Gospel Story Finder

The New Era has brought such a change in my life! I started receiving the magazine in June 1990. I’ve enjoyed each issue. Some made me cry, some made me laugh, but with each article I felt the Holy Ghost and Heavenly Father’s love.
The stories of the youth who live the gospel inspire me so. I finally realized how far I had let myself slip off the path. I started to pray sincerely, to study the scriptures, and to clean up my act. I had missed the Spirit so much. I broke up with a boy who had different ideas and morals about dating. I’ve stopped drinking and swearing, and I feel good.
Keep the good articles coming. I’m sure there are others like me who need the lift and encouragement they bring. The New Era has helped me start a new life!
Name withheld

Sister Mary Robinson shared a heartwarming experience that she had with her family while they served. “It was easy for me to volunteer for this project as I thought it would be a great opportunity to enlist my children in service and to teach them some new skills in the process. We started with a conveyor belt system, which was great to begin with, but it didn’t take too long to descend into something like chaos. Everyone wanted it to be their turn with the sewing machine, as they were thoroughly enjoying how fast they could get it to go.
“I spent most of my efforts re-organising their work, unpicking stitches, re-threading the machine, and so on. My husband, Lee, helped the boys with the machine, and my six-year-old daughter was trimming the threads. My four-year old’s counting efforts consisted of throwing the bags in the air and hoping they’d land in some sort of pile. I was ironing them back into shape and hemming the tops with the help of my 11-year-old daughter, Rosa, and musing to myself that it would be so much quicker and easier for me just to do them myself.
“Just as I’d finished that thought, Rosa quietly whispered to me, ‘Mum, this is great seeing my prayers come true. I’m always praying that the poor will get what they need, and now I’m helping them too.’ My heart melted, and I was so grateful for every tiny hand and for every loving heart that was so willing and happy to help. I didn’t see the mess or chaos after that, just the love they each had for their fellowmen. I was reminded of how richly we are blessed as we reach out and serve, and how willing the Holy Ghost is to teach and mould us into a more Christlike version of ourselves as we do. And more than that, how incalculably valuable it is to teach these lessons to our children.”

Here Comes the Strikeout by Leonard Kessler Bobby could play baseball very well, for a beginner, even catching it sometimes—but he always struck out! Willie offered to let him wear his lucky hat, but it didn’t work. Then Willie helped him learn to hit. Bobby also learned that “Lucky hats won’t do it. Only hard work will do it.”

One day on the way to work I saw two young men preaching the word of God in the street. They stopped me and asked if I wanted to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the time, I didn’t know where my family was headed. We had no spiritual compass to find our way.
I had been drinking alcohol that morning, so I don’t remember much of what the missionaries told me. But they gave me a Book of Mormon and a pamphlet about the Prophet Joseph Smith, along with their phone number. Later that day, I started reading. Something touched my soul when I read the Book of Mormon, and I was amazed how a 14-year-old boy could have such a great vision.
I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.

When I was filling out my tithing slip, I noticed the words “Perpetual education.” I asked my mom what that meant. She said that you could donate money to help people in different countries get a good education. I decided to donate some money to help them. I am glad I can serve people in need!

When I got the call that I would be evacuated from my mission, I was upset and confused.
Several months before I was supposed to be released, the First Presidency decided to send me and several other missionaries home based on what I thought were only rumors of a possible international conflict. There wasn’t any evidence that anything was going to happen.
I didn’t think there was anything to worry about.
I had always wanted to serve a mission and had worked so hard to accomplish that goal. Money was tight, but I found a job that helped me earn enough to pay for my mission. When I opened my call, it felt so right, and I knew it came from God.
Then, because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned to a mission in Utah for nine months before I made it overseas to my original assignment. I was relieved and overjoyed to finally be where God had originally called me to be.
Then, after just a few months of being there, I was suddenly whisked away from the people and country that I loved. I felt like everything was being taken away from me.
I felt betrayed. I sincerely questioned whether this was an inspired choice.
Begrudgingly, I flew home to Texas. My evacuation was so unexpected that my dad and siblings weren’t even at the airport to welcome me home.
Just a few days after I left my mission, I was shocked when a dangerous conflict broke out close to where I had been serving. In that moment, I realized that following the prophet had kept me safe in a very real way. I was overcome with gratitude for the prophet and his inspiration.
I made a promise to myself that I would always heed what the prophet said, even if it didn’t make sense in the moment.

Darcey closed the door behind her. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading. She looked up and said, “You were supposed to be home by twelve.”
Darcey nodded mutely. The expression on her mother’s face told her she was in more trouble than she had been in years. Yet at that moment she felt only an overpowering sense of relief that made her want to run to her and tell her how good it was to be home.
But she could only stand there, her hair and clothes reeking of cigarette smoke and beer. She felt like a dead skunk.
They said nothing more. Her mother got up and turned off the kitchen light. Darcey went up to her room. She undressed, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling, wondering how she could have been so gullible. How could Wendy be like that, she thought.
When she woke up the next morning she was still exhausted, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. So she showered and dressed, then slipped out the front door and walked up the street to Wendy’s house. Wendy’s parents were on a trip to Seattle, so Darcey went around to the deck. Wendy inevitably forgot to lock the sliding glass doors when she got home. As she stepped inside the house, Darcey found Wendy slumped over the kitchen counter.
“Morning,” said Darcey.
Wendy stared and peered around at her, slowly bringing her hands up to her ears. “Not so loud,” she whispered, hoarsely.
“You look awful,” said Darcey.
“Just a hangover.”
Darcey took the car keys out of her pocket and placed them carefully on the counter.
“Thanks,” said Wendy. Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell, did you?”
Darcey shook her head.
“Yeah, my dad would kill me if he found out. You know, you tell your parents; they tell my parents; everybody gets into trouble over nothing.”
“Me, tell? I’m the one who got the ticket.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Wendy, this is serious. I’ve got to go to court. What am I supposed to say?”
“That we were in my crummy old Escort, and no harm done. Okay?”
Her voice had taken on a scolding tone. Darcey looked past her, at the design of the wallpaper on the far wall. When she looked back, Wendy had fallen asleep.
Darcey left her and went home, heading for her room. The car was all Wendy cared about now, and that had been the first really stupid lie of the whole evening. How could she have thought that Wendy really had permission to drive her father’s sports car. But make one lie believable and the rest fall right in line. Darcey had been told they were going to a party at Steve Margerson’s, but somehow they ended up in Schenectady at Union College.
“It’ll be great,” Wendy had insisted, over Darcey’s objections. “Besides, you’re in my car. So you’re stuck. Anyway, nobody’s going to make you do anything, and it’s about time you went to a real party, one that’s not for little kids. Besides, Glenn says they’re all really smart. You can talk about intelligent stuff with them.”
Yeah, Darcey thought bitterly, intelligent stuff. Wendy had told everybody that her brother Glenn—a Union College junior—had invited them. She had told them she was two years older than she was. She told lies the whole evening, while Darcey hid in a dark corner of the living room, losing her hearing to the blast of the stereo, nibbling on potato chips, and not daring to touch anything liquid.
Then in the momentary lull between songs, someone complained to Wendy, “I thought you said she’d be fun.”
“Oh.” Wendy had replied. “She’s the designated driver.”
At least they stopped trying to get her to drink after that. But by the time she had convinced Wendy to go home, she found herself with the responsibility of taxiing inebriated party-goers around uptown Schenectady.
She had finally headed home across the I-890 business loop, thankful that none of her passengers had thrown up on her. In fact, now, on a bright Saturday morning, with an empty stomach and a headache, she could have written the whole episode off as a learning experience—if only she hadn’t taken the Broadway exit.
Darcey sighed. Whatever was going to happen would happen. The one redeeming consequence of really messing up was that her parents would take a good long time figuring out a proper punishment.
At school on Monday, Mary McMacken rushed up to Darcey and said breathlessly, “You really went to a party at Union and got stopped for drunk driving?”
“I didn’t get stopped for drunk driving,” Darcey gasped. “Who told you that?”
Mary was taken aback. “Wendy,” she said. “Anyway, how was it? I mean, the party. Were there any neat guys there?”
“No!” Darcey replied, with a vehemence that stunned Mary into silence. And then she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she turned around and walked away.
But Darcey couldn’t get away from it. All of her friends were just as inquisitive—or for reasons Darcey could not understand—just as impressed. The day was almost over before she caught up with Wendy. “Hi, Darcey,” Wendy said, pleasantly.
“You said you weren’t going to tell,” Darcey burst out. “Everybody thinks I got stopped for drunk driving.”
Wendy shrugged. “It was a drunk-driving checkpoint, Darcey.”
“I wasn’t drunk!”
“So what? For once in your life you’re actually an interesting person. I was only doing you a favor.”
“I don’t want to be an interesting person,” said Darcey, biting her lip, knowing she hadn’t said what she meant.
“Darcey,” Wendy said in an exasperated, condescending tone of voice, “I mean, sometimes you can be a real, uh, oh, forget it.” Wendy briskly walked away.
Wendy’s words stung all the more because Darcey knew that for a brief moment the party had sounded daring and exciting. But all she wanted now was to be her uninteresting old self.
Darcey threw her books on her bed. Then suddenly she caught her breath. The room was clean, too clean. Of course, it was wash day. She quickly rushed downstairs, into the kitchen, around the corner, down to the basement. She stopped before reaching the last step.
Her mother glanced over her shoulder at her while folding towels. “How was school today, Darcey?”
Instead of answering, she sort of nodded. She turned around and went back to her room.
When her mother came in Darcey didn’t look up. Her mother sat on the bed next to her. She took a folded slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to her.
Darcey took the ticket glumly.
“Darcey,” said her mother, choosing her words very carefully, “I know it must seem like your father and I go to great lengths thinking up reasons to discipline you. But we have very vivid imaginations, and we inevitably imagine the worst that could have happened. What we really want to know is that you’re all right.”
Darcey turned to her mother, and the tears came. She explained what had happened, about driving home, the checkpoint at the Broadway exit, and the police. She’d had to do all those things she’d only seen before on TV—walking along a line on the pavement, touching her nose with her fingertips, trying to convince the police she wasn’t drunk. And she hadn’t had her purse with her, so she didn’t have her driver’s license.
After what had seemed an interminable conversation with his sergeant, the officer handed her the ticket and said, “Driving without a license. Court date’s in two weeks. Bring a parent or guardian.”
The whole time Wendy had staggered about shouting, “Darcey, c’mon. Let’s go home. Darcey, I wanna go.” The officer had escorted Wendy to the car, buckled her in and said, “Don’t let her have the keys.”
This episode would have to go down in Darcey’s life as an unapproachable low in her definition of personal humiliation.
Two weeks later she was in court as the bailiff called her name. Darcey and her father approached the bench. The judge examined her file briefly and then turned to his clerk and said, “Mel, there’s an attachment here.”
The clerk shuffled through his papers and came up with a torn, half-sheet from a legal pad. He handed it to the judge, who read it and said, “Well, young lady. It seems we have some extenuating circumstances here. Let me see. The car belonged to your friend and she had driven you both to the party where a bit of drinking was going on—against the law for someone of your age, I might add.”
“Yes, sir,” said Darcey, wondering how he had known all that.
The judge saw her expression and held up the paper. “Note from the officer on the scene. Well, next time you might consider a taxi. The court appreciates the reasons you drove without a license, but ends don’t justify the means. Nevertheless, I don’t think we have an actionable offense here. Though I might suggest to your father here that a month or two wouldn’t be too long a time for your driving privileges, being what they may, to be suspended. And if you haven’t taken your defensive driving course yet, I will have the court require it.” He banged his gavel on the table and said, “Case dismissed. Next case.”
“Well, let’s go,” Darcey’s father said simply.
To her dismay, Darcey’s father took the judge’s advice seriously. She went six weeks without driving.
As for Wendy, no one told. Not Darcey, not her parents. But a week after the incident Wendy’s father found a crushed beer can under the front seat of his car, and it was a brand he never touched. The cat pretty much worked its way out of the bag after that and Wendy ended up being grounded for a million years.
And everybody agreed that it didn’t make her a more interesting person at all.

Jennifer sat up sleepily in her bed and pushed the flowered curtains away from the frosty window. Rubbing a small spot clear with her fist, she peeked out and saw the drifting snowflakes. “It’s finally snowing!” she declared. “Now it seems like Christmas.”
She climbed out of bed, rushed to the closet, and pulled out her velvet dress. Mother had said that just this once she could wear it to school for the Christmas party. As she tugged the beautiful dress over her head, Jennifer’s thoughts skipped ahead to school and the party. First there would be a whole morning of spelling, arithmetic, and reading. How can I stand it until one o’clock? she wondered. She shivered with anticipation as she adjusted the lacy collar and sleeves on her dress.
“You look like you’re ready for a party,” Mother said when Jennifer came into the kitchen.
“I am,” she agreed. “The Christmas party!”
“You look lovely, Jenny, but you’d better hurry now and eat your breakfast. The bus will be here soon.”
The school bus rumbled to a stop in front of Jennifer’s house. She climbed aboard and sat next to Sally.
“What do you think we’ll do at the party this afternoon?” Sally asked. “Do you think there will be games and prizes?”
“Oh, I hope so. I just can’t wait!” Jennifer bubbled.
The girls entered their classroom just as the clanging bell signaled nine o’clock. Four more hours until the party!
Every few minutes throughout the morning, Jennifer glanced up at the round clock above the chalkboard—ten o’clock, eleven-thirty; at last it was time for lunch.
When the children returned to their classroom, red and green crepe paper streamed down from the ceiling, and bright signs proclaimed MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY HOLIDAYS. At the back of the room a table was loaded with candy, cupcakes, and punch.
“First we’ll play pin the star on the Christmas tree,” Miss Brewster announced. Blindfolded and equipped with a paper star and pin, each of the children tried to place his star at the very top of the green paper tree. Next they played musical chairs to the tune of Christmas carols.
“Now we’re going to play a word game,” Miss Brewster said. Jennifer glanced over at Jeff who was sitting in the next row. She and Jeff were the best spellers in their class—one of them was sure to win the word game.
“When I say ‘go’ write as many words as you can think of that can be made from the letters in MERRY CHRISTMAS,” Miss Brewster explained as she handed out sheets of paper. “These drawing pencils and this sketch pad will go to the person who has the longest list.”
Jennifer gazed longingly at the rainbow of pencils and the creamy colored sketch pad Miss Brewster was holding. What fun it would be to take the pencils and pad out into the woods and draw the brown squirrels. The green pencil is just the color of the spruce trees and the red would be perfect for drawing poinsettias. I just have to win! she thought determinedly.
“Miss Brewster, what if there’s a tie?” Sally asked.
“Then both winners will receive a box of pencils and a sketch pad. Now it’s time to begin. You have fifteen minutes. Ready? Go!”
Jennifer began writing: sit, sat, miss, rim, tear, and on down the page. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jeff writing furiously, never pausing. Jennifer forced her thoughts back to her own list. She had twenty-four words now—mist, hat, hit, ham, tire. A slight noise attracted her attention. Jeff had turned his paper over and was writing on the back! She had to hurry. Yam, ram, mast, hi, tie—forty-nine words. How many does Jeff have? she wondered. Looking up, their eyes met. Jeff’s confident grin spurred her on. Sir, him, tam, rite, cast, tar, she scribbled, her mind racing. Sixty-two words. Surely I’ll win, she thought with assurance.
“Time’s up,” Miss Brewster said. “Put your papers on by desk. You may help yourselves to punch and cupcakes while I find out who our winner is.”
Jennifer nibbled nervously at her cupcake as she watched Miss Brewster check the lists. “All right, boys and girls. We have a winner!” she announced. “Our grand champion word maker for today is …”
The moment’s pause seemed to stretch on for hours as Jennifer waited to hear her name.
“Jeff Mason! Congratulations, Jeff. I hope you’ll enjoy the prize.”
Jennifer turned away, blinking back the tears that flooded her eyes.
“Jennifer,” Miss Brewster called gently.
Jennifer turned around, her head down, her face hidden.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t have been a winner too,” Miss Brewster said, “for you and Jeff almost tied. He had just one more word than you did.”
“Only one more?” Jennifer asked in disbelief. “Then I could have tied with him. I could have won the other set of pencils except, except—” she broke off, her voice faltering.
“Except what, Jennifer?”
Jennifer looked up, a wistful smile brightening her face.
“I thought of one more word, but I just couldn’t use it. Christmas is such a happy season, so full of love. I just couldn’t make hate out of MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

Sister Bednar and I are acquainted with a returned missionary who had dated a special young woman for a period of time. He cared for her very much, and he was desirous of making his relationship with her more serious. He was considering and hoping for engagement and marriage. This relationship was developing during the time that President Hinckley counseled the Relief Society sisters and young women of the Church to wear only one earring in each ear.

The young man waited patiently over a period of time for the young woman to remove her extra earrings, but she did not take them out. This was a valuable piece of information for this young man, and he felt unsettled about her nonresponsiveness to a prophet’s pleading. For this and other reasons, he ultimately stopped dating the young woman, because he was looking for an eternal companion who had the courage to promptly and quietly obey the counsel of the prophet in all things and at all times. The young man was quick to observe that the young woman was not quick to observe.

I presume that some of you might have difficulty with my last example. You may believe the young man was too judgmental or that basing an eternally important decision, even in part, upon such a supposedly minor issue is silly or fanatical. Perhaps you are bothered because the example focuses upon a young woman who failed to respond to prophetic counsel instead of upon a young man. I simply invite you to consider and ponder the power of being quick to observe and what was actually observed in the case I just described. The issue was not earrings!

Another mother read gospel stories to her children from a young, formative age. Once, as she read of the crucifixion of the Savior, her two-and-a-half-year-old son sobbed. She realized that he was a spiritually sensitive child. Through the years that child has become a righteous, disciplined young man who loves the Lord and keeps His commandments. Profanity, so prevalent today, is particularly offensive to him. As he shuns it and other evils, he is criticized for being too “churchy.” While it is difficult now, as he continues his resolve to be righteous, he will become a powerfully strong husband, father, and leader.

One day the three of them took Old Brownie and Belle and went up City Creek Canyon for a jag of firewood. As soon as they’d found a good place to stop and load up, Pa had Jeremy unhitch the team so that they could graze while the wagon was loaded.
“There,” said Pa, when the wagon was full. “That’ll do it for this trip. Hitch the horses back to the wagon, Jeremy, while Brose and I fasten the chain around the load to keep any logs from falling off.”
“Let me hook up the horses, Pa!” cried Brose. “I can do it, honest! I watched you and Jere do it every day, coming across the plains! Let me hook ‘em up, Pa!”
Pa hesitated, then said, “All right, Brose. Don’t forget to fasten the crosslines, so you can drive the team together without their trying to go off in all directions.”
“So you can drive them!” That’s what Pa said! Maybe, if I hook ‘em up just right, thought Brose, Pa’ll let me drive all the way home!
Brose didn’t have any trouble leading the horses into place. Brownie stepped right over the wagon tongue into her place while Belle stood quietly waiting on the other side. Then, just as Pa had cautioned, Brose fastened the crosslines, snapping the one from Belle’s harness onto the ring on Brownie’s bit, and the other onto the ring on Belle’s bridle.
Next he took the wide leather strap on the front of Brownie’s harness, slipped it through the big ring on the end of the yoke, and fastened the snap to the ring on the other side of the harness. “There! That was just the way Jeremy would have done it,” Brose murmured, pleased. He fastened the strap on Belle’s harness to the yoke the same way. Then he took the driving line from where Jeremy had hung it on Brownie’s hame and threw it ever so gently over Belle’s back, just the way Pa would have done it—quiet, easy, so as not to frighten the team.
When he walked around to put Belle’s line with the other, Brose heard a bird call. It was a new sound, something like a meadowlark’s, yet different. It was more like that little brown bird he used to hear back in Connecticut before the family had come west. Maybe it was! Maybe that very same little brown bird had followed him, Ambrose Dodd, all the way to the Valley!
Brose didn’t know how long he had listened to the bird before he saw Pa and Jeremy. They had walked a little way down the canyon and had stopped, waiting for him.
Brose was to bring the team and wagon! He was going to drive! He climbed up onto the seat, picked up both of the lines, and slapped them against Brownie’s side, just as Pa would have done.
“Giddap!” he cried, loud enough for Pa and Jeremy and the horses to hear. The horses stepped forward. But the wagon did not move. Only the yoke went with the team, the ring on it sliding off the end of the wagon tongue and the lines slipping through Brose’s hands.
Jeremy ran toward him just as the wagon tongue banged to the ground. “Brose!” he called. “Hey, Brose! You forgot the wagon! It won’t move unless you hitch the tugs!”
Brose couldn’t move. How could he have been so dumb! How could he possibly have forgotten about the tugs?
Jeremy reached out and took the lines and drove the team around in a little circle, putting the team right in place. Brose came out of his daze and scurried around to pick up the end of the tongue and slip it through the ring of the yoke, which was still fastened to the horses.
Jeremy was just hooking the last tug to the doubletree when Pa came. Brose watched Pa climb over the front wheel and take his place on the front of the load. Pa reached for the lines, and Jeremy handed them up to him. Pa took them without a word, and Brose knew that he had lost another chance.

Now let’s meet the Singh sisters from India. Renu, on the far right, the first of five sisters to join the Church, shared these thoughts:
“Before I started investigating the Church, I didn’t really feel that I was very special. I was just one of many people, and my society and culture didn’t really teach me that I had any value as an individual. When I learned the gospel and learned that I was a daughter of our Heavenly Father, it changed me. Suddenly I felt so special—God had actually created me and had created my soul and my life with value and purpose.
“Before I had the gospel in my life, I was always trying to prove to others that I was someone special. But when I learned the truth, that I am a daughter of God, I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. I knew that I was special. … Don’t ever think that you are nothing.”

When I was a baby, I was baptized into the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. Growing up, the fact that I never made the choice to be baptized unsettled me. I started to think that religion didn’t allow me the freedom to choose for myself.
So I eventually stopped believing in God or anything spiritual.
One day, I was talking to my friend who was in Czechia doing a study program affiliated with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She invited me to do the program too. I wasn’t interested originally, but after a while, I decided to check it out.
I liked the school’s overall message of positivity, so I gave in and applied.
But I had no interest in the program’s focus on Jesus Christ.
Or so I thought.
This academy made me live differently than I was used to. First, I learned that I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee on campus!
My freedom was already slipping through my fingers.
Along with that, every morning started with a mandatory devotional. I would mostly sleep through them because I wasn’t interested. I was just there to learn and then live my life the way I wanted to.
But after a while, I noticed the people around me who were taking Jesus Christ’s teachings seriously. In Ukraine, many people only went to church a few times a year, but here, everyone was always talking about Christ. They were kind, good, and positive about life.
I started to wonder what my life would be like if I believed in Him too. Sometimes I even caught myself thinking, “What would Jesus’s perspective be?”
I felt confused. I told one of my friends at the academy about how I was feeling torn. He invited me to try praying about my feelings.
On one foggy morning, I decided to find a quiet place to meditate outside. I don’t know what came over me, but instead of meditating, I gave God the benefit of the doubt. I said, “OK, let’s talk.”
And I said the longest prayer of my life.
I just wanted to know if God and Jesus Christ were real.
As I was praying, the sun pierced through the fog. I felt its warmth on my skin and warmth in my heart. I felt like someone’s hand was on my shoulder, telling me They were right there with me.
The message was clear: They were real. They were aware of me.
I also realized something else.
Looking at those who were living the gospel of Jesus Christ, I didn’t see anybody being forced to do things they didn’t want to do or feeling restricted by their faith. I saw them choosing to live like Jesus Christ because they wanted to.
In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Moroni extends his promise through an invitation, not a command: “If ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
I realized I wanted to choose Him too.
From then on, I took learning about Jesus Christ seriously. I accepted missionary lessons. I studied the Book of Mormon. I prayed every day. I even got baptized! (My choice this time!) This was all so new to me, but I felt my heart changing.
I still have a lot to learn, and I am so imperfect, but I always say to myself, “Let’s just try to be like Christ today. Just keep trying.”
Elder Joaquin E. Costa of the Seventy beautifully taught: “At times, having faith in Jesus Christ may seem like something impossible, almost unattainable. We may think that coming unto Christ requires a strength, power, and perfection we don’t have, and we just can’t find the energy to do it all. But … faith in Jesus Christ is what gives us the energy to begin the journey.”
Jesus Christ can change us if we give Him the chance and keep trying. He doesn’t limit our freedom. Instead, He offers us even more through His Atonement: joy, healing, and hope.
We have the freedom to choose Him every day, and I’m grateful for the miracles my choice to follow Him brings into my life.
The author is from Kyiv, Ukraine.

Again, faith overcame doubt, and thousands were baptized. In England, Elder Wilford Woodruff found an entire community awaiting his arrival. The Spirit of the Lord fell upon them, and he baptized 45 preachers and several hundred members during his first month at Benbow farm.

The third week of every month we hold a special home evening for a large group of ward members who come to my home. But one night was a particularly memorable one for everyone involved.
Our group of “regulars” consists of widows, widowers, recent converts, new move-ins, and others. We have something to eat, good conversation, and what we have come to call our “sharing time”—when one or two people tell the rest of us about their lives and let us get to know them better.
We had all been particularly eager to get to know one older brother and his newly converted wife and wanted to include them in our family home evenings. But although they always came to church, it seemed they could never come to our monthly gathering. As a result, I was really happy one week when they said they would join us.
Then, the evening before our gathering, this brother telephoned. My heart sank when I heard his voice, and I teasingly said, “Don’t tell me you are going to turn us down again and not come!” Laughingly he responded, “Wait until you hear why we can’t make it this time. The bishop called me this afternoon and said I’ve been cleared for rebaptism.”
I had always assumed that he was a member in full fellowship in the Church and was thrilled to hear the news. He continued to tell me that the wait had been long and painful for him. “You just can’t imagine what this means to me,” he said. “I want to be baptized immediately. The ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow.” I expressed disappointment that none of us could attend because of our planned home evening, but wished him well.
But when the next evening arrived, a telephone call with the frantic voice of our bishop’s wife on the other end interrupted our evening’s preparations. The bishop, a doctor, had been called to the hospital for an emergency, she explained. To make matters worse, the ward mission leader had been called out of town on business. The brother to be baptized was waiting at the chapel with a few members of his family.
While the bishop’s wife tried to contact the stake president, my husband explained to our home evening group, “No one is at the chapel but the man’s family,” he said. “Would you all be willing to go to the chapel and support this brother in this important event of his life?”
His words filled our hearts with the Spirit. We quickly drove to the chapel to meet a worried stake president. As we took our seats, a strong spirit filled the room, so much so that tears began filling everyone’s eyes. When the brother to be baptized walked out and saw all of the tearful, smiling faces—full of support and love for him—he whispered, “I just knew everything was going to turn out all right and that you were all going to be here.”
What followed was a powerful, beautiful meeting I’m sure none of us will ever forget. When it was over, we congratulated our newly baptized brother and said, “We love you.” He hugged us, weeping openly. We returned to our home evening and enjoyed a profoundly spiritual night together, bearing testimonies of baptism, repentance, and the wonders of the gospel.

My struggle with pornography began during my youth, when others introduced me to inappropriate materials and behaviors. The gospel was not a major part of my life then. Although my family had attended church through my Primary years, by the time I was 13 or 14, we stopped going altogether. As a result, the teachings of the gospel did not really play a role in my decision making.
It never occurred to me to tell my parents what neighbors and so-called friends were introducing me to. I was too embarrassed to bring up what I had seen and experienced. I had no idea how to deal with it. For decades to come, my pornography addiction would remain my secret.

Melissa got her first credit card when she went away to college. Her parents, who helped her apply for the card, told her it was for emergency use only. At first, Melissa followed that advice closely, usually consulting her parents before she made any purchases on the card.
“At first, I didn’t use my card all that much,” she says. “The problem was, my parents didn’t really explain how credit worked. In fact, I saw my mom use her credit card all the time to buy things at the store. She never thought to tell me that she only bought things she knew she could pay for in full every month when the bill came.”
Married while she was still in college, Melissa and her husband soon longed for the comfortable lifestyle they had enjoyed at home with their parents.
“We felt that we deserved most of the things we purchased with our credit card. We never stopped to consider if we could afford it.”
Soon Melissa and her husband were charging necessities like groceries and gas for the car on credit cards because all their available cash was used up paying the minimum balance on several credit cards. Finally things were so bad that Melissa sought help from her parents.
“It was really embarrassing to have to go to my dad and tell him what we had done. We were really lucky that my dad was in a position to help us.”
But even with help and new knowledge about how credit works, it hasn’t been an easy road, says Melissa. In addition to having to check in with her dad for several months after he bailed them out, paying the loan back to her father has meant several years of a very restrictive budget. But Melissa says the sacrifice has been worth it.
“I felt like I was in prison before. Now, even though I don’t have as much money to spend, I feel a real sense of freedom. Getting out of debt is worth whatever it takes.”

Missionary work was the theme of the annual Pioneer Day parade on July 24, 1880 celebrating the entry of the pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley. On suggestion of President Taylor, “a man and a woman, dressed in native costume, represented each country; the colors and the name of the nation represented where the missionaries of the Church had labored.”
After the parade these nationalities, numbering 25, sat on a platform in front of the pulpit in the Tabernacle for the holiday program.

One Friday morning I put on my pink flowered dress, made my lunch, and went to activity day. We were going to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple.
At the visitors’ center at the temple we watched a movie about baptism. After that we heard a talk about how we can live with Heavenly Father someday and be together forever as a family. Later we walked around the temple grounds. I thought they were beautiful.
After that, we had a picture taken while standing in front of the temple. Then we had lunch and fed the ducks and squirrels. Soon we had to leave. I want to live worthily so I can go to the temple someday.Charlotte Widdison, age 9Pocatello, Idaho

By the time Jeff was missionary age, Bishop Chambers had been called as the stake president. But the new bishop, David Nye, had already heard from Jeff, who wanted his opportunity to serve, too. President Chambers and Bishop Nye arranged for Jeff to work one day each week in the cafeteria of the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. In addition, Jeff was called to serve with his brother as an usher, and they were encouraged to study their scriptures together.
Both young men check in regularly with their bishop, and from time to time with their stake president, to report on their progress. That progress has been magnificent.
The young men are enthusiastic about their callings and greet everyone they meet with a handshake and a smile. In return, they are greeted with friendship and kindness. Everybody in their home ward, as well as in the Riverside Singles Branch, which meets in the same building—in fact, just about everybody in the stake—recognizes the Balls brothers and knows about their special assignments. Lots of children in the stake remember Jacob as one of the special teachers who helped them learn about baptism and confirmation. And every Wednesday, Jeff’s mother Denise makes the one-hour drive to the temple so Jeff can spend the afternoon working in the cafeteria.
There, Jeff has made friends with cafeteria workers and temple patrons alike. He gathers up dishes and helps serve food, and yes, he loves to eat the meal he is provided, especially the slice of pie. But his number-one accomplishment, he says, is to help people feel happy. It’s something Jeff does in the house of the Lord, and something both Jacob and Jeff do in the ward, branch, and stake where they serve.