Gospel Story Finder

When he was a teenager, the Saints in Boise, Idaho, met with Church officials to talk about building a new tabernacle. The Boise members were asked to donate money to build the tabernacle, and Howard was the first to raise his hand. He pledged twenty-five dollars—a lot of money for a teenager in those days—as his offering. “I worked and saved until I was able to pay my commitment in full,” he said.

In her April 2014 General Conference address, Jean A. Stevens said, “As we develop greater faith and trust in the Lord, we can access His power to bless and deliver us.” This truth became real to me five years ago when my life drastically changed.
I went from being an active parent and church member to being unable to leave my house, gripped by panic attacks and constant anxiety. After a heartfelt prayer one night, I felt the Spirit whisper, "Do all you can." With the support of my husband and a priesthood blessing, I sought medical help and made lifestyle changes aligned with the Word of Wisdom. Spiritually, I focused on daily prayer and scripture study, particularly on the Atonement.
As I was studying one night, one message stood out: “Fear not; I am with thee.” This simple reassurance brought peace during a moment in my life where I felt so lost and alone.
Like everything in life, my anxiety and panic comes in waves. After several calm years, it has resurfaced this past year. Thankfully, I now have tools to manage it and this time I have felt even closer to the Saviour. I’ve been making a greater effort to make sure I start my day with a sincere prayer, reading something of spiritual nourishment whether it’s a chapter of scripture, a General Conference talk or sometimes just the “quote of the day” in the Gospel Library app.
I’ve always tried to shift my focus to what this trial is teaching me and how I can help others. Being open about my anxiety and panic attacks has connected me with others who face similar challenges, reminding me once again, that none of us are alone.
I love the peace that the Gospel of Jesus Christ brings. I can’t imagine facing these challenges without the Saviour’s help. He is always with us; we need only to reach out and ask for His help.

Arlene
Arlene, 20, has been working as a nanny for two years. She has found a wonderful family to work for that cares for her and encourages her in everything she tries. She, in turn, does an excellent job for them and appreciates the affection they share. She has been with them nearly two years, caring for their little girl Sasha.
“Charlie and Deb are the second family I have worked for. The first family turned out to be more of a maid position than a nanny position. I was totally unhappy there. I heard from a friend that Charlie and Deb were looking for someone. I called them, and they invited me to their house. I was offered the job that evening.”
Deb talks about what they expected from Arlene before they hired her. “We asked a lot of questions of her. We asked who she was, what did she want to be when she grew up. We told her who we were and what we expected of a person who would be a part of our family. We didn’t want someone who was a maid. We wanted another family member. It was important to us, because we both work full-time, that whoever took care of our child really wanted to do that and wanted to be a partner with us.”
Charlie added, “We also wanted to be sure she was given the resources to be independent. In the suburbs of Boston, you need a car to get around all the time. She needs to have transportation when she is not working, or she would be stuck here. She needs a telephone in her room, and privacy so she can live her own life.
“We’re lucky to have the resources to have someone live in with us. Some people who hire nannies think they have bought a 24-hour baby-sitting service, someone who will be at their beck and call and who will sacrifice completely for that family. We don’t perceive Arlene that way. This is someone we recognize as a full, well-rounded individual, and we weren’t going to try to turn her into some type of servant.”
Arlene points out how being a nanny differs from baby-sitting. “When you are baby-sitting, you are responsible for who you are watching at that time, but here this isn’t just when I’m working. It’s 24 hours a day. When I’m in the home, I’m responsible. We all work as a team. The most important thing is the communication between the nanny and her employers.
“When I came out, I wanted to avoid going to school. But now I’m going to school in the evenings, and I’m a studious person. I’ve learned so much about myself and who I want to be.”
Although she was not a member of the Church when she came east, Arlene began attending the ward on her own. Eventually she became a member. Her employers came to her baptism because they knew that it was important to her and wanted to be supportive.
Arlene is now the ward’s Young Adult representative in charge of the nannies. She uses her leadership abilities to help other girls who are having problems or need encouragement.

One reader who was having a similar dilemma wrote to us: “Many of my friends were involved in alcohol and drugs. I wasn’t doing these things with them, but I knew I was putting myself in Satan’s path. It was very difficult to change friends, but I made myself very busy with church activities and went out with my friends from church on the weekends. When I did this, I didn’t have time to be in the wrong places with my other friends. I also spent a great deal of time praying and reading the scriptures so I could receive help, guidance, and strength from my Heavenly Father.
“It is still hard for me to hear my old friends say that I must not like them or that they must not be good enough for me, but through fasting and prayer the Lord has blessed me with the strength to handle this. The change was slow and even painful at times, but I don’t feel I have offended anyone, and my life has been richly blessed because of the choice I made.”

Seminary also serves as a great preparation for the missionary work you will do—as a member missionary today and also if you serve as a full-time missionary in the future. Franco Huamán Curinuqui of Peru knows that his scripture study in seminary has been helping him prepare for his mission.

He says this preparation is worth getting up for seminary at 4:00 a.m., riding canoes when months of flooding hit the area, and then wading through mud to get to class. He says, “I want to finish seminary and start institute classes in order to be prepared for a mission. I am going to keep growing in the Church.” Seminary is important to him because he learns about the scriptures and memorizes important verses, which will help him be a better missionary.

Let me tell you a story that I heard recently in Mexico. In Torreón I was driven about in the fine automobile that belonged to the man of whom I speak. His name is David Castañeda.

Thirty years ago he, his wife, Tomasa, and their children lived on a dry little run-down ranch near Torreón. They owned 30 chickens, 2 pigs, and 1 thin horse. The chickens provided a few eggs to sustain them and the means whereby to earn an occasional peso. They walked in poverty. Then the missionaries called on them. Sister Castañeda said, “The elders took the blinders from our eyes and brought light into our lives. We knew nothing of Jesus Christ. We knew nothing of God until they came.”

She had two years of schooling, her husband none. The elders taught them, and they were eventually baptized. They moved into the little town of Bermejillo. They were fortuitously led into the junk business, buying wrecked automobiles. This led to association with insurance companies and others. They gradually built a prosperous business in which the father and his five sons worked. With simple faith they paid their tithing. They put their trust in the Lord. They lived the gospel. They served wherever called to do so. Four of their sons and three of their daughters filled missions. The youngest son is presently serving in Oaxaca. They have now built a very substantial business and have been prospered therein. They have been taunted by their critics. Their answer is a testimony of the power of the Lord in their lives.

Some 200 of their family and friends have joined the Church due to their influence. Over 30 sons and daughters of family and friends have served missions. They donated the land on which a chapel now stands.

The children, now grown to maturity, and the parents take turns going to Mexico City each month, there to work in the temple. They stand as a living testimony of the great power of this work of the Lord to lift and change people. They are typical of thousands upon thousands throughout the world who experience the miracle of Mormonism as a testimony of the divinity of the work comes into their lives.

By then, Sister Okazaki had come to acknowledge the complexity of her ethnic and cultural status. Worried about how others would perceive them after the Japanese military bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Sister Okazaki and her mother gathered and burned every Japanese memento they owned. But then she looked in the mirror and thought, “I have never set foot in Japan. I am not Japanese in my heart. But I cannot run away from myself. My eyes, my skin, and my hair are Japanese.”1

The day after my baptism, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a fast and testimony meeting, and I decided, for the first time ever, to bear my testimony. As I spoke, a wonderful, warm feeling filled my heart. It was a confirmation of the Spirit that joining the Church was the right thing to do. That warm feeling was the beginning of my small testimony, which grew as I grew older. I know that children can gain testimonies of their own and that even small testimonies are enough to help us choose the right.

Whenever I think of the temple and personal worthiness, I reflect upon an experience a few years ago, when my wife and I attended an afternoon session in the Salt Lake Temple. The company was small, consisting of no more than a dozen men and a dozen women. I scanned the group, casually noting that all were strangers to me except my wife. We were instructed in the first room and then moved to the next. As we took our seats in the second room, there was a slight commotion. I looked about to see what was wrong. In doing so, I saw a woman leave the room. All of us assumed that she was ill or had perhaps forgotten a piece of clothing. The interruption was brief and the instruction resumed. It was a refreshing temple experience for us, and we returned home rejoicing.
The next day I received a very unusual telephone call. My secretary came to my office door and said, “A woman wants to speak with you, but she won’t give me her name.”
I picked up the phone and announced myself. The caller promptly asked, “Elder Asay, what do you know about me?”
“How can I answer your question,” I responded, “when you haven’t even given me your name?”
She continued, “You were in the three o’clock temple session yesterday, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I answered, “I was there.”
She said, “Do you remember someone walking out of the second room?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I am the one who walked out of the temple yesterday. Elder Asay, what do you know about me?”
At this point the conversation was becoming a bit tedious, and I said, “Please don’t play games with me. Unless you tell me who you are, how can I respond to your query?”
Almost totally ignoring what I said, the woman confessed: “I left the temple room yesterday before the instruction began. I did so because you looked at me with a searching look, and you made me feel as though I was unworthy to be there.” Once again, she asked, “What do you know about me?”
I said: “Well, if you attended the temple worthily yesterday, I apologize for how I may have looked at you and for how I may have made you feel. However, if you were there unworthily, I make no apology.”
There was a long silence and then soft sobbing over the telephone. Finally, the woman confessed: “I have committed a serious sin, and I attended the temple yesterday under false pretenses. However,” she added, “I visited my bishop last night, and I will follow his counsel and advice.”
It is most significant that the woman judged herself through my eyes in the house of the Lord. She verified in part the truth that “no unclean thing can dwell with God” or abide his holy presence (1 Ne. 10:21), for “the piercing eye of the Almighty God: sees all” (Jacob 2:10).

The first free-lance article I submitted to the New Era was … well … much like wearing a tuxedo to a pool party. Inappropriate.
Without opening the magazine, I had mailed off a six-page essay on what I had learned being a convert to the Church. The rejection letter arrived in my college dorm mailbox a month later. “How dare they?” I demanded, showing the story to a few young people in my Sunday School class.
“Uh, good spelling,” one said, handing it back without turning the page.
“It’s very neat,” said another, not getting past the first paragraph.
It quickly became obvious there wasn’t a 15-year-old in the Church who would read my dry essay. I hadn’t done my homework, and the rejection letter proved it.
I tried again. This time I dug a stack of New Eras out of my drawer and read. It took a few days, but I got a feel for the style of the magazine—the way the anecdotal leads drew you into more serious topics; the up-tempo, spiritual kids featured in the stories; the faith-building experiences people wrote about.
And, as I read, I learned a few important points—that the New Era is particular about what it prints, and how it is presented.
A few days later, I again found myself in front of my typewriter. I stopped trying to summarize all I had learned since becoming a member of the Church. Instead, I focused on one event that happened while I was growing up in Canada and what I learned from it.
It took a lot of writing and rewriting to make the piece fit the style of the magazine. But a few weeks after I sent the article off, the editors mailed me a nice letter saying they’d like to purchase my story. The New Era wasn’t unreachable after all.

The borrowed white tablecloths and snowmen centerpieces gave the cultural hall a festive look as last-minute preparations were being made for our family Christmas party.
As we waited for our guests, my gaze drifted to a table where an empty jar—labeled “Sub for Santa”—sat. I prayed that by the end of the night, the jar would be full.
During our party preparations we had discovered that my cousin’s husband had been out of work for over a year and a half. Her family’s main source of income consisted of handling five paper routes, which required them to begin each day at 3:30 a.m. The majority of their income went to paying the mortgage and other necessities, leaving little for things they wanted, such as Christmas presents.
My cousin’s family was one of the first to arrive. I watched as they made their way toward the dining tables, past our Christmas jar. As they approached, my cousin’s husband stopped to read the sign on the jar. Without hesitating, he took out his worn wallet, pulled out a couple of dollars, and tossed them in the container, oblivious to who the family “in need” was.
Emotion welled up in my throat, and I instantly recalled the New Testament story of the widow and her two mites. Wealthy men were flaunting their large donations to the treasury when “there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites” (see Mark 12:41–42).
No one would have blamed my cousin’s husband for walking past the jar thinking, “If I had I would give” (Mosiah 4:24). His great example of charity and love for his fellowmen touched not only me but also other members of my family who were watching him. I knew his family would be fine because “charity is the pure love of Christ, … and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him” (Moroni 7:47).
We had hoped to give his family something that night, which we did later on, but by giving in the midst of his own time of need, he showed us that when it came to what mattered most, he was already a rich man.

My mother still speaks fondly of “the wonderful time” she and my father had on their senior mission at the Church’s Deseret Ranches in central Florida, USA—a mission that almost didn’t happen.
After decades of working as an engineer for several companies, Dad finally started his own construction business. Things went well until his financial officer embezzled the company into bankruptcy. With the loss of their business, my parents also lost the comfortable retirement they had anticipated.
I thought a mission was out of the question for them until the day they excitedly phoned to say they had been called to serve. Soon, they found themselves on the Church’s sprawling 300,000-acre (121,405 ha) ranch in Deer Park, Florida.
The ranch is primarily a cow-calf operation, but it also dedicates hundreds of acres to citrus production and other products and projects. My parents and six other senior couples spent most of their time cleaning, repairing, and maintaining dozens of homes for cowboys, ranch workers, and their families. They also served in the Orlando Florida Temple and in their ward in nearby Deer Park. As soon as they arrived, they went to work.
While Jerry Morris cleans a refrigerator (above), Ivan Morris (below, left) and Albert Liston replace a window.
Photographs courtesy of the author
“Little did we know about the needs for upkeep and all that is required to maintain the housing units here,” my father wrote to us. He said they worked Monday through Wednesday and served in the temple on Thursdays.
“Then, Friday, back to work, which includes all phases of housing work and cleanup: door, window, carpet, and wall repair; pulling nails, spackling, priming, and painting. Two other elders do the plumbing and electrical. The list goes on and on.”
My mother and the other sisters cleaned the homes—“from floor to ceiling.” My mother also painted. The sisters took a break on Tuesdays to do family history work at the Cocoa Florida Family History Center.
“I just can’t believe all of this is happening for Grandpa and me,” my mother wrote. “We really feel that this is where we are supposed to be, doing more and more each day. We really are blessed. Having all of you saying prayers for us is making our time here very special.”
My parents served while they were in their 70s. I wondered if they were working too hard, but they seemed to thrive despite the workload.
“We miss not seeing you, but what a blessing it is being here,” my mother said. “Grandpa and I love what we are doing here helping in the Lord’s work. Our testimonies are growing each day.”
During their 18-month mission, my parents missed their family, especially the grandchildren. But they loved serving alongside other senior couples and the members of their Florida ward.
“The other sweet senior missionaries are great,” my mother wrote. “Dad and I feel at home with all of them. Some have health problems and family problems. We all help each other in many ways.”
My parents loved their ward callings, and they felt right at home in their ward.
“The members here in the Ellsworth Ward are as close as any family could be. They take care of each other,” my mother told us. “They are such special Saints. They show their love to us missionaries every day. It’s nice being a small part of their life.”
My parents’ temple service on Thursdays was another highlight of each week.
“While we are there, the cares of the world are locked outside,” my father wrote. “It is a real joy to be serving in the Lord’s house.”
Photograph of Orlando Florida Temple by David Bowen Newton
As outdoor enthusiasts, my parents felt blessed to serve in an area teeming with wildlife and picturesque landscapes.
“Our mission is full of great surprises. What a wonderland,” my father wrote. “We see lots of animals. Deer abound. We can look out our dining room window and see sandhill cranes. We have even seen a few alligators. In summation, this is a very beautiful place.”
“Our mission is full of great surprises,” my father wrote.
Photograph courtesy of the author
In one letter, my mother wrote, “Dad and I watched a cattle roundup a few weeks ago. What a sight!” In another, she said: “The sunsets are spectacular. If I could paint one, I would. The sky is so high here, and the stars are so bright that it seems you could almost touch them. But we don’t like being on these roads after dark. You don’t know what kinds of critters are going to jump out!”
In my mother’s words, their mission was “a humbling and faith-growing time.” Like missionaries everywhere, they found joy and spiritual growth as they lost themselves in service. They shared those blessings in counsel to their grandchildren.
“Grandma and I feel that service to others and living a gospel-based life is so important,” my father wrote. “So, set your personal goals higher than what is standard for average society.” In another letter, he said, “Stay close to the Lord. Don’t let the world get to you.”
My mother added, “Be happy, full of love and service always.”
As their mission came to a close, my mother wrote: “It’s going to be hard to leave. Many blessings have come our way. We have made good friends. But we are so excited to be home and see you all again.”
My parents had been home more than 10 years before I learned how much they had sacrificed in order to serve. But, after much discussion and many prayers, they mustered their faith and accepted a call. They never regretted it, and they often reflected on how their mission blessed them during and after their service.
“This mission has been so much more than we could have hoped for,” my mother wrote toward the end of their mission. “We have never felt so close to the Lord as we have here. He is helping us in everything we are doing. We are at our best here and loving it all.”

February’s white snow piled powderpuffs on the fence posts and frosted the windows of homes in the Utah village in which I now resided. It had been seven months since I left Liverpool. Perhaps Lucifer had heard my parting words about tithing and decided to mock me. The lack of prospects for work dulled the beauty of the winter day. I was homesick, disappointed, and lonely.
The postman crunched up the sidewalk and slid an envelope through the slot in the door. It was a letter from my mother. She, too, was struggling. My brother stared death in the face every day in the trenches of France; Father’s location on the ocean was unknown, except perhaps to a periscope prowling icy waters. And she wasn’t worrying alone, she said. Neighbors worried, too. Everything was secret and suspense clouded the atmosphere.
My patriarchal blessing appointment was scheduled that afternoon, and I should have been busy preparing myself for it. But even through my fasting and prayer, my concerns about my family floated to the surface of my mind. I wished my family could join me to hear the patriarch’s words! I dropped the letter from my hands as I sobbed, releasing tears I had stored inside since the day I had last seen England.
I dropped to my knees by my bed and uttered the most sincere, heartrending prayer of my 19-year life. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry to be so weak, but that he knew how homesick I was, how disappointed to be out of work, how concerned about my family.
I said that if he could see fit to give me two promises in my patriarchal blessing, then I could be brave enough to endure anything the future held. I pleaded that my family and friends might someday come to this country and that I would someday be married in the temple.
I left the house and walked a block to the patriarch’s home. I spoke to no one and saw no one. But my Father knew of my prayer. That good patriarch came in from working in his fields and invited me to dinner. The food fortified me, and I was able to restrain my tears. We went to a private place, with his granddaughter along to act as scribe.
He described glorious promises, many of them. Then I heard, as it were, my own words, the ones I had spoken to my Father about one hour before: “Your loved ones from whom you have been parted—the Lord will bless and protect them, and many of them will follow you to the fold of the Good Shepherd and bask in the life-giving light of the gospel of their Redeemer. With them you will sing the songs of Zion and have much joy in their society. You shall have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord to receive a worthy helpmate and companion to be with you for time and all eternity.”
The patriarch continued outlining the blessings the Lord planned for me if I lived worthily. While he did, quiet tears trickled down my face. Heaven was in my heart.
When the patriarch had finished, I thanked him, tried to dry my face, and rushed home. I walked into my room, picked up my pen and wrote, “It’s all right now, Mother; Heavenly Father will protect George and Father. And you will come to Zion. Our Heavenly Father has said it. Be brave until we meet again. Much love, Mary.”
Many prayers in my life have been answered just as rapidly as the one concerning my patriarchal blessing, but time has not dimmed that miracle to me. I felt power, exultation, and gratitude; it seemed that my Father in heaven had come down and answered my requests in my own words through the patriarch. The promises all came true after many trials. Through the difficult times, the blessing fortified me. We are finer for the things we learn through the ups and downs of life, but the joy always outweighs the pain. Through my patriarchal blessing, I learned the happiness of compliance with the divine instruction given in Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6]:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Similarly, the Lord knows each of us and has chosen us to come forth into mortality in a time and place that is best for us. He can mold us through our callings to serve in the home or Church. My wife and I gained a greater appreciation for this principle when we were called to preside over the Fiji Suva Mission. We did not speak fluent English, and my wife was particularly overwhelmed. She received a special blessing for this gift when she was set apart. She studied hard and practiced English at home and with the missionaries. Soon she was able to speak in English to the missionaries in zone conferences in Fiji, Vanuatu, and Kiribati; then in turn, she taught the missionaries working in New Caledonia in French. She felt that the Lord had called her to serve people of both languages; therefore, she needed to be able to speak both languages. This experience has molded and blessed her, our family, and the people she has had the opportunity to teach, even if her English has a slight French accent.

A couple of years ago, my grandson Christian was turning eight and planning his baptismal service with great anticipation. He asked his mother if I could be one of the speakers and share my conversion story. When I asked him why he wanted me to do that, he replied, “Grandma, that is so important. Do you realize that if you hadn’t accepted the gospel, I wouldn’t be getting baptized? I wouldn’t even be who I am.”

I don’t know if missionaries realize the far-reaching impact of their work. In my own family, the blessings of the gospel have now touched four generations. Didn’t President Gordon B. Hinckley say that “when we save a girl, we save generations”? I got married in the temple and have eight children. They are all faithful members of the Church, endowed in the temple. Six of them are now married and have their own children. At present there are 34 of us. And that is not all. Both my husband and I served missions, and our two sons and three of our six daughters have also served missions. Collectively we have helped hundreds embrace the gospel in many countries. Some of those converts and their children have also served missions.

Missionary work is the lifeblood of the Church. There is no greater work, no more important work. It blesses the lives of all those who participate in it. It will continue blessing future generations.

Later I climbed the Mount of Olives by way of a very old stone path. The huge stones were polished from the countless sandals of several thousand years. The feet of Jesus probably climbed this path from Jerusalem to Bethany. It was long and steep, and I stopped several times to gulp much needed air and to wipe the sweat from my eyes. As I lifted my eyes to see the top of the hill, I imagined myself to be one of the Savior’s disciples, following him up the path to Bethany. Perhaps I would have stumbled on a projecting rock and called, “Master, wait for me.” Or I might have asked, “Lord, what of the last days?” For a moment I stood there, aboard my own personal time-machine, wondering about the closeness to Christ that I was feeling. As tears came unexpectedly, I understood those I had seen in President David O. McKay’s eyes during a sacrament meeting a few years ago. He had cried in contemplation of the suffering of a close friend, a man called Jesus.

A few years ago, I was one of a few Church members in my grade. People thought I was weird because I was dedicated to living all of the standards of the Church. So one day I decided that I could compromise my standards a little bit. When I did, I noticed that I had more attention from others. But after just a few weeks, I felt guilty and turned to the Lord for repentance. He did help me, and I had to make a lot of sacrifices, but it was worth it! I truly got to see the blessings of living the gospel at school. I did lose friends and attention, but I gained respect and happiness.
Sutton K., 15, Texas, USA

As you can imagine, remaining active in the Church was challenging for a teenager whose lifestyle had just changed and whose family was not taking the same path.
As I was trying to adjust to my new life, a new culture, and new friends, I felt out of place. I felt alone and discouraged many times. I knew the Church was true, but I had a hard time feeling part of it. While uncomfortable and uncertain as I tried to fit into my new religion, I found the courage to participate in a three-day youth conference, which I thought would help me make new friends. This is when I met another saving angel, named Mônica Brandão.
She was new in the area, having moved from another part of Brazil. She quickly got my attention and, luckily for me, accepted me as a friend. I guess she looked at me more from the inside than the outside.
Because she befriended me, I was introduced to her friends, who then became my friends as we enjoyed many youth activities I attended later. Those activities were so critical to my integration into this new life.
And by the way, that young angel girl, Mônica? After we both served missions, she became my wife.

The New Era is such a blessing to me! The only thing I don’t like about it is having to wait a whole month for the next issue.
I am a paratrooper in the U.S. Army, and that means that some Sundays have to be spent training in the woods rather than worshipping in church. When I know I can’t make it to church, I will bring my scriptures, along with the New Era. As soon as there is some free time, I dig them out and start reading. During these times the Spirit can be so strong that I often forget where I am. Another added blessing is that I live in Kaysville, Utah, and since a lot of the pictures and articles are from people in Utah I get to see a lot of familiar places. Once or twice I have even seen familiar faces.
When I first joined the army I was basically inactive, but soon after experiencing the scary feeling of jumping out of a plane at midnight, I felt the need to know that the Lord would watch over me. Very soon after praying about it, I found that my mother had subscribed to the New Era for me. It has helped me so much to become active again, and now I am holding my breath until I can go on a mission in 17 months.
As for jumping out of airplanes, it’s a piece of cake!
Gregory TibbetsFt. Bragg, North Carolina

After President Hinckley’s fireside one young woman decided to stop steadily dating a close friend.
“It was one of the hardest things I have had to do,” she writes. “But my understanding of why we are counseled to not steady date has been increased. I know we did the right thing and that we both needed that experience. I don’t know if I would be as happy as I am now without that experience to help my testimony of the prophet and the gospel grow.”