Gospel Story Finder

Some time ago, a young mother of four came to see me upon recommendation from her bishop. She had left her husband about two months prior to our talk.
As we talked about her reasons for leaving her husband, it was obvious to me that she loved him very much and that he was true to her. But he expected her to be a perfect in every aspect of their relationship. He would not tolerate her weaknesses, and he never let her win an argument. If it appeared she might win, he would make sure she didn’t—by physical force, if necessary.
I then talked with the husband, who spent two hours telling me how much he loved his wife. He confessed that he had struck her. He knew it was wrong, and was very sorry he had done it. But now he felt he had repented; he was sure he wouldn’t ever abuse her again, and he wanted a chance to make things right.
He sounded sincere, but that wasn’t enough. I felt he still needed to be carried a bit further in his commitment to a very important principle in building eternal relationships. So we talked about letting others win some of the time.
He admitted that he always had to have his own way and that he got impatient with his wife whenever she did anything differently than he wanted. I tried to help him see that he didn’t always have to be the winner in every little matter. Rather than always trying to prove that he was right, he needed to invite his wife to share her ideas with him so that they could both arrive at mutually satisfactory conclusions. In that way, they would both be winners. I told him she needed the freedom to make some of her own decisions without fear of constant ridicule or criticism. He agreed to try.
It wasn’t easy for him, I’m sure. The habit of years couldn’t be changed overnight. But the two of them gradually worked it out.

When Scott woke up in his grandfather’s den, he recognized the creaking noise even before he opened his eyes: Grandpa Max was hoisting his flag up the wooden flagpole in the front yard.
Today was the Fourth of July, but that wasn’t the reason that Grandpa Max was putting up the flag. He had hoisted “the old Stars and Stripes,” as he called it, to the top of that pole 365 days a year for as long as Scott could remember.
Two minutes later Grandpa was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hollering the familiar words, “Hey, buddy boy, get yourself down here. You’re on spud-peeling detail in five minutes.”
Scott groaned and rolled over. In a few hours about thirty-five relatives would spill onto the front yard for the big picnic that Grandpa Max hosted every year. This was Scott’s year to be cohost. His older cousin Jeff, who had held that title the year before, had told Scott that “cohost” translated into “free help,” and Scott believed it. His body ached from hours of washing windows, mowing the lawn, and carrying tables yesterday. And Grandpa evidently had much more in store for this morning.
“Well, it’s about time!” Grandpa Max grinned at Scott while sliding three slices of golden french toast onto a plate and passing the maple syrup to his grandson.
“I heard you out there with the flag, Grandpa,” Scott said between bites. “I guess it’s just another day for you.”
“Ooooh no, no, buddy boy. I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t ever say that.”
“Well, you do put the flag up every day. Why is that, Grandpa?”
Grandpa Max didn’t answer immediately. Instead he stood up and grabbed a ten-pound bag of potatoes off the counter. “Tell you what, Scott. You peel these; I’ll quarter ’em. You listen; I’ll explain.”
Scott shoveled in the rest of his breakfast and silently picked up the vegetable peeler. He knew that tone of voice, and it meant “Listen up.”
“First,” Grandpa began, “you have to imagine the place that I call ‘the old country,’ the place where I was born. My village wasn’t a town as you know it, but a small cluster of cottages and shops built along seldom-traveled dirt roads. Everywhere there were poor, shabbily dressed people. Why, they would’ve thought that I was a king if they could have seen me dressed like this.” And he snapped the strap of his bib overalls for emphasis.
“And speaking of kings, the leader of the old country taxed and imprisoned the people unfairly, sometimes forcing them to join his private army. Because of this, many people began to talk against him. They gathered at secret meetings where they talked of ways to overthrow him. The ruler knew that they hated him, so periodically he sent his soldiers throughout the country to show his strength and to question the people, hoping to discover his enemies.
“In my village every family, no matter how poor, had a flag because a flag was considered protection against the soldiers. If a house had a flag hanging from it, it was not as likely to be searched.
“I have a picture in my mind,” Grandpa Max continued, “of my last day in the old country. I was only four years old, but it was a day that I will never forget. My parents had been packing all night, loading our wagon with all our possessions. We were going to make our escape early in the morning.
“The next morning, of all days, the king’s soldiers rode into town to make one of their searches. Our closest neighbor came to warn us.
“Mother had us take off our traveling clothes and put on our everyday work clothes so that we wouldn’t look suspicious. Father pulled the wagon around to the back of the house and hid it in the trees. “Suddenly Mother remembered the flag. Nearly everything inside our small home had been packed into the wagon, and though we searched frantically, we couldn’t find the flag.
“I remember that that’s when I began to cry. Far down the road I could see all our neighbors’ houses draped with the hated flags. Hurriedly my father dumped a bundle of linens on the ground. Rummaging through it, he found the flag. He raced around to the front of the house and hung it up. That picture of my father hanging the flag is my last memory of the old country.”
Grandpa Max smiled at Scott. “A few months later I was living a very different life. My family had come to America, to New York City. We lived in an apartment building with more apartment buildings on both sides of us. On the bottom floor of most of the buildings were shops of all kinds. The street outside was always a busy place, filled with peddlers selling their wares, children playing noisily, and people doing their marketing. Women leaned out their windows and carried on loud conversations with each other.
“One hot, sticky morning I woke up to an unusual quiet. I knew that it was not the weekend, but the street was nearly empty. I heard no peddlers’ cries, no shouting or bargaining as on every other morning. The only sounds were those of a few children playing.
“As usual, I hurried through breakfast, anxious to go downstairs and join my friends. But when I bolted out the front door of our apartment building, I immediately stiffened, and my heart started to pound violently. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to run back inside, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Attached to every shop front, hanging from dozens of windows, stuck into window boxes, and tacked onto mailboxes were hundreds of flags. I stood trembling with fear, waiting for the soldiers to appear and search our homes.
“Laughing and chattering, several children asked me to join in a game, and I numbly followed along. Soon men and women joined the children outside. They sat on the steps of their apartment buildings, talking and joking. Aren’t any of the men going to work? I kept asking myself. Why is everyone so happy? I thought that perhaps they were all just pretending, trying to keep each other cheerful.
“All day long I felt as if I were in a nightmare. By afternoon I was too miserable to even join my friends in their games. I just sat on the curb and watched and waited. At suppertime the men set up long tables on the sidewalk, and the women covered them with tablecloths and began bringing platters and bowls of food to be shared by everyone. I couldn’t eat anything at all.
“Just before dark, Mother took me up to bed. While she was tucking me in, she told me that she was going back outside and that I could call her if I needed anything. I started to cry.
“‘No,’ I yelled, ‘you can’t leave me here alone!’ All day I had tried to be brave, but finally I just broke down and sobbed.
“My father raced up the stairs. ‘I heard you crying clear downstairs. Why are you sad after this wonderful day?’ he asked.
“‘How can you say it’s a wonderful day,’ I cried. ‘How can you pretend, when the soldiers will be here any minute?’
“‘Soldiers?’ he asked. ‘What soldiers?’
“‘The soldiers everybody put their flags up for,’ I sobbed. ‘They’ll be here soon, and we don’t even have a flag!’
“‘Oh, my poor frightened boy,’ my father said softly. He sat me on his lap. ‘First of all,’ he explained, ‘there are no soldiers coming to search our home today or any other day.’
“I stopped crying and looked up at him. Then he told me the story of America’s birthday and explained that all the flags were for the celebration.
“I went back outside with my parents and watched the fireworks to end the big birthday party and thought and thought about what my father had told me, trying to understand it all.
“I did understand one thing, though. My father said, ‘Someday we will be able to buy a flag, and I will be very proud to fly that flag. In fact, I will be so proud that when I am an American citizen, I will want to fly it every single day. And I hope you will, too, Max.’”
The potatoes were all peeled, quartered, and ready to boil, and Scott was still listening intently to his grandfather. “How come you never told me that story before, Grandpa?”
“Well, buddy boy, you never asked me before.”
“I think you should tell everyone today at the picnic, Grandpa,” I told him.
“Maybe I will, buddy boy. Maybe I will.”

LeGrand Nonales Terceño, as he was playing “I Love to See The Temple” on the piano under the beautiful Acacia trees outside the temple, was amazed when one by one little children drew nearer to him and sang the words of the song. Some of them grabbed their parents’ hands and asked them to sing along.
Some visitors requested him to play their favorite hymns while waiting to enter the temple. One guest said, “You’re inviting the Spirit with your music.”
LeGrand shared, “That lifted me up. I felt that moment Heavenly Father was smiling over us.”

Later in my mission, I served with an agency that provided cultural orientation and English classes for Asian refugees who were planning to settle in the United States. This experience expanded my perspective to include many people who were not of my faith.
After one lesson on how to use and clean household appliances, we had some extra time. I began to drill the students, asking questions through their translator. I would ask, “What is your address?” and they would answer. At one point, the young translator became impatient and began speaking harshly to an old Cambodian woman who could not remember the answer. The woman’s lips began to quiver, her eyes twitched a few times, and then she began to cry. Though I did not know what the translator had said, I could feel the woman’s dejection.
At that moment, I thought of what the Savior would have done if he had been there. I picked up her worn hand. As I held it, she began to tell me through the translator about some of her experiences in Cambodia. Then three other women who were sitting nearby began to cry. Together they told about their children and grandchildren who had starved, and about others who had been taken into the jungle to be killed.
Suffering was all these women had ever known. With little opportunity for education, a Cambodian woman’s sole duty is to manage the home and family. These women had seen their most precious gifts—their families—slaughtered and tortured before their very eyes.
I cried with them, and then I tried to tell them through the translator: “I want you to know how much I love you. I know I can never completely understand how much you have suffered. But with all my heart I know that someday you will have peace, and all the things you never have possessed will be given to you.”
After class, I couldn’t wait to get home to ask the Lord: “When will all the peoples of the world be able to be fully of one mind and one heart, with no poor among us?” I picked up my scriptures and found the word poor in the concordance. Two scriptures I had always loved now comforted me: “Therefore, let your hearts be comforted concerning Zion; for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God.” (D&C 101:16.) And the more well-known scripture, “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.” (Moses 7:18.)
The Spirit poured into my soul. My students and I had neither language nor faith in common. But my whole desire was to be one with those women and all the others who are poor in worldly possessions, yet so rich in purity and meekness.
I will never forget that day. It taught me what serving the Master really means—a reciprocal exchange in loving and learning from those we serve.

Francesca’s daughter has a severe milk allergy. While her daughter was in Primary, one of her teachers loved to bring homemade cupcakes to class for birthdays. Francesca offered to bring safe cupcakes whenever there was a birthday. The teacher declined the offer and instead sent the six-year-old girl to sit in the hallway when birthday treats were shared.

“This was so hurtful on many levels,” Francesca recalls. “I wish the teacher would have taken the opportunity to teach the children to ‘be like Jesus’ and care enough to include everyone.”

Mother taught me the gospel. One time we had a cloudburst, and the ditch out back overflowed its banks. Our house was on a little rise, but there were at least three feet of water around it. Father was farming at a place called Dry Lake. I remember kneeling with Mother and praying that we would not be flooded and that Father would get home. About four or five hours later, the downpour stopped and Father came home. It had flooded where he was too. Water had been up to his waist, but he’d been preserved. I was very impressed with the power of prayer.

Jared carefully recorded the last bit of information for his sixth-grade science project—comparing the differences between plants watered with tap water and those watered with distilled water.
“There,” he said in satisfaction. “All done.”
He ran into the laundry room. “Mom, I finished the experiment. Do you want to see it?”
Mom finished folding a towel and smiled. “Of course.”
Jared led her into the kitchen, where the two sets of plants occupied a shelf by the big glass door. When he saw the plants, he stopped in his tracks. “Oh, no!” he cried.
Kaitlyn, Jared’s three-year-old sister, looked up and smiled, her hands covered with dirt. Potting soil and crushed plants were strewn across the floor.
“You ruined my project!” Jared wiped angry tears from his eyes. “You wreck everything I have.”
“Jared, your sister didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Mom said quietly.
“Sure,” Jared said bitterly. “Just like she didn’t mean to write all over my geography homework last week. Just like she didn’t mean to spill milk on my book report. Just like she—”
“That’s enough,” Mom said.
Jared recognized the tone in his mother’s voice and knew he’d said too much.
“Tell Jared you’re sorry,” Mom said to Kaitlyn.
Kaitlyn’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”
Normally, Jared couldn’t stay angry at his little sister for very long, but this was different. He had spent a whole month caring for the plants and recording the differences between the two sets for the sixth-grade science fair. Now they were destroyed. He wouldn’t have anything to show in the fair next week.
He cleaned up the mess as well as he could, but he couldn’t save the plants. He dumped them into the big trash can in the garage. In his room, he slammed his fist into his baseball mitt. All his work had been for nothing.
A few minutes later, he heard a knock at his door.
“Jared, can I come in?” Mom called.
Reluctantly, he got up and opened the door.
Mom wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I know you’re disappointed. Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry about the experiment.” she said.
“Me, too,” he said, still slamming the ball into his mitt.
“Kaitlyn made a mistake. Can you forgive her?” When Jared didn’t answer, his mother turned and quietly left the room.
When another knock sounded at his door, Jared ignored it. The door inched open, and Kaitlyn stood there. “I’m sorry.”
Jared looked at his sister’s red eyes. For a moment, his heart softened. Then he remembered how hard he’d worked on the experiment. He had hoped to win a prize with it. “Go away.”
Kaitlyn sniffled and rubbed her eyes before closing the door behind her.
Jared asked to be excused from dinner. He knew his parents were disappointed in him, but he didn’t care. He tried to do his homework but couldn’t concentrate. After staring at the same page of his history book for five minutes, he gave up. He got ready for bed, then knelt down, intending to say his prayers as he did every night. The words refused to come.
He didn’t sleep very well. He kept tossing and turning, remembering the hurt in Kaitlyn’s eyes when he’d refused to speak to her. He tried to push away the image. Kaitlyn had wrecked his experiment. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.
He thought about the word forgive and recalled part of the blessing his father had given him after his baptism and confirmation. “There will be times in your life when you need to seek forgiveness. I bless you with the meekness of heart to do so. There will also be times when you must forgive others. Remember the example of the Savior when you are faced with such times. Forgiveness is a gift. Use it and you will be blessed.”
The following morning, Jared trudged to school, his heart heavy. But it wasn’t the ruined experiment that filled his thoughts—it was Kaitlyn. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty about, but he couldn’t erase the picture of Kaitlyn’s unhappy face from his mind.
At school, he explained to his science teacher what had happened. Mr. MacKade laid a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed. You put a lot of work into your experiment.” His teacher tapped a finger against the notebook he always carried. “Did you take photos of it?”
Jared nodded. He’d asked his father if he could use his camera to take photos of the plants at different stages.
“We’ll show the photos instead,” Mr. MacKade said. “It won’t be the same as displaying the plants themselves, but it’ll be the next best thing.”
“Thanks, Mr. MacKade. I’ll do that.”
Jared slipped into his seat. He should have felt better, but the ache in his heart remained. He couldn’t concentrate on his math problems or his spelling test. He could not even choke down the sandwich and cupcake his mother had packed in his lunch. All he could see was Kaitlyn’s face, her quivering lips and tear-reddened eyes. No science experiment was worth the pain he’d caused his little sister.
By the end of school, Jared knew what he had to do. Kaitlyn had been wrong to ruin his plants, but that did not excuse how he had treated her. He hurried home from school.
“Mom, I’m home. Where’s Kaitlyn?” he called, slamming the door behind him.
Mom looked up from the Primary manual she was studying. “She’s in her room.” His mother looked like she wanted to say something else.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Jared said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Jared raced up the stairs and knocked on Kaitlyn’s door. “Kaitlyn, it’s me.” He heard a muffled “Come in.” He pushed open the door.
Kaitlyn was sitting on her bed, her arms looped around her knees. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.
Jared crossed the room to sit beside her. “No, Kaitlyn. I’m not angry anymore. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know you only wanted to help.” He hugged her and asked, “How would you like to go to the park with me?”
Kaitlyn nodded and gave him a big smile.
That evening Jared labeled the pictures he had taken of the plants. Kaitlyn played with her dolls beside him. A quiet feeling of peace enveloped him. And when he knelt by his bed that night to say his prayers, he didn’t have any trouble finding the words.

My stake president connected me with a couple who were able to help me get some machines to start my business, Kuatsikor Shoes. I named it after my father, to honor him since he never lived to see my business, having died in July 2019. My motto is “Walk Miles”. In August 2023, I was endowed in the house of the Lord in the Accra Ghana Temple. It was such a great experience. The moment I stepped into the temple, I felt a heavy burden had been lifted, it’s hard to explain. I felt a new peace and joy. The gospel of Jesus Christ has significantly impacted my life because I had the feeling that I was in the right place, my first Sunday at church. I will always be grateful for the self-reliance programs organized at the stake center that gave me insights and knowledge about how to grow my own business and to manage my finances. I believe if I continue to stick to these principles, my vision of becoming the best shoemaker in Africa shall come to pass. I know that God speaks to his servants, the prophets.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

There is a choice account of how this practice was carried out in the early days of the Church. History has recorded the testimony of Elder William Farrington Cahoon, as he filled his assignment as a teacher to the home of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The account is as follows:
“Before I close my testimony … , I wish to mention one circumstance which I never shall forget: I was called and ordained to act as a teacher to visit the families of the Saints. I got along very well till I found that I was obliged to call and pay a visit to the Prophet. Being young [only about seventeen years of age], I felt my weakness in visiting the Prophet and his family in the capacity of a teacher. I almost felt like shrinking from duty. Finally I went to his door and knocked, and in a minute the Prophet came to the door. I stood there trembling, and said to him:
“‘Brother Joseph, I have come to visit you in the capacity of a teacher, if it is convenient for you.’
“He said ‘Brother William, come right in, I am glad to see you; sit down in that chair there and I will go and call my family in.’
“They soon came in and took seats. He then said, ‘Brother William, I submit myself and family into your hands,’ and then took his seat. ‘Now Brother William,’ said he ‘ask all the questions you feel like.’
“By this time all my fears and trembling had ceased, and I said, ‘Brother Joseph, are you trying to live your religion?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“I then said ‘Do you pray in your family?’
“He said ‘Yes.’
“‘Do you teach your family the principles of the gospel?’
“He replied ‘Yes, I am trying to do it.’
“‘Do you ask a blessing on your food?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“‘Are you trying to live in peace and harmony with all your family?’
“He said that he was.
“I then turned to Sister Emma, his wife, and said ‘Sister Emma, are you trying to live your religion? Do you teach your children to obey their parents? Do you try to teach them to pray?’
“To all these questions she answered ‘Yes, I am trying to do so.’
“I then turned to Joseph and said, ‘I am now through with my questions as a teacher; and now if you have any instructions to give, I shall be happy to receive them.’
“He said ‘God bless you, Brother William; and if you are humble and faithful, you shall have power to settle all difficulties that may come before you in the capacity of a teacher.’
“I then left my parting blessing upon him and his family, as a teacher, and took my departure.” (Juvenile Instructor, 27 (15 Aug. 1892): 492–93.)

The gray squirrel leaped from limb to limb in a frantic attempt to escape the terrible talons of its attackers, but to no avail. The great horned owls were quick and sure. Like twin lightning bolts they struck their mark, with beak and claw doing their awful work with deadly precision. And then, as if adding insult to injury, the intruders took over the squirrel’s nest, high atop a towering cottonwood tree behind Grandma and Grandpa’s farmhouse.
At first Grandpa was upset by the owls’ brazen behavior, but he began to appreciate them more and more as the days passed. The owls were excellent hunters. Rabbits, gophers, and field mice made up the major portion of their diet.
Intrigued by the owls’ activities, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce soon found themselves observing the birds every day through binoculars. In January they noticed that the great birds were keeping close to their nest and that one of them seemed to be sitting in it at all times. Later that spring Grandpa and Uncle Bruce spotted a fuzzy little face peering back at them from the nest.
One night there was a windstorm, and the next day they couldn’t see the baby owl. They searched the ground around the tree to see if the owlet had been blown out of the nest, and sure enough, it had.
The ground where the baby owl had fallen was cold and very hard. Grandpa figured that the owlet had lain there for about twenty-four hours. He and Uncle Bruce fixed up a plastic ice-cream bucket with some straw. Then they carefully wrapped a warm towel around the baby bird, placed it inside the bucket, and waited.
For about twenty minutes nothing happened. Then the little owl started to move and to make a tiny peeping sound. Half an hour later it was actively wriggling about, so they decided to feed it something—but what? Most birds like worms, but the ground was still frozen. Then an idea struck them: Perhaps the baby owl would think that noodles left over from their supper were worms. When Uncle Bruce dangled one before the little bird, it opened its beak and gulped it right down. Then it opened its mouth wide for another one. Soon the owl had devoured almost a cupful of noodles. For dessert it ate a teaspoonful of hamburger!
Having saved the baby owl’s life, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce had to figure out what to do with it. They tried to get it back into its nest. But the nest was too high to reach, even with their tallest ladder. Their next idea was to build a new nest. Not far away was a dead tree with a hollow in a branch about five feet off the ground. Uncle Bruce lined this cavity with straw and set the owl inside. The next day the bird was still there.
To be sure that it got enough to eat, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce continued to feed it. Grandpa’s dog, Queenie, would catch mice, so Uncle Bruce fed them to the owl after he had skinned them and cut them into bite-size pieces. The owl ate about half a mouse each time, nibbling Uncle Bruce’s fingers in the process. By the next morning the other half of the mouse would be gone too. Periodically other bird feathers were found in the nest, so Uncle Bruce and Grandpa knew that the parent owls were feeding their little offspring too.
After some weeks the little owl’s parents were often seen watching from another tree as Uncle Bruce fed the owlet. Whenever Uncle Bruce approached the growing bird, its parents started to click their beaks nervously. The little one would imitate them, and now and then it would also hiss like a snake. Finally it acquired a natural fear of man, so Uncle Bruce stopped feeding it. The parents took over completely, and Uncle Bruce and Grandpa just checked on the owl now and then to see if it was all right.
In time the baby owl grew to be as large as its parents. Then one day it was gone. Thinking that its wing feathers were not big enough to allow it to fly very far, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce searched the woods around the farm. But they found no trace of it.
Many months passed and memories of the young owl began to fade. Then one evening as they were sitting on their porch, Grandma and Grandpa heard a soft hooting sound from the direction of the old willow tree. Going over to investigate, they were greeted by two pairs of great round eyes. Yes, the owl had returned with a mate of its own to live where it had been so well cared for as a helpless little bird.

When I was a senior in high school, I was on the varsity cheerleading team. Every day at practice, the girls on my cheerleading team talked about what was going on in a daytime soap opera on television. I had never watched it and knew that it was a show with low morals. However, I felt left out every day at practice as the girls excitedly talked about the show. The Spirit whispered to me not to watch it, but I desperately wanted to be included in their conversations, so I started watching.

It didn’t seem so bad to me. I rationalized that it wouldn’t affect me. I knew that I wasn’t going to do the bad things that I saw the characters do. I got hooked and watched the show every day. When I went to Brigham Young University, I arranged my class schedule so I could watch it every day. I never missed an episode.

I got married and had my first baby. I put him down for a nap every day during the show so I could watch it.

As the years passed, the Spirit whispered to me many times that I should stop watching that show. But I refused. I was so involved with the characters and their lives. It was my way to relax, so I continued watching. I was convinced that it was not hurting me.

Nineteen years after high school, I was still watching the show every day. At general conference, Sister Sheri L. Dew, then Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, was speaking about walking away from the world and things that are unholy. She then said, “I invite each of us to identify at least one thing we can do to come out of the world and come closer to Christ.”2

When she extended that invitation, I felt a tremendous outpouring of the Spirit, and I heard the words in my mind, “You have to stop watching that show now!” It was so powerful; it was like a smack to my face. I knew in that instant that I could not ignore this prompting any longer. I felt an urgency to never watch the show again. I realized that not one character was doing anything virtuous or honorable. I was inviting trash into my life every day. I committed to the Lord, right then and there, that I would never watch it again.

It was not easy! Nineteen years of habit and addiction was hard to break. Monday came and it was time for the show to start. I walked over to the TV remote. I wanted so badly to turn it on. I remembered my commitment to the Lord that I wouldn’t watch it ever again. I walked away.

Then I thought about my favorite character and wondered what might happen to her and walked back to the remote. I knew I needed God’s help, so I got down on my knees and prayed for strength to be able not to watch it. I thought of my promise to Heavenly Father, and I walked out of the room. I chose to follow the promptings I had received from the Holy Ghost and to honor my commitment.

That scenario repeated itself every day that week and into the next. Every day, I knelt and prayed and pleaded for strength to not watch, and every day I chose Jesus Christ and walked away from a television show that was immoral. I received strength to overcome from the power the Savior offers through His Atonement.

After some time of doing this, a miracle occurred. I completely lost all desire to watch the show, after watching it daily for 19 years. It was amazing! I also lost the desire to watch all the questionable shows I had been watching, so I stopped completely.

My conscience became sharpened, and I recognized evil for what it was. I honestly wanted to avoid any appearance of evil (see 1 Thessalonians 5:22). I was not desensitized to it anymore.

But the most amazing thing that happened was that I felt the influence of the Holy Ghost magnified in my life beyond anything I had experienced before. My spiritual progress accelerated tremendously! All those years I had thought I enjoyed the companionship of the Holy Ghost, but I had been experiencing only a sliver of what I might have. I realized that watching those shows all that time did affect me. I had missed so many years of having a stronger companionship with God. When I used my agency to give up unholy, worldly things, the Spirit was free to come to me in much greater measure, and what an incredible difference that has made in my life to strengthen, comfort, and guide me.

We tend to hold on so tightly to things of no worth—things that actually hold the door closed to the blessings that God wants to bring into our lives. Why do we trade the powerful, enabling influence of the Spirit for the fun or the popular? Maybe watching a television show is not a big deal or a huge sin, but it kept me from having the Holy Ghost in great abundance in my life and slowed down my spiritual progression.

I am so thankful that the Lord didn’t give up on me but patiently kept asking me to give up something unholy so He could fill my life to overflowing with His influence.

Marco D., 17, points out the importance of obeying the commandments, specifically the law of chastity. “The adversary tempts us in every way, trying to get us to mess up,” says Marco. “Friends can also be a bad influence.” Several years ago Marco had to change the friends he spent time with because he recognized the negative influence they were making on his choices. “I had to find friends who accepted me for who I am and not for who the world expects me to be.”

Sometimes in our climb up the mountain, we stumble. When this happens, “go see the bishop and talk openly with him,” urges Marco. “The bishop is our brother. We can trust him.”

His efforts to be obedient and stay pure give Marco opportunities to serve God now, and they are also preparing him to be worthy to one day serve a full-time mission.

Sister Ivone Armada from the Luanda Stake in Angola decided to use the Savior’s perspective as a guide for her gospel living. With her permission, I am sharing her comments. She wrote:
“At some point in my life, I was finally able to stop working to keep up with my children’s growth and home management. But I wanted to do something more, to contribute to the growth of one’s life.
“I prayed to the Lord, and at the end of the prayer an ‘angel’ was placed in my life—a friend who would help me become a facilitator to teach literacy classes.
“We started the training for this and when it ended, I divulged the project in the Church and in the community and thus formed a class where I could teach during a school year for children and adults with literacy needs.
“It was a great gift in my life, indeed for my whole family, since the preparation of the classes became a family project. It became a beacon—not only in the students’ lives but also in mine—I learned a lot about sacrifice with them and about perseverance.
“Three years later, on the day of the creation of the Angola Stake, I had the great blessing of meeting with several of these students (an adult and the rest—young people) and how wonderful it was to hear them say that they had never failed school again, they were so excited. My heartbeat fired and I remember looking up and saying in silence: ‘Thank you Father in Heaven’.
“Upon hearing one of the adult sisters that attended the class say that because of these classes she was able to start a small business that has provided for her family’s needs, we embraced each other, and we began to weep with gratitude. My husband and the people around me were perplexed to see this. My husband realized what was happening.
“With this experience, what is found in Doctrine and Covenants 81:5 and 84:106 gained tremendous weight in my personal and spiritual growth. I became a humbler person and had the purpose of leaving a legacy of greater service to my neighbor.”
Thanks to this experience, Sister Ivone continues to contribute in training and developing others. She went over and beyond what was being asked and used her time and talents to help others at Church and in her community. She indeed ministered to those in need and was blessed far beyond her expectations for that.

Several years ago, the members of a teachers quorum decided to work together to do secret acts of kindness within their ward. It started when one or two of them fixed a broken bicycle for another quorum member without telling him they had been the ones to do it. When he eventually found out about their help, the quorum members decided to find others in their ward whom they could help anonymously. Because others soon became aware of the acts of kindness that were secretly being performed, they became known as the “ward phantoms.” Eventually, they had cards printed which they left as evidence that the “phantoms” had struck again, doing good and trying not to “get caught” at it. It was a long time before the ward finally figured out who had been at the root of these many good deeds of service.

I think of what occurred in this Tabernacle 140 years ago this Sunday. I spoke of it from this pulpit some years back, but I wish to mention it again as we bring to a close this conference.
I take you back to the general conference of October 1856. On Saturday of that conference Franklin D. Richards and a handful of associates arrived in the valley. They had traveled from Winter Quarters with strong teams and light wagons and had been able to make good time. Brother Richards immediately sought out President Young. He reported that there were hundreds of men, women, and children scattered over the long trail from Scottsbluff to this valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts. They were accompanied by two wagon trains which had been assigned to assist them. They had reached the area of the last crossing of the North Platte River. Ahead of them lay a trail that was uphill all the way to the Continental Divide with many, many miles beyond that. They were in desperate trouble. Winter had come early. Snow-laden winds were howling across the highlands of what is now western Nebraska and Wyoming. Our people were hungry, their carts and their wagons were breaking down, their oxen dying. The people themselves were dying. All of them would perish unless they were rescued.
I think President Young did not sleep that night. I think visions of those destitute, freezing, dying people paraded through his mind.
The next morning he came to the old Tabernacle which stood on this square. He said to the people:
“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak. … It is this. … Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people. …
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains” (in LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [1960], 120–21).
That afternoon, food, bedding, and clothing in great quantities were assembled by the women.
The next morning, horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, 16 mule teams pulled out and headed eastward. By the end of October there were 250 teams on the road to give relief.
Wonderful sermons have been preached from this pulpit, my brethren and sisters. But none has been more eloquent than that spoken by President Young in those circumstances.

It was going to be a surprise day for the Harmon children. No one knew where they were going or what they were going to do, except their dad. “Hurry! Get in the car,” he said.
“I’m first,” said Julia.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy.
“I’m last,” said Herman as he crawled over Cindy to get in the middle.
Dad started the car and they were on their way. The children looked around excitedly—all except Herman. He was looking at something on the floor of the car.
“What’s in these boxes, Dad?” asked Herman.
“They’re part of the surprise,” answered Dad. “Now, all of you close your eyes and don’t open them until you feel the car come to a stop.”
Everyone closed their eyes tightly. They could feel the car moving down the street and around a corner. Finally it slowed down and stopped. All of their eyes popped open. They looked around. “Oh, Dad, the zoo!” they shouted all together. And they tumbled out of the car and dashed to the turnstile at the zoo entrance.
“I’m first,” said Tony.
“I’m second,” said Julia.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” said Herman, running under the turnstile.
“What would you like for a treat?” asked Dad.
“Popcorn!” “Peanuts!” shouted the children.
Dad bought three sacks of popcorn and two bags of peanuts.
They munched and shared and listened while Dad told them about the many different animals they saw. When they had seen all there was to see, Dad took them back to the car.
Herman remembered the mysterious-looking boxes. So did Dad. He took the smaller box out of the car and put it on the ground. He took the lid off, and the children looked inside. They saw a brandnew yellow kickball. Dad took them across the street to the sunny park to play.
“I’m first,” said Cindy.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Julia.
“I’m last,” said Herman, skipping to the end of the line.
After they each had had several turns kicking the ball, Dad called them back to look in the other box. He put it on a bench while the children stood around and watched. He reached inside and took out potato salad, fried chicken, rolls, potato chips, and chocolate cupcakes.
“Hurray!” shouted the children. “We’re hungry.” Then they all hurried to sit around a picnic table. The children ate and ate until they could eat no more. Then they all helped clean up.
“It’s getting late,” said Dad. “We’d best be on our way home.”
Arriving home, Julia shot out of the car and shouted, “Last one in the house has a purple nose! And I’m first!”
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” laughed Herman, holding his “purple” nose.
They all hugged their mother and told her about the wonderful day they had had with Dad. Mother hugged them back and listened to each one of them tell about their day.
When they were through with their excited talking, Mother told them it was bedtime. “Get into your pajamas and get into bed.”
“I’m first,” said Julia, running upstairs.
“I’m second,” said Tony, running downstairs.
“I’m third,” said Jerry, running downstairs.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy, running upstairs.
“And I’m last,” sighed Herman happily, snuggling on Mother’s lap as she gently rocked him to sleep.

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of the Panuco First Branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, I remember going to a conference down in west Florida. It seemed to me as if we traveled a hundred miles and never saw a house, and when we arrived at one of those little chapels, there it was filled with 250 people, and I said, “If you didn’t come out of the holes in the rocks, I don’t know where you came from. The Lord may know, but I don’t!” Well, that was literal, and we see that being fulfilled right before our very eyes.

Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”