Gospel Story Finder

“At a time when we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, are unable to attend the temple, it would seem easy to let our recommends lapse. Why? We’re not using them, are we? For me, my recommend was approaching out of date, I needed to have my accountability interview with my Saviour through appointed representatives, a member of the bishopric and then a member of the stake presidency. At the time, we were in lockdown, no sacrament meetings, no temple attendance, no visiting the sick and vulnerable. To do the Lord’s work in these times, an interview was over the phone with my bishopric member. This was just as spiritual as sitting in the office. We had a friendly chat, then an opening prayer and then the worthiness questions. It was humbling and very special. I could answer with a pure heart and mind answers that would see if I was able to enter the house of the Lord. I could feel the Spirit of the Lord just the same. Then an appointment was made to have the next interview with a member of the stake presidency via Zoom. I was so blest to have a face to face interview. I am so blest to have technology that enables this. Again, the Spirit was involved with the interview and again, I felt grateful that I could be held accountable to the Lord. So, I have peace in my heart and at a moment’s notice can attend the temple. In the meantime, we have more time with family and opportunities to discover names that we can add to TempleReady and Family File. Yes, my ancestors are waiting, and I know that the time will come that they too, can enter the holy temple, so I hold a current temple recommend, the link between me and my ancestors.” —Ellen Ender, Perth, Australia

I’ve had many problems with my temper. I used to yell at people because I thought they were such idiots. I would easily and quickly lose my temper. The way I overcame this was by reading the Book of Mormon, writing my feelings down on paper, and making a conscious effort to change. After about a week, I could tell that I wasn’t getting angry at people nearly as often.

Elder John O. Leyer, 19Indianapolis, Indiana

With a few months left in my mission in eastern Canada, I was transferred to a new area. The day I arrived, Elder Miller, my new companion, could not stop talking about one family with four boys—Jason, 14; Dawson, 11; Tyson, 8; and Robin, 5. Elder Miller was excited about this family. He said the Lord had truly prepared them.
The four boys all loved sports, especially baseball. I was elated since I thrived on sports of any kind. On our visits, the gospel and sports were our major topics of conversation. Occasionally we were able to play catch with the boys on their front lawn or watch them participate in athletic events.
My first discussion with the White family is forever embedded in my memory. That evening as we spoke about the plan of our Heavenly Father, the spirit of the Holy Ghost fell upon all of us. As the Spirit prompted us, my companion and I knew it was time to invite these good people to be baptized. We turned to the father and extended the invitation to baptism. He accepted. We then turned to his wife and asked her. She replied, “I do not feel ready at this time.”
Normally when someone says that they do not feel ready for baptism, missionaries ask them why. This time we did not even attempt to ask her why.
Next, we turned to the oldest son, Jason. We invited Jason to be baptized and he said yes.
His mother was a little shocked at his quick acceptance. She turned to him and said, “Jason, why do you want to be baptized?”
Jason started, “Well, Mom, you know how you feel when you win a championship game? You know how it makes you feel inside?”
She nodded.
“Well,” said Jason, “that’s how I feel right now, and because of that, I want to be baptized.”
As Jason concluded his comments, tears flowed from his mother’s eyes. She then turned to my companion and me and said, “I too would like to be baptized.”
Jason had powerfully taught us all that the Holy Ghost’s promptings are real and must be acted upon.
A few days later this faithful family was baptized.

Elaine Jennings, a Laurel in the Worthington Ward, Crawley England Stake, is excited about missionary work. While attending an international student conference in Italy (where this picture was taken) Elaine shared her standards and beliefs with the girls she roomed with at the conference.
Elaine also knows that the temple is a powerful missionary tool. She recently invited five of her school teachers to tour the London Temple prior to its rededication. Of the four who attended, one asked to meet with the missionaries.
Although none of those teachers has joined the Church, Elaine knows that what she did was important.
“I did what I could,” says Elaine. “I invited them to feel the Spirit, but it’s up to them to make the choice and act on it.”

Sister Kleah Nelson, matron of the Manila temple, told Church magazines that a group of more than 60 youth from a remote, rural area with no electricity or plumbing in the Visayans recently sacrificed to come to the temple in Manila.
“Because of the service project organized by very dedicated missionaries, all the youth were able to come dressed appropriately in white shirts and ties and girls in lovely Sunday dresses,” Sister Nelson stated.
This youth group performed more than 2,000 baptisms and confirmations.
A local priesthood leader said that there had been a “marked difference” in the attitudes of the youth who went to the temple to perform ordinances for the dead.
“This has helped them remember their commitments to the Lord as they face the challenges and pressures they experience as teenagers,” said Elder Michael John U. Teh, an Area Seventy in the Philippines.

Margaret could feel her face getting red as the math teacher wrote the grades on the blackboard. Twenty scores had already been posted and hers was still lower. He kept on writing—forty-one, thirty-nine, and thirty-eight.
No one knew that she was the one who had a score of thirty-nine, but to be next to last was embarrassing just the same. Margaret closed her eyes and wished she were far away.
Just then the bell rang and class was over. Margaret gathered up her books and started home. But instead of going straight home to her house she stopped by Mr. Tucker’s yard where he was carefully turning over the garden with a shovel.
“Well, if it isn’t Meg!” he called. Just those few words from Mr. Tucker made Margaret feel better.
“Hi, Mr. Tucker! It’s such a nice spring day that I knew you’d be out here.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you? Put your books down and visit awhile.”
Margaret watched the dry brown earth become a rich black as the shovelfuls were turned over.
“How was school today?” Mr. Tucker asked as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.
“All right, I guess. Anyway, it’s almost over for the year.”
“How are you doing in English?”
“Good,” Margaret answered.
“And you’re still doing well in science and art?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess the long face is for math.”
“That’s right,” Margaret answered, disgustedly. “As a matter of fact my score was next to the lowest in class today.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Tucker said, stopping his work for a few minutes to talk about Margaret’s problem.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Numbers just don’t make much sense to me. I’m afraid I’ll never understand them.”
“Well, now, I know you pretty well, Meg,” Mr. Tucker told her. “You’ve always done well in school. Most things seem to come easy for you, and so I know you’re going to be able to lick your problem with math.”
Margaret watched the soil as Mr. Tucker went back to turning it over. “You’ve come across something that isn’t easy, Meg,” he continued. “But now you’ve found a challenge, it can be pretty exciting to meet it head-on and prove you can master it.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Meg said. “Instead, I’ve just become upset until I sometimes feel as though I just hate it, especially since I’ll probably have to go to summer school if my grades don’t get any better.”
“Would that be so bad, summer school I mean?” asked Mr. Tucker. “Seems to me that might be a pretty good place to put in some hours. We didn’t have anything like that when I was a boy.”
“Well,” Meg replied. “Summer school is great if you can take the things you want. I guess the trouble is that I don’t like math any time of the year.”
“Math’s important, Meg.”
“I know. That’s what Mom says, but I guess I haven’t learned to like it yet.”
Mr. Tucker turned the last of the dry, brittle earth into crumbly black soil. “There, now I can get to planting.” He wore a twinkly kind of smile that Margaret had often seen, but only when he was working in the garden. She’d wondered about that certain smile but had never found a good answer for it.
The next week school ended and Margaret had only one week of vacation before summer school. Every day she walked down to watch Mr. Tucker weed and water his tomatoes and corn and peas. She watched his gray head bent over a tomato plant, searching for new weeds. And she wondered why he bothered with such a little garden.
“It’s not much of a garden this year,” Mr. Tucker admitted, reading her thoughts one day. “I used to plant this whole backyard.”
“Why do you work so hard anyway?” Margaret asked. “You usually give most of the vegetables away.”
Mr. Tucker had that same twinkly smile on his face as he answered. “It’s nice to be needed. And some folks depend on my vegetables, just like I’m depending on you to learn to like math.”
“I’ll try,” Margaret promised. And math lesson by math lesson the first week slowly passed. Summer school wasn’t half as unpleasant as she had anticipated.
She studied hard but on the first test she only scored fifty-eight.
“I’m afraid I can’t make a better grade,” Margaret told Mr. Tucker, showing him her red-checked paper.
“Yes you can!”
“I tried so hard. And look!”
“But you’ve only been going a week,” Mr. Tucker reminded her. “You’ll probably score in the sixties next week.”
And so before each test during the summer Margaret worked and studied a little harder. Slowly her scores began getting better and Mr. Tucker’s tomatoes grew bigger and riper.
“The day my first tomato is ready to pick you’ll get a hundred on your math,” he predicted.
Margaret laughed. “I’m working at it,” she said.
“And working isn’t so bad, is it? Still hate math?”
“Only a little,” Margaret answered, and the answer surprised even her.
“That’s my Meg!”
The next Monday when the math teacher wrote the scores on the board, there was only one hundred—Margaret’s. She had worked very hard all summer and was so pleased with the results that she smiled all the way to Mr. Tucker’s.
“Guess what?” she shouted.
“You got a hundred,” Mr. Tucker said matter-of-factly.
“How did you know?”
Mr Tucker held up a bright red tomato. “Easy,” he said, “my first tomato is ripe.” Then they both laughed.
“Here, this one is yours,” he said. “It’ll make a great sandwich for lunch.”
Margaret noticed his twinkly smile again as he put the tomato in her hands. Now she understood about the smile and without even a mirror, she knew she wore the very same kind of smile. Suddenly she realized that the “something” that Mr. Tucker was smiling about was the feeling that comes when a person has a feeling of accomplishment.
“Thank you,” she said, “and if this tomato tastes as good as the feeling of finally earning a hundred in math, it’ll be a great sandwich. You know,” Margaret added, “it’s almost like magic what a little work can do.”
Mr. Tucker nodded in agreement. “There’s not really much magic in this old world,” he said. “But it’s a great feeling when you’re a part of making something almost magical happen.”

“Rhoda, will you offer the blessing on the food?” Mama asked.
Rhoda looked at the small potato on her plate. “But there is still so much plate showing around my dinner,” she wanted to say but didn’t. “Yes, Mama,” she said.
Bowing her head, she began, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the food, and please bless it. Watch over Daddy in England that he will find those who are looking for the truth. And please provide food and safety for us while he is away. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and noticed her sister, Louisa, staring at Mama’s empty plate.
“Mama, where’s your food?” Louisa asked.
“Willard is out working in the fields,” Mama replied. “When he comes in, he’s going to want more than just water to drink.”
Rhoda could see worry lines around her sister’s eyes. “Are there no more potatoes?” Louisa asked.
Mama shook her head. “Those are the last ones. So eat up before they get cold.”
Rhoda stared at Mama. “But Mama, what will we do for breakfast in the morning?”
“Well, in your prayer you asked the Lord to provide for us while Daddy is away,” Mama replied. “I trust He will answer your prayer.”
“Mama!” Willard burst through the door. “Quick! The Judds have turned the canal water into their ditches!”
“Hurry, girls,” Mama said. “Buckets are outside!”
Rhoda jumped from the table, following Willard and Louisa outdoors. Each one grabbed a large, wooden bucket and raced down the dusty path to the canal.
Even though Rhoda was only eight years old, she understood about the canal. Like a man-made river, the canal was the source of water for all the homesteads in the area. The canal also provided water for irrigating crops. Farmers would turn some of the water from the canal into ditches lining their crops. Then the water would flow out of the ditches and flood the land. But once in a while, a farmer would turn all the canal water into his ditches, leaving the homesteads downstream without water until he finished irrigating his crops. And Rhoda knew that even one day without water in this scorching heat would be dangerous.
When the children arrived at the canal, the water flow had already stopped, leaving a still bed of water resting in the bottom. Rhoda filled her bucket with water, carried it back to the house, and poured it into the large rain barrel beside the front door. Back and forth the children ran, trying to fill the barrel before the water dried up.
“One more bucket each ought to do it,” Mama called.
Even though the sun hung low, almost touching the horizon, the dirt felt hot and gritty on the bottoms of Rhoda’s feet. Reaching the canal, they found that the stream was now dried up, leaving a muddy bed pocked with small, shallow pools. Rhoda jumped down into the damp streambed, mud spurting between her toes. Reaching the edge of one of the shallow pools, she leaned over to dip her bucket into the water. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell, splashing into the pool.
Willard and Louisa laughed as Rhoda stood up. Her dress clung to her back and belly, and warm water dripped down her arms and legs. When she reached down to grab her bucket, something slippery slithered past her ankles. “Snake!” Rhoda screeched, scrambling out of the pool.
Willard raced over, peering at the small pool.
“There!” Rhoda cried, pointing a finger at the water.
Willard’s eyes scanned the murky water. His hand circled the surface, then suddenly he thrust his arm into the water and grabbed at something.
“It’s a fish!” Willard shouted, holding a small, wriggling fish in his palm. “I caught a fish!”
“Look! There must be more in that pool over there!” Rhoda pointed.
“And over there,” Louisa shouted, pointing at another. All the small pools of water rippled with life.
“Let’s fill our buckets and take them to Mama,” Louisa suggested.
There was little water left in the pools and the fish swarmed in tight bunches, making it easy for the children to snatch them up. Soon their buckets were filled and the children carried them back to the cabin.
“Mama! Look what we found in the canal!” Rhoda called as they reached the cabin door.
“Fish? In the canal?” Mama looked confused. “There aren’t any fish in that canal.”
“There are tonight. The shallow pools are full of them,” Louisa said.
“But there have never been fish in that canal,” Mama said quietly, staring at the full buckets of fish. “Children, this is a miracle. Just as He sent manna to the hungry Israelites, the Lord has sent fish for us to eat.”
Reaching for Rhoda’s bucket, she continued, “And just like the children of Israel, we must gather all we can while there are fish to catch. Go and see if there are any more, and I will begin cleaning these and packing them in salt.”
The sun sank into the prairie grasses and a full moon lit the night as the children returned to search for more fish. As Rhoda knelt down in the mud, she closed her eyes and spoke softly. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for answering my prayer and for taking care of us. Thank Thee for sending us the miracle of the fishes.”

Fourteen days is not very long. But two weeks was all we had as cast members of the Hill Cumorah Pageant to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover.
I knew that reading the 531-page script would make it easier to bear my testimony to the thousands of investigators that came to see the show. The reasons to read were obvious; however, the ways to find time to read were not so obvious.
The cast of 600 came to the Hill Cumorah from around the U.S. and Canada to perform this annual pageant. Not quite a vacation, daily practices started before sunrise and ended as late as 2:00 A.M. Every day was filled with learning our parts, attending classes, and having as many as four devotionals a day. There was no personal study time set aside. I snatched bites of the book during meals, on the bus rides, and during visits to the Sacred Grove.
The sacrifice to read became greater as each day and performance passed. Although I was tired and sore, my spirit was awake and eager to finish the sacred book. The characters were becoming my friends—partly because I was reading so much about them in such a short time, and partly because my friends literally were those characters in the pageant.
The couple playing Nephi and his wife, for example, made their characters real for me. I watched as she supported Nephi, making sure he arrived at rehearsal on time. I saw her straighten his headband and clothes, preparing him for his part. Laman, although a contentious character, was played by a sociable, popular guy. It made me wonder if perhaps the real Laman had a likable side—he just never caught on to the gospel message. Before the actors who played Jesus and his Twelve Apostles took their turn on stage, they gathered in prayer in a grove of trees near the stage. They took their parts seriously, as I’m sure the real men did. By having people dressed as these well-known characters, we realized that these scriptural people were human beings with individual personalities.
I headed for dinner just before our last performance. But then I saw Moroni walk by, which reminded me that I hadn’t finished the last few chapters of his book.
I wanted to meet the challenge and finish the Book of Mormon before our final performance. So I skipped dinner and climbed to the top of Hill Cumorah in my Nephite outfit. Although tourists and costumed cast members were on the hill, I found a private place away from the beaten path.
As I read the last words of Moroni, I looked into the woods and imagined what Moroni must have felt as he buried the plates. “I wander withersoever I can for the safety of mine own life” (Moro. 1:3).
I was getting to know Moroni as I read his words and sat where he may have been when he wrote them. It almost seemed as if he were reading aloud the last few chapters of the book.
“If ye have faith ye can do all things which are expedient unto me” (Moro. 10:23). I thought of all the hard things I had done, such as read the book in 14 days, and all of the hard things yet to come, such as standing up to peer pressure, fulfilling my church callings, and doing well in school. But Moroni reminded me that with faith we can accomplish what the Lord would have us do. He was becoming a real person to me.
I finished the last few verses of Moroni on his historic hill. I felt as if Moroni and I were sharing this moment together. I knew I wouldn’t forget the friendship I felt between us that night.

My wife, Jill, and I recently witnessed this truth in the faithful lives of Holly and Rick Porter, whose 12-year-old son, Trey, passed away in a tragic fire. With hands and feet severely burned in a heroic attempt to save her dear son, Holly later testified in ward sacrament meeting of the great peace and joy the Lord had poured out upon her family in their anguish, using words such as miraculous, incredible, and amazing.

This precious mother’s unbearable grief was replaced by surpassing peace with this thought: “My hands are not the hands that save. Those hands belong to the Savior! Instead of looking at my scars as a reminder of what I was not able to do, I remember the scars my Savior bears.”

Holly’s witness fulfills our prophet’s promise: “As you think celestial, you will view trials and opposition in a new light.”

The time had come. I was finally in college! I thought I’d be able to handle anything that life had to offer.
I had just moved into my college dorm, and the excitement of the first few days had died down. I sat on my bed, contemplating my future. I wasn’t excited or happy, like I thought I should be. I was scared and homesick, even though my family wasn’t very far away.
Just then my roommate, Liz, called over to me.
“Tam,” she said, “can we talk?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Have you ever felt like no one is there for you? Like you know God is there and everything, but you don’t feel him comforting you?”
I couldn’t believe it. Liz was feeling the exact same way I was. We discussed it for a few minutes and then decided to look in our scriptures for some comforting passages. Liz read from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“But behold, verily, verily, I say unto you that mine eyes are upon you. I am in your midst and ye cannot see me; But the day soon cometh that ye shall see me, and know that I am; for the veil of darkness shall soon be rent” (D&C 38:7–8).
Never before had I felt the Spirit so strongly. I knew at that moment that I was not alone. I knew that the Lord was aware of me, and that he was there for me. I knew that, although I was still unsure of my future, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Twenty months earlier, I had found myself asking parallel questions in a parallel situation, only in a place with all the peace and serenity that my stoplight moment lacked.
In the Sacred Grove, in Palmyra, New York, the leaves were barely budding on the brown branches surrounding me. The newly green shrubbery sprinkling the ground seemed to breathe life into the air. Only the rustles of a gentle breeze, our stroller, and my footsteps reached my ears—no cars, no roads, no loud conversations. Yet despite the serenity, my mind swayed with questions and uncertainty. My husband, Lance, and I had been waiting 72 painstaking hours for my doctor to call with results of a last-minute ultrasound and blood test. I was desperate for answers and consolation.
I found myself staring at the winter-worn flower beds outside the Palmyra New York Temple. My mind fully articulated the questions weighing on it: “If I lose this pregnancy, why? What then?” As gentle as the spring breeze around me, the Lord spoke to my mind the comfort I had been yearning for. I no longer needed the doctor to let me know; I knew I would lose this pregnancy, but I suddenly understood that this tiny soul was in the perfect, loving hands of Heavenly Father. All at once, the desperation that had consumed me was replaced with a reassuring peace that sustained me through the following weeks and months.
Several days after visiting Palmyra, I experienced a traumatic miscarriage. Although a sense of peace continued to sustain me, I felt physically and emotionally weak from the loss and unprepared for the waiting that followed. I first waited for lab results, which indicated a rare, partial molar pregnancy. I then waited for blood tests weekly, biweekly, and finally monthly to ensure no signs of a possible resultant cancer. Even through the long months of waiting, Lance and I could easily see the Lord’s hand comforting and reassuring us through that time. The partial molar pregnancy had no lasting effects, and after only six months my doctor said we could try to have another baby. I was back on the path to progress in my life; the light had finally changed from red to green.

During a special Church conference held on April 6, 1881, branch president Silviano Arteaga, several local leaders, and Apostle Moses Thatcher (1842–1909) climbed the slope of the volcano Mt. Popocatépetl. Elder Thatcher then dedicated the land for the preaching of the gospel.

At the conference President Arteaga prayed, and Elder Thatcher related: “Tears flowed down his wrinkled cheeks, for the deliverance of his race and people. … I never heard any man pray more earnestly, and though praying in a language which I do not comprehend, yet I seemed to understand by the Spirit, all that he was pleading for.”2

His first months in the Scottish conference, where he was assigned, were not easy, as they are not for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. A Scottish woman had said, when I gave her a tract, ‘Better gae to your home, ya canna have any o’oor lassies!’
“I did not want any of their lassies. I had left a sweet one at home. But it made me discouraged to think of the ill will which they had towards the Mormons. What misconceived notions they had of our purpose among them!
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel that antipathy and prejudice gave me the blues.
“I was with Peter G. Johnston, one of the truest friends in all the world. He was from Idaho, an experienced, wealthy man, a lover of all things beautiful. I was fortunate to have his companionship. …
“As we were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’
“Then I thought what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing; we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it, for we had just finished studying the ‘Lady of the Lake’ at the university. However, that was not missionary work.
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

Photo illustration by David Stoker
When I was 12, the girls I thought were my four best friends decided they didn’t want to be friends with me. They began to say horrible and hateful things about me. I felt unloved, unwanted, unneeded, and worthless. I thought I would never feel happy again.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came. I didn’t want to do anything, and I stopped participating in school activities. After a few months of feeling like everything was falling apart, I started to hide my feelings and pretend to be happy.
I stopped praying, and I complained anytime I had to go to church or midweek activities. My former friends had constantly teased me about being a member of the Church. I told myself that if I stopped going to church and living the standards, I could get my friends back.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came.
But after a few months, I realized that I needed to rely more on the Savior when I was feeling hurt and lonely. Jesus Christ felt all of my pain. He died on the cross for me, and I was setting aside His sacrifice and His gospel. I started complaining less and less until, finally, Sunday was my favorite day of the week.
Even after going to church, something still didn’t feel right. I decided I needed to pray. I couldn’t remember the last time I had prayed. Before I could think twice about it, I knelt down and started to pray. I cried to Heavenly Father about everything that had happened. I apologized for forgetting Him when He was what I needed most.
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just opened up to a random page and started reading. I came across Mosiah 26:31: “Ye shall also forgive one another your trespasses; … he that forgiveth not his neighbor’s trespasses when he says that he repents, the same hath brought himself under condemnation.”
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures.
I realized that my pain and unhappiness weren’t simply caused by what those girls had said or done to me. I was unhappy because I was holding a grudge against my former best friends, and I blamed myself for letting them hurt me. By not forgiving them or myself, I became my biggest bully.
I prayed that I would be able to forgive the girls who had hurt me and that I could forgive myself. Forgiving them was so hard for me, and it took a while. Forgiving them was like letting a piece of myself fall away. But after fully forgiving them, I felt that I could move on and learn from what happened to me by helping the people around me who might be struggling.
I don’t know why I let myself be sad for over a year, and I honestly have no idea why I thought being away from the Church would make me happier. Clearly, I was wrong. Even though it was still hard to feel happy and to forgive after that time, keeping an eternal perspective and focusing on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation really helped me. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were there for me the whole time I was struggling; I had just been too stubborn to turn to Them. I’m glad I eventually did.
I am grateful for what I learned from my experience. I am a stronger, more compassionate, all-around better person because of it. I have been able to help so many people through their hard times because of my own. I have a strong belief that trials really can lead to blessings when we turn to God.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Shortly after my call to the Presiding Bishopric, I received a letter from one of my uncles. “Dear Glenn,” it said. “I saw you on television last Sunday. Do you realize what an accomplishment it was to get your old sinner of an uncle to watch general conference?”
That summer he and my aunt celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. After the reception I walked them to their car and said, “If you would like to meet me at the Salt Lake Temple, I would love to perform your sealing.”
A year passed. I arrived home late one night to find a message awaiting me: “Please call your uncle, no matter what time you get home.”
I called, and he said, “Glenn, I’m calling to collect on your golden wedding anniversary offer of a marriage sealing in the Salt Lake Temple.”
I asked, “Are you serious? When?”
He said, “In December. My bishop thinks I can be good enough by then.”
I sealed them to each other and then sealed two of their sons to them. After fifty-one years of marriage, my uncle and aunt received the great blessings of the temple, and the entire family cried.

Illustration by David Malan/Malan Creative
When our first child, Caden, was 10 months old, my husband, David, and I left him in the care of my parents for the first time. We went out for dinner and then went to a movie theater. Once we got our popcorn and sat down, my mother called.
Our baby wasn’t breathing, and an ambulance was on the way!
We drove home in a panic and ran inside to see Caden in my mother’s arms, smiling at the paramedics. He was fine, but he had experienced a seizure.
Doctors couldn’t determine the cause of the seizure or two subsequent seizures, but they prescribed medication to help. As a first-time mother, I was devastated. Caden seemed OK, but the experience shook my faith. I became consumed with stress and worry.
Two years later a neurologist recommended performing an electroencephalogram (EEG) on Caden, a test that would measure his brain activity while he was asleep. If the results looked good, he could stop taking seizure medication.
I worried about the test because Caden had stopped taking naps a year earlier. How would we get him to sleep in a busy doctor’s office with electrodes all over his head?
The night before the test, David gave Caden a priesthood blessing. As the blessing began, I felt the strong presence of the Spirit. I knew everything would be OK. It was the first time since his first seizure that I felt peace.
The next day doctors attached electrodes to Caden’s head. Then we laid him on the exam table and turned off the lights.
He was asleep in minutes. This may not seem like a miracle, but he hadn’t taken a nap on his own for over a year.
Heavenly Father hadn’t forgotten us. His Spirit was there in that doctor’s office, calming Caden and comforting me. My attitude toward trials and priesthood blessings shifted that day. I know that the power of the priesthood is real.
Caden is now a young adult. He hasn’t had a seizure since he was a baby. He has faced other challenges but has overcome most of them. I know that the Lord continues to watch out for him and calm my fears (see Luke 8:50).

Many years ago when at the age of twelve I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first priesthood meeting. In those days these meetings were held on a week night. I recall that we went to the Tenth Ward building in Salt Lake City, Utah. He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening hymn was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as four hundred there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, some with the accents of the European lands from which they had come as converts, all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(Hymns, No. 147.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.
It is true that during the years which followed there were times when that testimony wavered somewhat, particularly in the years of my undergraduate university work. However, that conviction never left me entirely; and it has grown stronger through the years, partly because of the challenges of those days which compelled me to read and study and make certain for myself. I think that many of you have gone through similar experiences. President Harold B. Lee once said that our testimonies need renewing every day. In harmony with that principle, I would desire to strengthen our testimonies of the great work that the God of heaven has permitted to transpire in these last days.

Jared was baptized in the Naknek River, which empties into the Bering Sea. The beach along the river is a favorite place for the children to play, and they also catch lots of fish in the river, mostly red, king, pink, and silver salmon. King salmon may be as big as Jared, so just one will feed lots of people!
The day Jared was baptized, a special thing happened. It rains a lot in King Salmon, and it had been pouring for two days. A few minutes before the baptism the rain stopped. As the congregation walked down to the river, the sun peeped out and the usual sounds of aircraft and other noises ceased just long enough for Jared’s father to baptize him!

It was 14 February when I knelt across the altar in the Mesa Arizona Temple with my sister, Jennifer; my dad; and my mom. I was 15 years old and had been a member of the Church for a year. What had been only a goal a year before was now a reality. We were about to be sealed as a family for time and eternity.
Twenty-one years earlier, my parents, who were not yet members, married in a religious ceremony. The minister said the marriage was “until death do you part,” but my parents thought marriage should last forever. They signed letters to each other, and later to Jen and me, “Love for forever and three days.” It was their way of saying they hoped we would always be together.
It wasn’t until my dad started having back problems that we met a member of the Church. A therapist who helped my dad with back exercises began talking to my parents about the gospel. Slowly, they became interested and asked to meet the missionaries.
The first meeting we attended was a stake conference. Its theme was strengthening the family. For my mom, who had been searching for ways to make our family closer, the conference was an answer to prayer.
My prayers were answered too. After the missionaries invited us to be baptized, I began praying to know if the Church was true. As I read in John 14:26–27 about having the Holy Ghost and not being afraid, I knew it was true.
On 11 February 1996, my entire family was baptized. We had been attending the ward for only a few weeks, so we were shocked when dozens of people came to the baptism to show their support.
My family made a goal to be sealed in the temple as soon as we could. We began preparing to attend the temple, focusing on our relationships with each other and with the Savior. Our relationship as a family became more spiritual as we studied the scriptures and prayed together.
I tried to read everything the prophets had written about going to the temple. I also followed my Young Women leader’s suggestion and began saying “thank you” prayers. Instead of just asking Heavenly Father for things I wanted, I concentrated on thanking Him.
On the day of our sealing, we awoke excited. Today was the day! When we arrived at the temple, Jen and I walked around outside while my parents received their endowments. The weather was perfect. It was as if the flowers had bloomed for us.
Finally it was time for Jen and me, dressed in white, to join our parents in the sealing room. I remember being struck by how bright and pure and beautiful everything looked. As we knelt at the altar, I glanced in the mirrors and saw images of our family extending endlessly. I felt the Spirit bear witness that our family could be together forever.
When we walked outside after the sealing, we were again surprised at the number of people who had come to support us.
It wasn’t until a few days later that we realized we had been sealed exactly a year and three days after our baptism. Suddenly my parents’ signature, “Love for forever and three days,” took on a whole new meaning. Their wish had come true—we could now be a forever family.

“When we left Germany, the country was in the midst of skyrocketing inflation; a million marks wouldn’t even buy a loaf of bread. Upon arriving in America, we found it in the throes of the Depression. My father’s professional skills as a tool and die maker were in short demand, and he couldn’t find work. My mother, however, was able to find housework. Because she was an extremely good cook, she also was able to get a job with a German salad-making company. She worked hard just to put food on the table for us. Then Dad got a job as a maintenance man, and I helped him during much of my growing-up years. We would go early in the morning to about fourteen or fifteen different buildings and shovel coal into the furnaces.
“Because we had to work hard, we developed strength. My brother and I participated in basketball, baseball, football, tennis, table tennis, and swimming and became quite good. Our classmates began to accept us more readily. Our family still enjoys sports together.
“My father was the oldest of eleven children, and he was the only one who accepted the gospel. Some of our children who have gone on missions to Germany have testified to my relatives, but none of them have yet accepted the gospel.
“I was born in a land that is now behind the Iron Curtain. Probably one of my choicest experiences was to be at the dedication ceremony of the Freiberg Temple. The temple is very near the place where I was born. It was a soul-stirring experience to see my own people waving white handkerchiefs to President Gordon B. Hinckley and Elder Thomas S. Monson as the bus pulled away at the conclusion of the dedication.
“My suggestion to children is this: Live each day so that the Holy Ghost will be your constant companion. Serving the Savior will bring abundant blessings to you, and family ties will be made stronger and homes will be more heavenly. Sustain your leaders and follow their counsel.”