Gospel Story Finder

One such time came before a gathering of hundreds in a hotel ballroom in Vietnam in November of 2019.

President Nelson met with a group of young single adults, who were given the opportunity to ask the Prophet a few questions. With the questions complete and the meeting coming to a close, President Nelson paused and said he would take one more question. The room stilled as the young woman he selected next spoke about her experience with emotional and sexual abuse. “How can we know we are not to blame and worthy to follow God and that He will accept us when we do?” she questioned.

President Nelson spoke about the mortal experience. “We come to this earth for two purposes — to get a body and to be tested,” he said. “Everyone will have bad things happen to them. … What we become is how we handle the very hard things in life. The main thing is to develop faith in God, faith in Jesus Christ and know you will be talking to Them one day. …. With faith you can overcome. The Lord will say, ‘Well done.’”

After the gathering, President Nelson and his wife, Sister Wendy W. Nelson, walked straight to the young woman. President Nelson offered private counsel. Sister Nelson, a mental health counselor by profession, embraced her. “You were beautiful before the abuse,” she whispered. “You are beautiful after the abuse. It wasn’t your fault.” [12]

A sweet spirit filled the room. The young woman wept. I knew at that moment that I had witnessed a miracle — a healing of an ailment no less isolating or debilitating than leprosy was for those in the Savior’s day.

Sabrina, 18, remembers the sister missionaries coming to home evening when she was 10. “They taught me simply but firmly that God reveals truth through prayer. They said I needed to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father in humility to give me a testimony. ‘Me kneel down?’ I thought to myself. A few days later, Mom wanted to go for a walk with my sisters and me. Even though the sun was shining and I wanted to go with them, something stopped me. I knew it was the perfect time. I knelt down in the dining room. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to let me know if the Book of Mormon was true. I asked Him if the principles I was taught in church were true. Five minutes went by. After I ended my prayer I remained on my knees. Suddenly, a ray of light illuminated my face. I could not understand this, because the house was dark. But there was a small window in the kitchen without a curtain, and the light was coming from there.
“I felt so happy. I realized that my Father had answered my prayer in this way. Now I have a testimony of all these things, and I know they are true. I know that prayer has tremendous power.”

Elder David Antonio Parada and Elder Sergio Saavedra turn the corner and start up the next street in a busy neighborhood in San Salvador. Children are chasing each other. A dog is barking. Women and girls pass by with loads of food or laundry on their heads. Radios tuned to various stations are blaring from open windows, each playing music with energetic Latin rhythms.
Just as the elders reach the red house, the novios (an engaged couple) arrive from the other direction for their appointment. They invite the missionaries into their house and arrange the chairs into a circle. After prayer, the girl disappears into another room and comes back with the copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Have you been praying?” Elder Parada asks. The girl nods. “Have you been reading the Book of Mormon?” Yes, they read their assignment in 3 Nephi 11 [3 Ne. 11]. “Wonderful! Keep reading and praying about it, and you’ll know by the power of the Holy Ghost that it is true.”
The lesson is on the plan of salvation. Elder Parada takes his ball-point pen apart. “Our bodies are like this pen’s outer shell,” he says, “and our spirit are like this inner part with the ink.” Using this simple visual aid, he explains death and resurrection. When the girl asks a question, Elder Parada answers with verses from his well-marked scriptures.
Then Elder Saavedra takes his turn teaching. Both missionaries seem completely at home here; neither is hampered by language or cultural distractions. The girl’s mother, who has been outside washing clothes, comes in and overhears part of the discussion. A rooster outside starts crowing, and a couple of chickens walk past the open door. A breeze blows lightly through the open window and rustles the curtain that serves as a door into the back room. The discussion proceeds smoothly. As the missionaries prepare to leave, the mother smiles and comes over to shake their hands. She says she might come to church with the novios tomorrow.
Elder Parada and Elder Saavedra say good-bye to the novios and walk back down the street. “It’s beautiful to see that pair of elders working together,” their mission president later comments. Elder Parada comes from an extremely humble background, the son of a field worker; his junior companion, Elder Saavedra, is the son of the Mexican consul to El Salvador. One worked for years in the fields to save money for his mission; the other left cars and stereos behind. Now they’re a team—humble, confident, articulate.
They cross a ravine on a swinging footbridge. Then, turning the corner, they start up the next street in another neighborhood of San Salvador.

“Come on!” I said, impatiently swinging my keys around my index finger. “We’re both going to be late if you don’t hurry up!”
My 17-year-old sister slid off of the bed where she had been lying facedown. We were late for our summer jobs, and she was moving agonizingly slow. It seemed like she was always trying to annoy me. Born 11 months apart, my sister and I could be best friends or best enemies. I sighed and harassed her, trying to get her to move faster.
She limped slowly to the car, saying she didn’t feel well. “She’s so dramatic,” I thought to myself as I pulled up to the fast food restaurant where she worked. “You’re not that sick,” I said as she staggered out of the car. Sometimes having a sister could be so aggravating.
That night when I got home, my mother opened the door. She had been waiting up for me. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Your sister tried to commit suicide. She took a bunch of pills …”
“No!” I remembered the last words I had said to her. She must have been thinking that I wouldn’t even care.
The next months were a blur for our family—trying to prove how much we loved her, trying to give her a reason to live. We prayed and fasted; we sought priesthood counsel and blessings. I watched my father’s hair turn grey and my mother’s face sag with worry.
My sister! Though at times we drove each other crazy, she was my best friend. I didn’t know she was feeling so desperate. I thought of all the teasing remarks I had made in the last few months. Instead of supporting her as a family member should, I had been making the problem worse.
Although I knew what she had done was her choice, I couldn’t help agonizing over how I could have helped her if I had known. Tears rolled down my cheeks as my mind flooded with memories of growing up together. The ache made my heart feel hollow.
I never realized until that moment how powerful words could be. Perhaps if I had used my words to support my sister instead of teasing her, she would have opened her heart. Then I would have realized she needed me to be her friend.
I determined I would be that friend. I began to follow Paul’s admonition in the scriptures to “be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Ephesians 4:32). As I did so, I noticed a change both in my sister and in myself. She was grateful for the little ways I showed my love for her. But I was also blessed. Being kind to her made me feel happier and more confident in myself.
Eventually my sister’s medications were able to calm the turmoil that raged inside her. She had a chemical imbalance in her brain that affected her moods drastically. Her hormones became more balanced, and she achieved a sort of stability, although she would continue to struggle with the effects of that horrific time.
Because I almost lost her, I now cherish the time we have together and try to be more like the Savior when I interact with all my family members. I savor each new year with my sister as a gift. Sometimes when we visit each other we just laugh and laugh because it feels so good to be together. The time I can spend with my family brings me a deep sense of joy.
I have learned to hold on to family with all my might. I will fight to keep the relationships strong. Those relationships are a gift from God to bring us joy and bless us in times of need. Family relationships are precious. Life is precious. I will savor these gifts while they are mine.

When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.

I can remember as a young boy hearing my mother and father in our daily family prayers asking for the kind and protecting care of our Heavenly Father to be with us during that day, or on a particular trip, or during any special activity in which we might be engaged. I was so impressed by those pleadings with the Lord by my dear parents that I incorporated them into my personal prayers as well, and later into our own family prayers.

Now, I’ll tell you a little experience. I had a debate with a minister in Amsterdam when I was on my first mission. One of the Saints invited me to come to her home. She wanted to invite her neighbor in and let me preach the gospel to her. When my companion and I went to that home, the neighbor was there, but she brought her minister with her. Well, we had a little difference of opinion on the discussion of the priesthood, and right there he challenged me for a debate in his church. I was young and had a lot of umph in me, and I accepted the challenge. We were not advised in those days not to debate.
When we arrived in his church on Saturday night according to our appointment, that church was full. All of his people were there, and all of our people were there. I didn’t know how our people found it out; I didn’t tell them. He stood up and said, “Now inasmuch as Mr. Richards is a guest in our church, we’ll accord him the privilege of opening the debate. We’ll each talk for twenty minutes and continue as long as it is mutually agreeable. Is that satisfactory to you, Mr. Richards?”
I said, “Very much so.” I didn’t tell him, but I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he just handed it to me on a silver platter. I didn’t know whether the Lord had anything to do with that or not, but I always thought he did.
I stood up and said, “The last time I talked to my friend here, we had a difference of opinion on the principle of priesthood. I’ve come here tonight prepared to discuss that subject, but I don’t propose to start at that point. If you were going to build a house, you wouldn’t try to put the roof on it until you got the foundation in because if a foundation were faulty, it wouldn’t do you any good to put the roof on because the house would fall. I propose to open this debate by laying the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I choose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews where Paul said:
Leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God, of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment. [Hebrews 6:1–2]
I hurried over faith and repentance because I thought they believed them. I spiked down baptism by immersion for the remission of sins until everybody in the audience was giving me approval. Then I came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. They didn’t believe that. They thought the Holy Ghost came just like the breezes that blow over your head. You remember when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip. They sent Peter and John to them, and when they came, they prayed for those men. They laid their lands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. And when Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the apostle’s hands, he offered them money, saying:
Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay my hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.
But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou has thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money. [Acts 8:19–20]
Then I gave another reference or two about the laying on of hands out of the Bible and sat down. “My friend” stood up. He never mentioned a word I’d said. He started on the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the Golden Bible and the fact that Joseph Smith admitted that he’d made many mistakes, and then he turned to me and said, “Now if Mr. Richards will explain these matters, this audience will be most appreciative.”
I was on my feet just like that. (My companion said, “How did you think so fast?” and I said, “What have you been praying for all week?”) I stood on my feet and said, “In the days of the Savior, his enemies tried to trick him with cunningness and craftiness. I don’t suppose there is anybody here today that would like to see us resort to those old tactics. This friend of mine offered me the courtesy of opening this debate as a guest in his church, and now he wants to steal from me the very courtesy that he extended me, and I don’t propose to let him do it. So, my friend, you may have your twenty minutes over again.”
He couldn’t do it, and he knew he couldn’t. His wife stood up in the audience and said, “What Mr. Richards is asking is fair; you ought to answer him.” Even then he couldn’t do it.
I said to my companion, “Stand up and give me my coat and hat.” It was wintertime. I said, “I am willing to remain here till 10 o’clock tomorrow morning, when I have to be in my own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you set up, but if not, I’m going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our Saints to leave, and we’ll leave it to you to settle with your people what’s happened here tonight.” He still couldn’t do it, so we all walked out on him. I met him on the street time and time again after that, and he always ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to speak to me.

Following the sacrament meeting, the Relief Society meeting was hosted by Relief Society President Jen Norton. She too had a technical treat for the sisters. She had previously invited sisters to send her photos of their mothers, with three sentences about them or three qualities to highlight.
Sister Norton showed the sisters her presentation—photos were revealed, and the sisters were asked to guess who they were. When a photo was correctly identified, the daughter read out the sentences or qualities she had provided.
There was much fun as the sisters tried to be the first to guess who the mother was, or made comments on hairstyles and fashions, or how much their daughter looked like them. There were many tears as sisters talked of the dear mothers who had passed on.
It was a very inclusive and beautiful way to honour mothers.

For example, when I was ordained a deacon, our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized was proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out.

As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told that we were assisting every member in a renewal of the covenant of baptism, with its responsibilities and blessings. We were also told how we should assist a particular brother—Louis—who had a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.

How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Louis sat. I was hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a piece of bread and pressed it to his open lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Louis made better deacons of us all.

Eli looked at the pile of homework his friend had dropped off after school. Eli had missed another week of school because of an ear infection.
That evening Eli’s parents came into his room. His mom sat on the side of Eli’s bed and took his hand. “Eli, the doctor thinks you need an operation,” she said.
“What kind of operation?”
“He wants to put tubes in your ears to keep you from getting more infections,” Mom said. “It won’t hurt, and you’ll be out of the hospital in a day.” She squeezed his hand.
Eli trusted his parents. But the idea of having an operation scared him. He thought about the story he had heard in Primary about Joseph Smith. When Joseph was seven years old, the bone in his leg became infected. The infection got worse until the doctor decided that he must remove part of the bone or Joseph might lose his leg or even die.
Eli thought about Joseph’s courage and faith in his father. “Can I have a blessing, Dad?” he asked. Eli knew a priesthood blessing could help him. At the beginning of the school year, Eli’s father had given him a blessing.
“That’s a great idea,” his father said.
Eli’s mother folded her arms and bowed her head. Eli felt his father’s hands on his head. His father’s voice grew in confidence as he blessed Eli that he would not be scared and that he would recover completely.
When the blessing was over, Eli was no longer afraid. “I can have the operation now,” he said.
Three days later he went to the hospital and returned home the next day. The ear infections soon stopped, and Eli quickly made up the schoolwork he had missed.
Eli was grateful that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that he could be blessed through the priesthood.

It was in this bloody climate that Daniel was born. As a youth he was selected to be deported from his home in Judah to Babylon, the center in which Nebuchadnezzar was building his empire. The king was determined to make it the center of the universe, the most beautiful city in the world, with beautiful parks and buildings and, in the city center, a temple to the worship of the gods of Babylon. Thus Daniel was brought into a strange land as a youth—a land with strange customs, a strange tongue, strange environment, and a strange religious foundation, for the Babylonians believed in nature worship.

His first test in being “in the world” came when the king ordered that the ones who had been captured drink of his wine and eat of his rich food. Daniel understood from the commandments that he had been taught by his parents, the commandments of the Lord, that these things were not good for his body. In their homes Daniel and his friends were taught to keep the commandments of God, and they knew it would be wrong to eat and drink of unhealthful things. But how could he explain this knowledge to the leaders of Babylon who did not believe as they did, who even had different gods?

“The king has commanded that thou shalt eat and drink the same as the others,” argued the servant who was responsible for training these young men.

“If thou doest not eat this, and the king sees that thou art growing weak and thin, he will surely have me killed,” was the servant’s reply to Daniel when he came to have his diet changed.

But Daniel begged that he and his friends be allowed to follow the health rules that had been given to them. His response was, “Prove us for ten days. Feed us upon the grains, and let us drink of water; then see if we are not as healthy as the rest.”

The response of this young man was most interesting. He did not try to discount or to argue against the beliefs of the Babylonians. He volunteered to a test to try the two ways to see which would be the better.

The servant agreed to the test. For the next ten days Daniel and those with him ate and drank only the things that they should. At the end of ten days Daniel and his friends were found healthier and stronger than all the rest (See Daniel 1).

Danny Cope maneuvers his motorized wheelchair with the skill of a parking attendant. He can’t move his arms or fingers very well, but he prods the control stick mounted on his armrest with his fist. Danny’s wheelchair has seen a lot of action. As a deacon in the Oakridge Ward in the El Dorado California Stake, he uses it to fulfill his Aaronic Priesthood duties.
The wheelchair takes him to collect fast offerings and to quorum and Scout activities. His dad even made a special sacrament tray attachment so Danny can pass the sacrament with the other deacons. Since he isn’t able to lift the tray himself, the ward member nearest to the aisle helps him. Cerebral palsy might limit him physically, but mentally and spiritually he keeps moving.

I guess I knew it would happen sooner or later. You know, have one of those experiences you only hear about in Sunday School or seminary lessons—the “what would you do if …” kind. It happened to me during the summer following my high school graduation.
One evening, two friends and I went to see a movie. It was almost midnight when the movie let out. On the way to the parking lot, one of my friends suggested we head to another theater to watch an X-rated movie scheduled to begin about 30 minutes later. My other friend quickly agreed.
I wasn’t tempted to go; I knew I would not go. But I was not sure how I would get out of going. One excuse after another flashed through my mind. None of them sounded convincing to me, and I was sure they would not convince my friends. I thought about saying I wasn’t feeling well—and at that point, I wasn’t! In the end, I simply said I did not want to go.
My friends tried their best to persuade me. Among other things, they said if they took me all the way home, they would be late to the other movie. Thinking fast, I told them I had a friend who lived just around the corner. I said they could take me there.
“What friend?” they asked.
“Just a guy I know,” I answered.
“Who is he, and what’s his name?”
“His name is Bill.” I was sure my friends were not buying this. I cleared my throat and swallowed hard.
They persisted. “Ah, he won’t be up this late. Just come with us,” they said.
“He’ll be up,” I said, hoping I was right.
My friends finally agreed to drive by Bill’s home, and if the lights were on they would stop and let me out. Otherwise, they were taking me with them.
A few minutes later, we arrived at Bill’s house. What a relief! The lights were on. I got out of the car and went to the door. My friends waited to see if someone would answer. I knocked, and after what seemed like an eternity, Bill opened the door. I quickly explained what was happening and asked if I could call my dad and wait inside for him to pick me up. Bill agreed and practically pulled me into the house as I waved my friends on their way.
While we waited for my dad, Bill told me he had decided to watch television for a few minutes before going to bed. “Otherwise,” he said, “I would have been in bed a long time ago.”
It wasn’t long before my dad came to take me home. As we drove, my dad said if I were ever in trouble like that again, he would drive across the state in the middle of the night to get me out of the situation.
That’s probably a pretty good place to end one of these Sunday School stories. But here’s just one more thing. You see, before that night I had never referred to my friend Bill Cantrell by his first name. I had always called him Bishop Cantrell.

So thrilled was Judy with new blessings flowing from Tammi’s gift of the New Era, that it seemed a good idea to share in like manner with another pen pal.

A new 12-month subscription winged across the world. This time to teenage correspondent Albert Wong in Hong Kong.

“I’d been writing to Albert for some time before sending the New Era,” Judy adds. “But after meeting my husband-to-be, who was baptised shortly after me, and getting married at age 19, I lost contact.”

Awhile later Judy was in a hospital recovering from an operation. Visiting time arrived together with her excited husband, Ian. He’d come from a branch presidency meeting where they’d been reviewing Church Magazine subscriptions. “And there was this brother’s name, Albert Wong from Hong Kong,” he exclaimed. “His original donation came from Coventry, England, and somehow he’d reappeared on our lists.”

After further correspondence, Judy found out that Albert had indeed joined the Church. When Judy’s letters stopped earlier, he made friends with a Latter-day Saint boy in his own town. Baptism quickly followed.

Albert attributes his conversion process to reading how the Saviour works in and through the lives of other worldwide youth facing similar problems to his own.

“I love to read his testimony when he writes now,” says Judy. “He’s busy in Church callings and has married a beautiful Latter-day Saint girl. Every letter expresses gratitude for the gospel, his church work, and personal growth.”

The Aruban sun beat down relentlessly, its heat reflecting off the paved asphalt roads. Drenched in sweat and our spirits flagging, my companion and I had spent hours tracting under the unforgiving sun. After many rejections that day, our once-optimistic smiles had wilted. Discouragement gnawed at our resolve.
“Maybe we should call it a day,” I suggested, my voice laced with exhaustion. “Nobody here wants our gospel message.”
My companion nodded in agreement, his shoulders slumping. “Let’s get out of here.”
We mounted our bikes, and the cool breeze was a welcome respite from the oppressive heat. As we pedaled towards the exit of the neighborhood, a sense of defeat hung heavy in the air. Just as we were about to leave, an impression came over us.
We suddenly stopped, pointing at a little home. “Let’s try one more. This one.”
We looked at each other almost jokingly as we approached the door, our hearts filled with anticipation. An elderly woman with a warm smile and kind eyes greeted us.
At first, the conversation seemed to follow the familiar pattern of polite disinterest. But as we delved deeper into the message of the restored gospel, a change came over the woman’s demeanor. Her eyes lit up with understanding, and her questions revealed a heart that the Lord had prepared.
We left her home that day with a renewed sense of purpose. The Lord had guided us to her, and we had been instruments in His hands. Over the next couple of months, we continued to teach her and nurture her faith, witnessing the Lord’s hand in the most remarkable ways. As we introduced her to the members of the branch, we discovered an incredible coincidence—one of the first members she met turned out to be a close friend from her past. They hadn’t seen each other in over a decade, and their reunion was a testament to the Lord’s tender care and guidance in bringing His children together.
On June 1, 2024, Loes was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a day that I will never forget. Her unwavering commitment to the gospel and her plans to attend the temple filled our hearts with gratitude.
That hot day in Aruba taught me a profound lesson about faith and obedience. Even when the path seems dismal and our efforts appear fruitless, the Lord is always working His miracles. He guides our steps, opens doors, and prepares hearts. Our role is to trust in Him, follow His promptings, and never give up.

Carlos was a 10-year-old who liked to run, jump, and play. He also liked to ask lots of questions. His Primary teacher loved him. She would often say to him, “It is very important for you to learn the things we are teaching in Primary. Someday you will grow up to be a priesthood holder, a father, and a leader in the Church, and you will need to know these things.” Carlos thought that his teacher was telling him that just so he would be reverent. However, he began to listen and learn. When Carlos grew up, he did receive the priesthood, he became a father, and he was called to be a leader in the Church. He remembered what his Primary teacher had said to him, and he was glad that he had listened and learned.

In the Free home in Williamsville, New York, the law had been laid down. No dogs allowed. Crysti was allergic, Melanie didn’t like them, and Mom and Dad didn’t want the problems associated with man’s best friend. Janna Free, the dog lover in the family, had asked before but to no avail.
“I don’t think so,” was always the reply whenever the question was posed.
For a while, it appeared the Free home would remain a dog-free environment.
Then things changed. Crysti moved out, Melanie left for her mission, and Mom and Dad turned into a couple of old softies.
And Janna—the 16-year-old with the innocent smile—decided to give Mom and Dad the big “Pleeeeeeeeease” once more. And this time, the response was a little different.
“We’ll talk about it,” said Mom. And for Janna there was a glimmer of hope.
But why the change of heart? Credit Janna for that. Her well-thought-out plan to get a dog became an offer Mom and Dad couldn’t refuse.
Janna’s strategy for getting a dog was simple. She would affiliate herself with Guiding Eyes for the Blind, and raise a guiding eye dog. She patiently explained to her parents that she would keep a dog for 18 months, while socializing it and teaching it manners and commands. Then she’d return the dog to Guiding Eyes for the Blind for the four months of specialized training all guide dogs need before being assigned to a blind person.
It was a simple plan, really. Janna, a member of the Amherst Ward, Buffalo New York Stake, would get her dog. It would be a short-term deal, and she’d be performing a service at the same time. Who could argue? Certainly not Janna’s mom and dad.
“I’d always wanted a dog, and when I was 16 it just worked out that I was looking for a project to do for Girl Scouts—to earn my Gold Award,” says Janna, now 18 and a freshman at BYU. “One day I saw a sign on a bulletin board for Guiding Eyes for the Blind.” The light went on.
“So I took down the number and came home and started bugging my parents to let me do this project,” she continues. Janna, a firm believer in the if-at-first-you-don’t-succeed adage, tried again.
Let’s just say that Janna Free can be pretty persuasive. “Oh, yes, she was,” says Janna’s mom, Maureen, remembering the process. “She went and got all sorts of literature on dogs. She showed us all the things she knew she was going to have to do. She was pretty convincing.”
Guiding Eyes for the Blind, a nonprofit organization in Yorktown Heights, New York, which has placed more than 4,000 guide dogs with blind people since it began in 1956, evaluated Janna’s application, and two weeks later approved her to receive a dog.
“I was a little nervous because I had never had a dog before. I wasn’t sure how [Guiding Eyes] would feel about giving one of their dogs to a first-time raiser, especially one so young,” Janna says.
Apparently that wasn’t a problem, because in May of 1994, Phineas, a 14-week-old black labrador retriever, was delivered to the Frees’ front door. And Janna’s year-and-a-half odyssey with her puppy began.
“There was a lot of adjustment because I took sole responsibility for Phineas. I had to walk him twice a day. I had to schedule my time so that I would be home. I didn’t want to dump him on my parents,” Janna recalls.
“You’re doing what?” was a common question among Janna’s friends. “They couldn’t believe I’d take a dog knowing I’d have to give him up in the end. That was generally the first reaction they’d give. But I knew when I took him on that I wasn’t going to be able to keep him. But I also knew he could do something better than just sit around as a house pet. I was excited to be a part of that.
“My greatest fear,” she continues, “was that he would never make it.”
Unfortunately, not all dogs graduate to become guiding eye dogs. Some don’t have the temperament. Some don’t respond to the training. Some just aren’t cut out for the task.
It was Janna’s job as a puppy raiser to take Phineas into new situations that would acclimate him to things he would face as a guiding eye dog. If Janna had to run to the store, Phineas went with her. She made arrangements with local shopkeepers to allow her to take him inside their stores. She was also impressed at how the public awareness about guide dogs increased as she took Phineas around.
Janna also noticed how her experiences with Phineas made her feel. “I’ve always wanted to keep busy. I’ve never been one to just sit around, and this felt like the perfect opportunity for me to do something for someone. There was always that sense of, Yes, I’m doing this for someone. I’m doing this for a blind person,” she says.
Although Janna’s work with Phineas made her more aware of the disabilities of people around her, she also noticed her own attitude change when she realized how blessed she was. When she’d stop and think that somewhere a blind person needed Phineas to have a full and active life, she was humbled.
“The best thing for me was what I’ve learned about service. I’ve gained a testimony of the idea that when you lose your life you find it. There are times when I get kind of bogged down when things go wrong. But my problems become so minuscule in comparison to the people I’m helping. I don’t have to go through life blind. It really gives me a renewed appreciation of how blessed I am,” she says.
All along, Janna knew her time with Phineas was short. And when the day came in August of 1995 for Phineas to leave, it was no easy thing.
“I cried. I tried not to but I cried,” she says. “Phineas knew something was going on. I was sobbing. But he just got in the car and went away.”
Last January, Janna traveled to Yorktown Heights for Phineas’s graduation from Guiding Eyes for the Blind. It was there that Janna met Joyce, the blind woman who became Phineas’s new owner. They talked, and Joyce filled Janna in on what Phineas had been up to.
Never was anybody more happy to have dog slobber on her face than Janna. “I was nervous to see whether he’d remember me. I petted him for a long time and got kisses all over my face. I was really excited,” she adds. “That was a major emotion for me. I felt grateful that he had made it all the way. It was really kind of a culminating experience to go see the graduation. I was just really proud of him.”
These days, there are few visual reminders of Phineas’s 18-month stay in the Free home. But Phineas’s impact on Janna is not forgotten. And vice versa.

My beloved wife, Jeanene, loved doing family history research. When our children were young, she would trade babysitting time with friends so she could have a few hours every few weeks to work on researching our family lines. After our youngest child left home, she recorded in her personal journal: “I have just made a decision and I want to stand up and shout about it. Mike’s old bedroom has become my genealogy workroom. It is well equipped to organize the records and work in. My life will now focus on vital family research and temple name submissions. I am so excited and anxious to get going.”

Another journal entry reads: “The … miracle for me occurred in the Family History office of Mel Olsen, who presented me with a printout of all my known ancestral pedigrees taken from the update of the Ancestral File computerized records sent into the genealogical society. They came mostly from the records of the four-generation program the Church called for many years ago. I had been overwhelmed with the thought of the huge task ahead of me to gather all my ancestors’ research records from family organizations to get them all in the computer for the first computerized distribution of the Ancestral File. And there they all were, beautiful, organized, and laser printed and sitting there on the desk before me. I was so thrilled and so overwhelmed I just sat there stunned and then began to cry, I was so happy. … For one who has doggedly, painstakingly researched for thirty years, the computerization of all these records is truly exciting. And when I think of the hundreds of thousands of people who are now or soon will be computerizing huge blocks of censuses and private research disks, … I am so excited. It is truly the Lord’s work and He is directing it.”

A young woman I know was a little frustrated with friends questioning her standards: “Why can’t you date before 16?” “Why don’t you drink?” When she prayed about how to handle this situation, this idea came to her mind: “I’m going to put a For the Strength of Youth booklet in my jeans pocket. When people question me about, for example, dating, I’ll give them the book and tell them to read the section on dating.”

It turned out to be a great idea! In three months she gave out 52 copies of For the Strength of Youth. And three new friends started attending church with her.

This young woman was bold in a friendly way and didn’t apologize for her standards. When youth live standards clearly and without apology, others will respect them and look to their example.Mary N. Cook, second counselor in the Young Women general presidency.

As I sat across from a member of the stake presidency, my heart started pounding. I had felt jumpy since the stake clerk had called to set an appointment. Would he know I was not worthy to serve?

I had decided that some sins would be easier to take to the judgment bar of God than to reveal here on earth, thinking it would be selfish to disclose things that would bring pain or embarrassment to my wife. Better to overcome them by myself and live with the burden. The only problem was that I couldn’t overcome them on my own.

I sat there as the counselor in the stake presidency extended a call to serve. He asked, “Brother, would you accept this calling?” How I wanted to shout, “Yes!” Instead, almost involuntarily, I heard myself say, “I cannot; I need to clear up some sins.”

Anxiety and relief poured into me simultaneously as I confessed the general nature of the sin. He asked if I had spoken with my bishop. “No.” My wife? “No.” He shook my hand, smiled, told me he was proud of me for confessing, and directed me to talk with the bishop and my wife.

I obeyed, telling my wife first—thereby eliminating my biggest fear. She still loved me! Yes, she was upset, and we would have to work out some things, but she loved me and encouraged me to visit the bishop.

When I went to see the bishop, he immediately welcomed me into his office. With difficulty, I tried to articulate why I was there. After hiding my sins so long, I hardly knew where to start. He lovingly encouraged me to come clean. I explained the general nature of my sins and asked for time to provide the full inventory of my misdeeds. He readily agreed.

I still had yet to fully confess, but I felt the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders. I also felt a renewed hope of freedom, finally, from this burden.

I spent the next weeks praying, reading the scriptures, and creating my inventory to present to both my bishop and my Heavenly Father. First I took my list to Heavenly Father, with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, to let Him know I was sorry and sincerely desired to change. I set another appointment with the bishop and shared my list in its entirety. He didn’t frown, yell, or chastise me; instead, he gave me a big hug. He let me know of his love and the Lord’s love, informing me that I was now on the path of true repentance. I knew it was true.

Confessing my sins, formerly my biggest fear, became one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. It was the first step for me to truly understand the gift and the healing power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.