, and she was supposed to wear sunglasses to protect her eyes, but she forgot. So when they walked to school, Musa walked in front of her the whole way to shade her from the sun. Wasn’t that so nice?”
Angie blinked in surprised. Had she misjudged Musa?
“He sounds like a very thoughtful brother,” Mom said.
“He is!” Meghan said. “And when they got to school, he walked with her to the office so they could call home. And he stayed with her until her mom brought the sunglasses.”
Wow, Angie thought. I guess I didn’t see what was really happening.
Meghan sat down next to Angie on the couch. “Dalia’s sunglasses are really cool! They’re purple with jewels on them. Mom, can I invite her over this week? We could both wear our sunglasses and play dress-up!”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “Why don’t you invite Musa too? I’d like to meet both of them. What do you think, Angie?”
“I’d like to meet them too.” Angie smiled. “I think Musa would be a great friend.”

Shannon from Utah, USA, shared how her neighbors helped her: “The day we buried our young son, we returned from the cemetery to find our neighborhood had come together in those hours while we were at his funeral to completely re-landscape our yard. They had planted beautiful shrubs, trees, and flowers, and even new sod. In the midst of our unimaginable sadness, their thoughtful demonstration of love and support began the healing process for us. We were reminded that love and life are eternal every year when our beautiful yard came back to life again. [It was] truly a sacred and symbolic experience that we will never forget.”

A few years ago, President Nelson came to my homeland in Puerto Rico. This was a great blessing. I had always wanted to see him. And I wanted the chance to meet him face to face. My mom said it would be hard because a lot of people would be in the meeting. I still had faith, and I prayed a lot to be able to meet him.
During his talk, I wrote him a quick letter. I had hope and faith that I would be able to give him my letter. After the talks ended, I tried to walk closer. He saw my little brother and came over to him with a big smile. Then he shook my hand! He told me, “You will be a great missionary.” I will always remember his words.

I didn’t know what to do. President Ezra Taft Benson said that we should all read the Book of Mormon, but it isn’t that easy. My mom and dad think that since I’m only five years old, I’m too young to have a Book of Mormon of my own. Since I don’t have my own Book of Mormon, I decided to borrow one.
The first thing I did was look for my father’s Book of Mormon. I was climbing on a chair to get it from the top shelf when Dad came into the room.
“What are you doing, Melissa?” he asked.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Dad got his book and sat down in a chair with me on his lap and showed me the picture of Nephi stretching out his hand, and the one with Abinadi standing before King Noah, and even the one of Jesus coming down from heaven. Then he closed the book, gave me a hug, and lifted me off his lap.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
He opened his Book of Mormon to one of the front pages. “See this yellow spot?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“That’s mustard from your last hot dog. See this brown smudge on page 229?”
I nodded.
“That’s from your chocolate ice cream cone.”
“Oh.”
“See these last two pages that won’t come apart, even when I shake them?”
“Yes.”
“Strawberry jam.”
Dad put his Book of Mormon back on the shelf and walked away. I decided that I would have to borrow someone else’s.
I went up to my brother’s room. It’s full of all kinds of things, but I looked around until I found his Book of Mormon in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It’s a small one with tiny print and a real leather cover, and it has his name written in gold on the front. Ryan says that he’s saving it to take on his mission. I was just opening it when he came into the room. When he saw me, his eyes got wide. He rushed over and grabbed it from my hand.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
“Leave it alone!” he shouted, flipping it open. “Look at this!”
“It looks like a crayon mark,” I said.
He turned to another place. “And this!”
“It looks like someone accidentally tore the page,” I said.
He closed the book and put it back in his dresser drawer. I slipped quietly from the room.
I went to my own bedroom and huddled in a corner. After a while my nine-year-old sister came in. What’s wrong, Melissa?” Gina asked me.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Gina smiled and patted my head.
“You can read mine,” she said. I watched her look around the room until she found her Book of Mormon hidden under a pile of blankets. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. It was a big one, with large print.
“Thank you,” I said. I sat down on my bed and opened it. I looked at the words really hard, but I still couldn’t read them. I squinted at the page. I turned the book upside down. I lay on my back and lifted the book above me in the air, but it was no use. No matter what I did, I couldn’t read the Book of Mormon like the prophet told us to. I closed it and put it beside my pillow. Maybe the prophet hadn’t meant for five-year-olds to read it.
That night my mother came up to my room to tuck me into bed. She leaned over and kissed me and pulled the covers up to my chin. Then she looked around the room for my bedtime storybook. Mom looked in the toy box and under the bed, and while she was still searching, I remembered Gina’s Book of Mormon.
“What about this book, Mom?” I asked.
She picked it up. She looked at me, then at the book, then back at me again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I said.
She opened it to the first page.
“I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents,” she began.
It was better than my story book any day.

My brothers and sisters, I am sure each of you has been touched by the stories of the Church’s great relief efforts to members stricken by floods or earthquakes. Our hearts go out to these people in need. There are, however, other needs—social-emotional needs—that can be just as devastating as any natural disaster. And these needs cannot be met with truckloads of food or clothing. I would like to illustrate several of them in my talk to you today.
Let me begin by reading a letter which relates the tragic story of a young man who became entangled in a way of life which led him to violate the most sacred of God’s commandments:
“I know not why I write this letter. Perhaps I grasp at last straws before it’s over or whatever. I seek help, without hope of receiving it. Not because I doubt that the Church is true, but because of my sins. Let me say here, I love my parents and do what I am able to help them, but my strength is going, and what flicker of spiritual life there is left in me spends itself on writing this letter.
“At a very young age,” this young man continues, “I became convinced that my father didn’t love me. It stemmed from an encounter when one evening I went to kiss him good night and he brushed me away. I’m sure he doesn’t remember, and it had no significance to him, but I was devastated: my entire sense of security and my world crumbled into ashes as I stood there.
“Not knowing what else to do, I ran from this new stranger in a panic to my mother and whispered tones to her of my calamity, which she denied, but did not convince me. That night I watched my father as I stood in the shadows of my darkened bedroom. I swore to myself that I would close the door until he sought to open it. I would ignore him until he sought after me.
“He didn’t notice. If he did, he never asked me what was wrong. Well, needless to say, through the next years I went through the motions and rebelled to get his attention, which I got in the form of anger. At any rate, I developed into a homosexual, a vitiating disease, and was soon entrenched in my prison. I didn’t know myself. And I have felt for more years than I can remember that the Lord didn’t love me either. From age seventeen to about twenty-three I began using drugs. …”
Well, you can imagine where his life went from there. This young man closes his letter with these words: “Thank you for your time. Can you help me? Is there reason for me to help myself? Can you convince me? Can you spare the time? I’ve not much left.”
Yes, young man, there is help available to you.
We know that the Lord does love this young man, as he loves all of us. This individual has since been referred through the priesthood to an LDS Social Services agency. Hand in hand, his priesthood leader and his LDS Social Services caseworker will help this brother learn what he didn’t learn at his father’s knee—that the Lord loves him and that the gospel’s plan of repentance and forgiveness is available to all.
In this next situation, Janet, as I will call her, was involved in serious transgression. After discovering that she was expecting a child out of wedlock, her bishop referred her to LDS Social Services. Instead of being condemned by staff personnel as she had feared, she found love and understanding—the love and understanding that she needed to help her repent. With the help of her bishop and the agency, she began to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. She was introduced to foster parents who lovingly accepted her into their home. She attended church regularly and studied the gospel. An unwed parents group sponsored by the Church helped her to realize the magnitude of her transgression and to resolve to start a new life. She began to more fully understand herself and her relationship to her Father in heaven.
“I went through an awful lot,” she recalled. “But I felt like such a load was lifted by being able to share the burden with those who understood. I’m so grateful for all the help I received from my Heavenly Father.”
In the final story, Verinda, a vibrant young Apache girl, was accepted into the Indian Student Placement Service. She later gave this testimony:
“When I first participated in this program eight years ago, I got off the bus with only the clothes on my back and a few small possessions in a shoebox. I came from a humble home. My people are humble. But you have opened your hearts unto me. For that I am thankful. Now I can go home with a brand new suitcase of clothes. But that is not my wealth. I am wealthy because that which is inside of me is as precious as all of the wealth in this world. I have a testimony of the gospel. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that God lives and answers prayers. I now have a goal—something I can strive for.”
Brothers and sisters, these three stories are in sharp contrast to the world around us. Today, we suffer not only from physical pollution, but from mental pollution as well. Perversions of our basic values are offered as the “new morality.” Cheating and violence are often accepted as a means of achieving individual and group desires. Working mothers and weekend fathers abdicate their parental responsibilities. Husbands and wives separate at the smallest argument. Natural affection is waning. I remember as a bishop an incident of a couple who lost custody of their two young children—one in diapers, the other too young for school. Each day the mother and father went to work and left their children locked in the house to fend for themselves. When questioned by the judge, the mother was quite surprised. She said that they had always left sufficient food for the children to last until suppertime! Can you imagine such an attitude?

In fact, it was twenty years ago this month that I first met my dear sweetheart, Melinda.
I had been home from my mission for about four months, and I was attending my BYU ward for the first time. As the opening hymn began, I looked up at the person leading the music (as I should, right?), and she was the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen. That evening I saw her again at ward prayer, but I was way too scared to go up and introduce myself to her. Fortunately for me, Heavenly Father took care of that little detail by inspiring our bishop to assign us to the same family home evening group. They announced the new groups that very evening. We flirted for a few months before we finally started dating, and we were married the following June.
Since that time, every significant blessing that has come into my life I have shared with my best friend and eternal companion. I love every moment we get to spend together, and there are never enough of those moments!

Brothers and sisters, just one year ago Sister Susan Warner and I were sustained as counselors to Sister Patricia Pinegar in a new Primary General Presidency. Having reared twenty-four children between us, we might have had reason to feel quite confident in our ability to understand the needs of children. However, the responsibility of representing the children of the Church in today’s world weighed heavily upon us. Our greatest desire was to know the will of our Father in Heaven and to seek His direction. In counseling with Elder Robert D. Hales at the time of our call, he suggested that as we read our scriptures, we mark the passages that pertain to children. We found there are many. In fact, it seems that the scriptures were written for families. The prophets have left no doubt as to the desires of the Lord regarding His little ones:
Nephi began his record, “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father” (1 Ne. 1:1).
Enos began his record, “Behold, it came to pass that I, Enos, knowing my father that he was a just man—for he taught me in his language, and also in the nurture and admonition of the Lord—and blessed be the name of my God for it” (Enos 1:1).
Our Primary theme is from the words of Isaiah: “And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (3 Ne. 22:13).
Our Father in Heaven wants us to teach His children, to teach them who they really are, and to bring them to the Savior. In her general conference message last October, I remember Sister Pinegar’s searching question: “Who will teach the children?” It was not only a question but an invitation for all of us, all of us who find children within the circle of our influence, to answer the call of our Father in Heaven to teach His children.
As we humbly try to answer that call, another, more probing question comes to mind: How do we teach the children? How do we impress the word of the Lord upon their hearts while they are young so that as they grow into the years of their youth, they will have the ability to discern between truth and error and the inner strength to resist temptation? How can we so nourish them in their spiritual growth that their obedience moves from mere outward compliance to an inward desire born out of a love for their Father in Heaven and an understanding of who they are?
These questions, while perplexing to us, are not unique to our day. They have challenged parents through all generations. And the counsel of the Lord, though given hundreds of years ago through Moses to the children of Israel, is as if He were speaking to us today. In Deuteronomy we read:
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.
“And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart:
“And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. …
“And thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates” (Deut. 6:5–7, 9).
When first we love the Lord with all our hearts, then we can lead our children to Him in all of our interactions. They will grow in their devotion to the Lord as they see our devotion to Him. They will understand the power of prayer as they hear us pray to a loving Heavenly Father, who is there listening and answering our prayers. They will understand faith as they see us live by faith. And they will learn the power of love by the kind and respectful ways that we relate to them. We cannot teach truth to our children apart from the trusting, caring relationships that we have with them. Elder Howard W. Hunter said, “A successful parent is one who has loved, one who has sacrificed, and one who has cared for, taught, and ministered to the needs of a child” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1983, p. 94; or Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 65).
When our children feel our love for the Lord and our unconditional love for them, then our example becomes a meaningful guide to them as they develop their own spiritual strength. Remember the Lord’s commandment to the Israelites to, first, put His words in their hearts, and then He said, “Teach them diligently unto thy children” (Deut. 6:7). In all that we do, we can teach our children to love the Lord. At times our most impressionable teaching happens when we don’t even realize that we’re teaching.
I remember as a teacher of the eleven-year-old girls in Primary, we held a luncheon for the girls and their mothers. I had asked each girl to introduce her mother and tell one thing that she admired about her. One of the girls said that she knew that her mother loved to read the scriptures. She held up her scriptures and said, “I can tell where she has been in the house by where I find her scriptures.” I have remembered that example over the years and thought how natural it would have been for that mother to transmit a love of the scriptures to her children, because she had developed that love herself. We teach first what we are—and those are the impressions that live in the minds and hearts of our children.
There is a spirit that pervades our homes when there is a love of the Lord, a love for one another, and a commitment to obedience that springs out of that love. As I speak of that spirit, I remember our mission home in Frankfurt, Germany, where my husband served as mission president. Our daughter, Marianne, was ten years old at the time. Some of her friends from school would come to the mission home and occasionally stay overnight. One night, one of her friends said, “I like to come to your house because I feel safe here.” Marianne understood what she meant—all of our family knew the spirit of the mission home. It was a legacy that was left by thousands of dedicated missionaries who had passed through that home and shared their testimonies and their love for their Heavenly Father and the Savior. It is a spirit that can be felt in all of our homes when as families we share testimonies and feelings of the Spirit as we read the scriptures and when we kneel together in prayer.
President Kimball shared vivid memories of his home when the family knelt before meals to pray, their chairs turned back from the table, dinner plates upside down. He remembers night prayers at his mother’s knee. He said, “I feel sorry for children who must learn these important lessons after they are grown, when it is so much harder” (in Edward L. Kimball and Andrew E. Kimball Jr., Spencer W. Kimball [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1977], p. 31). Home can be an oasis in the world. It’s a place where every child has a right to feel safe.
In a fast and testimony meeting I attended recently in my own ward, three children bore their testimonies. Richie stood at the beginning of the meeting and said, “Last night I was reading from 1 Nephi, chapters 1, 2, and 3; and as I was reading I felt a great feeling of peace. I felt good inside. I’m thankful for the scriptures.”
Charity told of an experience she had of attending a concert with her family and becoming separated from her parents. She said, “I found a corner and sat down and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked Him to send the Holy Ghost to be with me until my parents could find me—and I wasn’t afraid.”
Spencer had just been ordained to be a deacon. He expressed his appreciation for the bishop who had ordained him to the Aaronic Priesthood and told how much it meant to him to be a deacon. These children had been touched in their hearts by parents, teachers, and leaders who first loved the Lord and then turned the children to Him.
Within our family circle, we can help our children identify feelings of the Spirit and encourage them to express those feelings in their own words. We can invite them to share the things they are learning in Primary and other Church meetings. By so doing, we open the door for the Spirit to confirm those teachings in their hearts.
Brothers and sisters, we can touch the hearts of our children and bring them to the Savior. They will see Him first through our eyes, and they will learn how to know and love Him as their most trusted friend. They will understand what it means to have His Spirit to be with them—and that will be their strength. It is my prayer, my brothers and sisters, that we may all keep that vision before us, and I ask it in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Sister Massey and I have been married for 12 years; I commend her for keeping up with me. We had the desire of making those sacred covenants in the Temple, we consistently worked towards that goal and were sealed to each other and our 1.5yr old daughter in the Hong Kong, China temple on March 25th, 2015. The moment was desired above all. We felt relieved. We knew that as we keep those covenants, we would not lose each other. There were several blessings we received as we made those covenants. Through ‘rain and sunshine’ we gained a lot, even lost some, but one thing was constant, we always had each other, as each other’s strengths, which I feel is the most needed blessing that comes from living and honoring temple covenants. It is a promise that the Lord will guide us, as we walk in faith together as eternal companions, holding on to each other, nurturing the children the Lord has blessed us with.

One of my favorite hobbies is Irish dance. I try hard to practice my choreography at home so I am ready to perform. I practice a lot, but when I am backstage about to perform, I get the backstage jitters. At every competition, my mom and I find a quiet place to say a prayer. Sometimes it’s behind a curtain or in a room off to the side. I know that it doesn’t matter to Heavenly Father where we are, just that we have faith in Him.
At my last performance, my mom wasn’t with me to say a prayer. She was sitting in the audience. I got really nervous but decided that it didn’t matter if she was with me or not. I stepped away from my friends and said a prayer. I asked for safety as I danced and that I could do my best. I did very well that day, and I remember the feeling of peace that I felt as I walked on stage.

I have also had the privilege of meeting with cherished friends, some from years past and many I have met recently. It was after a meeting with a dear friend that I have known and loved for many years that I felt impressed to prepare my remarks today.
When we met, my friend confided that he had been struggling. He felt he was experiencing, to use his words, a “crisis of faith” and sought my counsel. I felt grateful that he would share his feelings and concerns with me.
He expressed a great longing for what he had once felt spiritually and what he now thought he was losing. As he spoke, I listened carefully and prayed earnestly to know what the Lord would have me say.
My friend, like perhaps some of you, asked the question so poignantly phrased in the Primary song: “Heavenly Father, are you really there?”1 For those of you who may be asking this same question, I would like to share with you the counsel I would offer to my friend and hope that each of you may find your faith strengthened and your resolve renewed to be a committed disciple of Jesus Christ.
I begin by reminding you that you are a son or daughter of a loving Father in Heaven and that His love remains constant. I know that such reassuring feelings of love are difficult to recall when you are in the midst of personal struggles or trials, disappointments, or broken dreams.
Jesus Christ knows about fierce struggles and trials. He gave His life for us. His final hours were brutal, beyond anything we can even comprehend, but His sacrifice for each one of us was the ultimate expression of His pure love.
No mistake, sin, or choice will change God’s love for us. That does not mean sinful conduct is condoned, nor does it remove our obligation to repent when sins are committed. But do not forget, Heavenly Father knows and loves each of you, and He is always ready to help.
As I pondered my friend’s situation, my mind reflected on the great wisdom found in the Book of Mormon: “And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.”2
I testify that “the gulf of misery and endless wo” is a place no one wants to be. And my friend was feeling that he was on the edge.
When I have counseled individuals such as my friend, I have explored their decisions made over the years which led them to forget sacred experiences, to weaken, and to doubt. I encouraged them, as I encourage you now, to recall, especially in times of crisis, when you felt the Spirit and your testimony was strong; remember the spiritual foundations you have built. I promise that if you will do this, avoiding things that do not build and strengthen your testimony or that mock your beliefs, those precious times when your testimony prospered will return again to your memory through humble prayer and fasting. I assure you that you will once again feel the safety and warmth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Each of us must first strengthen ourselves spiritually and then strengthen those around us. Ponder the scriptures regularly, and remember the thoughts and feelings you experience as you read them. Seek other sources of truth as well, but heed this caution from the scriptures: “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God.”3 Attend Church meetings, especially sacrament meeting, and partake of the sacrament and renew covenants, including the promise to always remember the Savior, that His Spirit may ever be with you.
No matter what mistakes we have made or how imperfect we feel we are, we can always bless and lift others. Reaching out to them in Christlike service can help us feel the love of God deep within our hearts.
It is important to remember the powerful counsel found in Deuteronomy: “Keep thy soul diligently, lest thou forget the things which thine eyes have seen, and lest they depart from thy heart all the days of thy life: but teach them thy sons, and thy sons’ sons.”4
Generations are affected by the choices we make. Share your testimony with your family; encourage them to remember how they felt when they recognized the Spirit in their lives and to record those feelings in journals and personal histories so that their own words may, when needed, bring to their remembrance how good the Lord has been to them.
You will recall that Nephi and his brothers returned to Jerusalem to obtain the brass plates that contained the recorded history of their people, in part so that they would not forget their past.
Also, in the Book of Mormon, Helaman named his sons after their “first fathers” so they would not forget the goodness of the Lord:
“Behold, my sons, I desire that ye should remember to keep the commandments of God. … Behold, I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when you remember them ye may remember their works; and when you remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.”5
Many today have the same tradition of naming their children after scriptural heroes or faithful ancestors as a way of encouraging them not to forget their heritage.
When I was born, I was given the name of Ronald A. Rasband. My last name honors my father’s ancestral line. The middle initial A was given to me to remind me to honor my mother’s Danish Anderson ancestry.
My great-great-grandfather Jens Anderson was from Denmark. And in 1861 the Lord led two Mormon missionaries to the Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson home, where the missionaries introduced them and their 16-year-old son, Andrew, to the restored gospel. Thus began a legacy of faith of which my family and I are the beneficiaries. The Andersons read the Book of Mormon and were baptized a short time later. The following year, the Anderson family heeded the call of a prophet to cross the Atlantic to join the Saints in North America.
Sadly, Jens died on the ocean voyage, but his wife and son continued to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving on September 3, 1862. Despite their hardships and their heartaches, their faith never wavered, and neither has the faith of many of their descendants.
In my office hangs a painting6 that captures so beautifully a symbolic reminder of that first meeting between my ancestors and those dedicated early missionaries. I am determined not to forget my heritage, and because of my name I will forever remember their legacy of faithfulness and sacrifice.
Never forget, question, or ignore personal, sacred spiritual experiences. The adversary’s design is to distract us from spiritual witnesses, while the Lord’s desire is to enlighten and engage us in His work.
Let me share a personal example of this truth. I distinctly recall a time when I received a prompting in answer to mighty prayer. The answer was clear and powerful. However, I failed to act immediately on the prompting, and after a period of time I began to wonder if what I had felt had been real. Some of you may have fallen for that deception of the adversary as well.
Several days later, I awoke with these powerful verses of scripture in my mind:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart. …
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”7
It was as if the Lord was saying, “Now, Ronald, I already told you what you needed to do. Now do it!” How grateful I was for that loving correction and direction! I was immediately comforted by the prompting and was able to move forward, knowing in my heart that my prayer had been answered.
I share this experience, dear brothers and sisters, to demonstrate how quickly our minds can forget and how spiritual experiences guide us. I have learned to cherish such moments “lest I forget.”
To my friend, and to all who wish to bolster their faith, I give you this promise: as you faithfully live the gospel of Jesus Christ and abide by its teachings, your testimony will be protected and it will grow. Keep the covenants you have made, regardless of the actions of those around you. Be diligent parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends who strengthen loved ones with personal testimony and who share spiritual experiences. Remain faithful and steadfast, even if storms of doubt invade your lives through the actions of others. Seek that which will edify and fortify you spiritually. Avoid counterfeit offerings of so-called “truths” which are so pervasive, and remember to record your feelings of “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, [and] temperance.”8
In the midst of life’s greatest storms, do not forget your divine heritage as a son or daughter of God or your eternal destiny to one day return to live with Him, which will surpass anything the world has to offer. Remember the tender and sweet words of Alma: “Behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?”9
To all who feel the need to have their faith fortified, I plead with you, do not forget! Please do not forget.
I bear witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know he saw and talked with God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, just as he recorded in his own words. How grateful I am that he did not forget to write of that experience, that we may all know of his testimony.
I bear my solemn witness of the Lord Jesus Christ. He lives; I know He lives and stands at the head of this Church. These things I know for myself, independent of any other voice or witness, and I pray that you and I will never forget sacred eternal truths—first and foremost that we are sons and daughters of living and loving Heavenly Parents, who desire only our eternal happiness. Of these truths I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.