Gospel Story Finder

Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.

In 1847 covered wagons carrying pioneers began rolling into the Salt Lake Valley. But thousands more people who wanted to come to the valley couldn’t afford wagons or animals to pull them.
Then President Brigham Young had an idea.
The Saints can travel by handcart! They are much less expensive than wagons, and people could pull the carts themselves!
In 1856, five groups of pioneers left Iowa pulling handcarts. Three companies arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley. But two of the handcart companies left too late in the year and had trouble on the trail.
One of the groups that had trouble was the Martin handcart company.
We’re almost out of food, and we weren’t prepared for this freezing weather!
People are dying!
President Young heard about the struggling pioneers, so he sent a rescue team to find them.
The rescuers found the pioneers and helped them move to a nearby cove for shelter. To get there, they had to cross the icy Sweetwater River. The rescuers carried many of the pioneers across. That night a blizzard hit. The pioneers’ tents were blown down, and more people died.
Hold on! We’re almost to the cove!
After five days the handcart pioneers left Martin’s Cove. Eventually they met more rescue wagons. On November 30 they finally made it to the Salt Lake Valley.
Hurrah! We’ve reached Zion at last!

I was putting a couple of U.S. dollar bills into my wallet at the grocery store when one of the bills caught my eye. I thought the green color was a little lighter than the others, so I examined it closer. Then I noticed the image of President George Washington didn’t look quite as sharp. Even the paper felt wrong. It was counterfeit! The clerk exchanged it for a genuine dollar bill and then turned the counterfeit bill over to the store manager.
I have thought a lot about that counterfeit dollar bill since then. I wondered how long it had been in circulation and how many people it had fooled over the years. In fact, had I not been paying attention, I might have been fooled as well. But by comparing it against the real thing and focusing on the differences instead of the similarities, I could tell it was counterfeit.
The best defense we have against being fooled by Satan’s counterfeits is to be as familiar as possible with truths of the gospel. The more deeply we know the truth, the easier it will be to spot the differences when Satan presents us with his counterfeits. So when he does, we need to look for the differences and not the similarities, just like I did with my dollar bills, because that is where the lies will always be revealed.
Our “counterfeit” enemy is smart, but like Gideon and Alma, we can be smarter. Just as I began to gradually recognize the differences between my pair of dollar bills, we can gradually train our eye as well as our mind and spirit to recognize the differences between truth and lies. As we do so, we will recognize the counterfeiters and resist their lies.

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it start once when serving as a bishop. A student sat across my desk from me and talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they were sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said what I will not forget, “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.
And so somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a priesthood dad, and they have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he’d only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like a sacrifice now.

The day was almost over. Only fifteen minutes more, I thought as I drove cross the bridge on my way back to the police station. The water on the river looked so peaceful as I looked out over the railing toward the setting sun. Then I saw a man standing outside the railing, his head barely visible above the road’s surface. I stopped my car, radioed my observation to the police station, and walked over to the railing.

“Don’t come any closer,” warned the young man, who was holding on to the bridge framework. Our eyes met, and I knew what he was thinking about doing—and he knew that I knew. I sensed that it wouldn’t take much for him to let go.

What could I say to prevent this man from ending his life? Memories of my police training raced through my mind: Take your time. Keep him talking. Don’t get him excited. I was afraid that if I did anything wrong, this man might actually kill himself. What should I do?

I began as simply as I could—to stall for time. “Hi. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I said in as calm and matter-of-fact a voice as I could command.

I felt some relief when he answered calmly, “I don’t think so.”

Maybe time would be on my side, I thought. “My name is Gary. What’s yours?” I said.

“Steve,” he answered. “Why do you want to know?

In those few seconds, I thought of every success and failure I had ever experienced in human communication, and I also thought about how precious life was. Only a few seconds passed, but they seemed like an eternity. In my mind, I asked Heavenly Father for strength and guidance. I immediately felt a sweet, calming reassurance. Why can’t Steve feel that same reassurance? I thought. I know of no better way to convince a person of the value of life than to testify of the divine truths that give us a reason to live. So I began. “I’d like to be your friend, Steve. I’d like to help.”

“You can’t help. No one can,” he replied.

“I don’t believe that, Steve. Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you mean?” he asked timidly.

“Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Any children?” I continued.

Steve began telling me about his five-year-old daughter, but stopped as soon as some other police officers arrived. “Who are they?” Steve asked, his voice again tense.

I motioned for the officers to stay back. “They’re some of my friends,” I told Steve. “They’re concerned about you, too.”

“Don’t let them come any closer,” he said.

“Don’t worry—I won’t,” I answered.

Steve and I continued to talk. He still hung on to the outside of the bridge. I sat on the roadside curb about two meters away. We talked about his family and his career as a technician with a successful computer firm. It sounded to me as if he had all the elements of a good life. I searched for things to say, hoping to discover the root of the problem and yet praying that, in doing so, I would not make him panic and try to jump.

I knew the other officers were trying to get into a position to help, yet I had the feeling that Steve and I would be standing together shaking hands before too long—as long as I could keep him talking. I hoped that it was the Spirit making me feel that way. So, with renewed vigor, I ventured on more bravely. “Steve, from what I’ve been hearing, I just don’t understand why you’re standing on that side of the bridge.”

“There are some things I don’t understand, either,” replied Steve. “I don’t understand why you seem to care so much.” He paused, then stammered, “I-I-I feel like I’m talking to a minister. I feel like I want to tell you things I can’t even talk to my wife about. Why?”

I prayed as I listened, and the Spirit guided me as I talked. I felt such joy as I felt the guidance of the Holy Ghost in such an important matter. “Do you believe in God?” I asked.

“I think so. I’d like to believe there’s a God,” he replied.

“There is, Steve. I know with every part of my being. God lives, and he loves you and me. He has a grand and glorious purpose for us in this life.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

I stood up and reached toward him. Steve reached out, took my hand, and climbed back over the railing. We shook hands.

“It’s not hard to know,” I said. “Would you like to know more about God?”

“Yes, I really would,” he said, then hesitated and added, “Gary.”

With the Lord’s guidance, I had helped save Steve’s life. But even more important, I had begun to share my testimony with him that life has a purpose and that God loves and cares about each one of us. It was this knowledge that gave him something to live for.

Several years ago, Wayne Lewis, of Washington, USA, published his life story. He gave copies to all of his children and grandchildren. “This was not done for the benefit of anyone but my family, to encourage them to write about their life experiences,” he says. Not long afterward, Wayne suffered one stroke, then another. “After the strokes, my counselor discovered that writing stories about my life was actually helping diminish the stresses brought on by brain injury, so I have continued writing about my life.” Now 88 years old, Wayne adds, “I would encourage everyone to write their life story. Act now, and use any format you think will be read by those you love.”

When my second daughter, Janelle, was seven years old, we were building a new home. The kids would often play in the piles of dirt around the yard. One day as I was working on the house, she came to me and indicated she had lost her little CTR ring that the Primary gives out, the kind that you squeeze together to make them fit and that cause a greenish color on your finger when you wear them.

I helped her look around the yard for it, but we couldn't find it. The thought came to my mind that we could pray to find it, but I thought to myself that Heavenly Father probably wasn't too worried about that cheap little CTR ring. However, I decided that I would say a silent prayer and not involve my daughter. That way if we didn't find it, she wouldn't be disappointed in God. So I quickly said my little prayer, not expecting to ever find it. As I walked around the corner of the house where we had previously searched, suddenly there was the ring lying on the ground in plain sight.

I learned, "It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man."[6]
Tears filled my eyes as I reached down to pick up the ring. Why had I not been more trusting of the Lord? I quickly picked it up and handed it to my daughter, explaining to her that I had said a little prayer and that it had been answered because we had been able to find the ring. Apparently the Lord did care about my little girl and her cheap CTR ring and my faith and trust in Him grew that day as I am sure my daughter's did.

It was in the home that I learned principles of provident living and the dignity of work. I can still visualize my mother spending numerous nights at home, using a foot treadle sewing machine to stitch shoes for a local shoe factory. This was not to enable her to purchase anything for herself but to help to provide financial support so that my brother and I could attend college. She later expressed how this act of service was a source of satisfaction for her.

It certainly did in Dallas, Texas. A young woman in the Dallas Texas East Stake invited her non-LDS friend to be a part of their service celebration. Her non-LDS parents were passing by the stake center and wanted to see what their daughter was doing there. They came in, listened to the program, felt the light. “We want to become a part of your church,” they said afterwards. The missionaries are now giving them the discussions.

At his Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts, David, a Bear Scout, learned a valuable lesson. He was happy when he won a table centerpiece from the banquet, complete with a gold star that had a number one written on it. But another boy at the banquet took David’s star when he lost his own. The other boy’s father made him give it back. “I was really mad at first,” David says. But then he realized, “It wasn’t worth fighting over.” David set an example by giving the other Cub Scout the star since he wanted it so badly.

When Nikolay Shaveko traveled to Poland from his home in Chernigov, Ukraine, he thought the trip would be routine—just another long bus ride across the border to buy children’s toys to sell at an outdoor market back home.
The year was 1995, and many changes were taking place in Ukraine, a former Soviet republic. “I was having great difficulties,” Nikolay says. Not only was he struggling with harsh economic challenges, he was also tasting religious freedom for the first time. He was hungering and thirsting for the truth.
In Poland, Nikolay met a group of Latter-day Saints from L’viv, Ukraine, who were also there on business. “They started speaking to me about God and about faith,” he says. When Nikolay returned home, he brought not only a load of toys to sell—but also a copy of the Book of Mormon and a great desire to learn more.
Nikolay’s wife, Lena, was frightened by his interest in a new religion. “There were so many churches coming into our country,” she says. “I didn’t know what to do.”
As Nikolay studied the Book of Mormon, his faith grew steadily. Then the Church members he had met in Poland visited him and his family. Impressed by their spirit, Lena now shared Nikolay’s hunger to learn more.
“We tried to find the Church in Chernigov,” Lena says. “But we couldn’t.” In the city of 350,000, there were no missionaries, no branches, no known members. The closest branch was 150 kilometers away in the capital city of Kiev. “So we decided to follow all the commandments we knew of—to obey the Word of Wisdom and pray,” she says. “Our family grew closer. We started to spend more time together.”
But they yearned to have a greater understanding of the gospel, to make covenants with the Lord, and to have fellowship with Church members. On Sunday, 24 November 1996, Nikolay, Lena, and their daughters, Anya, age 10, and Yulia, age 7, made the 150-kilometer journey to Kiev.
“When we arrived at the branch, we met the missionaries for the first time,” says Lena. “They thought we were already members!” The Shavekos were amazed by the love and welcome they received. “It’s in our blood not to smile a lot,” she says, “so we were surprised to see all the people smiling. We loved the spirit we felt.”
That was the first of many trips the Shaveko family made from Chernigov to Kiev for Sunday meetings. For months they never missed a Sunday, even though the 300-kilometer round-trip journey took 24 hours each weekend, the temperatures dipped to -30 degrees Celsius, and the trains were poorly heated. The train always made several stops along the way, including a seven-hour layover in a crowded station in the middle of the night. The Shavekos would leave home at 8:30 P.M. Saturday and return home at 8:30 P.M. Sunday—or they would leave at midnight and return home the following midnight. In Kiev they would take buses and subways to the rented building where the branch met, arriving just in time for the 10:00 A.M. meeting. Afterward they would mingle with members, eat lunch, listen to a missionary discussion or two, and then head home.
Traveling by bus would have been faster—only three hours each way because of a more efficient schedule. But bus tickets were too expensive. As it was, train tickets for four Sundays each month cost nearly half of Nikolay’s monthly income.
But the journey didn’t seem burdensome, remembers Lena. “We were happy. Even the girls didn’t complain, although sometimes they fell asleep on the way. When we received the Liahona at church, we would read the whole magazine on the way home using the dim overhead lights on the train. The inconvenience of the trip didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t important.”
Two missionaries, Elders Kent Averett and Derek Rowe, obtained permission from the mission president, Wilfried M. Voge, to travel to Chernigov a couple of times to teach discussions to the Shavekos in their own home. Since the home’s heating wasn’t adequate, the family and missionaries had to dress warmly. “But the presence of the Spirit in our gospel conversations warmed us,” says Elder Rowe.
On 5 January 1997, six weeks after their first visit to the branch, the whole family—Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia (who had turned eight)—were baptized.
After Lena became pregnant a few months later, she was unable to make the long journey to Kiev every Sunday. So the mission president authorized a variation in the schedule. Two Sundays per month, Nikolay and his daughters continued to travel to Kiev for meetings. On the other Sundays, missionaries held Church meetings in the Shaveko home. Talks and lessons were taken from the scriptures, Church manuals, and the Liahona.
But along with joy came persecution. “Some neighbors said, ‘Oh, the Orthodox Church isn’t enough for you?’ And they started giving us problems,” says Lena. “Some of them are not as close to us anymore.”
On the day of their baptisms, the Shavekos received wonderful news. A member in Kiev told them that while serving as a missionary three years earlier in St. Petersburg, Russia, she had taught the gospel to a Ukrainian family—a single mother named Alla Kurnosova and her young son, Vitaliy. They had joined the Church and returned to live in Chernigov, where Alla works as a tailor.
During the three years since Alla Kurnosova’s baptism, she had corresponded with missionaries she had known in St. Petersburg. “Through letters, they gave me hope and strength,” Alla says. She and 13-year-old Vitaliy had continued studying the scriptures. “It seems Vitaliy knows even more than I do,” says Alla. “He teaches me all the time.” Both prayed that the Church would come to Chernigov.
Their prayers and patience were finally rewarded. Alla and Vitaliy became close friends with the Shavekos. The two families took turns hosting the twice-a-month Sunday meetings with the missionaries. Nikolay and Vitaliy were assigned as home teaching companions and visited both families together.
The meeting in Nikolay and Lena’s home on Sunday, 1 June 1997, is typical of the meetings during those days. Twelve people are in attendance: Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia; Alla, Vitaliy, and Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera; Katya Malihina, a 19-year-old Church member from Kiev attending law school in Chernigov; and four missionaries who have been teaching the group—Elder William and Sister Manette Murri, Elder David Sills, and Elder Chris Colton.
Elder Sills conducts the meeting. Sister Murri plays the piano. (She has been encouraging Anya and Yulia to learn to play several hymns. Before and after the meeting, the girls demonstrate how well they are progressing.)
The opening hymn is “I Need Thee Every Hour,” and Vitaliy offers the prayer. The sacrament hymn is “Jesus Once of Humble Birth.” Nikolay and Elder Colton prepare the sacrament on a small table covered with a simple white cloth and offer the sacrament prayers. Vitaliy passes the bread and water. Then, as sunlight streams through the living room windows, the members and missionaries express love for the Savior and gratitude for the gospel.
Lena weeps as she expresses how wonderful it is to hold Church meetings in her home. “There are very few people here; everybody fits into one apartment,” she says. “In other places, there are more members of the Church, and everybody does not have the opportunity to bear his or her testimony every time.”
She tells about a visit she had with a woman during the week: “I had a feeling in my heart that I should share the gospel with her.” In return, the woman, a member of a Protestant church, shared with Lena the steps necessary to officially register the LDS Church in the city—making a complicated process seem manageable. “The woman and I were happy to have the opportunity to talk with each other about religion. We became good friends, sisters in faith, even though we have different religions. We are all children of God. I know God will always help us and that the Church will grow here in Chernigov.”
Nikolay expresses appreciation for “being able to bear my testimony freely and to show my feelings to other people. How wonderful it is to come to know the truth and to have faith in God and in Jesus Christ, our Savior.” Then he bears witness of the Word of Wisdom. “By following it, we can have a clean heart and a clean body,” he says. “Before, I was often a drunk man, but today I am bearing my testimony! When I began to live the Word of Wisdom, there was a big change inside of me. I look at life a lot differently than before. I don’t want to go back to the darkness we had around us. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the truth and the commandments we should obey. We are coming closer to becoming like our Heavenly Father.”
Katya Malihina, the 19-year-old law student, says: “Yesterday I spoke with my friend about what Jesus Christ did for us. She asked me many questions.”
Young Anya Shaveko testifies: “I know Jesus Christ lives. The Church of Jesus Christ is true. It was restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I hope we can get a branch here as soon as possible so people can come more quickly to the gospel.”
Alla Kurnosova says: “I love the Savior with all my heart, and I try to live His commandments. After our meeting last Sunday, I spoke to my cousin about the Church. She was very interested and wants to come to our next meeting.”
Then Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera, speaks: “This is my first time to come to church here in Chernigov, but I attended several times in St. Petersburg. I have noticed here today the same feeling I had when I went to that branch—peacefulness in my heart. My soul is softened today. I think I will keep coming.”
“Love at Home” is the closing hymn. Eight-year-old Yulia offers the prayer.
Since that Sabbath day in 1997, much has changed for the Church in Chernigov. Nikolay and Lena have had their baby—a daughter named Lara. Alla’s mother, Vera, has been baptized. Vitaliy, now age 14, is preparing to serve a mission. The Church has been officially registered in the city, and a branch has been organized—with Nikolay serving as branch president. Full-time missionaries now live and work in Chernigov. Several more people have been baptized. And the growing branch has rented a small building in which to meet.
But other things have not changed. The branch members still care about and watch over one another. They still share the gospel with people they meet. And the Spirit of the Lord continues to burn brightly in their hearts and in their homes.
Best of all, on 8 August 1998 the First Presidency announced that a temple will be built in Kiev, Ukraine. Soon, when the members from Chernigov make the trip to Kiev, it will be to attend the house of the Lord.

“I don’t know, but I know that He does. I remember reading a story several months ago in the Ensign. It was a true story about a little sparrow that flew into the Tabernacle while the doors were open.”*
“You mean that big building on Temple Square where they hold general conference?”
Dad nodded. “The workers at the Tabernacle opened all the doors, hoping that the bird would fly out.”
“Did it?”
“No. They tried calling animal control, who brought some nets with real long handles so that they could try to catch the bird.”
Beth remembered how tall the ceiling in the Tabernacle was. Her mother and father had taken her there for a Christmas program last December. The handles on those nets must have been very, very, very long!
Dad continued. “The people ran from one end of the Tabernacle to the other, trying to catch the bird, but that just frightened the poor thing. Terrified, it flew back and forth from the pipe organ to the balcony. The people who worked in the Tabernacle were getting worried because there was an important concert scheduled for that evening and they were running out of time. They had to get the bird out.”
“What did they do?” Beth whispered.
“The animal control people couldn’t think of anything else, so they suggested that they use a pellet gun to shoot the bird.”
“Oh, no!”
“Or they thought they could put out some poisoned food that the bird would eat.”
“Oh, Daddy, they didn’t, did they?”
“Well,” Dad continued, “Brother John, the manager, wouldn’t let them hurt the bird. He thought about how important this little bird was to Heavenly Father and knew that Heavenly Father would know how to take care of the bird. So he turned around and said a quiet, simple prayer. Right away the Holy Ghost helped Brother John know what to do. He quickly gave instructions to the other workers to turn off all the lights; close the blinds, and close all but one of the doors. Soon light poured through that one single door, and the bird was finally able to find its freedom. Out it flew, safe at last.”

“Why don’t you ever come with us?” the girl shouted. “Don’t you want to be a part of our group?”
It was the end of spring, and school was almost out. During breaks we played football outside, and I was the goalkeeper. As goalkeeper I was used to dodging and blocking oncoming attacks from the field. However, this game was different because I had to dodge and block attacks coming from the sidelines too.
In between the offensive assaults of the other team, I was being interrogated by a couple of girls in my class who were standing on the side of the field. To avoid their questioning, I would have welcomed the other team over for a free shooting contest, but I was not having much luck that day.
“So why don’t you ever come to our parties?” she continued. “Don’t you want to have a little fun?”
“A little fun!” I thought. Being at a party with my classmates, playing silly games, and feeling forced into uncomfortable situations was not my idea of fun. I’d rather stay at home.
“We’re all trying to get to know one another, and you are never there,” came another attack from the sideline.
“That’s right!” I said. And I would have explained why if I felt she and the others really wanted to understand. But I doubted it. How could they? I was the only Latter-day Saint in my school, and none of them understood much about the Church or its standards.
“Don’t you like any of the girls in our class?” she asked.
“It’s not about not liking them,” I said. “I’d just feel uncomfortable.”
“But why?” she poked.
My team had just lost the ball, and all the guys were now running in my direction.
“Why would you feel uncomfortable?” she poked again.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as my eyes focused on the approaching ball. Her voice was the only thing I heard, and the constant “why,” “why” kept echoing in my head. My opponent was clear for the shot, and I could see that the ball was going to hit me hard. But I was ready. He kicked the ball, which bounced off my hands with a loud slap. “Yes! Another assault successfully frustrated,” I thought, grinning. I grabbed the ball and threw it down the field to my teammates and then turned to face my other opponents.
“So?” she said.
My heart was still racing from the excitement of the game. “The reason I’m not coming to your parties is …” I started, then paused, thinking for a moment.
“Is?” she repeated a little anxiously.
I looked down the field again to see the opposition approaching fast. My heart picked up a couple of beats, and I knew I had to finish what I started to say. “Is because I am saving myself for someone special!” I blurted out.
“What!” she exclaimed.
My opponents were upon me, and my attention was again fixed on the game. The ball whistled through the air, penetrating my defenses. The other team cheered, while the girls stood there laughing.
“Saving yourself for someone,” she said, giggling. “So what is her name?”
I felt embarrassed. Although I didn’t have anyone special in mind, I still knew that one day I would meet my future wife, and I needed to be worthy to take her to the temple. That’s why I didn’t go to their parties.
My hands still tingled and my heart continued to race as I walked home later, yet there was a slight grin on my face. I might have suffered humiliation on the field that day; however, I walked away feeling victorious.

During the past several years, since the series of events began that led to my divorce, I have experienced more sleepless nights and have prayed more earnestly than at any other time of my life.
Why had the one thing I feared most happened to me? How could I rebuild my shattered hopes? I remember seeing a cartoon of a small boy giving a book report, saying, “This book taught me more about horses than I ever wanted to learn.” I often told the Lord in my heart, “This experience is teaching me more about emotional maturity than I ever wanted to know.”
One night in particular, I poured out my heart to God. I felt overwhelmed by the events that left my children without a father in the home. During that dark time, it seemed impossible to bear the thought that I had destroyed something precious and had lost something vitally important to me, and to my children. I did not sleep well that night.
I knew Christ had died so that we might not have to bear the weight of our failures and guilt indefinitely; but I could not see how even my repentance and Christ’s atonement could undo what had gone wrong in my own, my former husband’s and my children’s lives. I thought, “The Lord himself has never injured anyone, as I have, through ignorance, selfishness and poor judgment. He has never failed. He does not have to bear the constant burden of knowing that he has damaged a loved one’s life.”
“Neither do you,” came the quiet answer in my mind. I was suddenly flooded with the realization that when I accepted our Savior’s sacrifice for my sins, he had taken them on his shoulders in a more real sense than I had ever understood. Once I had repented of those sins and made what restitution I could, the matter of who had been at fault was no longer important; the concern shifted form the past to the future. “Now,” I seemed to hear, “what shall we do to help our children, you and I together?” That deeply impressed me: my children are Heavenly Father’s children, too, and the work of teaching them to love the Lord and live the gospel is as important to him as it is to me.
As soon as I understood that fact, I felt my feelings of failure and inadequacy go away. I realized that I didn’t need to be perfect before I could be a good mother. By humbly admitting my weaknesses and by exerting faith in Christ, I had taken into partnership, or had been taken into partnership by, a perfect Being. I was not rearing my children alone after all—I had the right to do so together with a loving Father who desired their welfare (and my own) even more than I could comprehend! That was a comfort beyond description.

Sitting in a hastily dug defensive position, I looked out over the sand toward the north—toward Iraq. It was December 24 during Desert Shield, and I had drawn guard duty starting at midnight.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in my battalion, so the holiday was even lonelier. We had been in the desert of Saudi Arabia since August, and now Christmas was here with a cold, star-lit night. The camp was asleep, and I had a few hours with the bluish-grey dunes and my thoughts.
I thought of my wife and son in Georgia, USA, and how I would miss the festivities back home—the tree, the presents, a real Christmas dinner. Then I began to ponder the Christmas story.
I wondered about the night that Christ was born. I wondered how dark it was and if there was a moon to cast its brightness over the landscape or if there was only starlight. Since there were no electric lights at His birth, the night must have been something like the one I was witnessing. There would have been no festivities—just dark, quiet night.
Then a wonderful thought struck me. The Bible states that Wise Men later came from the East, guided by a star that appeared in the night sky. As I looked into the dark sky, I realized I was to the east of Bethlehem and that one of the centers of knowledge at that time was Baghdad. Could the Wise Men have come from a location not far from where I was? What star shone? Was it still in the sky? Could I see it?
I gazed skyward in wonder at God’s creations and felt a warmth that came from within. It did not matter if I was in the same location or if the same star was in the sky. What mattered is that I shared the same knowledge as the Wise Men of an infant born in Bethlehem who is the King of kings.
I was not alone that Christmas; rather, I was united with all those who seek Him, whether they be Wise Men, prophets, or just lonely soldiers in a hole in the desert. That night my testimony of the birth of the Savior was strengthened, and the next morning the Holy Spirit was still with me.
Instead of being a sad Christmas that year, it became one of my most prized Christmases.

I still remember one:
“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.
“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.
“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.
“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.
“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Adapted from Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone, 95).

When Enoch LaVell Manwaring served as a building missionary in Tonga in 1957, he took some of the building missionaries to the island of ‘Uiha to build a chapel. A small, elderly lady named Vaikato insisted upon helping with the construction, although she was believed to be more than one hundred years old. The missionaries tried to persuade her not to carry heavy bricks and lift buckets, but she refused to quit helping them.
As the work progressed on the building, some of the Tongan building missionaries approached Brother Manwaring and asked if he had talked to Vaikato about the construction plans. He told them no, and was surprised when they told him that Vaikato already knew what the chapel would look like:
The men told me that she was telling all of the workers just where the classrooms would be, where the pulpit would stand, and just how the chapel would look when it was finished. It was amazing what she knew.
I learned through an interpreter that twenty years before the building program began in the South Pacific, she had received a blessing from Elder George Albert Smith, who was visiting the Tongan islands. In the blessing, he told her that if she would be faithful, she would live to see a beautiful chapel erected on her island—and she envisioned it perfectly while he spoke.

As time went by, however, we found that we missed Utah—especially the people. We checked the phone book to see if there were any Mormon churches in the area. The closest one listed was 64 kilometers north. We decided we would do without; we didn’t want the Church as much as we did the companionship of the people who made it up.
After one particularly tiring day, I returned from work early to find my wife busy in the kitchen.
“We had some visitors today,” she smiled.
“Really. Who? Salesmen?”
“Yes … a kind of salesmen.
“Who?”
“Two Mormon missionaries.”
“You’re teasing!”
“No. They left a pamphlet. See for yourself. It’s got a telephone number in it.”
“I’m going to call them. I bet that will shock them!”
She laughed. “I called them and invited them over. They told me the branch met in town over at the Odd Fellows Hall. I thought I had misunderstood, but thanked them and hung up.”
The two young men who came to see us offered us six easy lessons over a period of six weeks. Why not listen? We thought to ourselves. It was a small price to pay for the companionship of Mormons. Besides, I had had discussions with some very knowledgeable people.
That Sunday we arose early. In good spirits we turned our efforts to the task of getting four children ready. But we misjudged the time.
“We’re late,” said my wife, as we drove into the parking lot of the Odd Fellows Hall.
“Perhaps,” I said, “it would be better if we waited. We don’t even know which way the congregation is facing. It could be pretty embarrassing to go in and find that they’re all facing us.”
The dilemma was resolved, however, when a pleasant-looking gentleman got out of one of the parked cars and introduced himself as the branch president. Knowing that we might arrive late, he had decided to wait for us.
The children were taken to their particular classes, while we were introduced to the investigators’ class. Our instructor was obviously a learned man and knew his material well. Finding people of his intellect belonging to a church and staunchly professing a belief in God forced me to reassess my own reasoning.
We had a good time that day. Attending church made us feel much closer as a family. And we felt something magnificent, challenging, and rewarding in the simple humility of this branch.

It took my friend and me almost four hours to hike up the steep path to the waterfall. When we finally arrived, covered in sweat and dirt, we basked in the euphoric reward of the powerful spray and the roar of the cascading falls.
And then I had this automatic thought come to mind: “You should take a picture of this and post it on Instagram.”
Seriously? I was out in nature, enjoying time with a friend, and one of my first thoughts was to share this moment on social media?
I spend a lot of time capturing life moments. Most of the time, photos just end up saved in my camera roll and thoughts end up jotted down in my journal, but they are fun to share on social media sometimes too. I wish I was better at just living in the moment, but I still love documenting the happiest moments in my life. When I’m having a hard time, it’s comforting to look back through my favorite memories.
But for someone who documents a lot of my life, I tend to forget to capture the greatest things I can record: my spiritual experiences.
There was a period of my life when I was really struggling and decided to start a habit of writing down three things I was genuinely grateful for every day. Some days were harder than others, so I had to take notice of even the smallest gifts or figure out a way to add to my own sunshine, like taking the time to enjoy a few chapters of a book.
But a thought occurred to me one day.
What if I recorded my spiritual experiences like I recorded life on social media? What if I documented moments when I recognized God’s hand in my life?
The Book of Mormon uses the word “remember”—including variations like “remembrance” and “remembering”—approximately 220 times.1 Helaman tells his sons Nephi and Lehi, “O remember, remember, my sons, the words which king Benjamin spake unto his people” (Helaman 5:9). He’s not just saying to recall Benjamin’s teachings; he’s saying to act on them.
When the resurrected Jesus Christ visits the Americas, he tells the Nephites, “If ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you” (3 Nephi 18:7). Christ isn’t just telling them to keep His image in their minds; He’s telling them to pattern their lives after His.
We can learn from that. We can act on what we believe, not just recall something we’ve forgotten. As 3 Nephi 29:3 says, “The Lord will remember his covenant which he hath made unto his people,” meaning that the Lord will take action to fulfill the covenants He made.
Remembering changes our behavior. It involves documenting what we experience.
And regarding spiritual matters, it means acting on—and sharing—what we believe.
But because there’s always contrast in the scriptures, we also get to learn from the people who don’t remember what God has done for them. For example, no matter how many miracles they’ve seen, Laman and Lemuel always forget how good God has been to them. After Nephi miraculously builds a boat by inspiration from God, his brothers still rebel and tie him up. Nephi writes, “They did forget by what power they had been brought thither” (1 Nephi 18:9).
This is why capturing our spiritually defining moments is so important.
I spend so much time capturing my life and being afraid I’ll forget some life experience that is important to me. But what would be way worse than losing the memory of a waterfall hike or a good time with a friend would be losing the memory of how much God loves me and has blessed me throughout my life.
So along with filling out my gratitude journal to capture my spiritual moments, I started keeping a list of times I felt the Spirit. Some of these experiences include:
Reading a profound Liahona article2
Having a spiritual conversation with my aunt
Enjoying a beautiful midnight rainstorm
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Embrace your sacred memories. Believe them. Write them down. Share them with your family. Trust that they come to you from your Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son. Let them bring patience to your doubts and understanding to your difficulties. I promise you that as you willingly acknowledge and carefully treasure the spiritually defining events in your life, more and more will come to you. Heavenly Father knows you and loves you!”3
If you’re struggling to feel or to remember your spiritual experiences and want to see God’s hand in your life more clearly, consider creating a list of moments you feel the Spirit each day. Doing so will help you understand how He speaks to you. And when it’s appropriate, don’t forget to share your experiences with friends and family so they can also “have glad tidings of great joy” (Alma 13:22).
There have been plenty of times in my life when I’ve been just like Nephi’s brothers: bitter, confused, and angry when life doesn’t go the way I plan. But unlike his brothers, my heart softens when I remember the spiritual experiences I’ve had and choose to seek out more of them. Through capturing those special moments with my Heavenly Father, I remember the times I’ve felt His love for me through the actions of other people, I am reminded of the ways the Spirit has brought me quiet reassurance, and I reflect on the experiences I’ve had in the temple and in nature.
When I remember those experiences, I have the strength and faith to keep going forward on the covenant path. And when I share those experiences, (just as often as I share moments on social media), I add to others’ faith as well.

The wind wheeled through the empty lot in great gusts, pushing down the knee-high grass like a huge, flat hand. Overhead, the sky shone a vivid blue as it opened into endless space.
Geoff came running through the field, folding back the long green blades with his body. Held above his head was the kite, its knotted tail snapping at his back. In his other hand, wrapped around a stick, was a very large ball of string.
Out of the midst of this green carpet rose a grassless hill that was just round enough on top to hold one boy Geoff’s size.
“So you’re going to fly the world’s highest kite?” The words Dad had spoken earlier that day came back to Geoff now.
“Yep.” Geoff had continued to wrap the twine around the stick. If he held both ends of the stick loosely in his hands while his kite was airborne, the string would spin off freely, carrying the kite higher and higher.
Dad had sat down beside Geoff on the back porch. “Sure is a great day for flying a kite. How high do you suppose you’ll get it?”
“Oh, I figure about a hundred miles high.”
“You sure that’s high enough?” Dad had asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems to me that if you’re going to try to do something as important as flying the world’s highest kite, you should take the time to do some research and planning.”
“It doesn’t take planning to fly a kite,” Geoff had responded.
Dad had put his arm around Geoff’s shoulders and said, “But you’re not flying just a regular kite. Yours is to be the highest-flying kite in the whole world! Doesn’t it make sense to check how high other kites have flown? Then you’d know how long your string has to be for your kite to fly the highest. And wouldn’t it be worth your time to find out how hard the wind is blowing so that you’d know how strong your string has to be? There are other things you probably need to know, too, if you’re going to fly the highest kite.”
“I guess so, Dad, but this kite’s ready to go.”
Now the wind was beating back Geoff’s hair and clothes. The kite’s tail began to split the air that tugged at the kite itself, and Geoff gave the kite up to its hunter.
For a moment the kite hung suspended just above the grass. Then the wind bit into it, and it rose shakily higher.
As he played out the string in his hands, Geoff watched the kite shrink into the sky. The tail was now waving lazily from side to side. Geoff moved his hands to the left; the kite bowed to its right. He pulled right; it went to the left. String zipped off the spool as the kite climbed ever higher!
Geoff thought again of his dad’s advice. He was sure his dad had meant well, but a kite was just something you put together with the supple limbs of a eucalyptus tree, some giant-size tissue paper, and a long tail of tied-together strips from one of Mom’s old sheets. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble Dad was talking about …
Geoff had to squint now to see the kite. It was a small triangular speck against the blue. The fat ball of string had become thin.
Suddenly Geoff felt the string go limp. Then he saw about fifty feet of limp twine drifting listlessly to the ground. He peered at the triangular thing way up in the sky. At first it didn’t appear to be falling, but as he watched it, it began to twist and zigzag toward the earth. The tail wiggled every which way, like a drowning swimmer clutching the water.
In a flash, Geoff was down the side of the hill and running as fast as he could through the tall grass toward home.
Dad was already waiting for him in the pickup. “I saw it go and thought you might like some help in retrieving it.”
Geoff jumped into the cab, and the truck sped down the road, leaving a billowing cloud of dust behind them.
“There it is!” Geoff’s finger stabbed at a place in the sky about a quarter mile away from where they were.
“Looks like it’s over by Hansen’s Pond!” Dad said. The side road to Hansen’s Pond suddenly appeared out of the field, and Dad took the corner with tires screeching.
Geoff stuck his head out the window to get a better view of the falling kite. It was swiftly approaching the ground now and would be crashing any minute.
Dad pulled the truck to a quick stop. “It’s out of the upper airstream now, so it’s going to fall pretty straight. Let’s go!”
The field around Hansen’s Pond had lots of small trees and shrubs, making it difficult for Geoff and Dad to spot the kite.
“I can’t see it anymore!” Geoff groaned.
“I think I know where it’s going to fall. Just follow me.”
A dozen feet later Dad stopped and pointed to the ground. The end of the broken string lay at his feet. “If we follow the string, we’ll find it.”
Geoff picked up the string and began to wrap it around his hand. The twine led along a trail of tangled underbrush, around the base of some gnarled tree trunks, and through a dry creek bed. Finally, rounding the edge of a scrub oak, Geoff saw the kite hanging in the limbs of a small tree that grew half in, half out of Hansen’s Pond.
With Dad’s help, Geoff retrieved the kite. On the way home he examined it closely. The branch he’d used as a crosspiece was split, and there was a six-inch-long tear in the tissue paper. It was obvious that he could never use this kite again. He looked at his dad. “Since I have to build a new kite anyway, I think I’ll do some research first—and use stronger string.”