Gospel Story Finder

I wanted to do service in our ward and began by praying to know how I could serve. The answer didn’t come right away, but a few days later, I had the idea of doing a day of babysitting so mothers could go Christmas shopping or take the day off with their husbands.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me know whom I should ask. I had four families accept my offer. My friend Emily and my sister, Hannah, helped me babysit all the kids.
I learned that service can be fun if you make it fun and find things you can do. Now I want to do another service for the same mothers so they can go to the temple three hours away, but I need to work out the details.
Sarah S., Arkansas, USA

One woman, Kelly, was so touched by the opportunity to buy items for teens and children that she told her member friend, “This idea is so unbelievably awesome! Everyone needs to know about these machines!” Kelly posted about the experience on her Facebook page. She became an incredible advocate for the Giving Machine initiative, prompting five families in her neighborhood to visit a Giving Machine kiosk, as well as family members in three different cities to visit their local Giving Machine kiosks.

Caroline is a holder of a PathwayConnect certificate and has had to pause her studies to allow for the birth of their second baby a few months ago. “I will pick up again this coming September; I have already enrolled,” she said. Looking back on her journey through PathwayConnect, Caroline says, “The journey was not easy because we have many things that we need to accomplish as mothers. However, with faith and lessons from BYU–PathwayConnect, I forged ahead and finished PathwayConnect. Weekly devotionals were the daily drive to keep me moving on. Meeting my fellow students during weekly gatherings and getting to hear their experiences built me and encouraged me. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father for help and strength so that I could accomplish my studies.”

I found $20 on the floor of my classroom. I thought of all the things I could buy with $20, but then I remembered a story in the Friend about a boy who found a wallet at recess and turned it in to the lost and found. I gave the money to my teacher, and she gave me candy for being honest. The best part was the feeling I had inside. It was the Holy Ghost telling me I did the right thing. I know the Church is true, and I always want to be honest so I can be a missionary someday.

Weeks had passed since my adult daughter had moved to a new city, and each Sunday that she missed church brought me the same concerns. Would she ever return to church? I tried everything I could think of to get her there: encouragement, logic, pleading, acting as her personal alarm clock, prayer, fasting, even calling her bishop. Since we lived 2,000 miles (3,220 km) apart, it was difficult for me to attend with her, but I even tried that!
I continually imagined that if I could just tweak the situation a little, my daughter would reestablish her spiritual trajectory. I felt I just needed the right person—her visiting teacher, her bishop, a friend or family member—to be placed in her path to say or do just the thing that would steer her back. But nothing was working. My head spun with worry, and my heart filled with guilt and anguish that I had failed her as a parent.
My daughter has not yet returned to church. But our goals are clear; we are both working to stay close. We talk frequently, and I know her LDS upbringing has helped her to become kind, disciplined, and thoughtful. While I would never have chosen for her to take the path she is currently traveling, I am grateful for the lessons we are learning along the way. And I have found peace as I embrace our unique positions in our journeys back home.

One night during my freshman year of college in 1989–90, a good friend of mine and I stayed up late studying for exams.
Suddenly, Matt asked me a question that would become one of the defining moments of my life. “What does your church think God is like? I mean, what do you think He looks like?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. Being sensitive to my circumstance, he gently let the matter drop. But I couldn’t forget it. I was in an extraordinary position: I was a Protestant attending Brigham Young University, and though I had doubts about my own faith and religion in general, I had no intention of changing religions. Instead, for the entire year I had carefully barricaded myself spiritually by deflecting religious conversation. With this simple question, my friend had at last succeeded in opening a tiny breach into my heart.
Over the next several months, I asked myself repeatedly, “What do I believe? More important, do I believe? Is there really a God, and, if so, what is He like? Could I come to know Him? Would He answer my prayers? Could I have faith like my Latter-day Saint friends do?”
It was not that I hadn’t had opportunities to consider such probing questions before; for years some of my best friends were LDS. These friendships had led me to attend BYU. But almost always I had pushed away their gospel overtures. The few times I had met with the missionaries, I didn’t listen with an open mind.
I was too afraid of the changes that would be required, changes that might socially and emotionally isolate me from my family. I was unwilling to believe that I had been wrong or that my traditions were incorrect. I did not believe that I could receive revelation from God or even that others could receive it. It seemed preposterous, illogical, and even strange that God would appear to the boy Joseph Smith, that He would reveal new scripture, and that only one religion had received the divine guidance for its establishment as the true Church.
Ironically, I doubted the authenticity of all religions, including my own. While I had a heart filled with love for family and friends, a heart that longed for answers, when it came to the whisperings of the Spirit, I had a heart of stone.
After my freshman year I returned home to Kentucky to continue my education. My Latter-day Saint friends soon left to serve missions, and I felt a profound loneliness at their absence. I wanted to have some of the conviction that had inspired them to offer two years of their lives. At the same time, I was continually bothered that I still had no answer to Matt’s question. I wanted to know truths for myself. At last, after many letters from my friends encouraging me to meet with the missionaries, I overcame my trepidation and accepted.
Nevertheless, I had reservations regarding the idea that the various principles of the gospel were interconnected into one unified whole. The missionaries believed that since their message, in its entirety, was either all true or all false, once I gained a testimony of one principle, I could naturally accept all their teachings.
I did not believe them. I thought it was acceptable to pick and choose what I wanted to believe from a sort of spiritual and doctrinal smorgasbord. At the same time, my logic demanded empirical evidence as proof, not faith-based conversion.
Unfortunately, my logic also left me unhappy and dissatisfied. All philosophical arguments I considered were competing postulates of pessimism that provided no real answers. I desired something more, something that would commune with my heart the way my friends and the missionaries described communing with the Holy Ghost. I participated in the missionary discussions in hopes that I might come to know what they said was true or, at the very least, gain some satisfaction in learning it was false.
The missionaries were patient yet bold. Over the course of several months, they taught me many discussions and invited me to be baptized a number of times, but I always said no. I was waiting for some obvious and miraculous event that would provide me with a witness before I was willing to accept their invitation. I didn’t receive that kind of witness, so I kept stonewalling their invitations.
One day the elders read a passage from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6). Then they said, “Josh, every time we invite you to be baptized, you say no. What you have to do is say yes, and then the Spirit will confirm it to you.”
In other words, I had not yet received a witness because I had not yet tried my faith. I had taken no thought but to ask, believing I would receive without trying (see D&C 9:7). I had effectively blocked the Spirit from being able to witness to me because I was unwilling to take the next step. What I needed to do was to take a leap of faith into the darkness before the light would shine. The confirming witness would come after I tried my faith, not before.
My first thought was that the missionaries were manipulating me to get me baptized. Then it occurred to me that at the precise moment when I answered no to the baptismal invitation, something faint left my heart. It was a still, soft, and subtle feeling of peace urging me to follow the missionaries’ counsel, but I had not recognized its presence until it was gone, leaving me confused, unhappy, and sorrowful.
I wondered if this faint feeling could be the Spirit leaving me and if the cause of my confusion was my own hard heart pushing Him away. With no other recourse, I decided to try the missionaries’ challenge. I would say yes to the inevitable invitation, and then if I felt the Spirit as they promised me, I would go through with the baptism. On the other hand, if I did not feel the Spirit, I was perfectly prepared to tell the missionaries I was just joking.
The evening of our next appointment we watched a new Church video, The Prodigal Son. There was a special feeling in the room; the missionaries were visibly touched, tears welling in their eyes.
After the movie ended, we read several passages in the scriptures. At last Elder Critchfield turned to me and asked, “Josh, will you be baptized on Saturday, November 10, at 4:00 in the afternoon?”
I hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”
The Spirit hit me with such an electrifying presence that the hairs on my arms rose, and I nearly cried. There could be no doubt that light had shone into the darkness. I had tested my faith, and I knew unequivocally that I had to be baptized.
I had gained a testimony of the goodness of one seed of faith, but I had yet to see it grow to fruition (see Alma 32:35–36), and I had not yet received a confirming witness of other gospel principles. My trial of faith was not yet over.
Not long after I was baptized and confirmed, doubts crept into my mind. I felt conflicted between the very personal experience I had had when deciding to get baptized and my old logic, which did not accept faith-based knowledge.
Soon I again felt the haunting feelings of confusion and sorrow, and I did not know what to believe. Nevertheless, I had made a commitment, and I determined to remain active in the Church and apply the principles I had been taught until the trial of my faith resolved my conflict one way or another.
The Lord did not leave me to wander alone. I was given a calling to serve with the missionaries, and as we went proselytizing each week, the missionaries continued to shepherd me. My home teachers were faithful. My home teaching companion was prompt and consistent. Many ward members developed friendships with me by involving me in their lives, inviting me into their homes for dinners and for family home evenings. They prayed with and for me. The bishop and his family cared for and encouraged me. I could sense the honest intentions of their hearts, and that strengthened my resolve.
One day, some months later, it dawned on me that every time I read the Book of Mormon, I felt a subtle, familiar feeling of peace, much as I had felt during the discussions and baptismal invitations. I had a sudden moment of clarity: this was the Spirit. As I thought the words—“If this is the Spirit, then this book must be true”—that subtle feeling swelled in my heart, and my faith turned to spiritual knowledge of that principle.
As my heart continued to become more “broken” and my spirit more “contrite” (see Ether 4:15), other confirming experiences followed. In time my doubts were replaced by convictions. I knew that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, not by my own intellect or by the persuasions of others, but by the undeniable presence of the Spirit speaking to my spirit. Precept upon precept opened to my mind (see 2 Nephi 28:30). As these confirming experiences built upon each other, my perceptions of the gospel expanded, and spiritual understanding came more quickly. Each experience required diligence, a willingness to listen and to follow, and a desire to yield to the enticings of the Spirit (see Mosiah 3:19).
I can say today that the gospel is true, for I have learned this for myself. Once the gospel seemed strange and illogical; now it is familiar and wonderful to me. The gospel principles are indeed all interconnected in one great whole. Even with relatively limited doctrinal knowledge, as a missionary I could testify of these truths. As my doctrinal knowledge expands, so does my testimony.
My collective testimony works as a carefully forged and constantly nourished bulwark against adversity. It sustains me through the challenges I face, most particularly the efforts of the evil one to sow seeds of doubt regarding things I have already received answers about (see D&C 6:22–23). When I feel weak, when doubts come, when pain lingers, I apply the same pattern that has yielded fruit from the first day I received a testimony: I reflect upon each testimony-building experience I have received, I reinvigorate my practice of the principles I have been taught, and I pay attention as the Spirit reaffirms my faith.
The gospel is true, all of it, and it is open to all who will, in the humility of their hearts, try their faith by taking a step of faith into the darkness. The Savior’s light is there, hidden only by our unwillingness to find it. There may be many dark times in our lives or times when our testimonies are challenged. I discovered that the Savior’s illumination awaits us when we willingly seek Him, and that illumination, if we seek it continually, leads us unto conversion.

Transfusion number six is entitled “Perseverance” and comes from a Polish girl, Marie Sklodowska, who married the French physicist Pierre Curie. For many years they worked together in an old abandoned leaky shed without funds and without outside encouragement or help, trying to isolate radium from a low-grade uranium ore called pitchblende. And after their 487th experiment had failed, Pierre threw up his hands in despair and said, “It will never be done. Maybe in a hundred years, but never in my day.” Marie confronted him with a resolute face and said, “If it takes a hundred years, it will be a pity, but I will not cease to work for it as long as I live.”

The cooperative effort of both priesthood and Relief Society in these councils continues to be a significant factor in successful ward and stake welfare services operations. Such cooperation was exemplified recently when a flood swept over many of the homes in an Ogden, Utah, stake. The stake president reported, “The stake Relief Society president didn’t wait for me to go to her. She came to me first.”
At his direction, she mobilized the sisters and obtained food for the victims and their rescuers. She quickly set up serving areas in mobile “kitchens” improvised in vans and station wagons, taking hot, home-cooked food to the actual work sites. As the flood waters receded, men and women worked together to clean muddy walls and floors.

Sam Stewart builds temples. Their spires do not rise majestically above busy freeways or green hilltops, but above the floor of the Stewart family room in Henderson, Nevada. Their walls are not hewn from fine granite but cut from plain brown cardboard boxes. Yet these knee-high models somehow capture the majesty of real temples.
Sam (11) hopes to design real temples someday. Architects (people who design buildings) must have an artistic flair, and Sam does. His mom first discovered his talent when he was just three years old. She walked into his room and was astonished to see pictures of dinosaurs all over the walls. On the one hand, she didn’t feel that bedroom walls were quite the right place for drawing dinosaurs. On the other hand, they were drawn so well! She suggested that Sam use paper next time, but the already-hatched reptiles were left to roam the walls.
Cardboard replaced paper as the young artist’s favorite surface when he was nine years old. The family was reading about putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). There were cardboard boxes lying around because the Stewarts were sending packages to Sam’s brothers who were on missions. The boxes and the armor collided in Sam’s mind, and he began constructing a cardboard “shield of faith.” After he finished it, he shaped a “sword of the Spirit” out of wood.
About this time, Sam began to feel a strong attachment to the nearby Las Vegas Nevada Temple. At first he appreciated it simply because it was beautiful. But as he learned more about the purpose of temples, he came to love it for the blessings it brings to people’s lives. This interest soon grew to include all the temples of the Church. Sam began filling a binder with pictures of the world’s temples and a file with diagrams and information about their design, history, and construction. By the time he had filled the binder, he knew that he wanted to build temples of stone someday. In the meantime, he would build temples of cardboard.
With boxes, a pair of scissors, a hot-glue gun, and a ruler, he created a faithful scale model of the Las Vegas Temple. It was astonishingly good. No one taught him how to build cardboard temples. He invented the craft as he went along.
Next came his version of the historic Nauvoo Illinois Temple, which was then being rebuilt. The family read all they could find about the project as Sam raised his cardboard walls. He drew the sunstones and other carvings onto the surface with a pen. The Manti Temple and the Preston England Temple followed. Then Sam started working on his masterpiece—the Salt Lake Temple, crafted in far greater detail than the others. This project has taken a year so far and is not yet finished. Once it’s completed, he plans to build models of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the Portland Oregon Temple.
Sam doesn’t just build temples; he studies them, too. He learned so much about the stone carvings on the Nauvoo Temple that his dad invited him to explain their meaning to the temple preparation class he teaches. Sam has also given family home evening lessons on temple architecture to several families in the ward.
He is not shy about sharing his love of temples with his friends from other religions. They like to watch him build, and as he works he quizzes them about temple facts. By now they know all the answers.
Working on temples doesn’t fill all of Sam’s time. He is an excellent student who studies hard because he knows that to be an architect he must be good at math and get good grades. He enjoys sports, including skiing, baseball, and soccer. He especially loves the outdoors and the beauties of nature. He is always eager to visit his family’s cabin in the mountains of Utah.
Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”
“Sam wants to understand things spiritually,” his dad comments. “He prays. He reads the scriptures. He asks a lot of difficult questions—the kind that parents don’t always know how to answer. He’s made me a better person just being around him.”
His mom adds, “He has a clear vision of what’s right and wrong, and he’s strong in doing what’s right. He wants to make people happy. If I’m down, he knows it, and he’ll cheer me up.”
This builder of temples is also helping to build a happy family.

Eegik Tuchiak felt the chill of the icy Alaskan wind through his parka as the snowmobile sped across the coastal plain. Even scrunching close behind his father in the seat ahead did not cut the cold very much.
Eegik was both happy and worried. This was the first time his father had taken him to count the musk-oxen. Other times he had been too young to be around the skittish animals. Am I old enough now if something happens? he wondered.
“Hold tight!” he heard his father, Ukak, call. “We will near the herd soon.”
The grind of the motor and the whistling wind were the only sounds to be heard along the Nunivak Island snow hills, polished hard by the constant wind. The crusty white surface gave a dusky light to the short winter days.
“There they are!” Father shouted.
Gradually the engine slowed and the snowmobile slid to a stop. “We will keep the motor running, son,” Ukak said, picking up his rifle. “It will freeze if we don’t.”
Eegik hopped off the machine and peered before him. Ahead, a small musk-ox herd was bunched up against a low sea cliff. Already they were forming their defensive line heads out, backsides together in a rough circle. With heads lowered and rows of horns facing the danger, the animals scuffed the ground nervously. Long brown fur swayed in the wind.
“They look like fur rugs,” Eegik remarked.
“Yes,” his father answered, “and the giviut [wool] makes warm sweaters. But,” he added, “they are good fighters, too, when there is no way out. See the horns curling down from the tops of their heads like stiff wigs? We will get closer. The oomingmuk [bearded] ones hide their young behind them.”
Eegik felt a deep pride in his father, who had been schooled by the government. Now he was hired by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to keep an eye on the growing musk-ox herd, one of the hardiest animals in the world. Today he had to check on the population of the herd and count them.
Slowly and quietly the two left the machine and crawled over the snow, watching the herd skitter at the movement. One bull lowered and shook his head, taking short stamping steps forward and backward. Sensing his restlessness, the other animals jostled together and tightened the ring. Eegik could see one small head push forward, a young one anxious to do battle if necessary.
“They run swiftly,” Ukak whispered. “We must not frighten them.”
The two inched forward, sliding over the ice several yards apart, until they were within city yards of the herd. The lead bull, confused and frightened, danced excitedly in his position.
Suddenly, the bull gave a snort and charged forward with the speed of a much lighter animal. Ukak leaped up his rifle flying and tried to dodge as the animal attacked. But the musk-ox was more sure on his feet and swerved to the side, throwing Eegik’s father to the ice.
Without thinking, Eegik shouted his surprise and fell on his stomach. At the outburst, the frightened musk-oxen broke their ring, skittered excitedly, and clattered off in a wild rush.
His heart pounding, Eegik scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father, who lay sprawled on the ice.
“Father!” he cried, pushing at his parka. “Father, are you all right?”
Ukak opened his eyes and tried to rise. A shudder went through him. “My wrist … ,” he said, painfully. “I think it’s broken. Are the oomingmuk gone?”
Eegik nodded. “Can you walk, Father?” he asked.
“We should make my arm straight,” Ukak said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“But there are no sticks,” Eegik answered.
His thoughts racing, Eegik looked around, trying to find something straight and hard. But the barren arctic desert covered now by the ice held no useful object.
Then Eegik spotted the gun a few feet away. “The rifle, Father!” he cried. “We can use the rifle.”
“My son,” Ukak said, nodding, “it is a good idea.”
With his mittened hands, Eegik lifted the gun and emptied the chamber of bullets. Gently, he slid the barrel up his father’s sleeve to the elbow and wrapped the injured arm with the leather ties from his parka.
“There!” he finally said, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That will help until we get home.”
Ukak smiled. “It is feeling better already,” he said.
With Eegik helping, the two made their way to the waiting snowmobile.
“You will have to drive,” Ukak said, holding the rifle butt with his good hand.
“I can,” the boy replied.
Eegik helped his father onto the seat, eased in front, and started off with the machine.
The journey back was slow, Eegik being careful to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Within an hour, they entered Mekoryuk and drove to their home.
At the sound of their approach, Eegik’s mother opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw that Eegik was in the driver’s seat.
“The oomingmuk did not like our visit,” Father answered, cradling his arm as he eased himself from the machine. “I might still be there, but for Eegik. I’m glad I took our son along.”
Eegik lifted his chin. He had wondered if he were old enough to help his father check on the skittish musk-oxen. Now he knew that he was.

Let me tell you a story about two children—a boy who was about six years old and a girl just over seven. They went for a ride one hot summer day with their dad in their grandpa’s old Jeep. They drove for an hour and a half, and the Jeep started making funny noises. It died completely as they rolled into a gas station in the next town. “We can fix it,” the attendant said, and he directed them to walk across town to a parts store. Once inside the store, the children found lots of things to look at, and they didn’t notice their dad go into the back with the manager. All they knew was that they couldn’t see him. They looked outside and saw a man down the street who was wearing a hat like their dad’s. He was just turning a corner, so they ran after him crying, “Dad! Dad!”

By the time they figured out it wasn’t their dad, they were lost. They couldn’t find the store, they didn’t know where they were, and they didn’t know anyone in that city. The girl wanted to go this way; the boy thought they should go that way. How could they find their dad, or at least the Jeep? She said, “We need to pray.” He felt self-conscious about praying in public, but after they prayed, they both started walking in the same direction. They found the gas station, crawled in the back of their Jeep, and waited. After a little while—it seemed like a long time to them—their father came. He had also been praying that he’d find them and find them quickly.

Chieko Nishimura Okazaki had goodly parents too. Her grandparents moved from Japan to Hawaii. Her parents worked hard on a plantation. They were Buddhists, Buddhism being the main religion in Japan. They did not know about Jesus Christ. But they knew about goodness. What did they teach Chieko?
She said, “They taught me to be kigatsuku (key-got-sue-koo). That means to do good without being asked. When my mother was sweeping the floor, she would say, ‘Chieko, what would a kigatsuku girl do now?’ I would think for a minute, then run to get the dust pan and hold it for her. Or when she was washing dishes, I would pick up the dishtowel and begin to dry them. She would smile and say, ‘You are a kigatsuku girl.’
“My parents taught me other things. They taught me to work hard and to always do my best. That’s why I could work hard in school, go to the university, and become a school teacher and even a principal. They taught me to always love the truth. That is why, when I found the Church, I loved it and was baptized a Latter-day Saint.”
Chieko respected, honored, and loved her parents by helping without being asked and by following the righteous principles that they taught her. Now she is the first counselor in the General Presidency of the Relief Society. Her father is dead; her mother is still a Buddhist. Sister Okazaki says, “I know that she is proud of me because I still try to be kigatsuku, and I love her very much for teaching me good things.”

I lived in Nigeria, West Africa, for a few months. In our branch was a precious little child. She was seven years old and weighed only 10.5 kilograms. Often as I would enter our rented chapel, I would see her sitting on the back bench. I loved to pick her up and take her to the front with me and hold her during the meetings. It was as if she would soak up all the love that I had in me, and more.

Once at Christmas time I was holding my little friend, and it was announced that we would be singing “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” (Hymns, 95). A prompting came to me to sing it not to myself, as the words say, but to the little girl. It was a powerful, sweet, unforgettable experience for me, and I hope for her as well. As I sang my version of the text—He lives to bless you with his love, to plead for you above—I realized that the great blessings outlined in the hymn could come into the life of this little girl, and into the lives of others, through me. As an instrument in the Lord’s hands I could comfort others when they are faint, I could take time to hear their soul’s complaint, wipe away their tears, calm their troubled hearts, and love them to the end, just as the hymn tells us that the Savior does these things for us. But he needs my participation, he needs my willingness to serve, to be an instrument in his hands. He wants me to stop and help others. He wants all of us to stop and help those in need; to be good Samaritans.

“Yes, I watched that show! I loved it! There wasn’t anything concerning in it—just some bad language.”
I was recommending a show to a friend. Because I’d enjoyed the story so much, I hadn’t thought twice about the amount of profanity in each episode.
It wasn’t until later that I thought about what I said and gave myself a spiritual facepalm.
“Since when is profanity not a problem in the shows I watch?” I thought.
As a disciple of Jesus Christ, I have always tried to be mindful when it comes to the media I enjoy. However, profanity was becoming common in the shows and books I consumed. I had started to become numb to it.
This led me to ponder on what other less-than-wholesome content I was allowing into my life.
Was I letting things slide in the music I listened to? Was I batting an eye when explicit content appeared in my books or crude reels on my Instagram feed?
I think you know the answer.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”
I could see how easily media was interrupting my connection with the Holy Ghost each day. I needed to “resensitize” myself to the Spirit. But when inappropriate media is a constant in this world, how do we do that?
For a more specific example of this realization, not too long ago, I was reading books that my friends (many of whom are members of the Church) were reading.
Often, I would be enjoying the stories, only to be unexpectedly jarred by profanity or sexual content.
For a while, I convinced myself this wasn’t a big deal. They were just books, right? Everyone from the millions of readers on social media to my friends seemed to be reading them with no complaints.
So how could I not agree?
I enjoyed these books and wanted to be part of conversations about them! Deep down, though, they were affecting me and my outlook on life and relationships. But I was afraid to stop reading them because I didn’t want to be seen as prudish or immature.
The Lord offers this warning: “The weak things of the world shall come forth and break down the mighty and strong ones, that man should not counsel his fellow man, neither trust in the arm of flesh” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:19).
This helped me realize I needed to be honest with myself.
I was justifying my behavior by following everyone else’s choices. I was fearing their judgment and ignoring the Spirit’s red flags instead of heeding His warnings.
A few years ago, President Nelson invited us to fast from social media for 10 days. While studying his challenge recently, I noticed that in addition to social media, he included “any other media that bring negative and impure thoughts to your mind.”
So I started taking note of what content I am sensitive to. I’ve tried to establish better habits with the media I consume. Media use isn’t inherently bad, but it’s always important to make sure we pay attention to the Spirit when consuming it.
If you are having trouble knowing where to make changes in your media habits, try asking yourself questions like these:
Are you feeling uplifted and inspired? Or numb and lonely?
Have you felt any discomfort that might be prompting you to step away from certain content?
Are you feeling a need to “fit in” with others by watching or reading certain media?
Are you being honest with yourself?
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently taught, “It takes a courageous and a willing heart to pause and pursue an honest and meek introspection to acknowledge the presence of weaknesses of the flesh in our life that may impede our ability to submit ourselves to God, and ultimately decide to adopt His way rather than our own.”
And he’s right. It can be hard to acknowledge our weaknesses and make changes that align with God instead of the world. I still have a lot of work to do when it comes to my media choices (and all my choices), but I’m striving to do better each day.
We have the beautiful promise of having the Spirit as our constant companion as we renew our covenants through the sacrament each week and through the gift of repentance. As we do this—and are truly honest with ourselves—we can “resensitize” our hearts to His guiding influence.
I know that we can always try again when we don’t always make choices that align with the Lord’s commandments. But by focusing on Jesus Christ, we can increase the Spirit’s influence in our lives and limit the world’s.

On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.

My sister and I were no doubt the envy of many during the great economic depression in the United States during the 1930s. We grew up in a comfortable home. Our father had a job and provided well for the family. Our mother put meals on the table, shopped with us for clothes, and routinely visited her aged mother. I did not know what the Depression was until I studied it in school as a teenager.
Nevertheless, my sister and I felt deprived—emotionally deprived—by our mother. As adults, we have endlessly discussed the lack of warmth, approval, constructive criticism, moral training, and hospitality in our home. Why had Mother seemed so uncaring, critical, and self-centered?
After I joined the Church, I “adopted” someone else’s tender, loving mother as my own. However, it still didn’t salve the hurt. Even Mother’s death provided no healing. It meant only that the yearning for her love and approval could not be fulfilled in mortality.
One day, I drove alone to the temple to be baptized for Mother. As I drove, I prayed for her. Hot tears stung my eyes, and choking sobs welled up inside me.
The sorrow and hurt I was feeling continued all the way to the temple and even into the baptismal font. But when I rose up out of the water, a healing balm enveloped me. It washed away all my bitterness and longing.
I saw Mother, stalwart and whole. The Holy Ghost filled me with the awareness that my mother had been handicapped in mortal life. She had had an emotional handicap, the source of which remains a secret to me. But she is handicapped no longer. And neither am I.
How thankful I am for the Savior and for his love, which extends to me and to my now-whole mother, who is learning the lessons she could not learn in mortal life. I am eager to meet her and to share the love with her that we both were deprived of on earth.

“It started with a feeling that the Liahona could do more to reach the increasingly diverse membership of the Church,” said Val Johnson, managing editor of the Liahona. “We knew we could do a better job of meeting the needs of the worldwide Church.”

“We know readers love the current Liahona,” said Jenifer Greenwood, assistant managing editor of the Liahona. “We’re hoping to take what is good and add to it.”

While teaching his son about the original Liahona, Alma stated that “the Lord prepared it” (Alma 37:38). Members of the team that helped build the new magazine wanted to be able to say the same thing.
“Coming up with the innovations and new design has been a revelatory process,” said Sister Greenwood. “We have seen the Lord’s hand in it all along the way.”

The project began in July 2008 after Elder Jay E. Jensen, then Executive Director of the Curriculum Department and editor of Church magazines, approved the creation of a team to create a prototype for a new Liahona that would better meet the needs of its diverse readership.
Six months of brainstorming, writing, designing, and testing produced a proposal that was approved by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in January 2009.
“It was an intense experience,” said Adam Olson, an assistant managing editor at the Liahona, “because at the same time we had to carry on with the work required to produce the magazines each month. There was no way we could do both without looking to the Lord for help.”
With the Liahona normally planned one year in advance, the newly approved changes were implemented immediately in order to unveil the changes with the January 2010 issue.
“We can testify of those moments when we had a ‘stupor of thought’ (D&C 9:9) and then those flashes of insight that definitely didn’t come from us,” Brother Johnson said. “The Lord really helped us.”

After that, missionaries and Church leaders frequently traveled to visit the Torales family. The family also shared the gospel with neighbors, some of whom were baptized. Finally, because of the great distances and sacrifices involved, a branch was created at the Torales home in 1986, with Brother Torales as branch president.
Every Sunday, the porch between the two rooms of their small home becomes a chapel as folding chairs and a pulpit are set up. The sacrament is blessed and passed to the members. Classes are held under a tree or over by the flower garden. “We are happy having our meetings here,” says Sister Torales. “We don’t need anything more.”
“We feel the Spirit of the Lord here with us,” President Torales says.
A couple of nights each week, family members visit neighbors and teach them the gospel. “We walk far to reach them,” says 22-year-old Zulma. “Many people receive us. They all know us.” Baptisms take place in the nearby river.

I wish you could meet the marvelous young man who came to us from Bolivia, arriving with no matching clothing and shoes three sizes too large for him. He was a little older because he was the sole breadwinner in his home and it had taken some time to earn money for his mission. He raised chickens and sold the eggs door-to-door. Then, just as his call finally came, his widowed mother faced an emergency appendectomy. Our young friend gave every cent of the money he had earned for his mission to pay for his mother’s surgery and postoperative care, then quietly rounded up what used clothing he could from friends and arrived at the MTC in Santiago on schedule. I can assure you that his clothes now match, his shoes now fit, and both he and his mother are safe and sound, temporally as well as spiritually.