Gospel Story Finder

Have you ever just looked at yourself and thought: “Wow! I would look amazing if only …”? Or have you ever compared yourself to every other girl on social media? I have. That was me all my teenage years and before I got married and then pregnant. Even when my husband would tell me that I looked perfect, I always thought, “If only this or that … ,” then I would look and feel better. But in all reality, would those “if onlys” make any of us feel better? In my case, I know that losing weight would only be the beginning, and then I would’ve found something else to “fix” on my body and the cycle would just go on and on.

When I was pregnant, I loved having a big round belly! That was when I realized that I’m perfect in my own way—we all are! I was growing a tiny human, and is there anything better than that? Let me tell you, there is! And that’s holding your baby in your arms.

My baby girl, Sofia, was born just a short time ago. I always planned and dreamed of having a natural birth, with no medication and with a quick recovery. However, there were some complications during labor, and I ended up needing a caesarean section. To be honest, I was afraid of the surgery for both me and my daughter. I was also scared of having a scar.

After the surgery, it took my body a long time to recover. During these weeks and months, I couldn’t really do much physical activity, but all I wanted was to exercise and go back to my pre-pregnancy size. Then one day, it just hit me—my body is not the same as it was before having my daughter, and neither am I. And neither my body nor I will ever be the same as before Sofia came into my life. And I’m grateful for that.

I’ve come to love the stretch marks and the scar that my pregnancy left behind, because every time I look at them, they remind me what an amazing journey I’ve been through. Those little marks are just a sweet reminder of the beautiful daughter Heavenly Father has trusted me with. These marks on my body fill me with gratitude, not just for my daughter, but also for my body that can do amazing things like create, carry, and deliver a human being. My scar also reminds me of how even during our darkest times or when things don’t go according to plan, the Savior is with us. When we are afraid or hurt, He is there, and He knows what’s best for us.

For many moms out there, think about it: you underwent a painful yet life-changing journey to bring Heavenly Father’s children to earth—your children! What an incredible and humbling experience that is to be able to play such a big part in the plan of happiness!

If you’re having trouble accepting and loving yourself, you can pray for help. The Lord wants us to be happy, and loving ourselves is vital to achieving that happiness. God will always help us with the little things, and the not-so-little-things—He knows what’s important to us. If you pray to know how to love and accept yourself, He will show you how.

Almost two decades ago, the Madrid Spain Temple was dedicated and began its service as a sacred house of the Lord. Harriet and I remember it well because I was serving in the Europe Area Presidency at the time. Along with many others, we spent countless hours attending to the details of planning and organizing the events leading up to the dedication.
As the date of the dedication approached, I noticed that I had not yet received an invitation to attend. This was a bit unexpected. After all, in my responsibility as the Area President, I had been greatly involved in this temple project and felt a small amount of ownership for it.
I asked Harriet if she had seen an invitation. She had not.
Days passed and my anxiety increased. I wondered if our invitation had gotten lost—perhaps it was buried between the cushions of our sofa. Maybe it had been mixed up with junk mail and thrown away. The neighbors had an inquisitive cat, and I even began to look suspiciously at him.
Finally I was forced to accept the fact: I had not been invited.
But how was that possible? Had I done something to offend? Did someone just assume it was too far for us to travel? Had I been forgotten?
Eventually, I realized that this line of thinking led to a place in which I did not wish to take up residence.
Harriet and I reminded ourselves that the temple dedication was not about us. It wasn’t about who deserved to be invited or who did not. And it wasn’t about our feelings or our sense of entitlement.
It was about dedicating a holy edifice, a temple of the Most High God. It was a day of rejoicing for the members of the Church in Spain.
Had I been invited to attend, I would have done so gladly. But if I were not invited, my joy would not be any less profound. Harriet and I would rejoice with our friends, our beloved brothers and sisters, from afar. We would praise God for this wonderful blessing just as enthusiastically from our home in Frankfurt as we would from Madrid.

Though he was extremely demanding of himself, Heber J. Grant was quick to learn the importance of not judging imperfection in others. He tells the story of how he learned this truth. He had gone to church and the speaker made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks.
Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school where he had to bring examples of mistakes in grammar to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors and caught instead the Spirit of the man speaking, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord in this church.
President Grant ended the story by saying, “During the years that have passed since then, I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mis-pronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

To the young men of the priesthood, if you haven’t served a mission, this is not the time for a lot of involvement in love or romance. It is a time for saving money. Do you know how much a mission costs today? It averages about $150 a month. For a two-year mission, that is $3,600.
One young man was startled when his father sat down with him to figure how he could earn that money. Noting that the most productive earning time would be from ages 16–19, they figured that he would have to save at least $1,000 each year for that three-year period. This also meant that the young man had to earn another $600 before age 16 (he was then 12) to save sufficiently for his mission. Hopefully, many start earlier than that.
You’ve heard some of our young men say, “But I can’t find a job. No one will hire me.” May I suggest to you the example of one enterprising 13-year-old who has already produced some handbills that he is passing out in his neighborhood. The handbill reads: “When you’re on vacation and need someone to care for your yard, or if you want any odd jobs done, call Bill, because when you call me, I’ll be there.” He then signed his name and included his phone number. He already has his summer filled with work.

Susan (name has been changed), like many adoptees, had a great curiosity about her birth parents. She was sealed as an infant to her adoptive family and felt the power and confirmation that these were her people—the ones she was meant to be with forever. She felt blessed by doing family history and temple work for this family. However, that didn’t take away her curiosity or her desire to offer the saving ordinances to the people on her birth line. She worried that she was being somehow disloyal to her adoptive family for having that desire. But after a loving conversation with her parents, she was assured that feelings of love and loyalty would not be diminished by pursuing the sacred work for her birth line.

It had been a perfect day of exploring a narrow sandstone canyon and basking in the rugged beauty of southern Utah. I was a little worried that we hadn’t come across any signs of previous hikers in the canyon, but we had researched the route and had a good map, so we knew what lay ahead: a spectacular 150-foot rope descent through a waterfall into a picturesque canyon, leading out to the main road. As Dustin, Roland, and I neared what we expected to be the end of our adventure, we stopped to eat the last of our food and grinned at each other in anticipation.
Half an hour later, the canyon opened up to the sunlight, and in front of us the riverbed curved in a different direction than the map indicated. Our spirit of adventure overcame our better judgment, so we followed this new course. The soft sand quickly turned to rock, and we scrambled over boulders and potholes. We successfully negotiated a 40-foot drop, turned a corner—and stared in disbelief. There in front of us the ground melted away, dropping hundreds of feet to the Virgin River below.
It dawned on us that we had messed up somehow. There was no turning back; the slick canyon walls made ascension impossible. My two friends scouted the narrow ledge for a possible route down while I pored over the map. After awhile, my eye spotted another canyon on the map, and this one definitely matched the canyon we were in. Scanning the map, I could see that the cliff we were on was over 400 feet high. Dustin and Roland returned, and we talked about the possibility of trying to descend the cliff with the rope we had. Roland suggested we pray about it, and we quickly agreed.
It was a simple, sincere prayer. We thanked the Lord for keeping us safe and admitted that we had made mistakes. We told Him we were now trying our best to correct ourselves and return to safety. Laying before Him our problem and the possible solution of descending the cliff, we asked for a confirmation. And the Lord truly responded, touching each of us with a quiet feeling in our hearts that we should not try to go down the cliff.
As darkness fell, we realized our only way out was rescue. Our cellular phone received no signal, and we couldn’t go forward or back. When the sun sank behind the opposite mountains, the temperature dropped sharply, and we spent a sleepless night shivering together, hungry and thirsty, a few steps from a 400-foot cliff. Before trying to sleep, we again offered up a prayer of sincere thanks for protection, and a blessing of peace for our families, who had certainly figured out, by now, that something had gone wrong.
The next morning, by the time it was light enough to safely walk around the cliff’s edge, we had decided on several courses of action. We burned leaves to send up white smoke and scattered our equipment around the ledge to make us easier to spot from the air. After we split a granola bar, Dustin climbed up to higher ground to try to get reception for the phone, while Roland and I set about purifying water from a pool. We had made mistakes, and now we could only do everything in our power to be rescued, trusting that the Lord would comfort our families and lead rescuers to us. The day wore on, and our situation worsened. The fire melted our water container, Dustin had no luck with his phone, and we made plans for surviving another night. In that helpless state, I realized like never before my utter dependence on the Lord. I’d never felt so close to Heavenly Father when I prayed.
We thought we heard planes throughout the day, but neither the fire nor our yells brought them any closer. Around noon we heard the thumping sound of an engine grow and saw a helicopter in the distance, but our hopes faded when it flew out of sight. Then, quite suddenly, the search and rescue helicopter burst over the far canyon wall. It spotted Dustin above us and circled, looking for a place to land. Not long after, a rope dropped down to us, quickly followed by the search and rescue team with food, water, and our way home.
As we flew over canyon and mountain to our waiting families, I offered a silent prayer of thanks. The Lord had helped us make wise judgments and had helped our rescuers find us. He had also answered our plea to comfort our families. While they had spent a sleepless night, they had felt the Spirit whisper that we were OK. The Savior’s promise in 3 Nephi 18:21 is true: “Pray in your families unto the Father, always in my name, that your wives and your children may be blessed.” I learned that on the edge of a 400-foot cliff, waiting to be rescued.

“I remember sometimes staying at Grandmother’s when I was very young,” Sister Smith recalled. “One day she took my brother and me with her when she went to deliver a new baby. When we got to the house, she told us to wait in the car. We stayed in the car a long time, until the children living there invited us to play with them. We got out of the car and all ran around to the back of the house where we saw my grandmother through the sun-dappled window, bathing a brand new little baby. Suddenly she looked up to see a window full of little faces peering in. I remember how she put her head back and laughed! She didn’t get after us for getting out of the car, because I guess she realized that we had become restless waiting for her.”

Growing up in the small town of Aurora, Utah, I learned the power of prayer. We lived on a cattle and dairy farm, and our animals were essential to our livelihood. We knew each of them by name, and whenever one of them got sick, my father always prayed for it. Once when a cow named Old Blue became bloated with air in her stomach, my father knelt right there in the field and offered a prayer for her. Old Blue recovered.

When I walked in the door one evening, Jessie, my six-year-old daughter, was sitting on a stool in our kitchen. Her countenance worried me. I asked her what had happened.
“Daddy, is it true that I’m a child of the devil?” she asked with deep concern.
Her question hit me like a bucket of cold water. Jessie said her friend’s three-month-old sister had already been baptized. Jessie was surprised and asked her friend why her little sister had been baptized at such a young age. Her friend replied that all babies had to be baptized.
“You haven’t been baptized?” her friend then asked. When Jessie said no, her friend insisted that she was a child of the devil.
“Daddy, baptize me!” Jessie implored. “I don’t want to be a child of the devil!”
I realized that this challenge needed to be resolved immediately. I explained the importance of baptism and how children need no baptism until they are eight years old (see Moroni 8:11–23). Because she was only six years old, I told Jessie she would have to wait a little longer before her baptism. I assured her that she was a child of God and that He loved her. Her question led us to Moroni 10:4–5, where Moroni tells us how we can determine “the truth of all things.”
After reading these verses, I asked if she wanted to pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him if the things we had talked about were true. She said yes.
We knelt together, and Jessie bowed her head and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I want to know if the things my daddy has told me are true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
I realized I had led my daughter to say one of the most important prayers of her life. I began pleading in my heart as I had never done before, asking Heavenly Father to answer her prayer.
After a few minutes, she said, “I didn’t hear anything.” I took her in my arms and said, “Heavenly Father gave us the Comforter, who answers us with …” I put my hand on my heart. She interrupted me and said, “With a warm feeling in my chest! I feel it, Daddy!”
I hugged her tightly and thanked Heavenly Father for answering her prayer. I also felt a burning in my bosom. I told Jessie that what she had felt was an answer to her prayer and that now she knew she was a daughter of God and that she should be baptized when she was eight. She told me she would wait.
Many years have passed since that experience, but it still reminds me that Heavenly Father keeps His promises.

My big brother and I were sealed to our parents in the Provo Utah Temple. We drove for a long time to get there. When we went into the temple, Grandma Lee, who serves at the temple, and another nice lady took my brother and me to a special room. We listened to stories, had cookies and punch, and watched a movie about temples. Then we dressed in white clothes—I even wore a little white tie. The nice lady took us to the room where our parents and other family members were. When we were sealed to each other there, I felt happy. I know that our family will be together forever if we keep the commandments.

Her three brothers—Miguel, Angel (called Micky), and Jorge—are quite a bit older than she is. About four months after Miguel returned from his mission, JoAnnie became very sick with a high temperature. Their mother asked him to give his sister a blessing. JoAnnie had faith that if he did, she would be healed. Miguel changed into his Sunday clothes and prepared himself to give the blessing. After the blessing, JoAnnie immediately became better.

In one of my school classes, we were reading a book that critiqued the Church. I knew I needed to speak up about the truths of the restored gospel. So I raised my hand. The teacher called on me, but I didn’t know what to say. For some reason, I started to sing the songs of the Articles of Faith. To my surprise, a profound reverence came over the room. Afterward there was less confusion, and my teacher and classmates treated class discussion and me with more respect.
Monique, Massachusetts, USA

For many years, I have visited my mother’s home to help her with her housework. She is 80 years old and is a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My mother has lived alone since my father passed away. Her greatest pleasure is visiting the home of each of her three children, spending time with them and her grandchildren, and cooking food that warms the soul.
Every time I visited my mother’s house to clean it and make sure everything was in order, I found an old cushion on the floor. Over and over I would pick it up and place it on an armchair, complaining to myself about my mother’s carelessness.
The next time I would return to visit and help my mother, I would again find the cushion on the floor. I never said anything to my mother about the cushion, but one morning I finally figured out why it was always on the floor.
My mother needed a soft surface on which to kneel and pray. She was an old woman, but her unshakable faith led her to her knees in prayer every day. She would pray for her children and grandchildren. She would pray for her friends. She would pray for those most in need. And she would pray for those she had always loved and, even in her old age, still generously cared for.
Today, I no longer complain to myself when I see the cushion on the floor. At times, I even kneel on its soft surface to pray to Heavenly Father, expressing gratitude for my mother’s faith and example.

Lisa stood in the doorway of Grandpa’s bedroom. She wanted to talk to him, but he was sound asleep. There was so much to say and so little time. Grandpa couldn’t even get out of bed now.
“I’ll be thankful if I get to see another crocus,” he had said. Those words brought back vividly all the hurt and pain she had felt when Keekee, her pet hamster, died.
Lisa hurried out of the house and went directly to the far end of the garden where Keekee was buried. Since it was mid-January, the plants were bare. Not a leaf or bud anywhere. She and Grandpa had put Keekee to rest between the red rose bushes. She swallowed hard, remembering it all.
“I won’t ever see Keekee again,” she had cried.
“Death isn’t forever, Lisa,” Grandpa comforted.
After Grandpa talked to her, some of the pain seemed to ease.
“By loving Keekee,” he said, “he will always live in your heart. All else can fade away but love is forever.”
They stood beside the grave. “What would you like to say on the marker?” Grandpa had asked.
Lisa hesitated. “Name and dates, I guess.”
“Don’t be ashamed to say what’s in your heart,” encouraged Grandpa.
Lisa looked into Grandpa’s warm brown eyes, then down at the ground. “I love you, Keekee …” she whispered.
Grandpa smiled. “Each time you read those words, Lisa, your memory of Keekee will come alive. Dying is a fact of life. One day we all must go away for a while.”
“Will that happen to you, too, Grandpa?”
“Yes, Lisa, but you must remember that separation is not a final thing and that someday we’ll all be together again.”
Now it is Grandpa’s turn to go, Lisa thought sadly. All the pain of parting came back again. Once more she looked over the garden. Every year she and Grandpa had planted bulbs along both sides of the walkway but now Grandpa was too ill. She remembered how one by one she had handed Grandpa the crocus bulbs and watched him place them into freshly dug holes. Then he covered them gently, almost with a prayer.
Lisa went back to Grandpa’s room. He seemed to still be asleep but then he opened his eyes. “Is that you, Lisa?” he asked.
“Yes, Grandpa, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want?”
“Just sit and talk to me,” he said, taking her hand.
“The garden misses you, Grandpa. We don’t want you to go.”
“It will only be for a little while. In Heavenly Father’s time it will only be like a winter away. Plants sleep during the winter and wake up in the spring. So it is with people. We are parted for a while and come together again in a world where there is no more separation.”
Grandpa’s hand became limp and he fell asleep.
Lisa went out into the garden again.
“Grandpa loves you,” she spoke to the lilac tree and the rosebushes as though they could understand. “If you could give him a flower, it would make him so happy.” But only the silence and the cold wind answered her. Every day after that, Lisa carefully examined each plant, but there wasn’t even a sign of a swollen node.
Mother had asked Lisa to help in preparing the house for company who would want to visit with Grandpa. “Friends and relatives will come to see Grandpa often,” she said, “and you must keep the porch and steps clean.”
Many people did come to see Grandpa, and each day he seemed to sleep a little longer. Sometimes he didn’t know Lisa was there beside him. One day as she was sweeping the porch, the pain of losing Grandpa seemed to grow so big within Lisa that she thought it would burst. She began to cry. The broom slipped from her hand and fell beside the steps. As she stooped to pick it up, something caught her eye. It was half-hidden under the porch and behind the steps. She got on her knees and could hardly believe what she saw. In a sheltered place, well-protected from the wind and cold, was a purple crocus poking up from the dark earth. Although it was still winter, a flower had been born.
Lisa rushed to Grandpa’s bedroom where he lay sleeping. “Please wake up, Grandpa, and see what I found!” she cried. But Grandpa didn’t stir. Lisa waited and waited. She was about to leave the room when Grandpa opened his eyes.
“Look, Grandpa. Look what I have for you!” Lisa said softly.
“A crocus,” he whispered. “How wonderful!” He took the flower and held it to his face. “Where did you find it, Lisa? We took up all the bulbs last fall.”
“I guess we missed this one. It was in the corner by the steps.”
Grandpa smiled. “Lisa, did I ever tell you the story about the tree that began to sprout leaves in the winter? At the time, people called it a miracle. It brought new hope to many who needed it. Later it was discovered that a steam pipe near the tree had a leak and the warmth made the tree think it was spring—time to wake up and time to show its leaves. People talked about it for months afterward. Many felt it was a message from God, telling them that they should never despair.”
Lisa sat quietly thinking about the miracle tree. She looked down at Grandpa, who had fallen asleep again, the crocus still in his hand. Lisa stood beside the bed for a long time. Slowly some of the pain she felt began to ease. Grandpa’s going away didn’t hurt quite as much now. She knew that one day they would be together again.
“I love you, Grandpa,” she whispered, recalling his words, All else can fade away but love is forever.

It is often difficult to know what the most important things are. We are blessed to raise our children in a time when the gospel has been restored and when God has called prophets to help us with decision making. I am grateful for the direction given us by President Ezra Taft Benson. In preparing for this talk,I have studied again his counsel regarding the ways that mothers can bless the lives of their children. I would like to share my experience in implementing one of his suggestions.
President Benson counseled us, as have other prophets, to read the scriptures as a family each day. For the past several years, our family has been trying to do that. Last year, however, I noticed a problem developing. Our children practice musical instruments, and I encourage them to do this in the morning when there are fewer distractions. But sometimes they would go to bed late and get up late. On those days they would not have enough time to finish practicing, dress, eat, and read the scriptures before going out the door. The activity usually slighted was scripture study. Sometimes we would read a verse or two, and sometimes we’d say we’d get to it after school, but our efforts were inconsistent. This year I realized that my priorities were wrong. It occurred to me that I might be conveying to the children that the study of music was more important than the study of the gospel. I decided that on those mornings when time was short, we would study the scriptures and postpone music practice. I want to bear you my testimony that I have felt a great peace as we have followed the counsel of the prophet in this matter.

The sky was so clear that Saturday morning, the 30th of July, 1977, that it was like a day when one can see forever, as the lyrics of a popular song beautifully describe.
A man seasoned by the salty air of the sea for a good portion of his life and by the smell of the soil in later years sat under the shade of a mango tree, watching with curiosity and with some measure of amusement the well-dressed people of all ages who came in droves, on foot and by car, to a two-hectare farm adjoining his property.
It was a funny sight for the quiet barrio folks whose existence has always been away from the trappings of civilization. The city folks came in companies of tens and twenties. As the man saw it, something was odd for these people—who obviously came from different places—to meet on common ground with warmth of friendship and unity in purpose, all with faces brimming with inspiring joy and eagerness to soil their hands by menial work.
The visitors were indeed an odd mixture: lawyers, engineers, accountants, educators, missionaries, housewives, and an assortment from all walks of life. Among them were stake presidents, bishops, a mission president, an elderly missionary couple on welfare assignment, and a visitor from Salt Lake City (Clare Bishop of the General Welfare Committee of the Church).
Barrio Gahak in Kawit, Cavite Province was never like this, the man must have mused, as the visiting city dwellers took off their shoes, rolled thier pants and proceeded to pull weeds and cut the tall grass that abounded in the farm. The man could have well asked the question "What are these peculiar people doing in a place like this?" and still be perplexed by the answer he would get.
Bishop Eligio T. Ollero of Makati 2nd Ward chose a spot near the vantage point of the man who was then enjoying the spectacle with mean delight. Sometime later, as sweat formed on his brow, Bishop Ollero glanced obliquely at the man. He was still looking on with undisguised amusement. The Bishop smiled at him. The man smiled back with an expression of mischief.
The Bishop paused from his work and walked over to the man for a brief respite with him under the shade. It was during this moment of pleasant encounter that an unseen divine hand must have rested on the two men as they conversed.
Whatever transpired under the shade, which was made exhilarating by the soft touch of the countryside breeze and by a divine presence, only the man, Bishop Ollero and the Lord will understand.
Bishop Ollero rose to resume his work. The man quickly followed the Bishop and started pulling weeds beside him. The Bishop smiled at him as they worked. The man, no longer with the look of derisive amusement on his face, smiled back!—Posidio Ocampo, Jr.
Note: The man, 78-year old Apolinario Topacio Santiaguel, a retired U.S. Navy serviceman and now a farmer, was baptized by Bro. Erasmo L. Caerlang and confirmed by Bro. Daniel H. Apilado in the Makati Chapel three and a half months later, on November 12, 1977.

Years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come more than 8,000 kilometers and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office; then finally he invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

I have always admired my great-grandmother Mary Bommeli’s devotion to sharing the doctrine of Jesus Christ. Her family was taught by missionaries in Switzerland when she was 24.

After being baptized, Mary desired to join the Saints in America, so she made her way from Switzerland to Berlin and found work with a woman who employed her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. Mary lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the home’s living area.

At that time, teaching the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was illegal in Berlin. But Mary found she could not keep from sharing the things she had learned. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear Mary teach. She spoke of the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, the visitation of angels, and the Book of Mormon. Remembering the accounts of Alma, she taught about the doctrine of the Resurrection. She testified that families can be reunited in the celestial kingdom.

Mary’s enthusiasm to share the doctrine of the restored gospel soon caused trouble. It was not long before the police took Mary off to jail. On the way, she asked the policeman for the name of the judge she was to appear before the next morning. She also asked about his family and if he was a good father and husband. The policeman described the judge as a man of the world.

In the jail, Mary requested a pencil and some paper. She spent the night writing a letter to the judge, bearing witness to the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, discussing the spirit world, and explaining repentance. She suggested that the judge would need time to reflect on his life before facing final judgment. She wrote that she knew he had much to repent of, much which would deeply sadden his family and bring him great sorrow. In the morning, when she had finished her letter, she gave it to the policeman and asked him to deliver it to the judge, and he agreed to do so.

Later, the policeman was summoned by the judge to his office. The letter Mary had written was irrefutable evidence that she was teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel and, by so doing, breaking the law. However, it wasn’t long before the policeman returned to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had caused her to be cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail.

Mary Bommeli’s teaching did not end with her release. The record of her words passed true doctrine down through generations yet unborn. Her belief that even a new convert could teach the doctrine of Jesus Christ has ensured that her descendants will be strengthened in their own battles.

My name is Hailey Achter. I’m eight years old, and I live in Layton, Utah. When I was baptized by my dad and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt happy and clean. I knew I was doing what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted me to do. So I knew it was wrong a few days later when I looked at my friend’s paper.
We had been doing a worksheet that was very hard. I had figured out most of the questions but found some that I didn’t know the answers to. My friend was sitting close by, and her answers were in plain view, so I quickly wrote the ones I needed on my paper.
Then the bad feelings began. I knew what I had done wasn’t what Jesus would have wanted me to do. The bad feeling lasted until I got home. I decided to tell my mom and dad. They were sad at what I’d done but proud that I had told them. We all talked about it for a long time. Dad talked to me about the steps of repentance; then Mom said I should probably tell Mrs. Taylor, my teacher. I cried. I loved Mrs. Taylor and didn’t want her to think I was bad.
Dad told me he was sure that Mrs. Taylor would be as proud of me as they were. I was not so sure, but we decided that I would talk to her the next morning and that Mom would go with me.
It was a long night.
The next morning I was really scared, so as we were driving to school, I said a prayer. It was a long walk to my third grade classroom. I was glad Mom was there. We met Mrs. Taylor in the hall, and Mom told her that I needed to talk to her alone. I told her what I’d done.
She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “Hailey,” she said, “I’m sorry that you did that, but I’m proud of you for telling me!” She hugged me again. “I’ll give you another paper to work on to make up for your mistake. I’m so glad you came to me, Hailey! You are a special girl!”
Wow! I felt so much better! I loved Mrs. Taylor, and she still loved me, even though I’d made a mistake. I finished the paper she gave me then and had a really good feeling inside again.
I’m glad I have the Holy Ghost. I know He helps me do the things Jesus Christ would want me to do. I hope I can always listen to Him and do what I should. This feeling is much better than the other one!

As we continue our thinking along the lines of plans, destinations, goals, arrivals, and commitments, we can learn from two more of my friends. Some of my friends are unusual. They come from unusual places. Last Tuesday evening, as I was clearing my desk prior to leaving for home, the telephone rang: “Brother Ashton, I have permission from the prison authorities to come and visit with you. Will you wait until I get there?”
Frank came. We talked. In response to the questions, “Now that you are going to be released from the prison in one week, what are your plans? What are you going to do? What are your goals?” he answered, “I have an apartment. I have a full-time job. I have a wonderful sweetheart. I am going to continue my education. I have a church assignment. I have a lot of things I need to do. I am thirty-two years old and I am only a teacher in the priesthood. I want to be an elder before too long.”
He ended his friendly visit with a request: “Brother Ashton, if I keep myself squared away, will you go to the temple with me in a few months and perform my marriage?”
Contrast this, if you will, with another conversation with a member of the same institution. I spoke to him during a visit some months ago. As I think back, I selected him to talk to because no one else was speaking to him.
“What are you going to do when you get out of this place?” I said. “All I want is out,” he snarled back. “I’m in here on a phony rap, and I want out.” No plans, no goals, no aims, no preparation. All he wants is out, and I am afraid from his attitude he doesn’t care how he accomplishes it.
I humbly bear witness to you today that an honorably completed mission, a celestial marriage, a valued testimony, a position of major responsibility in the Church are not destinations in the lives of true Latter-day Saints. They can be important aids in eternal progression. They will not save you and me in the kingdom of God. Only living the life of a faithful Latter-day Saint will make that possible.
“If thou wilt do good, yea, and hold out faithful to the end, thou shalt be saved in the kingdom of God, which is the greatest of all the gifts of God; for there is no gift greater than the gift of salvation.” (D&C 6:13.)