Gospel Story Finder

Our uncle Logan is on a mission. He said that miracles happen when you open your mouth and talk about the gospel as best you can. We gave away 10 copies of the Book of Mormon in one week by opening our mouths to people we met as we ran errands with our mom. Several people thanked us for the book and told us they were going to read it! Now we keep copies of the Book of Mormon in our van so we can keep being missionaries.
Eliza and Lucy B., ages 7 and 6, Virginia

When I was called as president of the Young Women organization in my branch, I was afraid I would not be able to get close to the girls or to help them. I knew I would have to become more sociable and overcome my shyness.
At first, I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to begin. Quite a few of the girls in my branch, the Simón Bolívar Branch, Valledupar Colombia District, were not active. The small group of active girls was not difficult, but they seemed distant and a little indifferent. I feared that nothing was going to go well.
Then one day, not long after I began serving, Nora, one of the young women, came up to me, hugged me, and told me she was happy that I was going to work with her and the other girls. I felt my Father in Heaven’s love in that hug. My doubts turned to confidence, my shyness to security, and my fears to sincere love for those young women.
Little by little, I learned to understand them, to accept them as they are, and to be proud of each of them. I earned their trust and acceptance, which gave me the courage to reach out to those who were less active and to help plant in them a more positive feeling toward the Church.
Not long ago Nora received her Young Womanhood Recognition award. She has a strong testimony of the gospel and gives unqualified support to her Church leaders. Thank you, Nora, for living so well the principles the Young Women medallion symbolizes!

In November 1956, Ricardo García entered the waters of baptism in Chile, becoming the first member of the Church in my country. Just one day before he died, he declared before his family and friends, “Many years ago, missionaries invited me to be happy along with my family. I am a happy man. Tell everyone in Chile the gospel is happiness.”
After having been nourished with the gospel of Jesus Christ, Ricardo dedicated his entire life to serving God and his neighbor with love. His example of discipleship has blessed generations, including me. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “a man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”

They point to Tiffani as the one who first started formally investigating the Church. During her junior year of high school, she started dating an LDS boy. She began attending church with his family and eventually started meeting with the missionaries in his home. Gradually, she made some changes in her lifestyle. Her friends noticed, but they thought it would pass. But to Tiffani, it was no fad; her testimony had begun.

Meanwhile, after investigating the Church for more than a year and a half, Tiffani was ready to be baptized. Nine days after Sara’s baptism, Tiffani’s baptismal service was held.

I was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was twelve years old. It was a blessing having the missionaries in our home to teach us the restored gospel. One of the teachings that I remember so vividly and that significantly impacted my life was the knowledge that family life could continue beyond death. As the missionaries introduced us to the video Families Can Be Forever, my heart was filled with great emotion to discover that God had a plan in which families could be together forever. I thought of my parents and siblings, and I was also able visualize the family that I would form in the future. We would be united for eternity.
Even though I grew up in a home with parents who taught me correct principles and who made a great effort to be the best examples to show me that family was important, I felt that something was not complete. At my young age, I was worried about imagining that one day I could lose my parents and that I would never see them again. The teaching received from the missionaries gave me hope.
A few years later, my father passed away. Although his departure left a great void, the knowledge of the gospel that we had acquired helped us overcome this great loss. I knew that I would see him again and enjoy his love in eternity.
Later, I was blessed to be sealed to my husband in a holy temple and to begin my own family, the eternal family that I had dreamed about in my youth. This year we celebrate our thirty-first wedding anniversary. Our home has been blessed with four beautiful children, and I am deeply grateful for all the good experiences we have had during this time. The knowledge that I can be with my family beyond this life has been one of the fundamental pillars to keep me firm despite the trials and challenges we have experienced.
In these complicated days in which the concept of family is distorted by the world, we can find guidance and direction in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” given by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1995. It begins: “We, the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, solemnly proclaim that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God and that the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.”1
Understanding the fundamental role that the family has in the great plan of our Heavenly Father helps us to focus on what is of more value, avoiding the negative influences of the world. In the same proclamation, we also find inspired guidance to help us have success as families, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”2
Regardless of the circumstances and challenges we face, if we daily strive to apply each of these principles in our families, the Lord will help us in our sincere wishes to have an eternal family. I love the lyrics of the hymn that says:
Fam’lies can be together forever
Through Heavenly Father’s plan.
I always want to be with my own family,
And the Lord has shown me how I can.
The Lord has shown me how I can.3
The teaching I received from those two young missionaries many years ago not only gave me comfort and hope that I could be with my family for eternity by being faithful to the sacred covenants and ordinances performed in the holy temple, but it has also helped me to enjoy wonderful experiences and great joy in this life with my husband and my children.

Elisa’s mom pulled the car up to the curb near the movie theater, and Elisa jumped out onto the sidewalk. There were already dozens of people in line. Luckily, she saw her friend Tracy waving from near the front.
“Have fun!” Mom handed Elisa some change. “Call me if Tracy’s mom isn’t here to pick you up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Elisa said, shutting the car door.
It was Elisa’s 12th birthday, and she and Tracy were going to a movie that they had been waiting to see for months. Elisa saw the movie posters displayed outside the building and started to feel excited. She patted the ticket money in her pocket.
“I’m glad I got here early,” Tracy said. “The line is already getting long, and the movie doesn’t start for another 20 minutes.”
Finally they reached the ticket window. The list of ticket prices was displayed above the cashier’s head.
“One child’s ticket, please,” Tracy said, telling him the name of the movie they wanted to see. She handed him her money and he slid a ticket under the glass.
Elisa stepped up next. “I’m getting a ticket for the same show.”
He slid a child’s ticket toward her and she put her money under the glass. Then she realized she shouldn’t have done that. The sign above his head said “Children 3–11 $3.75. Adults 12 and older $5.00.”
She was supposed to pay the full price, but the man had already pushed forward her change and was helping the next person in line. “Oh, well,” she thought. “It’s no big deal, right? I just barely turned 12.” Elisa pocketed the change and walked into the theater behind Tracy.
“This is perfect,” Tracy said as they found some seats in the middle. Elisa nodded, but she was thinking about what had just happened at the ticket booth.
“So, happy birthday!” Tracy said, smiling. “I’m so glad we can celebrate together. Are you still going to have a birthday party next weekend?”
“What?” Elisa was picturing the sign above the cashier’s head.
“The birthday party—are you having it?” Tracy repeated. “I can’t wait until I turn 12. I’ll be able to go to girls’ camp with you in July.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Elisa said. “We’ll share a tent together.”
“I’m going to miss activity days,” Tracy said, “but turning 12 will be so cool. Do you already feel more grown-up?”
Elisa felt less grown-up at that moment. She wasn’t sure what to do. “I guess so,” she said. The uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.
“You’ll have to tell me about our Young Women’s class so I can be prepared,” Tracy said. “I don’t want to feel silly at my first activity.”
The theater lights dimmed and music started to play. Elisa wanted to go back to the ticket booth, but she thought the cashier would think she was being foolish. “It’s only a matter of 24 hours, right?” she reasoned to herself.
The movie previews started, and Elisa and Tracy sat back to enjoy the movie. It was great—just what they had hoped it would be—but Elisa couldn’t forget what had happened at the ticket booth. She hadn’t been honest.
When the movie was over, they waited in the aisle for a few minutes while everyone filed out. Elisa stared at the red carpeted wall, barely listening to Tracy rave about the movie. Elisa knew what she had to do. As soon as they stepped outside the theater, she turned toward the ticket window.
“Um, I need to take care of something at the ticket booth.”
“Ticket booth? Are you going again?” Tracy laughed. “It was good, but—”
“No, I just have to fix a mistake.” Elisa stepped toward the ticket booth.
“Wait, Elisa,” Tracy called. “My mom’s here. We need to go.”
“I’ll hurry,” Elisa called back to her. She walked quickly to the front of the line and approached the window.
“What movie?” the cashier asked.
Elisa slid her ticket stub under the glass. “Well, I just saw this movie. I bought the ticket before it started.”
“Do you want to see it again?” He looked puzzled.
“No, I paid the wrong price,” Elisa said nervously. “See, I paid for a child’s ticket, but really I’m 12 and I should have paid the full price. Today’s my birthday.”
“So?”
“Well, I should have told you I was 12, because the price is different.”
“Look, I don’t care,” he said, laughing at her. “Just forget about it.”
“Well, I didn’t tell the truth and I should have,” she said again. It didn’t feel funny to her.
“What’s the problem?” the manager asked, stepping into the ticket booth. Elisa explained to her what had happened.
“I want to pay the extra money,” Elisa said again.
“Some kids try to sneak in without buying a ticket at all.” The manager shook her head, smiling. “You can keep the change. Consider it a birthday present for being honest.”
“Really?” Suddenly Elisa did feel grown-up. She walked toward Tracy with a big smile on her face.
“Did they fix their mistake?” Tracy asked.
“No, it was my mistake,” Elisa said, “so I fixed it myself.”

Many of us have seen examples of such faith in our lives, but often they slip by us quickly. In 1839 Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, wrote a letter to her brother Joseph Fielding, and we have it in the record. It frames with clarity the reciprocal nature of our relationships with one another and with God in the ways we are taught in the scriptures.
“Dear Brother:
“… You have, I suppose, heard of the imprisonment of my dear husband, with his brother Joseph, Elder Rigdon, and others, who were kept from us nearly six months; and I suppose no one felt the painful effects of their confinement more than myself. I was left in a way that called for the exercise of all the courage and grace I possessed. My husband was taken from me by an armed force, at a time when I needed, in a particular manner, the kindest care and attention of such a friend, instead of which, the care of a large family was suddenly and unexpectedly left upon myself, and, in a few days after, my dear little Joseph F. was added to the number. Shortly after his birth I took a severe cold, which brought on chills and fever; this, together with the anxiety of mind I had to endure, threatened to bring me to the gates of death. I was at least four months entirely unable to take any care either of myself or child; but the Lord was merciful in so ordering things that my dear sister could be with me. Her child was five months old when mine was born; so she had strength given her to nurse them both.
“You will also have heard of our being driven, as a people, from the State, [Missouri] and from our homes; this happened during my sickness, and I had to be removed more than two hundred miles, chiefly on my bed. I suffered much on my journey; but in three or four weeks after we arrived in Illinois, I began to amend, and my health is now as good as ever. … We are now living in Commerce, on the bank of the great Mississippi river. The situation is very pleasant; you would be much pleased to see it. How long we may be permitted to enjoy it I know not; but the Lord knows what is best for us. I feel but little concerned about where I am, if I can keep my mind staid upon God; for, you know in this there is perfect peace. I believe the Lord is overruling all things for our good. I suppose our enemies look upon us with astonishment and disappointment” (quoted in Carol Cornwall Madsen, In Their Own Words: Women and the Story of Nauvoo [1994], 98–99).

I have been a missionary for the past nine months and had many wonderful opportunities to serve within my local community. I saw firsthand what we can do when we work together with other faiths, just as the Saviour did.
My service mission leaders encouraged me to look for my own service opportunities in my community, and one I came across was with the RAF Manston History Museum, where I helped them to clean and get the museum ready for all the visitors. Another I found is at the Thanet Winter Shelter run by the Salvation Army where I cook meals for the residents on a Saturday night.

Although these two girls speak different languages and live more than 6,000 miles (9,600 km) apart, they have something special in common: they both found ways to keep a positive attitude when natural disasters struck their hometowns. Take a look at the true stories of Honoka O. from Japan and Maggie W. from Missouri, USA. During sad and scary times, what helped them stay faithful and optimistic?

My name is Honoka, and I live in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I like to play, jump rope, and draw. My dream is to be an illustrator someday.

My favorite scripture story is about Lehi’s dream (see 1 Nephi 8). I think Primary is very important because I can learn a lot about God and Jesus. I love sacrament meeting because I can feel myself becoming clean when I take the sacrament, and that makes me so happy.

I was at school when a big earthquake happened. My first thoughts were, “This is scary!” and “I wonder if my family is OK.” I prayed in my heart that they would be safe and that peoples’ lives would be spared. Later I found out that none of my friends had been hurt. At that time, I felt that God had protected us. I know that God and Jesus live.

Hello! I’m Maggie from Joplin, Missouri. One night my mom saw storm warnings on the news, and we all went to the basement. The loud, whistling wind scared me. I was worried about my friends and our animals. After the storm, I was grateful my family was safe and our house didn’t have much damage.

Lots of other homes and businesses were destroyed by the tornado that came through town. I felt sad for people who lost loved ones. My parents and older brother and sister decided to help clean up our town. It made me think of the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

I wanted to help clean too, but my mom said it wasn’t safe for a child. Then I felt the Holy Ghost share a great idea to make people feel happy. I made 20 thank-you notes to give to volunteers. I spent lots of time making each card special so that people could feel the Spirit and know they were very important to our town.

I learned that even if you can’t do certain things to serve, you can always think of other ways to serve. Heavenly Father will bless you for serving Him and your fellowman.

Several years ago, my daughter, Jenise, was preparing for a mission. She patiently waited for her mission portal to open and quickly started to work on the needed documents. As she was preparing to submit the final paperwork, she experienced appendicitis, which of course, required surgery. Five days after the appendectomy, she became extremely sick. I quickly ran her to the hospital, and shortly after arriving, the doctors rushed her into emergency surgery. This surgery and the introduction to new medication required Jenise to postpone submitting her paperwork for three months. Jenise was devastated. At the time, she did not understand why she had to postpone her mission. However, while serving in the Massachusetts Boston Mission, she discovered that the mission delay allowed her to cross paths and make connections with individuals whom the Lord needed her to meet.

Most people do the best they can. They try hard to do the right things.
I believe my dad did his best. Maybe he could have done better if he had joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Perhaps a hospital for alcoholics might have helped. Maybe going to a counselor would have helped. But he didn’t get help.
Living with him was very difficult. Living with him was disgusting sometimes. Living with him was embarrassing sometimes. Living with him was sad many times.
Sometimes I was ashamed of him. Sometimes I was scared of him.
Other times I felt angry when our Mormon neighbors didn’t seem to like him. I knew he was a good person when he was sober. Why couldn’t other people see it?
One of my children asked me what I did for fun when I was a child. At first I didn’t have an answer. Of course, I had some good times. But the strongest memories of my childhood all involve alcohol.
Alcohol steals childhood. Instead of many carefree days, there is premature responsibility. Instead of happiness, there is anger and fear and guilt. Instead of openness and trust there is secrecy. Often there is a falling away from the Church.
But I survived, and others can too, if we all help. I hope we will.
It was Christmas Eve. I sat by our Christmas tree that was decorated with sparkling icicles and glowing red and white lights. I was sad my dad was not home. He was drinking at some bar.
It’s not the way I wanted Christmas to be.
Drinking ruined birthdays. It ruined Thanksgiving. It ruined New Years and Easter and other special days.
Holidays were often the saddest, loneliest, most painful time of the year. On those days the contrast was sharp and bitter between how life could and should be and how it really was.
The movies and television show handsome men and beautiful women drinking. These people do clever and funny things.
It’s not like that in real life. My dad didn’t do clever things. He did disgusting things. He would wet the bed. I would have to strip off the sheets and blankets. Then it was my job to turn over that big, wet mattress. I would pull and push to turn it and sometimes it would spring back, wet and smelly in my face.
He vomited. He vomited and then vomited some more. My bedroom was next to the bathroom. I would bury my head in my pillow. I didn’t like that sickening smell.
Sometimes my dad would walk around without clothes on when he was drunk.
He never hit me when he was drunk. But lots of people do get mean when they drink. They hit their children and abuse their families.
Now I’m an adult I can forgive him. I know now that alcoholism is a disease that requires treatment. He did the best he could do without help. But I didn’t forgive him while we were living in the same house.
I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
At sacrament meeting I watched other families sit together. I watched them smile at each other. I wanted my dad to be there. I wanted our family to sit together.
But he never came to church. He said they didn’t like him because he drank beer. My ward had parties for fathers and their children. I helped plan these parties. I never got to go to them.
On Father’s Day our ward gave rosebuds to all the fathers. I helped pick every rosebud in our garden. My dad didn’t come to the meeting.
I hated it when they talked about temple marriage at church. I hated hearing my family was different. I knew as long as my father drank we could not go to the temple. I loved my mother. I loved my dad. I wanted to be with them forever. It’s very difficult to sit in class when they are teaching about the temple.
I just kept going to church. I decided I would not drink. I decided I would be married in the temple.
I’m an adult now. And I definitely don’t drink. And I have been married in the temple. I am happy that my children are sealed to me.
My mother came from a very religious family. They went to church together. They did a lot of fun things together. I loved to hear her talk about when she was a child. I would pretend that I had been a child then too. It must have hurt her a lot to live with a man who got drunk.
She was ashamed of his drinking. She told me over and over not to tell anyone. “It’s a secret,” she’d say.
I loved her. I kept her secret. But it was lonely. I thought I was the only young person in the Church who had this kind of home.
What a relief it would have been for me to share the burden, to know that I was not alone.
My dad insisted he was not an alcoholic. He said he only drank beer and you couldn’t be an alcoholic if you only drank beer. I believed it for a long time because I loved him. Maybe he believed it himself.
My dad would sometimes disappear for two or three days and then come home drunk.
He never just smiled and said, “I’m going to go get drunk.” He always left when he was angry.
Many things made him angry.
If I cried he would get angry.
If I asked too many questions he would get angry.
If I didn’t say the right thing he would get angry.
Sometimes I didn’t say anything for fear I would say the wrong thing. Then he would be angry because I wasn’t talking.
Usually he started drinking Friday night. Toward the end of each week I tried very hard to be good. I thought if I didn’t do anything wrong he wouldn’t get angry and go drink.
Occasionally he didn’t drink on Friday. I thought it must be because I had been good.
My mother encouraged this way of thinking.
I tried very hard to be good, but he kept on drinking. I thought it was all my fault.
I prayed he wouldn’t get drunk again. He kept drinking. I thought my Heavenly Father didn’t make him stop because I wasn’t good enough.
I remember trying to do everything perfectly. I didn’t want to “make trouble” at home. As I look back, I realize I have always tried to earn people’s acceptance. If I did things well enough, they would like me in spite of my father’s drinking.
This is the story of my growing up years. It’s not a happy story, and I don’t enjoy telling it. But it’s a story that’s happening over and over again—perhaps to you or a friend of yours. My story has a hopeful ending, and I want you to know that yours can too.

A tiny sunbeam shining bravely through a crack between the logs in her bedroom played across Louisa’s face. She stretched lazily and listened to the shrieking of the sea gulls outside her small window. They seemed to be calling to her to come and play. Louisa knew they had come for their usual breakfast of worms and insects and perhaps an occasional mouse from the fields surrounding the growing settlement. She had come to think of the gulls as her own, because each morning as the sun rose over the mountains they settled first in the field next to her window and then moved to other fields.
Quietly she slipped from her bed onto the rough floor and down the stairs to the door of the cabin. She smiled as she slipped outside. Father had built one of the few two-story log houses. He planned to cover it with stucco later when he wasn’t so busy.
Louisa chose her favorite spot on the porch by the corner post to sit quietly without moving to watch the sea gulls. She arranged her flannel nightgown around her bare toes to keep out the morning chill. Her soft, brown hair fell gently over her shoulders and her clear, blue eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunbeams.
With a soft sound the door opened again and her little brother Thomas crept quietly to her side. The sharp sound of her father’s ax in the woods across the field and her mother’s gentle singing in the garden broke the stillness of the beautiful morning. Thomas yawned sleepily and gazed at the birds in the field.
“Father’s chopping wood for winter and Mother’s weeding the garden so the vegetables will grow,” Louisa almost whispered so she wouldn’t frighten the sea gulls. The birds continued to eat as though Louisa and Thomas were not even there.
“Tell me again about the sea gulls, Louisa,” Thomas said sleepily. “Please.”
He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.
“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“Where was I?” asked Thomas.
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
“What are crickets?”
“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.
“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
Tears came to Louisa’s eyes remembering how hard she had cried. She had only been four. Now Louisa was eight and too big to cry. But sometimes she did when she was hurt or afraid.
“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
Louisa waited for Thomas to encourage her to go on with the story. But he just lay quietly beside her. The sky was dark blue with streaks of white clouds high in the sky. Most of the sea gulls were quiet, but once in a while one would call.
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”
But Thomas didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine.

“We have some great nonmember neighbors, and we decided to invite them to dinner on a Monday night, and then we casually asked them if they would like to participate in our family home evening. We had a great time getting to know one another, and they were impressed by the spiritual quality of our evening and the closeness that such a night can bring to a family. Inviting nonmembers to share a family home evening with you can be great fun and can work as a great missionary tool.”

I recall as a young man when I first heard our text quoted from the Doctrine and Covenants, I went to my own mother and exclaimed, “Well, Mom, how does it feel to have all my sins on your head?” Then she taught me the lesson of that passage. She said, “Ah, Paul, you forgot to read carefully what the Lord said. He said that the sin be upon the head of parents if they do not teach their children the principles of the gospel. And you’ve been taught!”

And I had been taught! Thank the Lord for parents who realize their responsibility to instill in their children the principles of the gospel and who follow the counsel of the Lord’s prophets. Parents in the Church today have been counseled to regularly, consistently, and inspiringly hold family home evenings and to take advantage of other great teaching moments to so acquaint their children.

Jeff Wright swung the empty fruit basket and smiled at his buddy Pete Adams. “That’s the last of the apples,” Jeff declared, “and we still have two streets to do on our route. Shall we call it a day or go back to the Scout hall for a refill?”
“Not all the way back there, please!” Pete groaned. “We’re on the edge of town now, and I’ve just about had it.”
“We’ve done OK so far,” Jeff remarked, “but I hate to miss the chance of selling a few more apples before we report back. If we want that camp built next summer, we’ll need all the money we can get.”
Squaring his shoulders, Pete agreed. “OK, let’s go get a refill. When we’re at camp next summer, we’ll think it was worth it.”
“Let’s take the shortcut through the McAuley farm,” Jeff suggested.
To the left of the barren field they were crossing was an orchard with tangled grass and weeds springing up among the trees.
“Do you see what I see?” Pete asked. “Look at all those trees thick with apples just begging to be picked!”
“Probably all wormy, too,” Jeff replied. “It’s not likely that Mr. McAuley has sprayed them.”
“Why doesn’t he look after the orchard?” Pete asked.
“Oh, people in town say that he’s just lost interest in the farm. It’s too much work for him on his own, and he probably couldn’t afford help even if he could find pickers. He’s as independent as all get-out, though. Folks used to offer to help him, but I guess they got fed up after he became so hard to get along with.”
“Seems like an awful waste of good apples,” Pete observed as they reached the lane leading to the road. “Especially right now. We could have filled our baskets!”
“Not with rotten apples, thank you!” Jeff said wryly. “It was a good farm years ago, but after his son was killed in a tractor rollover, the old man became a recluse.”
“Speaking of the old man,” Pete said, pointing toward a woodpile behind the barn, “is that him?”
“Yeah.” Jeff stood still, watching the gaunt figure chopping into a log as if every stroke of the ax was too much for his strength. “He looks terrible, Pete. Let’s go see if we can help him.”
As the boys approached, Mr. McAuley stopped chopping and mopped his face with a bandanna.
“Mr. McAuley, can we do that?” Jeff offered. He introduced himself and Pete and explained why they happened to be in the area.
As they took over the wood chopping, after only a mild protest from Mr. McAuley, they told him more about the Scout camp project. But when the farmer invited them to fill their baskets with his apples, Pete blurted, “But aren’t they—”
“Wormy?” Mr. McAuley finished the question. “No.” Seeing Pete’s embarrassment and Jeff’s questioning look, he added, “Tom Sims sent his sprayers over when they did his orchard, so the fruit should be good.”
“Are you going to have the crop picked, then?” Jeff asked.
“I meant to,” Mr. McAuley replied. “But I’ve had the flu, and it’s about knocked me flat.” He piled small branches into the wheelbarrow while the boys chopped seasoned apple limbs into stove-size pieces.
After the firewood had been stacked, Mr. McAuley led the boys into the big farm kitchen where they got a good fire going in the black potbellied stove. Soon they were drinking steaming mugs of hot cider.
Jeff watched the color creep back into the old man’s face, but all the boy said was, “I’ve been thinking about all those apples going to waste. I noticed that you have plenty of apple hampers in the barn, Mr. McAuley. If Pete and I talked our troop into coming out after school and weekends for a while, we’d get most of them picked for you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that, Jeff! I couldn’t afford to pay them, and—”
Both boys brushed that aside. “I’ll ask my dad to see about a trucker to take the apples to the storage sheds,” Jeff continued. “It’d be a neat project, right, Pete?”
His friend nodded eagerly.
The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, boys, I’d almost given up since my son was killed. Nothing seemed to matter after that, what with his mother gone so long and just me left.”
“But, sir, you can’t quit on life,” Jeff said kindly. “My dad always says that you can’t stay still. You have to go forward or backward. There’s no in-between.”
“Well, this old man is going forward again, thanks to you two. I’ll let you help me with this fall’s crop, if the other lads agree. Then I’ll get the farm in shape in the spring again.”
“Good!” the boys said in unison.
“Go pick a basket each of the best apples, and finish your route,” Mr. McAuley told them.
Their baskets filled, Jeff and Pete went back to the house to thank the old man and tell him that they’d be back later with their troop buddies.
As they started down the lane, Mr. McAuley shouted. “Jeff! Pete! I’ve just had a great idea!”
They waited, puzzled at the old man’s excitement.
“You’ve helped me to see things more clearly today, boys, made me see that I have to start over. Now, I can do something for you in return! There are four or five acres of scrub land behind the orchard, with a little creek running through it.” He grinned. “It’d make a perfect campsite for a troop of Boy Scouts! It’ll need a good cleanup before summer, but—”
Whoops and yells cut him off as the boys raced off to finish one project and get started on another!

One girl who was introduced to the gospel by Mutual was Candace Read of Colorado Springs, Colorado. She says that when she was 15 she wanted to find a friend she could trust not to swear around her. She met Kimberly in algebra class. Kimberly invited Candace to eat lunch with her friends. Candace says, “I really liked all of them. They all seemed so good-natured and free of the distasteful things of the world. Kimberly invited me to come to Mutual. All of these friends that I knew from school would be there. Of course I went. I loved the way Mutual made me feel.”
From there, Candace was invited to meet the missionaries. She learned to pray, and she learned of the truthfulness of the gospel. When it came time for her to marry, she married in the temple, and she and her husband have six children, all actively working on gaining the blessings of the gospel. Candace says, “I am so grateful to have a friend who set a good example for me that I might have these blessings in my life.”

Around this time, my grandma lent me my great-great grandmother Thea’s handwritten autobiography. Within days I felt deeply connected with Thea Martina Waagen (1883–1967). Thea’s father tragically died just a few months before her birth, so she was raised by her widowed Norwegian immigrant mother. Growing up was difficult, but she found joy in picking wild strawberries and playing the organ at her local Lutheran church. Thea’s mother remarried, and with her stepfather’s help, she attended college. Later in life, Thea and her family converted to the Church and moved to Utah, USA. Things weren’t easy for Thea. She and her husband divorced. She experienced great heartache and severe depression, yet she remained true to her testimony.
As I learned about Thea and her choice to persevere through adversity, I was overwhelmed with an intense love that reassured me of my worth and helped me overcome my paralyzing guilt. I realized that if she could do hard things, I could too.
I went on LDS.org and requested Thea’s patriarchal blessing. I was further touched when I read, “The seed of thy womb shall rise up and call thee blessed among the women in Zion.” I realized that my profound respect for her was a fulfilment of that simple sentence. Thea’s love helped heal my heart of guilt and turn my heart to my ancestors. This was my first witness of Elder David A. Bednar’s promise that by participating in family history work, I would “be protected against the intensifying influences of the adversary” (“The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 27).
I feel an added measure of strength and clarity in my life as I continue to search out my family and learn their stories. By consistently participating in family history activities, I feel like I gained an entire army of allies who help me fight my spiritual battles. I can live without fear because “they that be with us [our ancestors] are more than they that be with them [Satan’s followers]” (2 Kings 6:16).
Although I haven’t found thousands of family names to take to the temple, I have learned my ancestors’ stories and sought out their families through careful research. I have taken the time to remember their lives and respect their legacies. I know that I have been strengthened and protected against Satan as I’ve filled my life with the light of my family.

Ian Bagley’s family had been taking pictures on a lookout point at the Grand Canyon’s North Rim for just five minutes when they heard screaming. A two year-old girl, while looking over the railing, had fallen 35 feet to a ledge below. Her parents desperately searched for a way to save their daughter, while onlookers stood stunned. Not understanding the pleadings of her parents and family to stay still, her effort to climb back up resulted in her slipping further down until she was five feet from the next drop off—this one a terrifying 200 feet.

Ian describes the feeling as “pure shock,” but he is no ordinary 19-year-old. Having been trained in emergency response through an EMT program at a community college, Ian knew how to handle the situation.

He says, “Immediately, it all came at me, and I just knew what I had to do. I set down my camera and went up the trail a little ways where it wasn’t as steep, climbed over the rail, scrambled down a bunch of rocks and through brush, and found her.” Holding her in his arms for an hour, Ian waited until emergency teams could drop down with ropes. Ian’s mother, waiting at the top, remembers seeing the little girl and her son as they ascended with the help of rescuers. “I could see blond hair and a tiny face among all of the emergency equipment, and she held her hand out and it was wrapped around Ian’s two fingers.”

Before going, Ian, from the Fort Collins Colorado Stake, didn’t know why he decided to go with his family to the Grand Canyon, but afterwards he was sure he was there for a reason. He says, “I didn’t have a reason, I just felt like I should go. I was there, and I was able to save someone’s life.”

Ian felt lucky that he was there to help, but even more, he was grateful that multiple experiences had prepared him to do so. Training in the EMT program, for example, taught him to stay calm and manage risks. He says the program involves not only rigorous course work, but training that put him in emergency situations with fire trucks and ambulances. And then, after all the studying and training, he had to pass both a statewide and national test with written and practical sections.

Participating in the Boy Scouts for seven years, including two summers as a Boy Scout camp counselor, also provided Ian with valuable knowledge. He says that the motto “Be prepared” helped him realize that at every moment, he needs to be ready to offer help.

But Ian cites a more important preparation: “Knowing that there is a plan, and Heavenly Father put me there for a specific purpose. We hadn’t been there longer than five minutes, and it started happening. That really convinced me that I was supposed to be there.”

By using his skills before his full-time service, Ian is acting as a missionary now. His mother says that “even before he is called on his mission, he’s had a chance to be a missionary.” Local newspapers and news stations covering the event mention a two-year mission for the Church. In addition to all the inquiries in the community about his future mission, Ian received a letter from a state government official thanking him for his service and wishing him well on his mission.

While Ian walked away from the incident with a plaque and a medal from the National Park Service, worth even more is his testimony of the gospel. “I know there is a plan for everyone and there is a purpose for all things. Our Savior saves us in so many more ways than I could ever save someone else.”

Sierra Leone was a sad place during my teenage years, but it was my home. For much of my life, my small West African country was torn by a civil war. The war affected everything. My family and I were constantly on the run, trying to escape the rebel soldiers. It was terrifying every time the rebels came through a city. Someone would see their torches approaching in the night, warn the others, and we would all run for the bush, grabbing whatever we could along the way.
About seven years after the war began, the rebels came to our city. My whole family was running to escape, but my parents, who were just a few steps behind me, were shot and killed. I was so sad to lose them, but I had to keep moving.
My brother, sister, and I moved to a safer place, and for a short while we were all right, but the rebels eventually hit that town, too. This time we didn’t have time to run away. My brother was taken and later killed. My sister and I were lined up outside with all the other women. The rebel soldiers were chopping limbs off of all the women in the line. We were all so frightened. Everyone was crying and praying—even people who had never believed in God before. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I believed in God and prayed that His will would be done and hoped that He would find a way to save me.
My dear sister, who was several places ahead of me in line, had both of her legs cut off. But as the rebels reached the woman in front of me, our army came rushing in and the rebels ran away. I know that I was not better than the people who were in front of me or behind me, but I thanked God that I had been spared and prayed that I might understand His plan for me.
I moved to another village to live with a friend. As I was telling my story to my friend and some of her neighbors, one neighbor said, “Mariama, we don’t have anything to offer you except an invitation to church tomorrow. That’s where we find safety. That’s where we find hope.” I loved God already and needed comfort in my life, so I decided to go.
My first Sunday in that LDS branch is a day I will never forget. I learned of hope. You could just see that there was hope in those people, and I was drawn to them. I was given the Book of Mormon and started reading right away. I remember hearing in church about how families could be together again after death and then reading in Alma 11 where Alma teaches about how our bodies will be made perfect again in the Resurrection. I felt the Spirit so strong as I thought of my family. I knew that the Church was true and that we could be together forever—each of us well and whole.
There were no missionaries in Sierra Leone at that time, so I took the lessons from my branch president and was baptized soon after. We were blessed in our town, because the Church sent food and humanitarian kits for the members of the Church and others. The food kept us all alive. Everyone was so grateful even to receive a small bag of rice or beans. I received a blanket and a hygiene kit that included a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, a comb, and a washcloth.
Not long after, the rebels hit again. They burned down the house I was living in, and as I was running to escape the flames, I took time to save only two things—my scriptures and my hygiene kit. We had to live on the run for a while after that, and I used my hygiene kit to help those around me. I would squeeze out one pinch of toothpaste for each person, or we would go to the river and carefully pass my bar of soap from person to person. The kit was so precious to us. The blanket, too, was invaluable. It sheltered us for many days until I used it to wrap an old woman who had died and had nothing to be buried in.
Eventually, I went back to my town and my branch. It was then that I decided I wanted to serve a mission. This was a difficult decision for me, because I had nothing and would be leaving behind people I loved. As I was trying to decide, I read D&C 84:81 and 88, which say, “Therefore, take ye no thought for the morrow, for what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be clothed … for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” I knew the Lord would care for me, so I turned in my mission papers and was called to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission.
I arrived in Utah with practically nothing, but I insisted on bringing my hygiene kit, because it meant so much to me. One day, my companion and I were taking a tour of the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake, and I recognized a blanket that had the Relief Society logo embroidered on it, just like the one I’d had in Sierra Leone. I looked around and saw hygiene kits like mine and familiar bags of beans and rice, and I began cry.
“This is where they came from!” I thought to myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I remembered what these things sitting in stacks in the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake meant to my friends and to me in Sierra Leone. I was so grateful to the Lord for preserving me, for bringing the gospel into my life, and for allowing me to serve a mission. I knew that His angels truly had been round about me, to bear me up.

“If you do this right, Darryl, they never know what hit them.” Jason paused to let the whole weight of his words sink in, then added, “Only don’t get too confident—Mr. Christensen came out of his house last summer and chased Kyle around a tree for ten minutes. Wasn’t that so, Kyle?”
Kyle rolled his eyes and looked miserable. Jason and Bret laughed until their stomachs ached.
I have to be honest—it sounded like incredible fun. A warm evening, just past sundown, people all settling down in their living rooms after supper. Then, totally unexpectedly, the doorbell rings.
“Of course, that’s why we call it R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Run,” Jason continued. “While we’re hiding in the bushes or across the street, laughing our heads off, the neighbors are out searching around on their front porches for nothing!”
I was the new kid in the neighborhood, and I was still finding it hard to believe that they all seemed to like me and had included me in their group right away. Jason was the most popular boy in the sixth grade! Things like this just don’t happen to me. I didn’t even think to ask what for when Kyle told me to meet them about eight o’clock that night.
Only R.A.D.A.R. didn’t turn out to be all that great. Megan Andrews, a girl in our class, answered the first door. When she didn’t see anybody there, she yelled out really loud, “Jason, Bret, and Kyle, I know it’s you!”
And things went downhill after that.
In the first place, nobody told me how angry some of the people would be. I knew right away that if Mom and Dad ever found out about this, my new friends would be history. Even worse, R.A.D.A.R. was done to a lot of old people, and I could tell that it was hard for some of them to get to the door. Then they waited and waited there like they were really hoping that this time it wasn’t a joke.
I kept seeing Mrs. Bartholomew in my mind, long after we left her house. She crept along with a walker, and her hands were all gnarled up. My grandma has arthritis, and I’ve seen her in a lot of pain. Mrs. Bartholomew looked the same, like she was really hurting. She turned the porch light on and stood there for a long time, saying over and over, “Hello? Hello?”
I didn’t sleep well that night, mostly because I had a feeling that things weren’t ever going to be the same. I could try to Ring A Doorbell And Rationalize—that it was really important for me to be part of the group in this new school. (How could I ever convert them if they all got mad at me for refusing to carry on the neighborhood tradition?) I wished that I could Ring A Doorbell And Reappear—at my old school, with my old friends, who never knew anything about this crazy game.
In the end, though, my thoughts returned to Mrs. Bartholomew on the porch—and to an old CTR ring that didn’t fit my finger but still fit me just the same.
So the next night it was Ring A Doorbell And Repent. By myself, of course. Jason told me that I was the biggest jerk he ever saw. I went to every door, anyway, and told the people I was sorry and offered to do some chore for them to make it up. Nobody took me up on the offer except Mr. Christensen, who had me mow his lawn three weeks in a row.
Some good things happened, too, though—besides my feeling a whole lot better about myself. Megan Andrews’s parents invited our family over for a cookout. Jason and Kyle and Bret were afraid to Ring A Doorbell again—and they did simmer down after a while. And since we have the only decent basketball hoop in the neighborhood, I figure it will only be a matter of time before they come around.
But the very best thing happens every Tuesday and Thursday night. That’s when I go over to Mrs. Bartholomew’s. Sometimes I take her some of Mom’s biscuits, or some flowers from the backyard. I go over there and R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Receive—lots and lots of good feelings!