Gospel Story Finder

I loved girls’ camp. I loved singing songs and dressing up in crazy outfits. I also loved the clear, crisp mornings and the bright stars at night. But most of all, I loved when my ward gathered around the campfire to have a testimony meeting. My testimony grew so much from those meetings.
The morning before my fifth time at camp, I woke up with a splitting headache. I sat up with a groan and rubbed my forehead to try to ease the pain. I felt achy and dizzy. I had chills even though I was still under my covers. I was sick. There was no way I could go into the mountains sick. But I couldn’t miss camp! A feeling of frustration swept over me.
All morning long, I restlessly drifted in and out of sleep while my family was at church. Periodically, I would say a little prayer in my heart asking Heavenly Father to help me find a way to be able to go to camp. Suddenly, I felt a strong impression that I should ask my father for a blessing. I felt a growing warmth in my heart, and I knew that through the power of the priesthood I would be made well enough to attend camp. Knowing that Heavenly Father loved me and was mindful of my concerns allowed me to rest a little easier.
A few hours later, my dad and my bishop gave me a priesthood blessing. As they laid their hands on my head, I could feel Heavenly Father’s love. As my father spoke the words of the blessing, he promised I would be healed according to my faith. My heart swelled with confidence and gratitude for the feeling of assurance that had been given to me earlier that day.
That same gratitude overwhelmed me the next Friday as the young women of my ward surrounded the campfire for a testimony meeting. I bore witness of how mindful God is of all of His children. I told the young women that, because of my experience, I had a testimony of the power of faith and that Heavenly Father wants us to know and have confidence in His will and His promises.

One day at church, I was sitting quietly on a bench, listening to the music, and I started to get a warm feeling inside. The warm feeling was the Holy Ghost. I knew it was the Holy Ghost because I could hear the still, small voice telling me that I was setting a good example for the little children. I have felt the Holy Ghost at church on other days, too, usually when I am being reverent, sitting calmly, and listening. I like to feel the Holy Ghost, and I am eager to be baptized so that I can have the gift of the Holy Ghost.
Joshua Morgan, age 6West Lafayette, Indiana

The Winnipeg Manitoba Stake youth have got it together. At a recent stake dance, held in the institute building, there were 50 or more youth—and almost all of them were actually dancing. And guess what else? When a slow song started, the dance floor wasn’t empty! The music was fun and tasteful, the dancing was appropriate, and the decorations were simple but effective. Large paper flowers lined the walls, and beach balls provided constant entertainment as they were swatted around the room from dancer to dancer.
How, you ask, did this stake pull off its successful dance? Well, each month the youth of one of the wards in the stake is in charge. Stake leaders assign the wards at the beginning of the year so there will be lots of time to plan. The Waverley Ward was assigned to this stake dance. Its members started planning about a month in advance, and the first thing they did was decide on a theme—“Hawaiian School’s Out.” The young men were in charge of refreshments, and the young women did the decorating. Then they publicized.
“Do lots of poster advertisements and announcements. Plan ahead. Come up with interesting themes. Maybe a ‘dress as your parents night.’ Make sure you have a good deejay with lots of appropriate music and a large selection,” says David Moore, the teachers quorum president, who helped plan the dance along with the rest of the bishop’s youth council.
Also on the council was Stephen Wood, the stake’s deejay for the dance. The stake has mixers, speakers, and other audio equipment because it doesn’t want to hire disc jockeys anymore. It was too hard to regulate the music selected by hired deejays, and it was also becoming too expensive. So Stephen was put in charge of the music, a very important responsibility, because we all know—besides the fun people, of course—it’s the music that makes or breaks a dance.
Stephen, a priest, had some deejay experience from being in charge of the youth conference dance music. “I talk to people before the dance and see what they want,” he says. But he does have some ground rules. “No swearing or unacceptable lyrics. I haven’t really played anything too heavy. Too heavy or too fast a beat isn’t good.” He usually uses his own CDs, and others bring their CDs to the dance as well.
Not that there’s a problem with inappropriate music requests. Each of the youth is interviewed by his or her bishop or branch president or one of his counselors before they come to the dance. They receive dance cards outlining what standards are expected of them while at the dance, and they need to show those cards before they can get in.
The interviews aren’t stressful. For the most part, the bishop just explains the guidelines for casual versus semi-formal attire, asks you not to dance too close to your partner, and reminds you that drugs and alcohol of any kind won’t be tolerated—things you already know. The interview is just a reminder of the appropriate behavior that will help you have more fun at the dance.
Surrounded by paper flowers and beach balls, everyone line danced, swing danced, and did other dances you might never have seen before. If you had seen how much fun they were having, you would definitely have joined in. Stephen even jumped off the stage once, leaving the deejaying duties to his older brother Richard, while Stephen and a friend taught everyone how to line dance to the song that was playing.
They also played games. There was a hula contest, the limbo (how low can you go?), and a snowball dance. Each time Stephen yelled “snowball” everyone had to trade partners fast!
As fun as all this sounds, you don’t have to go to Manitoba to find a good stake dance. You can make your stake dances the best ever. All you really need to do is go with the attitude that you’re going to have fun and that you’re not going to be a wallflower. And when you’re planning, be sure you follow the guidelines the Church has given for stake dances. Then you’ll have it together too.

Our ward’s young women recently visited our local Family History Center. Our goal is to learn to gather family names to take to the temple. We went with our family group sheets and pedigree charts in tow. The staff was so helpful and answered all our questions. The young women learned to use the PAF program and look for ancestors on the FamilySearch site. They are all very excited about connecting with their ancestors and learning more about their families. While still at the Family History Center, the girls were planning the next time they would get together to help each other do research.
Stacie V., Utah

I had the honor of spending time with two of the older sisters of the Curaçao Branch, and these are their stories:
Sister Eligia Schoop
Sister Eligia Schoop, 83, is one of the pioneers of the Church on the island. She has been a member for 34 years, and she tells us that thanks to the gospel, she was able to develop many skills to help those in need.
She is a sister who, despite her advanced age, her health problems, and how far she lives from the chapel, makes her best effort to attend every Sunday with her husband, Romulo Schoop, 83, and renew their covenants.
Since 1972, she has been an active member of the Scouts. With 50 years of being a Scout, she has had the opportunity to help and guide many children who are experiencing problems at home or at school. She is the oldest Scout from the islands of Curaçao, Aruba, Bonaire, Saba, and St. Eustatius.
One of the experiences that she remembers with great affection is that of her grandson: “In the Scouts I had the opportunity to help my grandson who was teased a lot at school because of his weight. I was always trying to talk to him and get him to open up to me.
“With so many negative comments and the mistreatment that he received from his classmates, he didn’t want to be part of the Scouts anymore. I was always looking out for him, and I advised him that despite everything bad that people can say to you or how bad people can try to make you feel, it is you who has to know who you are and what you are worth. The boy continued in the Scouts and still remembers with great love how his grandmother supported him in one of the most difficult moments of his childhood.”
She tells us that, at her advanced age, she seeks to contribute to the Church and one of those ways is by inviting the missionaries to eat whenever possible.
Eligia tells us: “Whatever I cook, they love it. I love to see young people willing to put their lives aside to bring to light souls that need the gospel, it is admirable”.
This 74-year-old sister is joy personified. Having been a member for 30 years, she remembers Decembers in a very special way. She recounts: “On Christmas Eve, we make a dinner within our means. I take care of the soup, my daughter, Arlene, makes the salad, and so on. We invite the neighbors, who also bring food. We set up tables and chairs in my daughter’s garden and sit together for dinner. It is very comforting to share how little or how much you have with others.
She recalls: “My husband was in a car accident, he lost a leg, his spinal cord was damaged, and he was unable to walk again. From his wheelchair, he prepared the ham for Christmas dinner and put it in the oven. He was a very independent man and loved helping others. He was president of the Curaçao Branch for eight years, and many fondly remember his service in the church. Despite his own difficulties, he tried to focus on how to help others with their personal challenges. He passed away in 2006.”
This sister is well known in the Curaçao branch for her delicious soups. There is not an activity that Sister Eugenia attends that she does not bring soup. It is her way of contributing, and she feels very happy to see others enjoy what she makes.
These two beautiful sisters have strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through Him, they have been able to overcome trials, feel comfort, and comfort others in their pain. They are examples that, no matter how young or old you are, if you want to help, however small that help is, it makes a difference and means a lot to the Lord.

Lowell Tom Perry was born 5 August 1922 in Logan, Utah, to Leslie Thomas Perry and Nora Sonne Perry. His father served as bishop for the first eighteen years of young Tom’s life, and then as stake president’s counselor and stake president for the next twenty. His mother was a counselor in the ward Relief Society presidency the whole time Tom lived at home. Through their actions, they taught their six children that it was a privilege and a blessing to serve. Their secret was to involve the children in their callings.
“Mother was a great one for compassionate service,” he says. “She went around all the time helping people who were having difficulty, and she liked to take us with her. She would put us to work washing windows, dusting furniture, cleaning rugs, doing things children could do without causing any difficulty.”
His father put the family to work in his calling, too. “The ward building was our second home—we were there so frequently. I mowed the church lawns, washed down the walls, and shoveled coal into the old furnace to heat the building.” And Tom and his mother helped with the ward financial reports, too.
Work at home was also a family project. Even though their father was an attorney and was at his office much of the day, they had a large yard, a cow, and a vegetable garden. Much of the responsibility went to Tom, the oldest boy, to help with the chores, in addition to his delivering newspapers in the neighborhood.
When Saturday afternoon came, it “was not a time of working—it was a time to play!” During the summer, the family would go up into the nearby mountain canyons and fish, hike, play games—and eat. “Saturday afternoon was always ours as a family together. We could rely on it.”
Elder Perry remembers the spiritual training his parents gave him as a boy. “I guess my earliest recollection is saying my prayers at Mother’s knee before we went to bed. She was a woman of great faith. She was a teacher by profession, an expert teacher. [She had graduated from Utah State Agricultural College in 1910.] While ironing clothes, she would help us memorize the Articles of Faith or the multiplication tables.”
For one meal a day, she would turn the backs of the chairs to the table so the family would kneel in prayer before eating. “As we would kneel in family prayer,” Elder Perry says, “and listen to our father, a bearer of the priesthood, pour out his soul to the Lord for the protection of the family against the fiery darts of the wicked, one more layer was added to our shield of faith.”
Elder Perry doesn’t remember ever being without a testimony. “Growing up in the home I was in, it was hard not to have a testimony; it was woven into our lives by our parents.”
After graduating from high school, he attended a year of college and then was called to the (U.S.) Northern States Mission in 1942. Although he had read the Book of Mormon in seminary, it wasn’t until his mission that he developed his great love for it. “I started facing the challenge of people asking me questions, and I had to defend it. Then I knew I had to know it, and I started studying. I came to understand that it is another witness of Christ,” he says, “the second defender of the Savior and his mission.”

Let me give you two examples. First, as I read this familiar story, listen closely and try to discern at what particular point darkness was defeated.
After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.
But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction—not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being—just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him! [JS—H 1:15–17; emphasis in original]
In the Sacred Grove, darkness left young Joseph Smith when the light first appeared.
The second example involves an experience I had in graduate school. I asked one of my classmates to take the missionary discussions. He did not join the Church at that time, and I moved back to Arizona. When I came back for another summer school session, I learned that although he had not been baptized, he had been going to church for the entire year that I had been away.
One evening I got a call from him requesting that we meet in the bleachers of the Smith Fieldhouse. He was puzzled over something that had just occurred. A few years before my friend had seen a movie that was a graphic R-rated movie on the subject of demonic possession. Now a friend had asked him to see the sequel to the movie, and this suggestion to see the second movie had brought back vivid memories of the content of the first movie that, at the time, my friend had thought little about. But now, a few years later, and after a year’s worth of church attendance, things were somehow different. He went to bed but could not stop thinking about the movie. He became extremely nervous and began sweating profusely. Finally, at about two o’clock in the morning, he reached over to his nightstand and picked up his copy of the Book of Mormon and started to read. He said that as he read, the nervousness went away and he calmed down and was able to fall asleep.
His purpose for our meeting was to ask me if I could explain what had happened to him. You can imagine I was most eager to do so. I testified to him that the Book of Mormon was true and that the light contained within its pages chased away the darkness that he was experiencing as he reflected on the evil contained within the movie. Again, light forsakes the evil one!

“Our family home was on the foothill of a solitary mountain that was a moving force all of my young life. I could see it from my bedroom window and felt a certain security in its closeness. I had climbed its bald dome with my family, with Church groups, and with a gang of kids. Then one day—driven by desire to go to the mount, like Moses, to commune with God, to consider who I was and what I was going to do about it—I set out alone to climb that peak. I was 16, and this day my aloneness on that mountain was exhilarating. It was a most spectacular spring morning at sunrise when I made my way to the top.

“With fascination I sat looking down at the houses I knew so well and at their people beginning to stir with the sun. I watched the achingly familiar scenes as an extension of myself. I followed the paths of my life from home to a friend’s house, to the church on the corner and the school down the hill and to the neighborhood store. Finally, I let myself look upon our own house, the scene of my most tender times, my most important learnings. Almost in panic and with a wrench of my heart, I felt childhood slipping from my grasp.

“Everywhere I looked was someone who had touched my life. At 16 I was the sum of them—parents, school friends, storekeeper, Church leader. My heart flooded with a new awareness. Suddenly I realized I had some debts to pay. I vowed that I would try to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and when I turned to him, my soul filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little person sitting on a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world. When I came down off the mountain the world seemed beautiful, and I was glad to be alive.”

A Relief Society president knows that, in spite of a report which shows members receiving temporary assistance constitute 4 percent of a ward, to the sister in distress it is 100 percent. Her needs are whole and real. Consider the case of a woman we shall call Sister Allen. Troubled and lonely, she had just returned from a hospital stay and major surgery. Two months before, her husband had abandoned his responsibilities to their family of five. The bishop had visited, and now the Relief Society president came. It was a family-needs visit, and as they talked Sister Allen spoke wistfully of having some cream of asparagus soup and blueberry muffins. These items were not on the bishop’s order form and could have been dismissed as not available. But the president really wanted to serve Sister Allen and wondered if this rather special request might suggest a need for more than food. What was Sister Allen’s real need? Was it for commodities or for consideration, for someone to demonstrate that she was worthwhile by giving her special attention now, when her problems seemed to overwhelm her?
Sensing the larger need, the Relief Society president ordered the items available through the storehouse, then assigned compassionate service responsibilities to her visiting teachers and others to provide meals that included the muffins and the soup and also to show their concern in other visible and tangible ways. Sister Allen responded. She got better, aided by the food but more so by their friendship.

When I was a little boy, like many of you, my parents arranged for me to have the opportunity to take piano lessons. It was an opportunity I did not wish to have. I felt, in that period of my life, to do so would be a great impingement on my freedom. I did not want to practice. I did not want to take the lessons. And I suppose I was not a very good boy. I fussed about it so much that finally my parents relented, and I did not take piano lessons. I felt liberated. I felt victorious. I felt that I had asserted my agency and my independence.

I did not think a lot more about it until one day many years later when I, as a man, sat in a stake priesthood meeting. On this particular occasion, a woman had been invited to sing a special musical number to the priesthood. She was a lovely lady and had a very beautiful voice. She presented herself in the meeting at the appropriate time. But as she came to the front of the chapel, it was clear that her accompanist had not arrived. She, not becoming frustrated, simply looked around. As she did so, she identified in the very back of the room a man, a faculty member at Ricks College. She said to him, “Chester, would you please come and accompany me?” At the invitation, this great soul rose from his chair and walked to the front. She handed him the piece of music, and he sat at the piano. He accompanied her to seeming perfection and added much to the song she sang.

As I watched that happen, my mind went back to the time of my opportunity to learn to play the piano—the one I did not take. The thought occurred to me, “What if this woman would have said, ‘Bob, will you accompany me?’” I could have only had one response: “I am sorry, but I do not know how to play the piano and, therefore, I have no choice to make and, therefore, I have not freedom in the matter.” My failure to endure the process of creating a choice as it related to playing the piano had left me without capacity and, therefore, in bondage to my own inadequacies. Armed guards could not have denied me any more effectively. In that instance I was free to do nothing.

New Year’s Resolutions
I, Micah Rhinelander, do hereby resolve that this year I will—
save money,
get my hair cut,
abstain from chocolate,
not eat between meals,
go to bed on time,
not doodle in class,
make my bed in the morning,
be on time for seminary,
get a tan this summer, and
maybe lose some weight.

I’ve been rereading my New Year’s resolutions, and I’ve broken about half of them already. I haven’t been getting to bed on time, I still doodle in class, and I’ve gained three pounds from all the chocolate I’ve been eating. I’m going to remake those resolutions:
1. Avoid chocolate. (Pretend it’s against the Word of Wisdom.)
2. Don’t eat between meals, and stay away from those chocolate chip cookies!
3. Lose weight!
I’m sick and tired of being fat, and I’m going to stop overeating once and for all. I want to get down to 104; that’s what models are supposed to weigh. That’s 19 pounds to lose. That’s not so much; I figure I can do it in five weeks. In fact, I know I can! I’m going to be slim and beautiful by March 3!

Here I am again in the middle of the third week of my diet. I’ve lost ten pounds so far, and everyone says I look thinner. Sister Lawrence, who used to be a professional beautician, has cut and styled my hair. It makes me look even thinner, but I’ve still got a ways to go. I’m confident I can reach my goal, however. I’m doing so well that Dad’s begun to complain that I’m too skinny.
I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it! A boy actually asked me out, a real, warm-blooded American boy!
It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep. I’ve got to record my first date, my first real, honest-to-goodness date. It happened just like it’s supposed to: the phone rang; I answered; a masculine voice said, “Hi, Micah. This is Mark Sorenson. What are you doing tonight?”
At first I thought he was joking and was just going to ask me to lead the singing at youth activity night or something. I stammered, “Whaa … what?”
“What are you doing tonight?” he repeated.
“N-nothing special.”
“Would you like to go to the movies with me? There’s a good one playing down at the mall.”
“I’ll ask,” I said breathlessly, and ran through the house screaming, “Mom, Mom, Mark Sorenson wants to take me out! Can I go?”
Well, I can’t pretend the evening was perfect. Mom gave her permission, but when Dad came home he got mad because she hadn’t consulted him first, and he said I couldn’t go. I burst into tears. He relented, growling, “You just make sure you’re home by ten.” I hugged him ecstatically.
“You’re great, Dad!”
Then I had to find something to wear. I tried on and discarded everything in my closet—they all seemed to be too short. Again I dissolved into tears. Mom patted me on the back, told me to stop acting like an idiot, and did a quick hem job on one of my dresses. Watching her, I suddenly realized what she was doing. She let the hem down, and that means I’ve grown taller! Immediately I felt better.
Mark was a little late, and I got impatient and started to put on my coat. Mom stopped me. “On a date you should always let a boy help you put on your coat. You should never let it appear as if he’s late, even if he is.” She continued to lecture me on the rules of dating etiquette, and by the time I walked out the door with Mark, I felt very knowledgeable.
The movie was good and Mark was fun, but I’m afraid I was a disaster. The way to learn how to behave on a date is not to take a cram course one minute before you leave. I forgot to let Mark hold the car door open for me, and when I opened a can of soda at the theater, it sprayed all over. We both reached for napkins at the same time and bumped heads. During the movie I ate most of the popcorn, breaking my diet and a rule of etiquette at the same time, and when we got home, I was so flustered I forgot to say thank you. I won’t be surprised if he never asks me out again.
Oh well, at least he did ask me out this once. That’s the important thing. I’m no longer a never-been-dated 16-year-old, a hopeless wallflower, a poor thing. I’m attractive. I’m interesting. I’m normal. I can look at the models in World and say, “I am one of you. I know how it is. I’m your equal.” I even wonder if I’m not a little better than they are. After all, they’re only drawings on shiny pages. With their long legs, big shoes, and small, skinny bodies, they remind me of something—I can’t think what. I’m too tired to think.
Since January I have lost 20 pounds and numerous inches. I am now around 103 pounds. I still need to watch myself, though. I don’t want to start gaining weight through carelessness.
Here are my diet plans for the summer:
1. Three meals a day, no snacks, no second helpings.
2. Ride bike as much as possible.
3. “Early to bed and early to rise.”
4. Practice good posture.
5. Don’t look in the mirror.
6. Weigh frequently.
A strange thing happened the other day. Mark and I double dated to the prom with Shane and Sam. Mark was very attentive and courteous throughout the whole ordeal, but Sam, who’s kind of a joker, was always wandering off to visit friends or get refreshments for himself. After a while Shane nudged me and said, “Will you come with me?” I excused myself and followed her to the girls’ lounge, where she began to apply makeup with a shaky hand. Her eyes reddened and watered slightly as she did this, and I suddenly realized that she felt as inadequate as I used to feel. The only difference is that she uses makeup and pretty clothes to cover up her inferiority complex while I hid inside the house under books and magazines. I don’t know why I always thought of her as being a girl with a perfect life—I guess I couldn’t see past my own shell. Anyway, I patted her on the back and made a few tactful (I hope) comments about certain boys who are nervous around girls, and she seemed to cheer up. I hope we can be better friends now that I understand both her and myself better.
Today was Dad’s birthday, and I made him a cake full of chocolate chips, raisins, and maraschino cherries. Wow! It was delicious, and as you can probably guess, all my resolutions fell apart, and I ate about half of it. Now, of course, I wish I hadn’t. However, at least it’s strengthened my resolve to diet tomorrow.
Sometimes I wonder how much longer this is going to go on, or if I will have to worry about my weight forever. I want to eat like a normal person, but to me, “normal” eating, that is, eating when I’m not on a diet, is overeating. When will I ever hit the happy medium?
I’m not going to count calories anymore. I need to learn how to eat as little as possible instead of setting a goal and then stuffing myself to the limit.
I feel that the dieting this summer did a lot of good. I haven’t lost anything, but I haven’t gained anything either. I think my figure has trimmed down, and I know I have nicer legs from bike riding. Sometimes, however, I slip up. Today crackers were my downfall—soda and graham. I just love them, and could eat them forever. I like to make sandwiches out of them with cottage cheese, but of course this isn’t good for me, so I’ll have to quit. That seems to be the only way to keep from eating too much of one thing—not eating at all.
Here we go again—another year, new resolutions. Looking back at last year’s list, I can see that I’ve been pretty good about keeping them. It concerns me, though, that none of them are very spiritual. I feel a little guilty at times because of this; I feel I involve myself too much with the things of the world. I don’t want to give up my material possessions, and yet at times I long for more simplicity.
I, Micah Rhinelander, do hereby resolve that this year I will—
finish reading The Restored Church,
be more teachable and tolerable,
practice good manners,
go to bed and rise early,
pay more attention in classes,
exercise regularly,
pray morning and evening,
have more consideration for others,
stop looking in the mirror so much, and
generally make myself more endearing to the public.
I’ve been reading through all my old diaries and laughing. It’s amazing how much I wrote then. Did I really have nothing else to do? I can’t remember, but what I do know is that I’ve had so much to do in the past few months that I haven’t had time to write at all. My social life still isn’t up to Shane Dean and Mindy Lawrence’s standards, and I don’t think it will ever be, but I don’t particularly want it to be either. I have more fun planning and making decorations for social events than I do going to them, and most of the boys I know would rather do something like that too. Right now Mark and I are working on the youth conference and having lots of fun doing it.
I guess I’ve really changed a lot, for the better, I hope. I got into a big argument with Jared today, though. I know I should show more love toward him, but it’s hard when he acts as aggravating as he did today. He came storming into the house, shouting, “I hate girls!”
“Why?” I asked.
“They’re stuck up, that’s why! The Church leaders are always telling us fellows that we should get married, but how can we when all the girls think they’re too good for us?”
I felt like hitting him. “I like that! I spent all last year losing weight and trying to make myself attractive like President Kimball tells us to, but do you think guys are swooning at my feet? No! The trouble with you and all your snobby friends is that you only want to take the glamorous girls out. They already have plenty of dates. You never pay any attention to the girls who have to try hard to be pretty!”
He considered that. “Don’t all girls try hard to be pretty?”
I thought for a moment. “I guess we all just try to be our best.”
And, as far as I know, that’s the truth.
I just wrote a letter to World publications canceling my subscription to their magazine. I can get more out of the pattern books at the store than I can out of World, and I no longer want to be a model. “In the world but not of the world” is my motto from now on.
By the way, I now know what the World models remind me of.
Shadows.

Monica and I have also had experiences where we have studied things out, came to a conclusion, and sought God’s direction through prayer; then received clear direction that the answer was “no, do not proceed.”

Shortly after arriving in St. Louis, Monica and I thought it would be great to try to buy a home. Many other graduate students in St. Louis were buying homes and it seemed like a great idea. We found a home that we could afford and made an offer. The seller came back with a counteroffer that was very reasonable. Our real estate agent was excited. You could see that the agent felt the sale and her commission were coming soon. Monica and I had prayed about the first offer and felt fine. We prayed again, telling our Heavenly Father that we thought we could afford this home at the counteroffer price and that it would be the right place for our family in St. Louis. In that moment, I felt what might have been the strongest experience I've ever had with a stupor of thought. My mind was filled with doubt and raced to all the alternative scenarios and negative “what if” outcomes that could occur. We told our real estate agent that the deal was off and that we would not be buying this home or any other home. She was not happy. Monica and I felt bad about that, and we felt great pressure to change our minds. But we knew the Lord had told us what to do and we followed His direction. I don't know all the reasons that we learned our lesson this way, but every graduate student who bought a home when we arrived in St. Louis was caught in the difficult economic conditions that suppressed real estate values in 2009. We were spared that challenge and were well positioned to begin our life after graduate school because of this guidance from the Lord.

We have sitting behind me here today, President Kimball. He is a great example of one whose body is renewed through keeping these covenants. I don’t know how many of you know of his condition when they found that he had cancer of the throat and they had to remove most of his vocal organs, and it was impossible for him to speak.
I remember attending a general conference when I was president of the stake up in Canada and meeting President Kimball with two or three others. He said, (whispering) “Hello, I can’t speak to you.” In other words, “Hello, President Tanner, I can’t speak to you.” He could not speak at all so that you could hear him any more than just a bare whisper. They didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to speak again, but he was blessed by the priesthood, and he was able to speak. Then later on, just a few years ago, they found that he had what they thought to be further cancerous growth in his organs, and they wanted to operate. But he called the priesthood to pray over him, to bless him, anoint him, and to administer to him. Now notice that it was the priesthood whom he called. It wasn’t because it was President Lee and Eldon Tanner; it was because of the priesthood we held. He was given a blessing, and it wasn’t necessary for him to have that operation.
Then later on he had a heart condition, and I think President Kimball won’t object to me telling just a little of the details. He was so seriously ill that he felt that something had to be done. Dr. Russell Nelson (noted Utah heart surgeon) was his doctor. He told him that his chances were about fifty-fifty. But if he didn’t have the operation, he couldn’t expect to live many months, but if he did, there was greater hope. We discussed it in President Lee’s office for some time. Finally, President Kimball said, “I think I should be operated on.” I said, “President Kimball, you’ve made the right decision, I’m sure.”
Then he asked to be administered to by President Lee and myself. We administered to him and Dr. Nelson said, “To be operating on the President of the Council of the Twelve, an apostle of God, is a great, great responsibility, the greatest I’ve ever had.” And he said, “President Kimball is going to have a double operation.” At that time he was the only one in history I believe who had undergone, or was going to undergo, a double heart operation at that age. And Doctor Nelson said, “I’d like to have a blessing by the priesthood that I might be guided and directed and do the things that will help to save his life.”
Now, brethren, does the priesthood mean anything to you? It doesn’t mean anything to you unless you live worthy of it. So whether you are a boy twelve years of age, or whether you are seventy years of age, wherever you are, live worthy of the priesthood. Honor that priesthood. Thank the Lord that you are a bearer of the priesthood, and pray night and morning, every day, with a determination that you will do those things which the Lord would have you do. And I want to assure you that you will be happier, you will be more successful, you will be more loved and respected, and the Lord will be pleased with you if you do that which he has asked you to do.
Let us do those things which will make us happy and successful and will prepare ourselves to go back into his presence, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I introduce next a gentle, faith-filled man who epitomized the peace and joy which the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring into one’s life.
Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars, which twinkled in the midnight sky. The moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
Brother Mulipola’s vision had been normal until a fateful day when, while working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He was depressed and despondent until he learned the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. His life was brought into compliance with the teachings of the Church, and he once again felt hope and joy.
Brother Mulipola and his loved ones had made a long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands of the Pacific. He sought a blessing, and it was my privilege, along with another who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, to provide that blessing to him. As we finished, I noted that tears were streaming from his sightless eyes, coursing down his brown cheeks and tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “O God, Thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that my sight might return. Whether in Thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of Thy gospel, which I now see and which provides the light of my life.”
He rose to his feet and, smiling, thanked us for providing the blessing. He then disappeared into the still of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”6

Hello! My name is Megan, and I live in Mexico. I want to tell you about a very special time in my life—the day I was baptized.
I was baptized on my eighth birthday. It was a very important day because I celebrated my birthday by being baptized.
Getting baptized was a beautiful experience. My mom made me a notebook with different activities to prepare. It helped me learn about the importance of baptism and the covenants I would make with Heavenly Father.
Many people who love me came to my baptism. I felt very happy that they came. I wore a white dress, and the water was warm.
After my dad baptized me, I dried off and changed clothes. Then I received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by holders of the priesthood. I felt so much peace, love, and joy.
I will always remember that day. It was very special because I made my first covenant with God. I promised to follow Jesus and obey His commandments.
If you are nervous about what your baptism day will be like, don’t worry. Heavenly Father will be happy about the choice you made!
Illustrations by Olga Lee

In 2007, I made my first visit to a church in Petit-Goâve, the southernmost part of Haiti in a chapel that currently houses Les Palmes Stake. On that Sunday, the joyful songs of the Primary children echoed throughout the chapel, creating an atmosphere of spirituality. The melodious words, “I am a child of God . . . teach me all that I must do to live with him someday,” seemed to transcend a childlike innocence upon me and a great desire to know everything. I was captivated by the vibrant testimonies of the Book of Mormon, the truths it teaches, and Joseph Smith, the prophet.
In the same year, after numerous lessons from dedicated and inspired missionaries, I took the step of baptism, thus beginning a spiritual journey within the restored gospel. The years passed. I served a full-time mission and married an extraordinary woman in the covenant of eternal marriage.
During my mission journey, I loved teaching from the Book of Mormon and had extraordinary experiences with the converting power of the Book of Mormon. Nephi’s purpose to persuade men to come to God is not only his purpose but also the ultimate purpose of the Book of Mormon. The passage from 2 Nephi 25:26 was always on my lips whenever I had to answer the question: what is the Book of Mormon about? “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
The experience of the converting power of the Book of Mormon did not end after my mission. In 2016, I was called to teach institute classes for adults. That year, we were studying the Book of Mormon. One day, as we studied King Benjamin’s powerful and inspired discourse in the book of Mosiah, two brothers in my class, carrying a secret burden of deep family problems, were moved to tears. Without saying a word, they left the classroom, and instinctively, I followed them. In the church courtyard, I found them talking, crying, and supporting each other. Respecting their privacy, I returned to the classroom, but concern tinged with hope accompanied me. At the end of the lesson, the two brothers returned, but this time, their presence was marked by peace. One of them spoke, sharing the miracle that had just occurred. He explained that thanks to the teachings of the Book of Mormon and the words of King Benjamin, they had found the strength to confront their family difficulties. In that testifying moment, I was reminded of Alma’s words, “The preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them.” (Alma 31:5).
That day, those brothers experienced the testimony of more than one in its fulness through the power of divine words, confirming the universal truth that the word of God can breathe life into the most wounded hearts.
I testify that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, that it contains the fulness of the eternal gospel, and that it can pierce the most wounded of hearts.

Sammy Snake was busy crawling out of his old, dry skin when Hosea Hamster scampered by. “Ha-ha!” laughed Hosea. “Sammy, you certainly look funny—like a worm crawling out of its cocoon.”
Sammy Snake turned to his old friend and replied, “Snakes always shed their skins in the springtime.”
“I don’t see why you should shed your skin. Your old one looked just fine to me,” said Hosea.
“Every year I grow bigger so my skin becomes too small,” Sammy explained. “In the winter I hibernate, and I grow a new skin under the old one while I’m asleep. When I wake up in the springtime my old skin is dry. It splits along my belly and I crawl out of it. It’s like being born again every year.”
Hosea looked puzzled and replied, “Sure sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Why don’t you just stretch your old skin? That’s what I do. Watch this!” He puffed out his cheeks, making his little round face look like a fuzzy table tennis ball.
“No, no! You don’t understand,” cried Sammy, a little exasperated. “My skin doesn’t stretch like yours. It has to be hard and tough so it won’t tear when I crawl over sharp rocks. My skin needs to be strong enough to protect me from the hot sand and from Benny Badger or he could bite through it with his sharp teeth.”
“I see,” replied Hosea. “A skin that can do all those things couldn’t be expected to stretch too.”
Hosea sat on his hind legs and watched Sammy wiggle and squirm. Finally all his old skin came off. As Sammy crawled free of the skin, he gave a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that job is over for another year. I am hungry! I’m hungry enough to eat a …” His beady eyes fixed on the plump little hamster sitting in front of him.
Hosea understood what he was thinking. Quickly, he scurried down the path to safety. He paused for a moment and turned to say, “Good-bye, Sammy. I’ll see you later—maybe we can play after you’ve had your dinner!”

An example of this would be Dick Hammer, who came to Utah with the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression. He met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened Dick’s Café in St. George, Utah, which became a popular meeting spot.
Assigned as home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne, a friend of mine. Since I knew Dick Hammer as well, having printed the menus for his café, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”
The reply would generally be, “He’s coming, but slowly.”
When Willard Milne and his companion visited the Hammer home each month, they always managed to present a gospel message and to share their testimonies with Dick and the family.
The years passed by, and then one day Willard phoned me with good news. “Brother Monson,” he began, “Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years.” There was a catch in Willard’s voice as he conveyed his welcome message.
Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.
I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged as his home teacher for such a long time?”
He replied, “No, it was worth every effort. As I witness the joy which has come to the members of the Hammer family, my heart fills with gratitude for the blessings the gospel has brought into their lives and for the privilege I have had to help in some way. I am a happy man.”

I was raised with very liberal views concerning the gospel. There was no priesthood in our home, and although I studied the gospel as best I could, when the real trials came, I couldn’t seem to live up to gospel standards.
My husband was not a member of the Church, and for a long time, the gospel was not a part of our lives. There was tension and misunderstanding whenever we tried to discuss the Church, so we just didn’t.
I didn’t want these hurt feelings in our family, so five years ago, I decided to do something about the situation. At that time, my husband was sent to Vietnam. Our son was four years old, and I decided it was time for him to go to Primary. Gradually, we began to go to Sunday School and sacrament meetings. We didn’t feel too comfortable there. We didn’t know many people, and no one seemed particularly interested in us except one family. They invited us to their home for family home evening and dinner. In time, from this first exposure, I realized that there was something missing that I wanted in my home.
When I met my husband on leave, I told him how much the Church meant to me, how I believe it with all my heart, and how I would never demand that he go to church if he would just first give it a try.
When he returned from Vietnam, we were transferred to Kentucky, where we started going to church. My husband, Rich, was the friendly antagonist in class—asking all the questions that many teachers wish would be asked somewhere else, or at least in a different setting. I kept praying that when our next orders came, we would find ourselves in an area surrounded by Latter-day Saints. I wanted so much for Rich to rub shoulders with Mormons. I prayed about it a lot.
Well, when our orders came through, they were for Stillwater, Oklahoma. I cried for three days. I didn’t think there were any Mormons in Oklahoma. But the Lord does things in his own way. In Oklahoma, we again attended the investigator class, and home teachers started coming to visit us.
The real change came one very cold January night in 1970. I decided that 1970 was going to be my year for the Church—no more being a part-Mormon, I wanted to be a total one. So the first Monday night (this was when Relief Society was on Monday), I started out in the bitter cold. Rich said, “Please don’t go.” I said, “I’ve got to. If I don’t now, I never will.”
When I arrived, I felt quite uncomfortable, for I was the only one there. It wasn’t long, however, before three others came—the presidency. Finally, we had a total of seven sisters. They really made me feel welcome. They held a testimony meeting, and everyone except me bore her testimony. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my husband how I felt about the Church.
That experience kept me in Relief Society. I didn’t miss a single meeting for about six months. Finally, after testimonies were shared at the conclusion of one lesson, one sister said, “If you’re having trouble reading the Book of Mormon, start reading Third Nephi.”
I thought. Oh, am I having trouble? I can’t even get started!
That evening, I went home and opened Third Nephi and read the whole book. My husband and I were both students at the time, and after I’d finished reading it, I took it to the other room, where my husband was studying.
I handed the book to him and said, “Read this and tell me if you don’t think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read.”
He looked at me as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding—at this time of night?”
But he read it. Who could not be moved by chapter 11:
“And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them; and the eyes of the whole multitude were turned upon him, and they durst not open their mouths, even one to another, and wist not what it meant, for they thought it was an angel that had appeared unto them.
“And it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand and spake unto the people, saying:
“Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.” (3 Ne. 11:8–10.)
This book was the turning point. He went on to complete the Book of Mormon—we both did. We read other Church books, prayed, and started having family home evening. Within six months, he was baptized. A year later, he baptized our son—a dream I once thought was impossible for me. This year (1972), we were sealed as a family in the temple.
I can never fully express how I feel about those scriptures that started us down the road of happiness.

With permission from my daughter, I would like to share the following. A few years ago, my daughter experienced a faith crisis. Whitney played NCAA Division I basketball and suffered a torn ACL in her freshman year, and just before the start of sophomore year, she ruptured an Achilles tendon. Whitney worked through the rehabilitation process and decided to serve as a full-time missionary. She served faithfully for 18 months and returned home to complete her second full season of playing college basketball. At the end of the season, there was a change in the university’s coaching staff. Fortunately for Whitney, she had graduated with an undergraduate degree and still had two years to play college basketball. Thus, she transferred to another university to receive her master’s degree and to play her last two seasons of college basketball.

As custom in our family, Whitney received a priesthood blessing at the start of the school year. As her father, I extended blessings with specific promises relating to Whitney’s academic and athletic experiences I hoped she would receive in the upcoming school year. Whitney earned a starting position on the team and was having a good season, and the team was excited for the end-of-the year conference tournament. In one of the final two or three games of the season and before the conference tournament, Whitney suffered a knee injury. Immediately after the game, Stephanie and I spoke with Whitney on the phone, offering encouragement. During this phone call, Whitney expressed faith and trust in the Lord and believed the injury was not severe because of the priesthood blessing she had received at the start of the school year. Unfortunately, she had suffered another torn ACL in the other knee.

Frustration ensued and questions of faith started to be expressed. “How can Heavenly Father do this to me? I have been trying to keep all His commandments, including honoring the Sabbath day. And Dad, you blessed me that I would be okay physically. Why did the Lord do this to me?” With love and prayers and seeking guidance from the Lord, all we could say was, “Whitney, we love you. God loves you. And no matter what has happened to you, please keep your covenants.” Whitney reluctantly agreed to accept our invitation, but she was confused, frustrated, and upset.

Whitney was determined to play her last year of college basketball and to receive her master’s degree. She worked extremely hard at rehab in the off-season with a great athletic trainer. Whitney returned for her last year to play college basketball and did not miss a game, and her athletic ability was so strong, it seemed as if she had never torn two ACLs or had a ruptured Achilles tendon. She started every game, enjoyed the season, and received her master’s degree, and yet she was still confused and frustrated. Whitney accepted employment in a city where she knew there would not be many Church members. Again, we as her parents knew of Whitney’s frustrations and lovingly expressed our love for her and asked, “No matter what you do, will you please continue to keep your covenants?” This time, there was no commitment made.

As Whitney settled into her new area, Stephanie and I made phone calls to assess how things were going and to get a sense of how to help Whitney spiritually. Finally, and after a few months, it was decided that Stephanie and I needed to go and spend the weekend with our daughter. Whitney invited us to attend Church with her. It was fast Sunday and as testimonies were being shared, Whitney walked up to the podium and shared a beautiful testimony of Jesus Christ and of His love for her. Yes, we were surprised, grateful, and tearful. What had happened? we wondered. Following the worship service and while having dinner at Whitney’s apartment, we asked what had happened. Whitney shared the following:

When I arrived in this city, I was determined not to go to church. I was done with church, and I was done with God. However, after learning that my roommate was the Relief Society president, I decided going to church would be easier than getting on a list where people would feel forced to visit me and try to convince me to go back. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—I figured I could be “inactive in the gospel” while being present at church, and no one would be the wiser. So, I went to church.

One particular Sunday, I walked in late, stayed to the end of the worship service, and came home. Nothing happened that Sunday that was special, but unbeknownst to me, a member of the stake presidency had noticed me. He was at church that day, seated on the stand, and saw me walk in. He later told me that the Lord told him at that moment that He, the Lord, had a work for me to do. This counselor was overwhelmed by these feelings and shared these feelings with other members of the stake presidency. They counseled together and felt impressed to extend a call for me to serve as an early morning seminary teacher.

A few weeks later, and before I knew about the proposed calling, I learned that a dear friend of mine was getting sealed in the temple. I hadn’t attended the temple in a long time, and I didn’t want to get my temple recommend renewed, but I did want to be there for my friend. I decided to go through the process, despite my continued frustration and confusion.

It just so happened that my temple recommend interview was with the member of the stake presidency who had noticed me that one Sunday. Before he went through the temple recommend questions to assess my testimony and worthiness, he encouraged me to answer the questions as if I was speaking to the Savior Himself. This got to me, and I knew I could not lie. I told him directly that I was good with all the temple recommend questions, that I had kept my covenants, except questions one and two—I could not answer these two questions.

The first two questions of the temple recommend interview are “Do you have faith in and a testimony of God, the Eternal Father; His Son, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost?” and “Do you have a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and of His role as your Savior and Redeemer?”

The stake presidency member spoke to me with love. He saw a faith and a testimony in me that I didn’t even know that I had; he saw the string of hope I was unknowingly clinging to—the one that kept me going to church, even though I had no logical answer for why I continued to do so.

Despite my struggles, I was called to serve as an early morning seminary teacher. The Lord knew of my struggles, so why would He want me to teach young people at 6:00 a.m. every morning? It was unfair and not right. The counselor in the stake presidency felt of my frustrations and returned to counsel with the other members of the stake presidency. Collectively, they felt inspired to still issue the call for me to serve as a seminary teacher. Reluctantly, I accepted this assignment. The first week of class was a disaster; I felt unqualified, like an imposter. After crying in my room, feeling like a failure, the following thought came to my mind: “If I am going to teach these young people about God and to have faith in Jesus Christ, then I must determine where my faith is.”

My daughter then shared how as she immersed herself in the scriptures and began to pray daily and to live her covenants more fully even without knowing why, feelings of God’s love for her returned and her love for God renewed.

Though Whitney still does not understand all things, I believe that she has come to a powerful understanding that God lives and Jesus is the Christ. As her parents, we believe Whitney recognizes that through all the trials she has suffered—with two torn ACLs and a ruptured Achilles tendon, mental and emotional challenges, and in not having all her college aspirations fulfilled—the Lord did not abandon her. These challenges offered an opportunity for Whitney to be refined, transformed, as she becomes all that Heavenly Father wants her to become and to know her Redeemer and Savior. Again, my friends, “There has never been a time in the history of the world when knowledge of our Savior is more personally vital and relevant to every human soul.”[9]

So how was this refinement, this transformation, achieved for Whitney? I believe it was because Whitney kept her covenants amid all the discouragement, disappointments, and unfulfilled dreams. Whitney is endowed with His divine power, which, in the beginning, she did not recognize she had. This power helped her overcome the temptation to flee and to give up on what she felt deep in her heart was true. “Those who live the higher laws of Jesus Christ have access to His higher power . . . through their covenantal relationship with God.”[10] God lives, He loves His children, and all that He does for you and for me is for our benefit and for our good.[11]