Gospel Story Finder

My mom took me shopping for school supplies. I found the prettiest and coolest backpack in the whole store. I was so excited to buy it! I looked at all the pretty girls on the front. They had cute faces and cool hair, but their outfits were not modest. I showed my mom the backpack. She asked, “Well, what do you think, Allee?”
In Primary we’re learning about baptism and what it means to belong to Jesus’s family. I know that Jesus would be embarrassed if I had a backpack like that. I told my mom that the backpack was really cute, but that I didn’t want to get it. So then I found another backpack that was modest and cute. I’m glad I chose the right.

One man who had committed himself to do everything he could to share the gospel with others walked out of his office one day and saw a man running down the hall. He learned this man had stapled his finger. He reached into his big pocket, pulled out Merthiolate and a Band-Aid, and dressed the wound. The shocked individual asked in amazement why he did this. He responded: “I am a Mormon, and Mormons do these things.” This man was prepared to help another whenever possible.

We are twins who like to read the Friend together. We read a story in the October 2010 Friend about President Monson’s Sunday School class giving their party fund to a classmate whose mother had died. Shortly after, we found out that the child of one of our relatives passed away. Our mom was sending a sympathy card. We remembered President Monson’s story, so we both put some of our birthday money in the card. It felt good to follow the prophet’s example and help someone who was sad.

It was December, the season when people’s feelings are tender as they remember the birth of Jesus Christ and what He did for us through His infinite Atonement.
When I arrived home from work, my three children and my beautiful wife shared with me a decision they had made about Christmas: “There won’t be any need to buy presents this year,” they declared.
Surprised, I asked, “And what brought about this decision?” After all, my children would be sacrificing something they had looked forward to all year.
They immediately went and retrieved my two old, frayed suits. “Daddy,” they said, “with the money we were going to use for Christmas presents, we want you to replace these old suits with a new one. We would like to see you go to work in a new suit!”
I realized that this was the true spirit of Christmas. When we sacrifice something for someone else, we come to understand the meaning of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Later, when I put on the new suit I received for Christmas, I felt that I was dressed in love.

I Want to Be a Part of This!
By Lauren Soqui Bohman
Living in Oman, my husband and I rushed to get our kids to bed so we could watch the morning session of conference on the other side of the world. We had been counting down the days until conference, yearning for that guidance and peace we knew would come from Heavenly Father through His prophets and disciples.
Sister Joy D. Jones told us the Lord loves effort, so how much effort am I willing to exert to follow His example?
President Henry B. Eyring asked what role we will play in this hinge point in history.
Sister Bonnie H. Cordon and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland asked us to consider how we will purposely shine our light.
I felt how much I want to be part of the goodness that the Lord is rapidly moving forward. Conference inspired me to renew my efforts to help my children with their personal development, to seek to be a more thoughtful and spiritually authentic friend, to perform family history tasks like data entry, and to look for creative new opportunities to serve God by serving His children.

My wife and I traveled to Osorno Chile to pick up our son when he completed his mission. As we traveled around the mission with him, we took many pictures and the memory in our camera was getting full. So one evening we left the cottage where we were staying and went to an internet café so we could download the pictures onto a thumb drive. We were only gone a short time but when we returned, we found our cottage had been broken into and we had been robbed. We called the police and by the time they completed their investigation and let us go, it was about 3:00 int the morning. Because that cottage was a mess from the dusting for fingerprints and everything else the police had done, they moved us to a different cottage and we went to sleep but we had to wake up at 6:00 in the morning for a scheduled hike with a group to the top of an active volcano.

Rather than sleep in, we chose to get up and take the hike and created a wonderful memory with our son. We never did get any of our items returned to us. My son could have been very upset because he had lost so many memories from his mission including his missionary bag containing his scriptures, but instead, he simply said that he hoped the robbers would read his scriptures and join the church.

What would have happened if we had just gotten angry at the situation and decided to just sleep through the hike the next morning? In that case, our trial would have taken control of our lives and we would have been miserable. Instead, we chose to be happy, to climb the volcano and we had a wonderful time with our son and the rest of the group. President Gordon B. Hinckley often taught that, “Things work out. It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us. ...If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.”

This quote is now printed over the top of a picture that I took of the volcano in Chile that we climbed that day and it sits in my office as a reminder of how we can find joy even in the midst of trial and adversity if we choose to be happy.

“I don’t see what’s so bad about leaves on the grass,” Susan huffed. She scowled at her father, who was holding out the rake to her. There were six large trees in their front yard, all dropping tons of leaves over everything. Who wants to spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon raking leaves? Not me! she thought. “Why can’t Jay do it?” she whined aloud. “He’s bigger and stronger, and he likes work!”
“Jay’s already finished his share, Sue. This patch is your part. Besides,” he said, tweaking her nose, “it’ll make your arms strong.” When she made no motion to take the rake from him, he laid it down on some leaves. “Come and get me when you’re done, and we’ll talk about what you can do next.”
“Next!” Susan was so distressed that her intended shout came out a squeak.
Dad just smiled and walked away. As he closed the front door behind him, Susan reluctantly picked up the rake and swiped at leaves. Her patch of lawn seemed to grow before her eyes.
A half hour later, her hands were stinging and her nose was running from the dust. She finally had three pretty-good-sized piles surrounded by small clearings. Suddenly a gust of wind raced across the grass, scattering half the leaves she had worked so hard to rake.
“Oh, I give up!” She dropped the rake and flung herself onto the nearest pile just as Jay carried an armload of trash around the corner of the house.
“What’s the matter, Sue? You’re not letting a little raking get you down, are you?”
“It’s impossible to rake leaves!” Susan ranted. “I’ve worked for hours, and I did only three piles, and now the wind has ruined all my work.”
“Bag each pile as you make it. That way the wind can’t blow them away.” Jay walked off whistling.
Susan’s parents insisted that she work until dark. She finally had two bags full, and not even half of her patch of lawn was cleared. Dad didn’t say anything about how little she had accomplished. He just took the rake and ushered her inside to clean up before dinner. She went to bed very grumpy.
On Sunday Susan rested, went to church, played with Muffin, her cat, wrote a letter to her brother Greg who was in Argentina on a mission, and went with her family to visit her mother’s aunt in a nearby nursing home. She looked the other way when they drove past her patch of lawn.
On Monday after school, she told her mother that she couldn’t rake because she had too much homework.
After dinner, Dad called everyone together for family home evening. “Tonight,” he said, “we’re going to learn about one of our early pioneers—Jesse Nathaniel Smith.” He opened a small red book and showed them a photo of a white-haired man with a big, bushy beard, a long nose, big ears, and thoughtful eyes.
“Who is he, Dad?” Jay asked.
“Jesse N. Smith was a young cousin of the Prophet Joseph Smith. His father, Silas, was a younger brother of Joseph Smith, Sr., the Prophet’s father.”
“Wow!” Jay exclaimed. “I didn’t know that the Prophet Joseph Smith had any cousins in the Church.”
Dad smiled. “The Smith family is a big, wonderful family, Jay. Jesse N. Smith has many descendants in the Church today, and we are some of them. He was an influential mission president in Scandinavia and an early settler in Utah and Arizona. But tonight I want to tell you something about Jesse when he was a boy.” Dad turned to Susan. “His birthday is very close to yours, Susan. He was born in New York State on December 2, 1834.”
“My birthday’s December third—we’re almost twins!”
Dad turned a few pages, and began telling about their ancestor. “Things were not easy or comfortable for Jesse and his family. He was only three years old when they had to leave Kirtland with the rest of the Saints and make the long journey to Missouri. His brother Silas was seven, and his brother John was five. They traveled for six months to reach their new home in Far West. Even before they got there, they were forced to flee from angry mobs on the trail. They had to live one winter in a crude log cabin, and they ate mostly boiled, dried corn because there was no mill to grind the corn into meal. Life was so hard that John died before the winter was over.”
Susan looked at Jay. What would it be like if Jay or Greg died? she wondered.
“Less than a year later,” Dad continued, “the family was in Illinois. There was a lot of illness, and Jesse’s father died in September.”
“Oh no!” Susan jumped up to snuggle beside her dad. “What did they do?”
“They moved to Nauvoo, and the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum helped for a while. When they were killed, Jesse and his family moved across the river to live near his Uncle John Smith in a settlement called Zarahemla. Uncle John helped them, but they had to earn a living for themselves.”
“You mean Jesse had to go to work when he was a little boy?” Susan asked.
“That’s right. When he was ten, he went to work for a farmer who wasn’t very nice to him. He had to live on a farm away from his mother and brother. Every morning he had to get up very early and go a quarter of a mile to get all the water for the day from a well. He worked the rest of the day in the fields. Then he had to bring home the cows. He said, ‘This was the most lonesome and tedious part of my service, as I was sometimes gone in the woods until after dark.’”
“When did he rest?” Susan asked.
“Only on Sundays, when he was allowed to visit his mother.” Dad looked down at the page. “Sometimes Jesse had special chores. He said, ‘On washing days, I carried water the whole day.’ What do you think it was like to carry water all day, a quarter of a mile each trip?”
“Pretty hard,” Jay said. “But I bet I could do it.”
“Not me,” Susan grumbled. “I’d just sit down and not go at all.”
“Well,” Dad said. “Maybe you’re strong enough for one trip. Let’s find out. Everybody come outside with me.”
Sitting on the driveway were four yellow buckets. “One for each of us,” Dad said. “Fill yours as full as you can and still be able to carry it without spilling.”
Dad picked up Susan’s bucket. “Pretty heavy,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You must think you’re very strong.”
“I am. I can carry it a long way—if I want to.”
“Well, our driveway is forty feet long, so it would take a little over sixteen trips down to that end and back here for one quarter-mile trip. Think you can do it?”
“I don’t know.” Susan flexed her arms. “That’s a lot.” She grabbed her bucket and started off down the driveway. Some of the water splashed out, so she slowed down a little. Soon she was back at the chalk line. Her arm felt only a little tired. “One!” she shouted. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Two” and “three,” she called out. By the time she got to four, even with switching the bucket from one hand to the other, her arms were very tired. By six, her fingers started going numb. Ten more! she thought, and she struggled down and back. How will I ever do sixteen? Her arms really ached, and she was feeling cross. “Is it OK to stop and rest?” she asked Dad.
“Sure. But remember, the farmer’s wife won’t want to wait long for the water.”
After a short rest, Susan picked up her bucket. The eighth trip was a little easier, and she made the ninth all right, but by the tenth, the bucket felt so heavy that she wanted to just drag it along.
“Dad, I just have to rest again.” She flopped on her back, arms bent slightly on the leaf-covered grass.
“OK,” he told her, “but we only have time for one or two more trips.”
Susan dragged herself back to her bucket and lifted it with both hands. It felt as though it was filled with gigantic rocks, and it banged into her leg with each step. The driveway seemed twice as long now. When she finally crossed the chalk line, she let the bucket thump down hard. She didn’t even care when it tipped over and all her water ran down the driveway.
“That’s all we have time for tonight,” Dad said, looking at his watch.
“Seventeen!” Jay shouted. “I did seventeen!” Susan stared at him swinging his arms in big circles and jumping around in the leaves. She’d made only eleven trips, and her arms felt like they were on fire.
“So,” Dad said when they were all inside and Mom was passing out cupcakes for a treat. “How was that?”
“It was awful!” Susan admitted. “And I think it was awful that Jesse had to do it every day. Why did he have to work so hard? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, they needed money, Susan. But I think working was good for him, too. Hauling all that water made his arms grow strong,” Dad said. “And some things soon happened to him that made that a very good thing.” Dad opened the journal again. “He wrote, ‘During the summer of 1845, I took a job of hoeing corn, thus earning the first pair of boots I ever owned.’ Your arms have to be strong to hoe all day long. Then, not long after that, Jesse and his family went west with Uncle John Smith. He had two wagons, and Jesse’s mother had one of her own. Who do you think was assigned to drive one of those wagons?” Dad asked, looking at Susan.
“Jesse?”
“That’s right. Even though he was only twelve, Jesse drove a wagon with four big oxen all the way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His Aunt Clarissa rode with him. His arms had to be pretty strong to control the oxen, to keep them pulling that wagon day after day over rivers, through mud, up rocky mountains, and down steep canyons. He even had to hold them steady when the buffalo came thundering by. I’m sure his muscles grew even more, driving the ox teams. And that was a good thing, too.”
“Why?” It was Jay’s turn to be surprised.
“His work wasn’t over just because he had arrived in the valley. He wrote, ‘I herded the cows the whole [first] winter through for Uncle John and … a few others. I was exceedingly hungry, [being] at an age when my appetite was very keen; but there was no help for it. We voluntarily put ourselves on rations; we had about half a pound of flour per day for each person, without any vegetables, and but little meat; sometimes no meat. For months my desire for food was not satisfied.’”
“I can’t imagine working all day when you’re so hungry,” Jay said.
“And herding wasn’t all he had to do, either.” Dad continued reading: “‘As the Spring approached, preparations were made for farming and gardening. I drove the team to break the land for [two neighbor men] and [for] my brother and myself a patch of ground. … We planted considerable corn, … also … beans and peas and some few other vegetables … and an acre of wheat.’ Then,” Dad said, looking up, “he had to tend all those crops—weeding, irrigating, and harvesting them. It was hard because he was inexperienced. He said, ‘Our wheat did poorly, not having sufficient water. As we were unused to irrigating, we did not apply the water properly. We had to pull the most of it, as it was too short to cut—’”
“My arms are starting to hurt a lot, Dad,” Susan broke in apologetically.
“Here, let me massage them for you. You’ll need to give them a rest tomorrow, but after that, work them a little more every day, and your muscles will grow, just like Jesse’s. You never know when you might need big, strong muscles to do important work.”
That night Susan lay in bed, her arms still aching. What if we were stuck on the plains because of me? What if my family starved because I wasn’t strong enough to grow food? She fell into a troubled sleep.
The next day Susan babied her arms. As she sat alone on the playground at school, unable to join in the basketball game, she did a lot of thinking. That night, Dad gave her another massage and helped her stretch out the aches.
The next morning the soreness was nearly gone, so she knew that it was time to start on her plan.
“Mom,” she said, before leaving for school, “may I carry the laundry to the basement for you?”
“Why, thank you, Susan,” Mom said, her eyebrows nearly at the ceiling. When Susan finished, she also emptied all the wastebaskets and put the garbage cans out by the curb.
“Wow! Thanks!” Jay said, going out the back door. “You’re great!”
Susan just smiled. This was only the beginning. Stealthily she flexed her arm and felt the muscle. Was it a little bigger?
During recess she went three times back and forth across the monkey bars without stopping. Her arms started to burn a little, so she decided that that was enough for then. She needed to save some muscle power for after school because that was when she put her really big plan into effect. As soon as her snack was finished, she ran out the front door and grabbed the rake.
As she raked and bagged the leaves, she sang, “‘Dare to do right! Dare to be true! You have a work that no other can do.’”*
She got tired, and she was still a little sore, but that was OK—she was growing muscles. You never know when you’ll need to do really important, hard work, she thought, and I’m going to be ready!

Karen is now a dear friend of mine. But I didn’t know her until I became her ministering sister. My ministering companion was a kind young woman named Ella, who was a senior in high school. We received the assignment to minister to Karen when she was just starting to return to church.

As we ministered to Karen and learned her unique story and needs, Ella and I felt impressed to invite her to come to the temple. This effort enlisted Ella’s tech-savvy skills to fix issues with Karen’s online Church account so she could pay her tithing and make a temple appointment. And I took her to get new temple clothing and helped her feel comfortable going. Karen seemed to glow and be filled with peace and happiness as she and I sat together in the celestial room following the session.

Karen experienced major health issues but also incredible miracles during the time we ministered to her. Supporting her during this time strengthened all of us in the Lord.

We invited her to join us for Relief Society and Sunday School and spent time with her in her home. She has grown beautifully confident in who she is and who she wants to become. She has started to see the good in herself.

When I asked Karen if I could share this special experience of being her ministering sister, she said, “Go for it! Let them know there is a Heavenly Father who loves [them]!” She said the love and concern Ella and I had for her taught her that she needed someone in her life. She said, “They will never know how much I needed them. … Ministering sisters are sent from God.”

We have testimonies from seminary students throughout the world. Listen to a page from a diary coming from Russia:
“Today is the happiest morning in this year; today is the first morning seminary day.
“How and when originate this thought about daily morning seminary. I remember there was a lesson from our CES teachers that mentioned about the daily seminary program in the United States and Europe and that got stuck in my mind. At that lesson I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, which brought a thought unto me that we should have seminary here. Then I felt that the Lord endows everything for this job: possibility, strength, and help. We have to have just willingness to accept such a gift.
“After that meeting I felt great inspiration. Some mothers got frightened a little with the idea because children will have to get up early in the morning and in school, they are overloaded, and some finish the school this year and will be entering higher educational institutions. But fathers who have priesthood completely supported me, having said that daily studying of the scriptures is so needed for youth, will teach them discipline, and also will help them gain the Holy Ghost, which during the daytime and school lessons will help to withstand the temptations of Satan” (comments from early-morning seminary teachers from Vyborg, Russia, fall 1996).

Illustration by Dan Burr
Having been raised in a competitive and non-religious Asian country, I have always had a great desire to become a successful person, but I didn’t have any eternal principles or truths to guide me. In my country, “successful” meant being rich and powerful.
My parents always taught me that there was no such thing as God. For them, religion or God was a bunch of nonsense and only for weak people. For a long time I considered myself atheist. They taught me that I shouldn’t trust anyone but myself. So from a young age I have used my high ambitions as motivation to study and work extremely hard.
My parents had high expectations for me. They wanted me to keep my grades high at all times. It made me sad to see their disappointed faces or to hear them argue with each other when I got a bad grade. Along with my regular schoolwork, I would also have to do extra homework on the weekend so I could keep an A average.
Even after accomplishing goals I had set, I still felt that there was something more in store for my life. Deep in my heart, I knew that surely there had to be more to it.
One day I decided I was going to find out for myself if there really was a God. If He did exist, I wanted to know what He wanted for me or if religion was just a bunch of nonsense created by the imagination of human beings. I was not afraid to receive either one of these two answers. I just wanted the truth.
Around that same time, I became close friends with one of my basketball teammates named Taylor. One morning I asked him for a ride to school. He said yes, but I would have to get up an hour earlier to go to seminary with him. I reluctantly said yes, not knowing what it was. I enjoyed seminary, though more because of what I felt than what I learned.
Soon after that, Taylor asked me to go to church with him. At first I thought church was a little boring and weird, but eventually I was moved by the warm and peaceful feeling that I felt at the service.
However, I still wasn’t persuaded that the good feeling had anything to do with God. How did I know that it didn’t come from myself? How did I know that I didn’t make myself feel that way?
After many internal debates, I went to Taylor’s mom in search of answers. She told me that I could receive my answers by reading the scriptures and praying about the answers that I was looking for. I prayed without receiving any answers and struggled to obey the rules and commandments that I was learning about. I became frustrated many times. I expected a marvelous and dramatic appearance of God or some sort of miraculous event to prove that God was real. Basically, I wanted an unshakable testimony all at once. The truth is, the more I prayed, the more clarity I felt in my life. The more I followed the commandments, the happier I became. The more I read the scriptures, the more revelation I received. Gradually, my testimony increased, like the rising sun in the morning.
It took me two years to decide to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though I lived many good moral standards and principles before, I can now say that I have found the eternal and ultimate truth: God lives. Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer. The heavens are open. A prophet of God walks the earth today. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. God really does forgive all repentant sinners. I may not be as smart or as gifted as other people, but the knowledge I have is priceless.

When I was 16 years old, I met and befriended a lady with three children. We became trusted friends, although she was ten years older than me. She was having discussions with the missionaries, but at that time I was not interested. I was very frightened and stayed in the kitchen when they arrived.
One evening, when I was making food for the children, I overheard the missionaries speaking about life before birth and after death, and how we choose to have an earthly experience, just as Jesus chose to come to die for us. I felt overwhelmed on hearing this, because in my heart I always felt that we had been around forever.
Later that night I queried my friend for more information, and she told me about Joseph Smith. His story really captured my attention and I felt that it was true. I didn’t rush into anything, but weeks later when I was invited to a sports event at the Church, I decided to go to see the children having fun in the sun. And I really wanted to meet people and find out more about the teachings of the Church.
It was a beautiful day, and many people were there with their children. I was introduced to a few families and was asked if I wanted to meet the bishop. I entered the chapel and I remember the aroma to this day: it was the fresh smell of lovely, polished wood, old wood, and the smell of cakes baking in the oven. I’m not even sure if they were baking cakes that day, but that is what I smelt. It was lovely and clean and smelt homely.
When I walked through the building towards the bishop’s office, I had this overwhelming feeling of pure love and protection. I was very nervous, yet I felt such a strong sense of belonging. I will always remember the big beautiful smile on the bishop’s face, as if he was waiting for me to return home. I felt emotional and frightened at the same time because I didn’t know what to expect. These feelings were all new to me, but I felt this was a major part in my journey, my destiny, while not knowing at that time how my life would turn out. I was only 16 but I remember exactly how I felt that day. My dad had told me about these dangerous religious organisations, but there was no danger here. I only felt love, a love that I yearned to feel forever.
Feeling such love, I felt safe. I felt I was home. I knew this was so right.
This kindhearted man, the bishop, told me his name and spoke with authority, and he made me feel safe and very welcome.
He drew me in with his godly spirit. He drew me in with his smile. He drew me in with his love. He drew me in with his fatherly influence in the way he spoke to me. He drew me in.
He was a good decent man, and a fatherly influence on my shattered, insecure soul. It has taken me years to be who I am today. I was a canny, quiet kid, yet fiery when anyone hurt me. I carried so much pain. So, I love with my heart and soul, and am so overjoyed at the fact that I allowed Bishop Barratt to draw me into the gospel with his beautiful strong spiritual soul. He indeed saved me that day.
I dread to think how my life would have turned out if I had not been introduced to the Church at that time. Although I have had periods of inactivity, I have always stayed loyal to the teachings of the gospel. I have never stopped believing that the gospel is true, and during those times of inactivity, I knew with all my heart and soul that I would return.
Years on, I met my husband, and we were sealed for time and eternity. Bishop Barratt was a very important part of our gospel journey, yet sadly he was too unwell to make trips to the temple; but he did give many beautiful and sacred blessings to my husband. Over the years I would choose him to bless my children. As my children got older and had children of their own, they would also choose Bishop Barratt to bless their babies too.
Brother Ronald Barratt died in early 2021. His beautiful wife, Mary, gave my husband a few of Bishop Barratt’s tie pins, which will be treasured; it’s an honour to have something of his. It has been many years since Brother Ronald Barratt was bishop, but he brought honour to the title.
The Barratts carried out many acts of service in spreading the gospel and teaching people. They were firm examples. They stood strong in the Church through difficult times. They worked hard. Bishop Barratt also had an amazing operatic voice which could drown us all out when singing.
We all have amazing experiences with people in our lives who have been such wonderful examples. I am so grateful to many people in my life. Heavenly Father certainly knows what He is doing. He brings people into our lives for specific reasons. We are never alone, even if we sometimes feel we are.
Cherishing our surroundings and those who have helped us on our way is so important. Each person met on life’s journey can be vital to one’s spiritual growth and emotional wellbeing. Even in challenging times, people are helping to move us forward, to learn from one another through the good and the bad. Everything has its purpose. We see the beauty in others and in ourselves. We are all God’s beautiful precious creations.

Teddy Roosevelt is generally considered a master of practiced discipline and living with intention. As a child, he suffered frequent ailments, including severe asthma, poor eyesight, and extreme frailty. His parents wondered if he would survive childhood. But Teddy forged himself into an incredibly strong man, physically and mentally. Before his presidency, he was a Rough Rider in the Spanish-American War; later, while campaigning, he was shot in the chest but gave a 90-minute speech before going to the hospital! He went on to author more than thirty books, establish the National Park system and the National Forest Service, and eventually adventured in Africa, hunting big game to be displayed at the Smithsonian and Natural History museums.
Of his practiced discipline, Teddy once explained, "I had to train myself painfully and laboriously not merely as regards my body but as regards my soul and spirit." Historian Elting Morison agreed, writing, "The energies and talents he possessed were not placed at birth in some natural harmony; they were through the passing years organized and directed by a sustained and splendid act of will."

During my first year in high school, my parents decided that we would go caroling at a nursing home on Christmas. I was reluctant when I heard the plan. Mom reminded us that it gets lonely at Christmastime for many of the people in the nursing home, but I was used to Christmas being a blissful, relaxing day of lounging in pajamas, playing with new gifts, eating treats, and watching movies. The nursing home was unfamiliar, and the 30-minute drive through the New Hampshire woods to get there seemed so long.

Christmas Day came and brought a morning of opening new gifts and gadgets and filling the living room floor with wrapping paper remnants and empty boxes. That afternoon, Mom and Dad cheerfully herded my three siblings and me into the family minivan. As we entered the nursing home, we were greeted by the smell of disinfectant and cafeteria food. Another family from our ward met us in the lobby and handed out Christmas songbooks.

As we walked down the white tiled hallway, we started singing “Silent Night.” I felt awkward—a few of the residents were out in the hallway, some half asleep in wheelchairs, most in their pajamas. I wasn’t really sure they were even listening. Song after song, we slowly made our way down the hallways, and residents’ faces lit up when they recognized familiar songs like “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls.” One man tapped his foot, one woman started waving her hands in the air as if she were conducting. A few people even tried to sing along. It started to feel less awkward—maybe our caroling did mean something to these people.

As we passed the rooms, lots of the residents came to their doorways to hear us. We would pause and finish the song for each one, wishing them a merry Christmas as we left. One woman, though, couldn’t come to her doorway. We sang “The First Noel” outside her door, and she waved her hand for us to come in. As our big group squeezed into her small room where she sat in an armchair near the window, I noticed the nametag on her door said Norma. When I asked her how her day had been, she told us that we were her only visitors the whole day. Not even her children or grandchildren had called or visited. We sang another song for her, our voices filling the room with Christmas cheer. She reached out and held my hand, and I was so glad we were there. When we finished, everyone turned to go, and I bent down and gave her a hug. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.

It was getting dark when we left the nursing home, but I didn’t even care that we had spent most of the afternoon there. It felt good to see the smiles on peoples’ faces and bring them a little comfort and love on Christmas. Walking down those halls, I had the distinct impression that if Jesus Christ had been on earth that day He would have been doing the same thing. Instead of thinking of what I had missed out on at home, I was grateful to have been able to serve and feel closer to the Savior.

I couldn’t think of a more fitting way to celebrate His birth and remember His perfect life than serving others by caroling in the nursing home. It was the best gift I gave that year and is now a special tradition I look forward to every year.

I have found happiness in doing as the prophets ask, so when President Ezra Taft Benson urged us to read the scriptures every day, I wanted to do so.
But I began making up excuses. I decided that I had too much homework to begin my scripture study that day. I did this for weeks, even months, while my conscience continued to bother me.
One night while I was frustrated over my math homework, I knelt in prayer to ask for strength. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was the Book of Mormon sitting on my dresser. I picked it up and began to read, not really knowing why since I had a lot of math left to do. I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.
I made a decision to be obedient. I would read the Book of Mormon each night. Then I would see if taking the time to study the scriptures had any effect on my grades. After several weeks, I found that this habit of reading every night, even though it took some time, helped me achieve more academically. I still had to do the work, but the reading gave me an extra push. It motivated me in ways that nothing else could. I was able to understand what I studied, and I had the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I had ever been.

Lori sat on her older sister’s bed as Karyn finished packing her temple bag. Karyn was getting married today.
Lori was excited to go to the wedding reception that evening, but she also felt sad. Her older brother, who had served a mission, could go inside the temple with Karyn. Her parents could go too. But Lori and her two younger brothers couldn’t go inside.
“I wish I could be in the temple with you,” Lori said.
Karyn looked up from her packing. “I do too, but you’ll be right outside. And someday I’ll go to the temple with you when you get married.”
Lori didn’t feel so sad anymore, but she wondered about something else. “How did you know you wanted to marry Matt?” she asked.
Karyn sat down beside Lori. “A long time ago I learned that Heavenly Father has a plan for me. When I met Matt, I realized we could fulfill that plan together.”
“Have you finished that plan?” Lori asked.
Karyn shook her head no. “Matt and I want to have children, finish our education, and much more.”
Lori looked at the beautiful white wedding dress hanging on Karyn’s closet door. “Your dress is so pretty,” she said.
Karyn smiled. “That’s another part of the plan,” she said. “I always wanted to be married in the temple, so my dress needs to be modest.”
A few hours later Lori watched Karyn and Matt come out of the temple. Their faces glowed.
Lori ran to Karyn and threw her arms around her.
Several weeks later Lori got a picture in the mail. It was a photo of Karyn and Matt standing in front of the temple. Karyn had written at the top, “Heavenly Father has a plan for you.”
Lori put the picture on her dresser. She promised herself that someday she would go to the temple and have the same glow that shone on her sister’s face.

When our son Matthew was five, he fell from the top of the high diving board at our neighborhood pool. He hit the concrete deck and suffered a fractured skull and a brain concussion. He was rushed by a Life Flight helicopter to the Houston Medical Center for emergency treatment. I needed priesthood assistance immediately. Our home teacher and our priesthood leader were both worthy and prepared at that moment. They helped give Matthew a blessing, and he completely recovered.
We must be ready at any time. As we say in Scouting, “Be prepared.”

Six months later, I was at school, sitting at lunch with a group of friends. All of a sudden there was commotion in a corner of the lunchroom. I looked over and saw that a boy was bending over and flapping his arms. Everyone who was watching was in shock, standing around just watching the uncomfortable scene. I got the impression that this boy could be choking. I jumped up from my table, ran over to the boy, and made the choking sign as a question to him. He nodded his head. I quickly got behind him and started doing the Heimlich maneuver. The food came up, and he started breathing again. The lunchroom erupted in applause, but I knew that it wasn’t me. I knew the Spirit prompted me to do what I did.
I am so grateful for what I learned from the experience during the summer so that I was prepared when the situation in the lunchroom happened. It added to my testimony that the Lord allows everyone opportunities to have experiences so they can then use them to help others.

The president of the Cardston Alberta Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if you are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’ A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, “Mother, I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.” This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

It was here, during my time as a student at BYU–Hawaii, that I met my husband, Thomas. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything extraordinary—it actually started in a very ordinary way. I was a staff writer for Ke Alaka‘i, and I had been assigned to cover a big event taking place in the ballroom that weekend. I ended up having one circumstance after another pile up, which meant I arrived at the event a little late and by the time I got there, I had completely missed the band that everyone had been talking about. I remember thinking, this is not ideal… I still have to write this article.

I told my friend, “I didn’t even get to see them play—what am I supposed to do?”

And she said, “Well, the good news is I know the drummer. He’s my Gospel Doctrine teacher, and he’s really nice—you can just interview him.”

So, I walked up to this tall, thin haole guy, wearing a skinny tie, and really cool shoes—which I noticed immediately, because I always notice people’s shoes.

And I introduced myself and explained, “Hi, I’m writing an article about your performance… but I didn’t actually see it.”

And he blinked at me a few times, kind of laughed under his breath, and said, “Seriously?”

And I said, “Yep. So… can you give me a quote for my article anyway?”

And he very kindly did. I don’t even remember what he said. But I do remember having a very clear impression at that moment: This person seems like he would be a really good friend. And at that point in my life, I really needed a good friend.

The next week, I was talking to someone from his band and mentioned that I had met their drummer and was going to quote him in my article.

And he said, “Oh—Tom?”

And I said, “I think so…”

And he said, “You two would actually really get along. I could connect you.”

And I said, “Absolutely not. That would be so embarrassing. I’m good—thank you.”

But, he gave him my number anyway. And Thomas called me the next day. We spent time together the day after that, and we have pretty much been together every day since. I went from missing his performance to attending just about every show his band played around the island—and even a few on Maui. And over time, that simple introduction became something much more. We built a life together. We have raised four beautiful children. We have gone through multiple graduate programs together. And we have walked through both joyful seasons and very difficult ones.

It’s a whirlwind BYU–Hawaii, Seasider, slightly punk-rock love story. But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t fully see then. What felt like a small, even inconvenient moment—missing a performance, arriving late, was actually part of something much bigger. I was exactly where I needed to be. The Lord was quietly shaping my life in ways I didn’t yet understand. And even then, even in that early beginning, I was not alone.