Gospel Story Finder

After four years of trying to have another baby, Anna (names have been changed) and her husband were grateful for the birth of a daughter. But Anna found that adapting to the needs of a newborn, in addition to caring for her sons, was overwhelming. She found herself sinking into depression in spite of her best attempts to manage everything and maintain a sense of normalcy. Anna was struggling with postpartum depression.
Other Helpful Outlets. Other activities might also be helpful in managing and overcoming postpartum depression:
Listening to uplifting music.
Reading the scriptures and other inspiring books. Anna reported that she especially enjoyed reading 2 Nephi 4, which documents Nephi’s feelings of discouragement and doubt, then his growing recognition of the love of the Lord for him: “My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions” (2 Nephi 4:20).
Keeping a journal. Rachel said, “As I wrote in my journal, I was able to articulate my feelings of deep despair. It helped me to become more aware of what seemed to trigger feelings of depression. It also helped me begin to count my blessings.”
Praying for help and comfort. Anna said, “Being depressed made it harder for me to feel the comfort of the Holy Spirit I so desperately needed. I tried to challenge the negative voices that left me feeling weaker and doubting my capacity to overcome my negative emotions.” Johanna asked herself and the Lord this question as she engaged in personal prayer and contemplation, “Heavenly Father, what am I supposed to learn from this?”
Recognizing that we can learn from our trials can strengthen our faith, even as we are in the midst of them. God does not leave us alone in our struggle to find hope. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled: “To any who may be struggling to see that light and find that hope, I say: Hold on. Keep trying. God loves you.”5 And He does. Sister Patricia Holland, Elder Holland’s wife, once invited us to return to “the wholeness of our soul, that unity in our very being that balances the demanding and inevitable diversity of life.”6
Anna explained the process she went through: “As I struggled to overcome postpartum depression, I sought to get beyond the darkness and into the light, the light of the Son of God. I wept as I read Isaiah 53:3–4, understanding fully for the first time that the Savior was ‘a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. … Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ I held on to the promise that the Savior was my personal Savior, that He had been sent to ‘give unto [us] beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness’ (Isaiah 61:3). As I looked toward the Savior, I realized more fully that He knew my pain, that He could sensitively succor me as I reached out to Him.”

When I was in my final year of elementary school, all of the students went camping in Negros Occidental, Philippines, before our graduation. We pitched our tents at the campsite and had a good time exploring among the guava and mango trees. When night came, my parents came to check on me. They told me to be very careful, and then they left.
One of my classmates invited my friends and me to take a ride with him and his older cousin. His cousin drove us around, and we had fun until—to my surprise—my classmates brought out beer and cigarettes. We parked the car near the campsite, and they began to drink the beers and smoke in the car. They invited me to join them, but I refused.
I said I wouldn’t join in because smoking would shorten my lifespan. I also said that it is against my beliefs, because I have been taught the Word of Wisdom. I told them that the Word of Wisdom is a law that teaches that we should keep our bodies clean, because they are temples of God. I told them we must avoid smoking; drinking alcohol, tea, and coffee; and taking drugs. My best friend and I left the group and slept in our tent.
When I went home, I was happy to tell my dad that I had not joined my classmates but instead had taught them about the Word of Wisdom. I was happy the Holy Ghost was there to guide me and give me the courage to speak to my friends.

Both of my parents joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Kenya, and both served full-time missions. Ever since I was young, they taught me that I should serve a mission too. I looked forward to it.
Nine months before I received my call, I moved from Kenya to New Jersey, USA, where my mother was working. When I turned in my mission application, I thought it would be cool to go back to Africa on my mission. In fact, I hoped to be called there.
But when I received my mission call, I learned that I would be going to the Washington Spokane Mission in the United States. I didn’t even know where that was, but the first thought the Spirit spoke to my mind was, “That is where the Lord needs you.”
When I landed in Spokane a few months later, the mission president greeted me and asked me a question: “I was looking at your application. Do you really speak Swahili?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I grew up speaking Swahili and English.”
“Well, then,” he said, “your mission call has been changed from English speaking to Swahili speaking.”
He had been praying for a missionary who could speak Swahili. Some elders in the mission had even tried to learn Swahili on their own. I soon found out why.
Spokane had received a large group of refugees from the east African nations of Tanzania, Kenya, Burundi, Rwanda, and Uganda. Many of those refugees originally came from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Their Swahili was a little different from what I spoke, but we could understand each other. I ended up spending my whole mission in the same ward in Spokane teaching those refugees.
We are all children of God. He knows us and will use us in areas where we can best serve Him with our unique abilities. This is His work. It is not our work. He puts us where He knows best. When missionaries get their call, they may not be going where they wanted to go, but the Lord is for sure sending them where He wants them to go. The place He sends them is the land where He has prepared people to receive them.
When I arrived in Spokane, I felt like I didn’t have to go to Africa after all. In Spokane, I felt like I was brought to a little Africa in America.
Sometimes I think about my mission and say, “That was too big for me to be a part of. Was I really supposed to be a part of that?”
I’m humbled and grateful to think I was.

For example, the witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon came to me as a young man because I developed the desire to be protected from evil by a shield of goodness. It was during World War II. I was a young sailor assigned to the Anacostia Naval Airbase in Washington, D.C.

One of my jobs was to help make training films identifying shapes and outlines of enemy ships and airplanes. These films were made in a large, barnlike structure containing a big flat stage and filled with models and outlines and forms and other devices.

Most of the time we were very busy, but there came a time toward the end of the war when we went for weeks without an assignment. Eventually, all the other personnel on this job were assigned to other tasks, but for some reason, I was left alone in the building, I guess to guard the equipment.

At first, I enjoyed my freedom. It was great to have nothing to do. All the electricity in the building was turned off with the exception of one outlet into which was plugged a small lamp, which sat on the corner of a table. There was a hard wooden chair where I could sit if I cared to. All the rest of the great building was in darkness. So for a few days I opened the door to the outside light and sat in the doorway on the old chair and thoroughly enjoyed myself. But before long I became immensely bored.

I had been raised in the Church by careful parents who had taught me the gospel, but I had never read the Book of Mormon completely through for myself. One day as I sat idle, I decided that this was an opportune time for me to read it. So that afternoon I brought my small serviceman’s Book of Mormon from my room and, desiring privacy, went inside the building and turned on the little light by the table and began to read. I remember how I was struck by those first words, “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents. …” (1 Ne. 1:1.)

As the days went by, I read every word. My soul, programmed as it was to goodness and truth, began to respond to the testimonies of the prophets. I had never had such an experience! I read slowly, prayerfully, savoring every word, wishing that it would never end. I had feelings in my heart that I had never been conscious of before. And when at last I read the admonition of Moroni at the end of the book, I felt a great desire in my heart to test his words, to ask for spiritual verification even greater than what I was then feeling. I remember shutting the doors of that vast building and locking myself in, then kneeling in the darkness on the cold cement floor, my forehead resting against the hard wooden seat of the old chair, and telling the Lord that I believed the words of Moroni, and asking him to strengthen my belief into knowledge.

I shall never forget what happened; I have felt it many times since. I became aware that I was surrounded by a power beyond myself, which came over me and through me. It was all around me, calm, clear, and indescribably powerful. It seemed white and delicious to me, like the fruit of the Tree of Life which Nephi told of. (See 1 Ne. 8:15.) It filled me completely and did not leave me for days after. It was not shocking or disturbing in any way, as is the power of evil, but was sweet and assuring to my soul. I knew that the book was true.

It all started when my sister Grace and I were spending the day with Uncle Harry and Aunt Jane on their farm. Aunt Jane was a terrific cook, and I always looked forward to eating my fill of her good cooking.
My sister and I would do small chores around the place, and on that particular day we were helping Aunt Jane clean out the turkey coop. She and Uncle Harry usually raised about sixty turkeys each year for the market.
I was only five, and Grace seven, so we naturally had a lot of questions about how turkeys were raised. Aunt Jane was patient with our questions, and she showed us a turkey egg and explained that the mother turkey sat on the eggs for about twenty-five days before the baby turkeys hatched.
When we got ready to go home that evening, with full stomachs and smiling faces, Aunt Jane gave us two turkey eggs. She told us that if we put them under a setting hen, we would soon have two little turkeys of our own to raise.
Papa put the eggs under an old setting hen when we got home, and we sat back, hoping that the baby turkeys would soon appear. Twenty-five days seemed like a lifetime to us, and every morning we’d lift the old hen to see if our baby turkeys were there. By the end of three weeks we were sure that the eggs had gotten cold and weren’t going to hatch.
On the morning of the twenty-sixth day, as we entered the chicken coop, the old mother hen was down on the floor, scratching in the straw. Right behind her were two balls of fluff, chirping and looking bewildered! As the days passed and the young birds lost their fuzz and started sprouting feathers, I noticed the mother hen looking at them quizzically, as if to say, “I never had any babies that looked like you two before.”
The baby turkeys were hatched in mid-April, and by the end of May, you could tell that one was a tom and the other a hen. We named them Tom and Alice.
We had an old doghouse that wasn’t being used, so Grace and I cleaned it out, placed fresh straw on the floor, and moved the old hen and two poults into it. Tom grew rapidly, but Alice hardly grew at all. Papa told us that turkeys were hard to raise and caught many diseases and that they were the dumbest birds there were. He’d heard it said that sometimes they’d tip their heads back in a rainstorm, open their mouths, and drown themselves. I don’t know if that’s what happened to Alice or not, but one morning after a hard rain we found her dead in the mud.
When Tom was about three months old, he chased the old hen out of the doghouse and took it over for himself. He wouldn’t associate with our flock of chickens, but went off by himself to feed. He liked to ramble in the woods and scratch around the rotted logs for grubs. There were still some chestnuts that the blight had missed that year, and Tom ate his fill of them. He grew into a magnificent bird with a long wattle, and he strutted around importantly.
Papa kept telling us that we would have Tom for Thanksgiving dinner, but we never fully realized just what he meant until the first of November, when Mom told Papa to pen Tom up and feed him nothing but corn so that he’d be nice and plump for butchering the day before Thanksgiving. This really upset my sister and me, and we went around with long sad faces, thinking of Tom’s fate. Papa explained to us that turkeys were raised for people to eat and that next year we would raise a whole bunch of them. But this explanation didn’t make us feel any better.
One sunny afternoon Grace and I sat under Tom’s favorite chestnut tree, making plans on how to save Tom from the dinner table. Suddenly Grace snapped her fingers and said, “What if Tom wasn’t here the day before Thanksgiving?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
Grace replied, “You know that small cave back in the woods that we play in? Why don’t we hide Tom there till after Thanksgiving?”
So that’s what we did. We prepared for Tom’s abduction by rolling up a piece of chicken wire to put over the mouth of the cave and filling a sack with corn for Tom’s feed. There was a small stream of water running through the cave, so we didn’t have to worry about him getting thirsty. Late the next afternoon, when Tom was feeding in the woods, we herded him to the cave.
We put an ample supply of corn and some chestnuts in the cave with Tom, then secured the chicken wire across the front and piled brush over it so that anyone passing by would have a hard time even seeing the cave. Nobody missed Tom till the next evening, when Mom asked if anybody had seen him. Finally she and Papa came to the conclusion that Tom must have wandered too far into the woods and that a fox probably got him.
Every day after that, Grace and I would tell Mom that we were going out to look for Tom; then we’d head for the cave to feed him and talk to him and pet him for a while.
A couple days before Thanksgiving there was a big snowstorm, and Grace and I worried about how Tom would manage without us feeding him each day. The storm continued, and it was cold and windy into December. On the first warm day, Grace and I hurried to the cave with some corn for Tom. When we got there, we discovered that the brush had blown away, the chicken wire had been pushed aside, and Tom was missing.
I started to cry. “A mean old fox has found Tom and eaten him.”
Grace said, “No, he broke out himself. See how the wire is pushed out from the inside?”
We decided that Tom had become so hungry that he went hunting for food and had probably joined a flock of wild turkeys and was all right. When we returned to the house, Mom told us to wash up for dinner. When we told her that we weren’t hungry, she said, “All right, kids, what’s troubling you so much that you don’t want to eat?”
Tears started running down our faces, and we told her the whole story.
Papa laughed and was proud of our ingenuity. He tried to ease our minds by agreeing with us that Tom had, indeed, probably joined a flock of wild turkeys and would probably make it through the winter.
The cold winter months passed, and we had all but forgotten Tom. Then one day in early April, when everything had turned green once more, Mom was in the yard getting her flower beds ready to plant. As she straightened up to rest her back, she looked out toward the woods. “Come quick!” she called.
We all ran outside and looked where Mom was pointing. There was Tom! And with him was a fine-looking wild turkey hen. You could tell that Tom had taken her for his bride by the way he was strutting around her and displaying his fan-shaped tail feathers.
Grace and I yelled, “Tom! Tom! You’ve come home!”
Tom looked at us, then put his head next to the hen as if he was telling her to follow him and let him do the talking. With the hen behind him, Tom headed straight for his old home in the doghouse. The hen waited outside while Tom went in and scratched out all the old, wet straw. Grace and I quickly ran to the barn and brought back fresh straw for the honeymoon cottage. After we’d spread the straw in the doghouse, Tom stepped aside to let his bride enter first.
To make a long story short, Tom and his mate raised twelve young turkeys that year, and dozens more in the next five years.
One day when Tom didn’t come back from the woods, we went looking for him. We found him dead under his favorite chestnut tree. He had died of old age. Grace and I buried him by the side of the cave where we had hidden him so long before.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Saturday morning at the Cooper house
Don’t tell me Matt and Dad are still sleeping. I thought I was the lazy one on Saturdays.
Oh, they’ve already had breakfast and left. They went to see Matt’s new friend, Franco.
He has a new friend already? That’s not fair. I haven’t found any new friends yet. I wish we hadn’t moved!
We’ve only been here a week. Just give it time. You made lots of friends at your old school. You’ll make friends here too.
Remember, if you want to have a friend …
I know, I know. If you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Meanwhile, at Franco’s house …
Hi, I’m Josh Cooper.
I’m Hector Delgado.
Some of these rocks are really cool. What’s this one?
That’s a geode. Lots of them are hollow, and some have awesome crystals inside. My dad says geodes are like some people—not much to look at on the outside, but pretty cool inside.
If they’re like people, are any of these rocks musical?
What do you mean?
Because then we could have a rock concert!

I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was 15. Or at least that’s the way it seemed. I really wanted to fit in, but most of the time I felt like an outsider.
One warm Sunday morning I shoved my hands in my pockets, ducked my head, and started walking to sacrament meeting. I heard a car behind me but didn’t pay any attention until it pulled up next to me at the curb. It was a classy, bright red outfit. I was surprised that I knew the driver. It was a guy I’ll call Tom.
I’d known Tom most of my life. He was a natural leader. His parents were active, and he usually went to church. We didn’t hang around together at school because Tom ran with a crowd that didn’t think much of me. Tom was athletic, good looking, and popular. I was surprised that he bothered to stop.
“Hey,” Tom said, “where are you going?”
“To church,” I answered awkwardly. “Where did you get the wheels?”
“It belongs to my cousin,” Tom smiled, patting the steering wheel. “He lets me use it.”
I stepped back for a better look. The red car was sleek and shiny, and the engine rumbled like an earthquake. There was music playing that sounded like a live band in the back seat. I hoped Mom would let me drive her rusty clunker when I got my license, but “the green box” was as ugly as a soup can. I shook my head and sighed hopelessly.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” Tom offered.
I was stunned. “Sure,” I said, “but I can’t be gone very long. I’ve got to set up the sacrament.”
“Let someone else do it,” Tom sneered.
I believed my priesthood responsibilities were important, but here was a chance to spend time with someone popular. No one would care if I was late, and I was sure the sacrament would get done without me.
“All right,” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
Tom smiled. “I promised the girls a ride. Jump in. We’ll find them and look up some fun.”
When I realized the offer was more than just a ride around the block, my stomach flopped and my mouth filled with cotton. A thousand thoughts filled my head. This could be my big chance! The girls Tom knew were popular and pretty. If I showed up with him, there was a chance they might like me. It could mean a whole new image. And yet …
Tom’s face clouded over. “Are you coming?” he demanded.
I tried to answer, but the noise I made sounded like I was strangling. I couldn’t seem to move my feet.
“I guess you’re scared,” he concluded as he jammed the car into gear. “Well, it won’t take me long to find someone else.”
Tom punched the pedal and took off like a shot, leaving a patch of rubber to remind me what a fool I was. I stood and stared after him with my mouth open.
“He’s right,” I told myself miserably. “I am scared.” I felt terrible. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I muttered, kicking the curb so hard my toes hurt.
I went to church, but I couldn’t pay attention to the meetings. I was sure that Tom would never ask me to ride with him again (I was right) and that he would tell everyone what a geek I was (right again).
After the meetings I went straight to my bedroom and beat up my pillow. Church had cost me a chance to be with Tom and his cool friends. I felt sick about it and called myself names until I couldn’t think of any more. Finally I went to sleep just to get away from myself.

When Darron Moller and his family moved to a new ward in New Zealand, Darron was assigned a young man named Scott, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, as his home teaching companion.
“I didn’t know who Scott was, and when I asked, I was told, ‘Just look for someone taller than you.’ I soon found him,” Darron remembers.
Scott, 15, is a counselor in his teachers quorum presidency, and like Nephi, one of his heroes in the Book of Mormon, Scott is large in stature. He also has Nephi’s determination to follow the Lord’s commandments.
“At school I listen to people in my class congratulating each other about doing crazy things, and I just think, ‘I’m so glad I don’t do that,’” Scott says. “Ever since I was small it’s been in my mind that those things are wrong, and knowing the consequences makes it easier not to do wrong things.”
As a member of the teachers quorum, which has the responsibility to prepare the sacrament, Scott was faced with an unfortunate situation one Sunday: there weren’t enough sacrament cups for his large ward.
“I felt bad—feeling that we hadn’t fulfilled our duty,” Scott says. “We decided that the teachers had to be more organized, and now our quorum presidency meets the hour before sacrament meeting for our presidency meeting to make sure everything is in order for the sacrament and to prepare for the next few weeks. I like the order in the Church. When there is order, you don’t have to worry.”
As his home teaching companion, Darron has found that Scott adds a new dimension to his calling. “I resolved to be 100 percent in visiting our families, and Scott definitely makes that possible. He calls me to make sure I’ve made the appointments. And when he taught the lesson the first time, he asked me to go early so I could hear what he’d prepared. Even the little children we taught listened to him.”
And how does Scott feel about being a home teacher? “I like going home teaching with Brother Moller. If it were two teachers going together, we just wouldn’t know as much. But by having someone older than me, I get to hear different viewpoints from different age groups. Sometimes it’s scary giving a lesson to just a few people—you don’t know how you’re going to be received. But it feels good when they listen.”

Now, observe how Satan works. A righteous returned missionary meets a pure, lovely young woman. They are at an age where they can think seriously about marriage. They begin to date. He develops deep, beautiful feelings of love for her and she for him. Neither one intends to do anything that is wrong. They have decided not to cross the boundary into Satan’s territory. When he is with her he wants to express the feelings he has for her—somehow, after a while, holding her hand doesn’t quite communicate what he feels. Each time they are together they do what they did the time before and a little more to physically express their feelings. They move closer and closer to the boundary, but they are determined not to cross it. One day Satan plants the seeds of rationalization in their minds. By that I mean that he tempts them to believe that something that is really wrong can be twisted or justified to be acceptable because of their special circumstances. Rationalization is one of the devil’s most effective tools. These thoughts are planted: “You really love one another. You plan to be sealed in the temple. You both are worthy and will be true to each other. You are an exception. You have not reached the limit.” The boundary is moved farther to the left. So they continue their physical expressions. They are very much in love. Each time they become a little more intimate. Strong, powerful emotions are aroused, but they are sure they can control them. They are going to be sealed in the temple. Then those emotions become overpowering, and they commit acts that they had determined they would never perform outside of marriage. Their lives are terribly complicated—tragically and unnecessarily.

Please recognize that you cannot barely cross the boundary and not encounter the high risk of slipping and being led to places you have no intent of ever visiting or experiences you have no desire to ever have. That is how Satan works. He knows that the powerful emotions of sexual transgression are addictive. One act leads to another and to another. Appetites are generated and powerful emotions experienced until the transgressor loses all perspective of reality and is led deeper and deeper into sin, without recognizing how far he or she has wandered or how rapidly he or she is being imprisoned. You have seen how others begin with experimentation and then are drawn deeper and deeper into sin, apparently without any recognition of how far they have fallen.

How can two people in love avoid crossing the boundary and falling into temptation? First, let us define love. To love another righteously is to protect, to elevate, to keep pure and undefiled, to sacrifice oneself for the benefit of the other. To love is to hold in reserve sacred, intimate experiences for the sanctity of marriage. There, when they are properly used, they draw a couple together and strengthen them for the growing responsibilities of parenthood. They result in the formation of physical bodies for the spirit children Father in Heaven entrusts to a mother and father. In this sacred setting appropriate intimate expression is beautiful and purposeful.

Satan’s agents speak of love, but it is really lust. It is the increasing gratification of personal appetites at the expense of another. It leads to serious violation of the commandments of God. Why does Satan concentrate so intently on sexual transgression? Because he knows that immorality feeds upon itself. At the same time it numbs spiritual sensitivity and will neutralize the will to resist. There is never any place for Satan’s kind of love in your life. If elements of it have found place in a relationship, get rid of them—now.

Now some specific suggestions to help you keep from crossing the boundary:
Choose voluntarily to do what is right. Only willing obedience yields the full blessings that come from obeying the commandments of God.
Firmly establish personal standards. Choose a time of deep spiritual reflection, when there is no pressure on you and you can confirm your decisions by sacred impressions. Decide then what you will do and what you will not do to express feelings. The Spirit will guide you. Then do not vary from those decisions no matter how right it may seem when the temptation comes. Don’t take the first step, as innocent as it may seem. The realization of your dreams depends upon your determination to never betray your standards.
Recognize that the boundary between good and evil never changes, but you can be tempted to color your perception of that boundary through rationalization. I mean by trying to justify something you suspect or know is wrong as being acceptable in your special case.
Surround yourself with good friends by being in the right places doing the right things. None of us are up all of the time. When you are down it is easier to make a serious mistake. Often, when you are down a good friend will be up and can serve as a reminder of your worthy goals. Some are so anxious for friendship and popularity that they compromise their standards. You will not obtain desirable friends that way, but you can lose your worthy dreams.
Stay close to the Church. You will have a constant refreshment of your resolve to do what is right and will be strengthened by the example of others doing it.
A safe rule to follow is to never do anything alone that you wouldn’t do in the presence of parents shortly before marriage.
Do not be misled by what the world defines as acceptable. To intentionally excite emotions that are reserved for sacred purposes within the covenant of marriage is seriously wrong. I solemnly witness that it is transgression to touch the private, sacred parts of another person’s body except within the bonds of marriage between a man and woman. Satan has spread abroad the idea that among consenting individuals much intimacy is permissible short of the final act. That is a devastating lie. Such activity is a violation of the law of chastity, and it requires repentance. It is not only wise not to be immoral, it is a fundamental commandment of God that He considers to be very important.
Your spirit body was created by your Heavenly Father. Your physical body is made in His image. He can lead you to happiness beyond what you can imagine now. His purpose is to help you realize your fullest potential in growth, accomplishment, and happiness while you are here on earth. His objective is your eternal happiness.
There is another who is extremely gifted, powerful, and brilliant—but devilish—whose purpose is to bind you to be his servant. One of the most powerful tools he has to take you from the course of happiness is to tempt you to experiment with intimate acts. Sexual transgression feeds upon itself. It stimulates powerful, physical emotions that become increasingly addictive. At the same time it numbs spiritual sensitivity and neutralizes your will to resist. Immorality is foreign to your nature. Knowing that, Satan will tempt you to begin with small addictive doses rather than tempting you to step from a clean and pure life directly into serious immoral transgression.
Nephi gave you a powerful way to succeed in overcoming temptation. He said: “Whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Ne. 15:24).
If there is anyone who reads this message who has seriously transgressed, with all of the tenderness of my heart, I ask you to decide to repent, now. It is not good to violate the commandments of the Lord. It is tragic to do nothing about it. Sin is like cancer in the body. It will never heal itself. It will become progressively worse unless cured through repentance. You can be made completely whole, new, purified, and clean every whit, through the miracle of repentance. If you have transgressed, please decide to see your bishop now so that your worthy dreams can be made reality.
For those who commit a serious mistake, Satan whispers: “Your life is ruined. There is no way back. You might as well continue in the path you are on.” That is a lie. The Savior gave His life that even the most serious transgressions can be overcome and an individual can be made new, clean, and pure through repentance and obedience to the Lord’s commandments. To believe otherwise would be to deny the efficacy of the Atonement of our Savior.
In summary, your happiness—now, throughout this life, and on into eternity—depends upon your making correct decisions and holding fast to them. Some make choices based only on their own personal experience and trust little else. Some make choices by blindly following their peer leaders. Others choose what they think will provide the most friends and greatest success. Some wait for a challenge to present itself and then decide what to do. Each of these alternatives can be disastrous.
With all of the love in my heart, I ask you to resolutely decide to keep the standards of the Lord. Please live so that the Holy Ghost can inspire you to consistently do what is right. I testify that as a result, your worthy dreams or something even better will be yours. Your Father in Heaven and His Beloved Son love you. They want your happiness even more than you can now possibly know. They will help you attain that happiness as you steadfastly do all you can to obey Their commandments. I testify They love you and will help you, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A Jaredite farmer brings a curelom, a rabbit, and a bag of curelom feed to a river. He’s in a real pickle! The raft is only big enough for him to bring one thing across at a time. He can’t leave the curelom alone with the feed, because then the feed would vanish.
Also, as any Jaredite knows, cureloms are deathly afraid of rabbits (at least, they could be). So he can’t leave those two alone together or the curelom would run away. Luckily, rabbits think curelom feed is gross, so those two can be left alone, no problem.
How does he carry all three across the river? (Answer below).

Our crafty Jaredite farmer must carry the curelom across the river more than once. First trip, the curelom. Next, the rabbit. Then he leaves the rabbit on the far bank and brings back the curelom. Now he takes the feed across, leaving the curelom behind. Then the rabbit and feed are on the far side and he simply goes back for the curelom.

Our eight-year-old granddaughter was busy at work recently making cookies. She was following a recipe given to her by her mother but was stymied by one ingredient that was to be added to the recipe. It called for two teaspoons of soda. She asked her parents, “Does it matter if it’s root beer or 7-Up soda?” When the cookies were baked, they tasted awful. Her mother concluded that the recipe had failed because her daughter had misinterpreted a half teaspoon of salt to be a half cup of salt.

Peace and forgiveness. Early in 2005 my husband gave two men a ride. When my husband returned home, he discovered that his sapelu (machete) was missing. This really hurt him: he’d done a good deed, and this was how he was repaid. The incident bothered my husband to the point that he was having trouble finding peace.Several months later, we awoke to find that our house had been broken into. Worse, we realized the intruders had come into the rooms where our children and we had been sleeping. I was angry and thought, “If my husband was so upset about a knife, he will go completely nuts now!” But he had a spirit of peace that spilled over to the rest of us. He expressed gratitude that nobody had been hurt and hope that the people who had taken our things would use them to improve their lives.I was speechless at the change. Why was I not able to feel the same peace? Then I realized: while I had been “too busy” to start reading, my husband was firmly entrenched in the Book of Mormon. Kathleen Arp, Pesega, Samoa

The missionaries held up a photo. “What do you see?” they asked.
“A happy family,” I answered.
“Are all families happy?”
I shook my head no. “You’ve seen my family,” I explained.
I was a 16-year-old living in Brazil, where I had lived all my life. The missionaries had been teaching me for several weeks, but nobody else in my family wanted to listen. During that time, the missionaries had often seen my family fight and argue. My family and the grinning family in the photo had nothing in common.
One of the elders said, “Well, maybe your current family isn’t this way. But you can build your future family differently.”
When we ended the visit, they asked me again to pray about what we’d been studying. As always, I didn’t exactly promise to do so. I enjoyed how I felt when the missionaries visited, and the gospel made sense to me. But I was afraid of the answer I might receive. If the gospel was true, I would have to make a lot of changes.
After the elders left, I couldn’t stop thinking about happy families. Ours wasn’t even close. My dad wasn’t in my life. My relationship with my mom wasn’t great. Grandma was the one who took care of us, but none of us behaved like a family the way the missionaries taught. None of us expressed love to each other or even spent much time together.
All my life I promised myself I would be a good dad someday. I would be the parent I never had. Yet as the missionaries taught me, I started realizing that I was doing the same things my parents did at my age. I stayed out late, did whatever I wanted, and lived like a rebel. Without meaning to, I was repeating the same story.
It was time to ask God.
When I finally prayed, I received
the answer I had expected all along. The Church is true! Now it was time to make a choice.
My grandmother had to give permission before I could be baptized. She was against it, but I persisted.
“Grandma, which Leonardo do you prefer?” I asked. “The one who was out drinking and smoking and coming home late? Or do you prefer who I am now? These changes are because of the gospel.”
Grandma finally agreed, and I was baptized and confirmed. From that moment, something interesting began to happen in my family—something I didn’t realize fully until a few years later.
Right before I left for my mission to southern Brazil, Grandma attended stake conference with me. Afterward we held a small testimony meeting with family and friends. To my surprise, Grandma wanted to say something.
“Ever since Leonardo joined your church, my family started becoming a real family,” she said. She then listed ways our entire family had grown closer: We now spent time together. We started saying “I love you” to each other, when we never had before. The fighting and arguing stopped. Real friendships developed among all of us. We had more to eat and were blessed with abundance in other areas.
I had noticed these changes too, but I hadn’t realized the timing could be linked back to when I was baptized.
“I may not be a member of your church,” she said, “but I am a friend of your church. And I know our family has been blessed because of Leonardo’s choice.”
I could hardly believe it! And yet, as Grandma spoke of how our family had grown closer, I suddenly remembered the photo the missionaries had shown me years before. Back then, I thought my only way to have a happy family was with my future family.
But I was wrong. My current family was happy! We had grown to love each other.
Maybe none of my family members will join the Church in this lifetime. But even if they don’t, I know that God has already blessed us in so many ways. The gospel of Jesus Christ shows us how to improve our families, no matter what our family situation looks like.

President David O. McKay tells of a singular event that happened to him. After falling asleep, he said he “beheld in vision something infinitely sublime.” He saw a beautiful city, a great concourse of people dressed in white, and the Savior.
“The city, I understood, was his. It was the City Eternal; and the people following him were to abide there in peace and eternal happiness.
“But who were they?
“As if the Savior read my thoughts, he answered by pointing to a semicircle that then appeared above them, and on which were written in gold the words:
“These Are They Who Have Overcome the World—Who Have Truly Been Born Again!
“When I awoke, it was breaking day.” (Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, comp. Clare Middlemiss, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1976, pp. 59–60.)

One of the many special spiritual experiences I had with my dear friend and beloved missionary companion—and later my Quorum President—President Jeffrey R. Holland, related to the prophet Elijah.

Starting in 2009, Elder Holland and I had the privilege of escorting various groups of people—including Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Rabbi leaders, as well as secular Jewish leaders—through open-house tours in temples here in Utah.

At the baptismal font, I had the opportunity to explain to them the doctrine of baptism for our deceased ancestors. This relates directly to Malachi’s promises of turning the hearts of children to their deceased fathers. I read to them from 1 Kings 7:25, where Solomon’s temple is described. The baptismal font sits on top of the hinder parts of twelve oxen representing the twelve tribes of Israel. This brought both recognition and tears to some. They realized that they were essentially looking at certain aspects of Solomon’s temple, which has sacred significance to both Jews and Muslims.

When we entered the sealing room, Elder Holland was overcome with emotion and, with tears in his eyes, explained to them that he did not want to offend them but felt compelled to share something. Then, in a very spiritually powerful way, he explained that Elijah indeed had come and restored the sacred keys that allow the eternal sealing of husbands and wives and their families. He explained that the sealing room, where we were assembled, is a place where the restored keys are exercised. Our Jewish friends appreciated the fact that Old Testament scriptural accounts of prophets are featured so prominently in our temples and doctrine.

Brother Truman G. Madsen tells about a visit he made to Israel with President Hugh B. Brown (1883–1975), an Apostle of the Lord who served as Second Counselor and then First Counselor in the First Presidency. In a valley known as Hebron, where tradition has it that the tomb of Father Abraham is located, Brother Madsen asked President Brown, “What are the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?” After a short moment of thought, President Brown answered, “Posterity.”
Brother Madsen writes: “I almost burst out, ‘Why, then, was Abraham commanded to go to Mount Moriah and offer his only hope of posterity?’
“It was clear that [President Brown], nearly ninety, had thought and prayed and wept over that question before. He finally said, ‘Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham’” (The Highest in Us [1978], 49).

Opra Ouma says that remembering the Young Women values gives her the strength to live the gospel. “Even if I’m not with the LDS young single adults, when I’m out in the world, I can apply the Young Women values and still be safe,” she says.

Opra first learned these values before she was baptized. When she was 17, Opra saw the missionaries on the street one day and wondered who they were. She studied the gospel for a year and was baptized after she turned 18. The community of Latter-day Saints fortifies her spiritually.

“When I’m at the church with fellow young single adults, I feel safe, but when I’m outside there, I don’t feel very safe because most of the time I’m the only Latter-day Saint among the group,” she says. “Sometimes it’s challenging because the standards of the world and the standards of the Church are totally different.”

In 2012 the Shamola family traveled almost 3,000 kilometres to the Johannesburg South Africa Temple to be sealed together. However, not having a temple in their home country made it difficult for them to return to the temple to perform ordinances for their ancestors. They were overjoyed when President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) announced the construction of the Nairobi Kenya Temple in the April 2017 general conference. They joyfully anticipate having a temple near their home so they can more easily perform ordinances for their ancestors. They are eager to do this work.

Brother Kim also made a memorably bold statement of dedication to his faith in an episode that almost seems drawn from the Book of Daniel. Korean President Syngman Rhee decided one Sunday that he urgently needed to consult with his vice-minister of education. After searching for several hours, the presidents’ secretary found Kim Ho Jik teaching his Sunday School class. Brother Kim refused to leave until he finished his lesson. President Rhee, notorious for his harshness, was irate. But Brother Kim calmly explained that he considered nothing more important than his Sunday School teaching assignment and felt obliged to finish it before responding to the president’s summons. President Rhee patted Brother Kim on the shoulder and said, “Well done.”

“Did you see how that new kid skates?” Alex whispered to me as we sat on the players’ bench. “He crashed into the boards twice because he couldn’t stop fast enough.”
“Just our luck,” I agreed. Our hockey team has players from lots of different schools every year. “Look at the new guy on the Fliers,” I told Alex. “He zips around the ice like his skates are jet-propelled—and we get Sam. Sam trips over his own hockey stick.”
“No wonder we’re getting slaughtered again,” Alex sighed, glancing up at the scoreboard. Its red light said, “PENGUINS 1, FLIERS 7.”
The clock buzzed, and the coach signaled Alex and me to replace Sam and Joe as they came off the ice to rest.
The Penguins skated hard, but we just couldn’t score. The one time we managed to pass the puck into Flier territory, the Fliers’ new guy intercepted it. Stickhandling it down the ice, he sent the puck flying into the net under our goalie’s outstretched leg.
When the clock finally buzzed the end of the game, the Fliers had racked up ten goals. We Penguins still had only one.
“We’ll get them next time,” Sam said as the team headed to the locker room.
“Sure, Sam,” grumbled Chris, our star right wingman. “Are you going to shut down their new guy? First, you have to learn how to stop when you’re skating.”
“Guess so.” Sam shrugged his shoulders.
I felt a little sorry for him, but Chris was right. Sam didn’t seem to know what he was doing on the ice.
The locker room cleared out without much more conversation. When I zipped up my duffel bag, I noticed that Sam was still sitting on a bench with all of his equipment on. Maybe he wanted to hang around, but I couldn’t wait to forget about that game.
The next day, we had practice after supper. When I stepped onto the ice, Sam was already there. His face looked sweaty, and he was breathing hard.
“Did you figure out how to stop yet?” Chris asked him, zipping around the ice.
“I will,” Sam said, ignoring the jab. I had to admit to myself, at least, that Sam didn’t let anyone beat him down. He just kept racing down the ice and practicing his stops until his jersey was soaked from falling on the wet rink.
“Sam must be a little crazy,” Alex said as we leaned against the boards to catch our breath after a drill. “He’s wiping up the ice every time he tries to turn or stop. Doesn’t he know when to quit?”
“He does seem a little clumsy,” I agreed.
“A little! A clown with floppy shoes could do better.”
Ftweet! Coach blew his whistle, and we started a scrimmage. I was glad that Sam had been put on the other team. Who could win with him falling all over the ice?
All week I kept expecting Sam to quit. “How much fun could it be for him?” I asked Alex. “He constantly crashes into the boards, and everyone razzes him.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s ready to give up yet,” Alex answered. “He’s always already on the ice, practicing, when I come, and he’s the last guy off afterward.”
That Saturday we played the Rockets. For the first two periods, we actually kept a one goal lead. Then our team fell apart. Chris got a penalty, and we were shorthanded. The Rockets took advantage of their power play. Their left wingman hooked the puck away from Sam and sent it skittering down the ice. Two seconds later, the puck went flying into the corner of the net. The scoreboard glowed with the tie score.
The Rockets won the face-off. Their team passed the puck down the rink again. It ricocheted off the boards and went right through Sam’s legs. A moment later, the Rockets’ right wingman slapped the puck hard into our net. The Penguins lost by one goal.
“We’ll never win,” Chris complained as we headed to the locker room. “Not if we let the puck slip through our legs.”
I figured that Chris had made a few mistakes, too—like landing in the penalty box—but I said nothing. I didn’t want him picking apart my game next. As usual, Sam sat on a bench with his equipment on while everyone else changed and cleared out. I waved good-bye to him. He looked exhausted.
The team didn’t have much spirit left when we showed up for practice on Monday. We’d lost five games in a row, and everyone felt discouraged. Everyone, that is, except Sam. He was out on the ice practicing. I was still on the players’ bench when it happened. Sam actually flew down the ice and stopped on a dime.
“Hey, Sam,” yelled Alex, “way to go!”
Sam grinned and raced down the ice, sending a shower of ice flakes flying as he stopped again.
“I’m seeing a miracle,” Chris shouted.
Sam laughed “Here’s another one!” He raced down the rink and stopped right in front of Chris.
One by one, the whole team started to watch Sam. We all knew how hard he’d worked, and we felt happy for him. Suddenly Sam slipped and went sliding into the boards—but he didn’t jump back up.
“Sam’s hurt,” I said, and the rest of us hurried down the rink.
“Are you OK?” Chris bent over Sam and brushed the snow off his legs. All at once, Chris’s hand froze in midair.
“I just had the wind knocked out of me,” Sam told him.
“There’s something on your leg,” Chris finally said. “I felt it.”
Sam put his head down and took a deep breath. Then he looked at the circle of faces around him. “I didn’t want anyone to find out, because I don’t want you treating me special. I was born with a bad leg, and I have to wear a brace. But I can manage just fine. Now that I’ve finally impressed you with my stops, I have to work on my turns.”
No one said a word as Sam got up and skated down the rink. “Come on,” he hollered. “Coach is here.”
That day something happened to our team. We started practicing harder than ever before. We figured if Sam could learn to stop, we could all push ourselves a lot more, too. Sam had shown us that a fighting spirit and extra effort could accomplish amazing things.
During the next game, our team scored five goals and tied the Minnows. Sam still fell down every time he tried turning fast, but the whole team was improving.
“We’ll get them next time,” Sam said as we headed into the locker room.
This time Chris looked at Sam and grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We just might.”