Gospel Story Finder

Preston loved maps. He had a placemat with a world map that he studied every morning at breakfast. He drew pretend maps of islands with pirate treasure and real maps of his neighborhood. Even the pattern on his bedspread had maps on it.
So when Preston’s Primary teacher, Brother Greene, started drawing a map on the board during Primary class, Preston paid close attention.
“Today we’re going to talk about where the Book of Mormon came from,” Brother Greene said. “Everyone open your Bible and find the maps.”
“I didn’t know the Bible had maps,” Michael said.
“I know where the maps are,” Preston said.
Brother Greene smiled. “Let’s find the map that has Jerusalem on it.” Brother Greene pointed to a dot on the map he’d drawn on the board. “Here’s Jerusalem. Everybody put your finger on Jerusalem on your map.”
Preston listened while Brother Greene explained how a prophet named Lehi had to leave Jerusalem with his family. As he told the story, Brother Greene drew lines on the board that showed how Lehi’s family traveled all the way to America.
Preston studied the map Brother Greene had drawn. He was fascinated. He’d heard the story of Lehi’s family many times, but no one had ever told him the story with a map before.
On the way home, Preston told his parents all about Brother Greene’s Primary lesson. “And did you know that Lehi lived 600 years before Jesus was born?”
“You’re absolutely right,” Dad said. “You were really listening today.”
“When I get home, I’m going to draw a map just like Brother Greene’s,” Preston said.
Preston worked on his map most of the afternoon. He used his best colored pencils. When it was finished, he showed it to Dad.
“This is a fine map,” Dad said.
“Can we use it for family home evening tomorrow?” Preston asked.
“Hmm,” Dad said. “I’ve invited a friend from work over for dinner, and I asked him to stay for family home evening.”
“Aw, Dad,” Preston said. “I like it when it’s just our family. Just you and Mom and me.” Preston was often shy around people he didn’t know.
Dad put his arm around Preston’s shoulder. “I know, but this is important. We want to let other people see how we live the gospel. Mom has a special lesson planned, so maybe we’ll save the map for another time.”
Preston agreed.
Dinner on Monday night was not much fun. Dad’s friend, Mr. Shay, was nice, but the grown-ups did most of the talking. Finally it was time to go into the family room to have family home evening. Dad spent a couple of minutes explaining to Mr. Shay what family home evening was all about.
“Before we start our lesson,” Dad said, “are there any questions you’d like to ask?”
“I have one very big question about your church,” Mr. Shay said. “I want to know about the Book of Mormon. Where did it come from? What is it about?”
“I know!” Preston said. “I know where the Book of Mormon came from!” Preston ran to his room and came right back with his map. He showed it to Mr. Shay. Preston put his finger on Jerusalem and told the story of Lehi’s family just like Brother Greene had told it in Primary.
Mr. Shay looked at the map. He looked at Preston. Then he looked at Preston’s dad. “Is that right?” Mr. Shay asked.
Dad smiled and nodded. “I couldn’t have explained it any better myself.”
Mr. Shay looked at the map again. “Did you draw this map yourself?” he asked Preston.
Preston could only nod. He could hardly believe he had told that long story to Mr. Shay. Now that it was finished, Preston felt shy again. The funny thing was, when he was telling the story, he hadn’t felt a bit shy.
“How old are you?” Mr. Shay asked.
“I’ll be seven next month,” Preston answered.
Mr. Shay leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I used to wonder how all those young men can be missionaries for your church when they are only 19 years old. But now I think I understand. If Preston already knows this much about the Book of Mormon, he will be an excellent missionary.”
Preston felt happy and warm inside. He wondered if that’s how missionaries feel when they teach the gospel.
“I think Preston has given us an excellent lesson tonight,” Mom said. “All we need now is a song and a prayer.”
“Don’t forget dessert!” Preston said.

One example I will never forget was when Elder Richard G. Scott and I were with him on assignment to the Pacific Northwest. We were scheduled to meet with a large group of priesthood leaders. We left our hotel and went to the meeting. President Monson arrived just in time to give his final message. We wondered if he had been ill. Checking with security, we found that he had become aware that a young mother of five small children was dying of cancer. He had called her and met with her, her husband, and the five children. He ministered to them and gave each a blessing. President Monson’s personal example may have been even more important than what he taught in sermons in greatly enhancing the spiritual concept of ministering and going to the rescue.

Chad Bybee, now a returned missionary from the Japan Okayama Mission, ran four years on the Mountain View team. He took second at state in 1989, leading the boys’ team to its first cross-country title. Looking back, Chad realizes how much cross-country helped prepare him for his mission.
“I learned dedication, self-motivation, and self-discipline,” he says. “It also made me fit.” Chad remembers an experience on his mission where his running experience paid off. “One time, our bishop was sick, and he asked us to give him a blessing. My bike got a flat as we were going up the hill to the bishop’s house. So I ran the final 100 to 200 meters up the hill while my companion rode his bike,” Chad says. “Then I ran three-quarters of a mile to a discussion afterward.
“But I knew I could do it because of cross-country,” he continues. “Cross-country taught me how to push myself.”

With the theme “a love of God and of all men” (2 Ne. 31:20) for their values night, the young women of the Glasgow Scotland Stake were asked to bring at least one toiletry item to help with a service project. The results far outstripped the expectations of their leaders. With 28 girls in attendance, they filled 29 small boxes to overflowing. The young women decorated boxes with wrapping paper and stuffed them full of toiletry items. Then they donated the filled boxes to several charities.

When I was in my teenage years, my father was a stake president. At that time the General Authorities stayed overnight in the home of the stake president on Saturday night between stake conference sessions. We had a small, humble home with only two bedrooms appropriate for the visiting Brethren: my parent’s room and my simple room. My room became the guest room. I remember cleaning thoroughly and preparing my room so everything was neat, orderly, and appropriate for our guests. I felt everything and every activity conducted therein needed to contribute to an atmosphere where the Spirit could be present for our guests. Many apostles and other leaders spent a night in my room.

That experience led me to a lifelong quest to be sure my life is in order to invite the Spirit to be my companion. How we dress, our conduct, our environment, our associates, and the activities in which we engage all influence the opportunity for the Spirit to be a part of our lives. If we keep our lives in order, the companionship of the Spirit will provide us with peace, comfort, guidance, and promptings. It will enlighten us regarding the Lord’s will and help us testify of Christ.

In Acts 27, we read that Paul was being escorted by a Roman centurion named Julius to stand trial before the Roman emperor. The first part of their journey by sea progressed very slowly. By the time they arrived at a harbor called "the fair havens," the ideal season for sea travel had passed, and the scriptural account reports that "sailing was now dangerous." At this point, Paul, as an Apostle with prophetic gifts, warned, "Sirs, I perceive that this voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only of the [cargo], but also of our lives." That sounds like a pretty ominous warning worth serious consideration!

In the response of Julius and the crew, I believe we can see three reasons people commonly have difficulty heeding prophetic voices. First, "the centurion believed the master and owner of the ship, more than those things which were spoken by Paul." Before we condemn Julius too harshly, remember that the scriptures say Paul was a tentmaker (see Acts 18:3). Whom would you believe: a sea-hardened, experienced sailor or a land-loving tentmaker? In the world today, experts with earthly credentials are often viewed as more reliable sources of counsel and direction than prophets, whose spiritual gifts are unseen and require faith to accept. But let us remember what President Ezra Taft Benson said: "The prophet is not required to have any particular earthly training or credentials to speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time.... We encourage earthly knowledge in many areas, but remember, if there is ever a conflict between earthly knowledge and the words of the prophet, you stand with the prophet, and you'll be blessed and time will vindicate you."[4] A second reason Paul's counsel may have been rejected by some was "because the haven was not commodious to winter in." The place on the southern coast of Crete most commonly associated with "the fair havens" is not what most people would call "pretty."[5] It looks kind of like where I grew up in southern Wyoming, but with a shoreline. I can understand why some of the sailors may have felt the place was misnamed! Obeying Paul's direction on this occasion was viewed as uncomfortable, inconvenient, and just plain not very fun. Prophetic instruction is seldom about our comfort, convenience, or entertainment but always designed to bring us ultimate safety, peace, and joy. The final reason Paul's counsel fell on deaf ears was because "the more part advised to depart thence also." I don't know if they actually took a vote or held an open debate, but Paul's one prophetic vote apparently didn't count for much against the vote of the crowd. Again, we may want to recall an observation from President Benson: "Popularity is never a test of truth. Many a prophet has been killed or cast out [or, as in this case, voted down]. As we come closer to the Lord's second coming, you can expect that as the people of the world become more wicked, the prophet will be less popular with them."[6] If we are not careful today, the prophetic voice can be drowned out by the myriad voices of various scholarly, scientific, or political crowds. In the face of these objections, Paul's prophetic warning was discarded, and the group resumed their voyage.

Some people might think this story would teach a more powerful lesson if they had barely left the harbor when the ship struck ground and sank and everyone drowned-but that wasn't what happened at all. In fact, the record states, "And when the south wind blew softly, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, loosing thence, they sailed close by Crete." In other words, at first everything seemed to go along quite nicely-even better than expected! I can imagine Julius and the ship's captain, or perhaps some of the crew, standing on deck and chuckling toward Paul and his associates, muttering under their breath, "Stupid tentmaker..." Most often, brothers and sisters, there are not immediate consequences for rejecting the counsel of prophets. People who date before they're 16 don't spontaneously burst into flames; those who get body piercings and tattoos don't die from infectious diseases contracted from the needles; and the sky doesn't come crashing down, nor does civilization immediately dissolve because same-gender marriage becomes legal. However, what happens to the passengers during Paul's voyage will just as surely happen to all those who reject the counsel of living prophets-sooner or later.

"Not long after," the scriptures continue, "there arose against [the ship] a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon." Euroclydon is a Greek word indicating a "violent agitation"-a typhoon, in today's terminology. Those who ignore, neglect, scoff at, or reject the words of prophets in their midst may think that things are still smooth sailing, but sooner or later-Euroclydon! Every time! This storm was so terrible that eventually the crew and captain lost control of the ship and "let her drive." That too has a parallel in our lives. When we refuse to heed prophetic warnings, we will eventually come to the frightening realization that we are no longer in control or have the power to steer our lives where we would like to go. For three days the ship was at the mercy of the storm, cargo and tackling were tossed overboard to lighten the load, and when "neither sun nor stars in many days appeared ... all hope that [they] should be saved was then taken away."

Just in that moment of great despair, Paul offered a prophetic rebuke and message of hope: "Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss." That's a little bit of an apostolic I-told-you-so, but here comes the hopeful part: "Be of good cheer; for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship ... howbeit we must be cast upon a certain island." While this may not have been terribly comforting to the ship's owner, at least the group was being assured that no one was going to die. It is interesting to note that just as disobedience did not bring immediate punishment, things did not immediately get better after Paul's promise either. Several more uncertain and stormy days passed before their depth-testing tactics revealed that they were nearing land, just as Paul had foretold. However, their willingness to stand united with a living prophet was about to be put to the extreme test.

The relief that they were approaching a shoreline soon turned to alarm as they discovered that the bottom of the ocean was coming up toward them more quickly than they could stop! Fearing that the ship would be dashed upon the rocks by the still-raging wind and waves, they cast four anchors out of the back of the boat to slow it down and hoped for daylight. But this didn't seem to help, and soon they were all heading for the lifeboat to abandon ship. This makes a lot of sense from a rational standpoint. Paul said the ship would be destroyed, so if you want to survive, it makes sense to get off the doomed vessel as quickly as possible. Now, I don't know if there were enough seats in the lifeboat for all 276 people on board, but I kind of doubt it. Prisoners and servants in the Roman culture were not valued very highly, so there was probably only enough room in the lifeboat for the Roman guards, the captain, and the crew. Just then came the ultimate test of whether this band of struggling voyagers would stand united with a living prophet. Paul instructed them, "Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved." What? If you want to live, you have to stay in a boat that you've been told is going to be destroyed? That doesn't seem to make a whole lot of sense, does it? But something has happened in the hearts of these men: they have learned to trust Paul, a prophet. So the scripture tells us they did something completely amazing, a sure sign that they were going to stand united with a living prophet: "The soldiers cut off the ropes of the [life]boat, and let her fall off." This is what it looks like to be "all in" when it comes to standing with a living prophet. This is what total commitment and faith look like. They were completely willing to do what Paul said rather than listen to experts or look for what might be convenient or do what the majority thought made sense.

After this remarkable demonstration of faith, Paul told them to get something to eat, assured them again that no one would die, and prayed with them. Then something happened that can only happen for those who know that they are following the Lord's servants and are doing what He has ordained for their safety and security. The record says, "Then were they all of good cheer." There they were in the middle of a life-threatening storm, on a boat that was likely to end up on the bottom of the sea, with no way to escape-and they all seemed to be feeling pretty good about the whole situation! That may sound crazy to the world's way of thinking, but that is the peace that comes to those who know they are following the Savior by heeding His servants.

Just around daybreak, they discovered a creek coming out from the island that they could drive the ship into so they could make it as close to land as possible. They took up the anchors, hoisted up the main sail, and headed full-speed for shore. Running the ship aground, the forepart of the ship stuck fast, and the violent waves tore off the rear part of the boat. They knew they were close enough to land that they could now swim or float ashore on the broken boards from the ship. True to their professional code, some of the guards proposed killing their prisoners so none would escape. But Julius, "willing to save Paul," thwarted this traditional solution. He knew by now exactly how valuable a true prophet and Apostle was! So they cast themselves into the sea, some swimming and some on boards, and the account concludes, "They escaped all safe to land"-all 276 of them, because they stood united with a living prophet.

Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.

Illustration by Allen Garns
Our family has a Christmas tradition of giving gift bags of food, gloves, hats, and other necessities to those in need. In 2016, Christmas Eve was especially cold for the area of California, USA, we live in. We were bundled up, but we were still shivering!
As we drove to a park near our home where many people who are homeless stay, we saw a man huddled in the meager shelter of a bus stop, covered in an old blanket. My husband, Dennis, stopped the car and took our son, Jonathan, with him to give the man a gift bag. Our daughter, Abbey, and I stayed in the car and watched.
The man lifted his head as Dennis handed him the bag. A huge smile spread across the man’s face. They shook hands and began to talk. This was unusual because normally there isn’t much of an exchange.
After several minutes, Dennis returned to the car and opened the trunk.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m giving him my parka. He needs it more than I do.”
I was speechless. This was a really nice parka that Dennis had worn only a handful of times! Dennis went back to the man and helped him put on the warm parka. The man’s face was beaming. Dennis and the man continued talking.
I felt compelled to meet this man. I opened my car door, and Abbey followed me. Dennis smiled as we approached, and he introduced us to the man. I extended my hand and asked for his name.
He took my hand, smiled warmly, and replied, “Jesús.”
My family continued the conversation, but I didn’t hear much after that. I kept thinking of the significance of this sweet man’s name: Jesús—the name of our Savior. In that moment, I was reminded of the Savior’s teaching: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). That experience forever changed me.

Jan peered into the room. All neutral tones and silence. She stepped across the threshold. Suddenly the walls turned to soft, warm yellow, and the modular arrangement at the far end of the “hospitality sector” blinked on with patterns of fairy tale-like whimsy. Some tinkling, teasing music played softly all around.
Jan was delighted. “How lovely to think that this is me!”
Paul entered the room. The walls now turned slightly rust. Panels opened to reveal textured symmetrical patterns. The music took on a low, slower melody.
Paul smiled playfully at Jan. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Aha! My personality is overshadowing yours.”
There were quick flashes of red all around the room. Loud percussion came and went.
Paul showed surprise. Bright patterns appeared on all sides of the couple. A classical selection with bursting crescendos boomed forth.
“Why, Jan! I’m sorry that stupid comment made you angry.”
Jan was gazing again with wonder at the marvelous constructions around them. She almost expected to hear breathing or feel beating.
Isn’t it eerie Paul? Eerie and exciting!” She paused, deciding which words to choose. “I … wasn’t really mad. But I guess there was a second of resentment or something …” She stopped, glancing to each side, then upward. “And this house picks up those just-barely-there vibrations!”
“Well, you knew I was just kidding, didn’t you?” Paul put his arm around Jan and squeezed her shoulder.
A sudden change around them: pastel flurries, a heavy scent of spring, a Strauss waltz.
Paul jerked his hand off of Jan’s shoulder. It was a reflex movement, as if his fingers had been burned. Both Jan and Paul burst out laughing and the house seemed to laugh with them.
When the comfortable rust-and-gold decor returned, Jan and Paul sat on one of the two stabiles in the sector. Paul leafed through the pamphlet. The two of them discussed the pending decision. The real estate agent was waiting outside. He had told them to take as much time as they wanted. It wasn’t more time they needed, it was more money. The budget would be strained to the breaking point, no question about it. But, oh, the house, this marvelous house! Mirrormood Estates meant not only upper-crust living, it meant lifetime insurance against the deterioration of human relationships through misunderstanding. Jan and Paul, newly married and wonderfully in love, were determined to maintain their open communication, thus fortifying their lives against unhappiness. This house would be a tender touchstone if the going ever did get rough.
“Listen!” Jan pulled at Paul’s arm “What are we doing sitting here? We should be looking around.”
So Jan and Paul explored.
In each “living sector” (as the pamphlet was wont to call the room arrangements), Jan and Paul had fun trying to toss out a variety of feelings and to watch the bouncings. But the newlyweds soon found that the house did not react as readily and as dramatically to conjured emotions. Still, it was so much fun to shout or grimace—or whatever—and to see, hear, and sometimes feel and smell echoes that were more clearly understood than had been the original outputs. Time passed too quickly.
“We’d better get on with it,” Paul noted just as Jan was turning to again review the possibilities of the food preparation sector. “That real estate man will be coming in here to pry us out before long.”
Jan and Paul returned again to the hospitality sector and sat on the stabile closest to the front entrance. They hated to leave the house. Together they looked through the pamphlet. On the last pages of the pamphlet were more explicit descriptions, in quasi-technical terms, of the equipment built into the house: computers to record and decipher even a slight odor of perspiration, a sudden tightening of a muscle, a quick flutter of an eyelid. Diagrams attempted to show the intricate networks of sensors and reactors built into various walls and arrangements. Mathematical data followed.
Jan lost interest. She didn’t care that much about explanations and proof. She knew only that she loved the house. The real estate agent had shown wisdom in simply unlocking the door and telling them to wander through the model home at their leisure. The house was its own best sales agent.
“I love it,” Jan enthused.
“Well, I do too. But we have to look at this from the practical standpoint, you know.”
The house went bland. Too much black and white. There was some kind of clean and crisp electronic music playing. The temperature in the room cooled.
Jan stuck out her tongue. “Ugh!” And there was a waver of greenness, a few droning notes.
Then Jan and Paul found themselves giggling. And surrounded by merry pulsations and wild colors, they decided that, oh, yes, they had to live in the house.
Jan was awake. Her eyes were still closed. It had become a game. Guess what’s out there. Then, bang! Open the eyes! See how close you came.
It was difficult to win in this game. The many computers in the house that worked separately and together made countless environmental expressions possible. And the waking scene was a mixture of the blurring dreams of two people and the crystallizing thoughts of the waker. Jan could inventory her own fading dream glow—whether or not she was able to remember having dreamed. She could note her bent for the day. But how unlikely to be able to wild-guess the dream of someone else. That was the mystery factor: Paul’s dream. But that’s what made the game intriguing.
Hmmm. A trailing melancholy … anticipation of a busy day. And maybe Paul had had a scrapbook-type dream last night.
During the first two weeks after they had moved into the house, Jan and Paul had alternated their waking and sleeping times in order to experience the dream flicker excitement spoken of by so many Mirrormood residents. A couple of those times when Paul had been asleep and she had been awake, Jan had watched with interest very homey and nostalgic happenings in the room. So she would choose a scrapbook-type dream for last night. A vague supposition, but at least something to work with. Jan mixed the ingredients together and decided: A warm plaid on the folio-panel, coordinated wide stripes on the overhead and …
No music!
Jan’s eyes snapped open. All was neutral. She listened carefully. Sometimes the morning audios were very soft. Funny she hadn’t noticed. She usually allowed herself the audio clues. Nothing. A fear was rising from Jan, was rising and dispersing. No reinforcements wrapping all around. The wavers of dismay weren’t being caught and labeled and hung out for display. Jan heard herself emit a strange wail. She reached for Paul.
“Paul! Wake up, wake up! The house is broken!”
The week had been a waiting time—long and blandly tedious. Technicians had come, had checked, had consulted. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed. Jan had had a bothersome feeling of uneasiness with her for most of the weary week. At least, she had supposed it was uneasiness. She couldn’t be sure. It was hard to decide how she really felt. She and Paul had lived in Mirrormood for six months. She had not had occasion for some time to concern herself with careful introspection and then to arrive at conclusions without aid of “outside corroboration”.
The passive house did not now demand attention. Jan was free to look elsewhere. Several times she had caught herself watching Paul surreptitiously. Jan supposed that Paul was equally suspicious of her actions, unsure of motivation and intent. Paul had been quieter this week, had seemed to be spending more time thinking. Jan decided that she felt very uneasy. If only those people would get the house fixed.
Drab. It was so drab. The magic was gone. Too bad there wasn’t a nice yard outside with living plants, a place where she could go for some deep breathing and smiling. Mirrormood houses had only small, hard courtyards. The Mirrormood Development Corporation didn’t concern itself with outdoor life-styles. Geode living, Jan decided. That’s what it was like. All the glory was sealed inside. And now there was no glory. The geode looked like it had been sacked and scoured. The magic was gone.
Jan knew, of course, that not even the intensifiers were working; yet, it seemed that with each succeeding day of house inactivity the house became gloomier. It was as if more and more layers of grayness were being stretched tautly and uncomfortably over the whole. Jan could almost feel a cloudy film hardening on her very skin. She rubbed her arms. Maybe it was just a damp chilliness she felt. The heat, humidity, and ion regulators weren’t working either.
Jan bit her lower lip in thought. How ironic! Now she was reacting to the house instead of the house reacting to her. And it was getting worse and worse. Maybe if she had a good cry she would feel better.
A defiance welled inside her. She let the defiance come out in a glare of her eyes. She wanted to direct the glare toward the very heart or brain or core of this pompous house! But Jan had never been interested enough in the systems of the house to find out if there was a central something-or-other control unit. So she had to be content with pressing the glare up one wall, across the ceiling, and down another wall.
“I’ll decide my own mood,” she threatened to the gray hollowness about her. Jan went to the sleeping sector, grabbed her purse, and left the house.
Jan stood rearranging and reconsidering, moving an orange marigold closer to a purple columbine, adding a few more sprays of baby’s breath. She stood to admire the bouquet, then glanced toward the walls to consider the effect of the two wall hangings. Jan would never have imagined that she, who professed to have quality taste, would have purchased such garish items. But they had been cheap; and, she did like the way they worried the grayness. She hoped Paul would approve. Jan paced back and forth, stopping twice to touch the warmth of the flowers.
She was startled when the door burst open. Paul was not one for bursting into rooms. But there he was, standing too still now. There was an unusual gleam in his eyes.
Jan gestured toward the spots of colors in the room. “I hope you like it. I used money from the food budget, but …”
“It’s beautiful! It’s beautiful! You’re beautiful!” Paul grabbed Jan and danced her around the room.
She certainly hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic reaction. They stopped the twirling in front of the bouquet.
“I wished I could have bought basketful of flowers and bright, plastic doodads to scatter and hang in every room. But I knew we couldn’t afford it.”
“Speaking-of-affording-things.” Paul pranced the statement out. Jan, who had been pushing the flowers into a tighter arrangement, turned to devote her full attention to Paul.
No careful parade of phrases now. Paul let the words tumble happily. The tone was pure joy.
“Do you know that the guarantee contract has been violated? We weren’t repaired within six days. I got a solemn phone call at work today. Do you know we have the option to take possession of a new Mirrormood or to terminate the mortgage agreement? We’re free!”
It was the moment to toss something into the air. But Jan and Paul merely stood looking at one another, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. The smiles stretched to laughter, which propelled them into one another’s arms.
Oh, life was a parade! They could both feel the tingle of confetti-and-balloon time with booming drums and banners unfurling.
Paul kissed Jan. The happy glow Jan felt seemed to light up the gray room. The magic wasn’t gone, Jan realized. It had been inside her, waiting.
“Let’s find a nice, drab, cheap apartment to rent.”
Jan nodded. “Yes. And, oh, please, let’s go looking right now.”
They hurried out of the house, taking the magic with them.

Several years ago I was attending the baptismal service for my daughter Mary. As many of you may know, there are generally a few talks on the topic of baptism that are given at this service. On this particular day, the man assigned to give the talk decided to teach a short lesson to the baptismal candidates rather than give a traditional talk. So he had each eight-year-old child move to the front of the chapel and sit on the front bench as he gave the lesson. He started the lesson by asking the following question to the children: “After you’re baptized, who is it that is there to guide you and comfort you and help you make good decisions?”
A little girl raised her hand and promptly answered: “It’s the Holy Ghost.”
Smiling, the teacher said, “That’s right.” The teacher then asked another question: “And after you are baptized, who is it that is bad and evil and wants you to be miserable for the rest of your life?”
A little boy raised his hand and blurted out: “I know who it is. It’s the IRS!”
As my wife, Theresa, and I have tried to teach our seven children the principles of the gospel, we recognize that sometimes—as in the case of the young man in this story—our lessons haven’t always been completely understood by our children.

Hi! My name is Breana Johnson, and I am a Merrie Miss. I have been working on my Gospel in Action program. I had a hard time thinking up a goal for the family area. I wanted to do something different, but I also wanted to do something my whole family could learn from. Most important, I wanted it to be fun for my seven sisters and my mom and dad.
When my mother came home from a women’s conference in our stake, she told me about the different classes she had attended and the many things she had learned. I could tell without even asking that it had been fun, so I decided that for my family goal I would organize the Johnson Family Conference.
I wrote a note to everyone in the family who could read, asking them to prepare a five-minute class on “How Our Family Can Be Happier.” The note also told them that the conference would be the following Sunday at four o’clock and that the theme would be “The Secret Is Love.” My sisters got excited and asked me all about what we were going to do.
All week our house was buzzing like a beehive. Everyone was getting his or her class ready but keeping it a secret from everyone else. I decided to do my class on sharing with others.
I made a program for every member of my family by folding sheets of paper in half. On the front I wrote, “Johnson’s Conference.” Below that, in red letters, I wrote, “The Secret Is Love.” On the inside I wrote the program:
Opening prayer: Mariah
Opening Song: “As I Have Loved You”
4:10 Den—Mom’s lesson
4:15 Living room—Dad’s lesson
4:20 Laresa’s room—Laresa’s lesson
4:25 Talena’s room—Talena’s lesson
4:30 Nursery—Breana’s lesson
4:35 Family room—Anissa’s lesson
4:40 Mariah’s room—Mariah’s lesson
4:45 Dining room
Closing prayer: Mom
REFRESHMENTS IN THE KITCHEN!
When my littlest sisters discovered what was going on, they wanted to do a class, too, even though they couldn’t read. So I helped Kirsha and Meleah learn a flannel board story, which they gave in the family room after Anissa’s lesson.
When Sunday finally came, everyone was ready and excited. We started in the dining room, then traveled around the house to each class. It was fun to go into the different rooms and find posters and pictures waiting. And in each room we were given handouts with a scripture or a picture or a poem that would help us remember what had been taught there. By the time we finished, I had a whole bunch of cute things to hang on the bulletin board in my bedroom.
After all the lessons, we met back in the dining room and had a special family testimony meeting. Testimonies were borne by each person in our family. It was a very special time. I felt a lot of love for my family, and I could tell that the rest of my family felt the same way.
After the testimony meeting, we had a closing prayer. Then I served the fudge pudding cake I had made. We lingered at the table, talking and laughing. We were having such a great time that no one wanted our family conference to end.
Finally some of my sisters started to leave. But before they went, they all said that they wanted to have another Johnson Family Conference sometime. I felt very happy. Maybe I’ve even started a new Johnson family tradition!

My husband and I were living in a second-story apartment with our small son and daughter. We looked forward to Christmas that year with our two children. Our son was growing fast, and as any normal toddler, he liked to move a lot. He often ran around the apartment just for fun. We enjoyed his antics, but our neighbor downstairs was rather impatient. He often turned up his music in retaliation and came upstairs to complain to us.
It was a frustrating situation for us. What is a little boy supposed to do all day if he is not able to move freely? It broke my heart to keep him quiet when he was so full of gleeful energy. We met with our apartment manager and our neighbor to try to resolve the conflict. As we talked I noticed that our neighbor was especially defensive in his words and attitude. During the discussion, the Savior’s words from Matthew 5:44 came to my mind: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” I did not necessarily consider him an enemy, but we certainly didn’t see eye to eye.
He was in the military, and his wife had not been able to join him yet, so he was alone in a strange town. And when he came home from work, he had to deal with this noise above his apartment. I began to see how difficult it might be for him, but I still did not have a fair solution. I started to pray for him, and my heart was touched to be a little more sympathetic.
We welcomed my husband’s parents to spend the holidays with us that year. On Christmas Eve we were enjoying each other’s company and the special spirit of the season. Soon we heard and felt the vibration of loud music coming from the apartment below. It seemed very loud this time, but I remember feeling sorry for him rather than impatient. Thinking about the verse in Matthew 5, I made up a plate of homemade Christmas cookies for our neighbor.
My husband and I went down to deliver them. When our neighbor opened the door, he scowled at us and said, “WHAT?” I could tell he was expecting an unpleasant confrontation. Instead, we ignored the loud music and wished him a heartfelt merry Christmas. We smiled, and I could see his face soften as he accepted the cookies. He smiled back and thanked us, wishing us a merry Christmas also. It wasn’t long before the music was turned down.
We saw our neighbor outside a few days later, and he thanked us again for the cookies. He was smiling at us again, and we found it easy to smile back at him. We asked him if he had a church to go to, because he was new in town. He said he hadn’t found one yet, so we invited him to our church, and he accepted our invitation. He began visiting with the missionaries and soon wanted to be baptized. He and our son had their picture taken together on the day of his baptism.
I don’t remember any more problems with loud music, but I do recall the special blessings of following the scriptures in our lives. It still warms my heart to remember how the simple gift of Christmas cookies quickly changed an unpleasant relationship into a wonderful friendship.

I smile a little now when I remember my second attempt. I had discovered that righteousness had something to do with getting rid of all those sins I was treasuring, and so I decided to simply stop sinning. Now, getting rid of one’s sins is not funny or easy but the methods I used seem almost embarrassing. I was, however, sincere.
In order to get rid of my sins, I found that I first had to discover what they were. I began by comparing myself with others. It didn’t take too long before I began thinking that maybe I wasn’t so bad, after all. In fact, I really began to enjoy this step. And while I concentrated on other people’s faults, my guilt and frustrations really seemed to ebb. So it was not effective. For awhile I had been able to pretend that I didn’t really need to change, but I couldn’t keep that illusion forever. My conscience wouldn’t let me smother my own sins completely.
I was a little more wary when I tried a second time to identify my sins. I reflected on what sin was and what it wasn’t. I found I was actually just postponing any real action; but I found that I really was able to become more objective about who I was and what I needed to change.
I could see that I had been trying to rationalize my sins away, thinking that many warnings in the scriptures and by modern-day prophets simply didn’t apply to me. By thinking that way, I had effectively put myself above most everyone else. But as soon as I was able to honestly acknowledge my sins, I was less fearful—even almost eager—to get rid of them.
I promptly designed a program to get rid of my sins. My program was just to tell myself I would not sin—I would not think impure thoughts; I would never lie; I would not procrastinate; I would not lose my temper. It took several failures, trying again and again, to discover two more important things: first, when I tried to avoid sin, and was successful, I would consistently receive a confirming, warm feeling from the Holy Ghost. Second, I discovered that some of the things I told myself over and over not to think about actually came into my mind more often as a result.
A big part of my problem at this point, I can now see, was that I saw my sins as a kind of contest—them against me. I thought I had to struggle, to fight against them, that righteousness was obtained by willpower. That perspective just perpetuated the situation. My problem in this stage was my perspective. I was trying to not do things instead of trying to do things. Instead of defining my sins, I should have been defining those attributes I wanted to have.
The outcome of this attempt at righteousness, then, was that most of my sins with a view of myself as essentially a failure.
My next reaction was as ineffective as the others. I lost hope. I decided that I needed to accept reality—accept the fact that I could not change—and then just try to be as honorable a person as I could under the circumstances. I had assumed that I could not change enough to be a celestial person. The real problem was that I had not learned how to change at all.
This was probably the most unhappy time of my life. The habits of Church activity were so ingrained in me that I did not withdraw from participation. Instead, I found that fulfilling church assignments in a mediocre way is remarkably easy. I did my home teaching, for example, quite regularly, but usually at the end of the month and carelessly. My mind wandered regularly during worship services. I was still doing all the right things outwardly, but inside I was feeling sorry for myself, sure that God could not and did not love me, and despairing of any kind of reward after mortality.
Most of us go through these feelings in some degree at some time in our lives. We shy away from the disapproval that will come if we withdraw totally from Church activity, yet we find ways to resist full and honest commitment. We become an in-between person. For example, we may teach Sunday School—but never really think seriously about or understand the lesson. We may accept some welfare assignments because we can’t find a good excuse not to. We may find some fault with speakers, leaders, or those who appear to be a bit hypocritical. Our prayers may be stilted and routine. We may see the Church as something that’s trying to control us—a large, complex institution dispensing pressure and guilt-causing messages. And we pull away from others and keep most of our guilt and frustration to ourselves.
I can’t recall telling anyone that I felt this way. I do know that my life had little direction.
But I couldn’t tolerate this melancholy and loneliness indefinitely; I had always been a happy person. My loneliness had made me realize that I and no one else was responsible for improving my spiritual life.
When I realized that self-esteem was more important to me than others’ opinions, I was suddenly free to make a whole new set of choices. As long as my self-esteem had been dependent on others’ opinions, I had not been free to decide for myself what I should and should not do. I had not been free to choose—or even understand—righteousness, because I had already decided that righteousness was a complicated set of external criteria that I had to meet.
But true freedom of choice, I discovered, came only when I could see myself as a unique child of God, responsible to promote my own eternal welfare. I discovered, too, that this kind of concern for self is not selfishness. We are only selfish when we neglect to give equal concern to others.
There may be more than one reason for the things we do or say. A compassionate act may be motivated both by selfishness and by a desire for the satisfaction or happiness that comes through giving. This does not mean that the giver is selfish. Wanting to do something righteous because it makes you feel good is not a bad reason.
Armed with these experiences and insights—the memory of my desolation and the feeling that I could change—I pondered again what was righteousness. The recollection of the Lord’s message to me as a student in a Brigham Young University Book of Mormon class came back with great force. I had learned then that the Book of Mormon was divine, but far more significant to me now was the simple realization that God was there. I had asked and he had revealed his existence to me.
And why was this discovery so important? Because knowing God is the basis of righteousness (see John 17:3). God reveals himself to us because he loves us, but also so we can become like him.
I had not realized that my nature was of the same stuff as his nature and that I thus had the power within me to refine myself (see D&C 58:28). The Savior said, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). And he also said, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God” (Matt. 6:33). I learned that I have to work until I create those righteous conditions within.
And it seemed to me that the most exquisite, joyful thing I found as I approached the Lord was the peace of mind, the overwhelming love that comes from communion with him. Before, desire for this communion had seldom been a reason for anything I had done. But now, at last, I had found an unfailing guage for righteousness.
My worth and my progress, then, would not be measured by how famous, wealthy, powerful, or even well-liked I could become, nor by many other unsatisfactory standards, regardless of how popular or accepted they might be. My worth would be determined by how often the Holy Ghost revealed to me that I had succeeded in becoming more like the Father. True righteousness, I had discovered, was learning about and becoming like God.
After identifying, through study, some of the characteristics of our Heavenly Father, then I found three steps in trying to adopt those characteristics, in trying to become more like the Lord.
First, I found I needed to exercise, without any external pressure, my free agency to choose to do or think what Heavenly Father would want me to do or think. This was a conscious choice, an effort—but one I wanted to make, not a struggle or a fight. Next, I had to follow that choice with action. And the third part was communion with the Holy Ghost, a witness that my choice was good, evidence that I was making progress and reconfirmation that my Heavenly Father loves me.
Let me give an example. My first attempt at becoming like Heavenly Father was to try to control my moods. I had noticed that occasionally I came home from work tired and unhappy. When I brought those feelings into the home, I was not being a good husband and father. I decided that I would be growing more like the Lord if I could come home daily to my wife and children cheerful and pleasant. I freely chose—and wanted—to try to do that. I acted on that choice and discovered, through experimentation, that I could change my mood. One little device I used to help me was to pick a building five minutes away from my home. On my way home from work, that building was a signal for me to turn my thoughts to my family and how anxious I was to see them. I consciously remembered fun times playing with my children or being with my wife. Or I would review in my mind the rewarding things about being a husband and a father. These things were effective for me. I can now come home cheerful most of the time. And I have felt the approval of the Lord for my effort, a tremendous motivation in itself for making and acting on other decisions to be more like God.
As my desires to be more like God grew, these three steps toward righteousness caused a radical change in my perspective toward my church responsibilities, my family, and myself. Instead of doing my home teaching just to get it done, I now find myself wanting to go because I know it will help me create a godlike characteristic. The motivation is strong—I grow, and the people I teach also benefit. Instead of thinking that fulfilling all church responsibilities equals righteousness, I realize that Church programs are simply one of the best places to practice desired character traits—one trait obviously being learning to love and serve others. Instead of attending sacrament meeting out of habit or from fear of disapproval, I can go knowing that there I can develop my ability to communicate with the Lord’s spirit.
The family is probably the most important setting for helping us create godlike personalities. I have sensed an attitude change here, too, from a tendency to see children as objects of loving obligation to an awareness that a family is the finest source of growth and joy I can possibly have and the finest place to help others discover joy and identity. I feel a need to savor each moment of teaching, laughing, loving, working, and growing together.
My perspective has also changed about my sins and my struggle with them. I have experienced just enough of this process toward righteousness to know that my sins disappear as I replace them with a trait like my Heavenly Father’s. The energy I once gave to contain anger, for example can now be directed into choosing to be gentle, and then following that choice. The anger simply goes away because there is no time for it. I am more concerned with teaching and loving.
Those who know me best—myself, especially—could not stretch their imaginations enough to say that I have achieved any remarkable state of righteousness. I feel frustration when I discover a choice that would bring joy but I cannot fully act on it. I’m sure others have made that same discovery. But I have experienced the joy and strength that comes with the blessing of at last having the right goal.
At the final day, I suspect God will ask me two questions. The first, “What have you done?” will be the more easily answered. To the second, “Whom have you become?” I earnestly hope I can reply, “Like thee.”

Over the years the New Era has brought answers to my problems and prayers. I am often amazed at how many times I have received a personal answer from the New Era’s pages. I would particularly like to thank you for the article “One on One” (Feb. 1995). Ever since I started junior high, my little brother and I have experienced a falling out. As my interests started changing, we spent less and less time with each other. After reading your article, I realized that what we needed to do was simply take a few minutes to get away from school, church, and family responsibilities long enough for us to just goof off and relax. I started by helping him with his favorite video game, and within a few days I noticed a change in our friendship. Our relationship still isn’t as strong as it was, but the isolation barrier is coming down quickly. I am eternally grateful to the New Era.
Ted CoxSacramento, California

Bronwyn sighed deeply as she gazed out the window of the small thatched cottage. She had been idly watching Mrs. McKay across the street talking again to the two tall men. Mrs. McKay’s husband had died ten years ago, a year before Bronwyn was born, and the woman had to work hard to support herself and her five children. She left early in the morning and didn’t return until long after dark. Then the lights burned late into the night as she washed and sewed and cooked for her family. She seldom visited, but went her way unsmiling, wrapped up in her own problems. She certainly looked happy now, however. Suddenly Bronwyn realized that that was what was unusual about her neighbor—Mrs. McKay was smiling!
Bronwyn turned from the window, her thoughts again on Mam. Mam didn’t smile much anymore either—not since Dad had died two years ago. How different it had been then, with laughter, singing, and hugging.
Dad had worked long hours in the coal mine. He would leave early in the morning, while it was still dark, and wouldn’t return until long after the sun had gone down in the evening. In the Welsh mining towns of the 1840s, a man could go for months without seeing the sun, except on the Sabbath.
Oh, the sunshine Dad brought into their home when he was there!
Mam would begin supper, and Bronwyn would hop around like an excited little bird, knowing that soon her father would be home. Mam would work quietly at the fire, heating the delicious stew she made so well, while oatcakes were delicately browning to the side of the bubbling pot. Mam would be humming, and Bronwyn would set the table, fill the mugs with frothy milk, and cut thick slices of rich brown bread.
Finally Bronwyn would hear her father’s deep, laughing voice shouting farewells to his work companions, and the door would fly open. “Mair!” he would call, and he would lift his wife from the floor in a fierce embrace.
Bronwyn always waited in the far corner, for she knew her father would gently set her mother down, open his arms wide, and shout, “Bronny! Where’s my Bronny?”
And Bronwyn would race across the room and leap into his outstretched arms.
After supper Bronwyn and her mother would wash the dishes, and the rest of the evening would be filled with Dad’s booming voice as he danced Bronwyn and her mother around the room. Later, before Bronwyn fell asleep, she would hear her parents’ quiet voices as they sat at the kitchen table.
Then one evening there was a knock at the door just as Mam was starting supper. When she answered the door, she saw Mr. Walters, the mining foreman, standing on the stoop. Mam’s face turned white as she stared at the little man, and Bronwyn felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. She never took her eyes from Mam, and when Mr. Walters removed his hat and said, “I’m sorry, Mair, there was a cave-in … ,” Bronwyn saw her mother crumple speechlessly to the floor.
The next few days after that were a blur: neighbors coming and going, Mam lying on her bed as she never did during the day, food being brought in, and women taking Bronwyn in their arms and crying.
Bronwyn wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, and when her mother came to pick her up at the neighbor’s house, Mam’s eyes were dull and her face had a pained look that never quite left it. In the two years since the funeral, Bronwyn rarely saw her mother smile.
“Bronwyn?” Mam’s voice brought Bronwyn’s thoughts back to the present. “Are you ready? We’re going to the chapel on Altwyn Street again.”
Bronwyn’s heart sank, but without comment she quickly tied her bonnet. How many different churches have we gone to this year? she wondered. She knew what her mother was looking for but so far had been unable to find. Bronwyn had heard a neighbor speak of it once to her mother: “Mair, it’s been nearly a year since your Iorwerth died. You’ve got to start living your life again. You should remarry, give Bronwyn a new father.”
Mam had sat serenely in the rocking chair by the fire. “I don’t need another husband, Mrs. Rees. And Bronwyn doesn’t need a new father. I have no doubt that we will be together again with Iorwerth in the next life.”
Mrs. Rees looked shocked. When she regained her voice, she spoke with terrible finality. “Mair Jones, wherever did you get such an idea? Didn’t your wedding vows say ‘till death do you part’?”
“Mam,” Bronwyn had asked hesitantly after Mrs. Rees had left, “is what she said true? Will we never see Dad again?”
Mam held Bronwyn so tightly that it hurt, yet Bronwyn felt a flood of relief when her mother whispered fiercely, “Don’t you ever believe that, Bronwyn. Ever! God would not allow so much happiness in a family, then snatch it away from us forever.”
And that was when they had started going to different churches. After meeting with a new congregation for a few weeks, Mair would find an opportunity to speak to the minister alone while Bronwyn waited outside. Sometimes her mother would be in there for a long time. Sometimes she would stride out of the church after only a few moments. But the outcome was always the same. Mair would come out, take Bronwyn firmly by the hand, and resolutely march home, repeating over and over, “They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong. We belong together.”
The Altwyn Street church was on the other side of Pontygwyn. As they trudged down the dusty road, their long, heavy skirts rustling against their shoes, Bronwyn asked, “Are you going to speak to Reverend Hugh today?”
Mair’s grasp tightened on Bronwyn’s hand. “I hope to catch him after the service.”
Mair wasn’t with the minister long. The determined look on her mother’s face as she emerged from the minister’s office answered Bronwyn’s unspoken question. And she wondered, Can all the ministers be wrong? Is Mrs. Rees right? Will we never be with Dad again?
Later that week, while her mother washed the clothes she had started taking in after Dad died, Bronwyn entertained herself by swinging back and forth on the front gate. She was so involved in counting how many times she could slam the gate without falling off that she didn’t see the two men turn the corner until she had swung against one of them and had fallen into his arms.
“Mae’n ddrwg gen i (I’m very sorry),” she gasped. Only when she got over her embarrassment did she recognize them as the strangers she had seen talking to Mrs. McKay.
“You needn’t be sorry,” the one with blond hair said, laughing. “It would be fun to swing on a gate again.” Ruffling Bronwyn’s long dark hair, he and his friend hurried on their way.
He talks differently than we do, Bronwyn thought as she watched them cross the street. He used the right words, but they sounded funny. She watched them knock on Mrs. McKay’s door and noticed her neighbor’s bright smile as they entered the house.
“Are we going to a different church today?” Bronwyn asked Mam the following Sunday.
“No,” her mother answered. “I thought we would take a lunch and go picnic by the river.”
Unable to believe her good fortune, Bronwyn hurried to help Mam pack some cheese and bread and boiled eggs into a small hamper. Soon they were striding down the road. It was a beautiful spring day, and Bronwyn was alive with enthusiasm. She would run ahead, dash back to hurry her mother along, then race off to the side to pick some wildflowers. And each time Bronwyn looked up at her mother and saw the relaxed flush on Mam’s cheeks, she wanted even more to dance with joy.
“It’s a good day, isn’t it, Mam?”
Mother smiled suddenly and answered, “Yes, Bronny, it is. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a very good day.”
It was then that they heard the singing. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but as they walked closer to the river, they saw a small cottage just ahead of them, and the music was coming from it. Curious, they approached and read the neatly printed sign to the right of the door: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
“What does that mean, Mam?” Bronwyn whispered.
Her mother shook her head slowly, and they both peered in through the open door. Perhaps a dozen people were now standing about, chatting quietly.
“Is this a church, Mam?”
“That’s what the sign says,” Mair answered, looking puzzled.
“It’s different from any other church I’ve ever seen,” Bronwyn said as she looked at the small cottage.
“Let’s go on,” Mair urged, taking Bronwyn’s hand. “Some of the people are beginning to leave.”
But Bronwyn had seen the two tall strangers inside, and she pulled back excitedly. The young men were coming toward them now, and suddenly—unable to explain why—Bronwyn very much wanted them to talk to her mother, to make her mother smile the way they did Mrs. McKay. “Wait, Mam,” she said urgently, “they want to talk to us.”
“Mair! Bronwyn!” To their astonishment, Mrs. McKay rushed over to them just ahead of the two young men.
Bronwyn suddenly felt shy, and her face reddened as the tall blond man knelt beside her and smiled. “Isn’t this the little gate-swinger?”
Bronwyn glanced up at her mother, who stood looking bewildered. “You know Bronwyn?” Mam asked.
“Mair,” Mrs. McKay was saying, “how strange that you would appear at the door like this! I have been telling the elders that I had a neighbor who very much needed to hear their message.”
“Elders?” Mam repeated.
The blond man turned to her. “I’m Elder Butler. My companion and I are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have come all the way from America to deliver the message of Christ’s restored church.”
“They’ve been teaching me, Mair,” continued Mrs. McKay. “Let them talk to you too.”
“Mam, they’re nice,” Bronwyn added. “They make Mrs. McKay smile. Maybe they can make you smile too.”
Bronwyn took her mother’s hand, and they entered the small building with Mrs. McKay and the two young men. But Bronwyn’s heart sank as her mother said, “I have been to many churches, and none of them have been able to answer an important question to my satisfaction. Before we go any further, I want to ask you just one thing: Can Bronwyn and I ever be with my deceased husband again?”
Tears of joy streamed down Mrs. McKay’s face as Elder Butler answered kindly, “My dear Mrs. Jones, yes, you can. You and your daughter can be reunited with your husband as a family forever. Won’t you sit down and let us tell you about it?”
The look of peace that spread over Mam’s face sent shivers of happiness and excitement down Bronwyn’s back. And as she and her mother sat down to listen, she understood why this day was indeed a very good day.

Having friends with different standards can be hard sometimes. “Denmark is a country where a lot of youth drink alcohol from a young age,” Liam explains. “It can be hard as a teenager to say no to things like that.” But Liam tries to be open about what he believes so others can better understand his choices.

“Sometimes at school when we have classes about Christianity, teachers or friends have asked me about my faith. I’ve tried to explain it as well as I can,” Liam says. “I also invited one of my best friends to my baptism. I gave him and his mom a Book of Mormon and talked with them about some of the things I believe. It’s up to them to decide what they do with it. I felt that I did the right thing to invite others to feel the same joy I do, because who doesn’t want joy?”

My evening prayers aren’t always memorable, but one that was memorable occurred when I spent the summer in Switzerland following my freshman year at BYU. The year was 1986. It was my first time alone in a foreign country, my German wasn’t great, and our faith wasn’t well known at all. I struggled to fit in because I didn’t drink alcohol and I wanted to go to church on Sunday. During this time I wondered if my life might be easier if I didn’t follow what I’d been taught.

One night I decided it was time to ask God if everything I believed about the Church and the restored gospel was true. I read the Joseph Smith story in the Book of Mormon, and then I knelt and prayed. I wanted to know right then that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the Book of Mormon was true and that everything I believed and stood for was true.

The moment I began praying, a profound sense of the Spirit filled my little attic bedroom. The spiritual power I felt was so strong that I truly believed that if I opened my eyes, the angel Moroni himself might be there. The image that came to my mind was of the angel Moroni appearing to Joseph Smith in Joseph’s bedroom. At that moment I knew that everything I’d prayed about was true, and I’ve never forgotten God’s hand in my life that night.

Alan Ashton, 18Bountiful, Utah
“I felt the love of Christ when I was really depressed and the Spirit just came. School was a wreck. I was getting a lot of verbal abuse from kids about being a Mormon. One night I was really depressed. I hadn’t read my scriptures, almost out of spite, for a long time, and that night I just got a warm feeling. I knew Christ loved me. It was great. From then on, I tried harder.”

Two of my ancestors have sent me messages of faith which have encouraged me. First, from Sarah Elizabeth McDonald Baskin Patterson. Sarah was born in 1809 and died sometime after 1871. She is my first cousin, five times removed. Among the letters we have from my McBryde ancestors in Alabama, we have a letter written by her.

On September 11, 1870, she writes:

"I have been a poor unprofitable servant in the service of my master, yet that service has been my comforter all my life. Whenever troubles innumerable assailed me I could just open my Bible and find something adapted to my case showing me that my troubles were nothing more than the common lot of man and I can truly say today that every trial and temptation through which I have passed has been profitable to me."[48] Additionally, in FamilySearch I came across the history of my sixth-great-grandfather, Captain David Perry, who, before he died, prepared his autobiography for publication in 1822.

In it, he reflects on his experiences during the Revolutionary War and gives his posterity an admonition. He requests that we, his posterity, remember that “the Lord stood by us and put our enemies to flight in a marvelous manner, and wrought wonders for us as a nation: and we have the greatest reason to bless and praise his holy name, of any people on the earth.” [49]

He also testified that “the Lord discomfited [the enemy], . . . so that we may see, that the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” [50]

And finally, Captain Perry testified that “had not the Lord been on our side, and fought our battles, we must have failed to maintain our liberties against so potent a foe.” [51]

These testimonies from my ancestors sustain me today. I am certain they never imagined that their cousin or granddaughter in 2018 would find comfort in their words from so long ago. However, the Lord knew I would need to hear their testimony. He inspired them to write so I could gain comfort from their testimonies and find gladness in my journey. I encourage you to consider what your posterity might need to hear and then record it for them.

He can embrace us in His arms of mercy, comforting, empowering, and healing each of us.
Sister Reyna I. Aburto
At some point in our lives, we will have felt heartbroken after losing someone whom we love dearly. Through the current global pandemic, many of us have lost loved ones—either family members or friends. We pray for those who are grieving such loss. …
We can imagine how Jesus’s friends, who had followed Him and ministered to Him, felt upon witnessing His death. We know that “they mourned and wept” [Mark 16:10]. …
… When I was nine years old, I lost my older brother during a devastating earthquake. Because it happened unexpectedly, it took me a while to grasp the reality of what had occurred. I was heartbroken by sorrow, and I would ask myself, “What happened to my brother? Where is he? Where did he go? Will I ever see him again?” …
About 40 years later, during Easter time, I was pondering about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and started thinking about my brother. …
That day I realized that the Spirit had given me comfort in a difficult time. I had received a witness that my brother’s spirit is not dead; he is alive. He is still progressing in his eternal existence. I now know that “[my] brother shall rise again” [John 11:23] at that magnificent moment when, because of Jesus Christ’s Resurrection, we will all be resurrected.