Gospel Story Finder

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

My dad had said that we could go away for the weekend—just him and me. We were going to camp up at Muskrat Bridge Park. Then Dad lost his job.
He had worked for Mr. Stapley at the warehouse on Fulmer Street, but it burned down last month. All the money that Dad had been saving went for my little sister, Elizabeth. She was born the day after the fire. Mom had had to go to the hospital two weeks before Elizabeth was born, because of complications. Then our car broke down, and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed right away. Mom is better now, though, and Elizabeth is just fine.
We had a family council and talked about us not having enough money and about Dad’s not having found another job yet. Dad said that the Church was going to help us with food for a while. Then he stopped talking, and his eyes got all watery. That had happened before, when he bore his testimony one fast Sunday.
I went and got the money that I’d been saving to buy a hamster and gave it to Dad. It wasn’t very much—one dollar and seventy-six cents—but it was all that I had. I told him that I wanted to help.
Dad didn’t say anything. He just pulled me close to him and held me longer than I could ever remember. I think that he was crying again, because my cheek felt wet.
After supper that night Dad asked me if I wanted to sleep out in our backyard. It’s a lot smaller than any campground at Muskrat Bridge Park, but the sky looked just as big in the yard as it did there. And there weren’t any more stars there than there were right here, only these weren’t quite as bright.
We lay in our sleeping bags and looked at the sky. We saw a shooting star. It seemed to go by about as fast as summer did. And that was too fast.
We talked, too, about lots of things. Like Grandma Chaboude’s laughing spells. One time she laughed so long and hard that she cried more tears than most people do when somebody they love dies. We talked about how far dandelions can fly. We wondered aloud about the dent in the blade of the old cavalry sword that was handed down to Dad from his Great-Great-Great-Uncle Wakefield. Had the dent been made during a battle in the War Between the States?
Most of all we talked about something else that was on my mind. I told Dad that I had been praying all week for something to happen so that we could still go to Muskrat Bridge Park. But nothing had happened. And looking up into the night sky and seeing how really big space was and how really small I was, I started thinking that maybe I was too little for God to bother with.
Dad turned his head toward me, his lips turning up into a smile as high as the points of the skinny moon. “God hears everyone’s prayers, Nathan,” he said. “And that includes children’s. Maybe especially children’s. And when a person prays with all his heart, he receives answers.”
“But I didn’t get an answer!”
Dad took a small crawly thing off my pillow and put it on the lawn. I think that maybe he was giving me time to think. I looked over at Dad, and he was staring up at the stars, looking harder at them than I’d ever seen him look at anything before. His eyes were shiny, like the leaves on our cherry tree on frosty mornings. Then he looked at me in a gentle way. “You are a child of God,” he said softly. “That means that you are very special. Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do—and I love you with all my heart and soul.
“The Lord created this whole world for you,” he continued. “Our Elder Brother Jesus gave His life for you—and for all of us. So don’t ever think that you are too small for God to bother with. Heavenly Father is happy when you’re happy. And so am I.”
Now that I think about it, I guess that it isn’t important where Dad and I spend time together. In fact, I’m glad that we camped out in our backyard. I liked it just as much as I would have at Muskrat Bridge Park. Maybe even more—because we talked about some pretty important stuff that night that we might not have discussed at the park because things would have been different. I would have gotten a “yes” answer to my prayer and not wondered about things. But as it was, we had spent a special night together. Just me, my dad, and the stars.

As I walked down the dusty, Brazilian country road, my mind strayed to a day in my childhood. Now, I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was serving the Lord as a missionary. But the setting took my mind back to a loving aunt, a wonderful day, and a promise.
Aunt Rocilda and her family lived on a large farm. Our extended family was very important to us and we loved to visit her. Since a day in the country was a day away from the pressures of everyday life, I always looked forward to our visits to the country—especially Aunt Rocilda’s farm. I could tell that one of her greatest joys in life was making me happy.
One particular day, I had played hard and taken advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the farm. Aunt Rocilda had given me a fish to take home and it seemed that she had shown me her love more than ever that day.
As I prepared to leave, I hugged her and made her a promise; I wanted to somehow repay her for her Christlike love. “Someday,” I said with the sincerity of youth, “I will go to Sao Paolo and I will bring you back a big gift.”
As I grew up, the dream of Sao Paolo never faded, though the remembrance of my promise did. One day I learned that Aunt Rocilda had died. As I mourned, I remembered my promise to her and I grieved that I would never be able to fulfill it.
However, I did go to Sao Paolo and there I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries. After being baptized, I worked toward a mission and the blessings of the temple. As I entered the Missionary Training Center in Sao Paolo, I thought of my aunt. What would be the greatest possible gift I could give her? I felt a strong desire to share the blessings of the gospel with Aunt Rocilda, and I made sure that temple ordinance work was done in her name.
Though Aunt Rocilda didn’t receive the “big gift” in this, earthly life, I feel that she has accepted the greater, eternal gift.

Well, it was that kind of a relationship that we shared with each other, and about a semester later he came to me and asked, “Could I ask you a favor?”

I said, “Please do.”

He said, “You know, in addition to being a teacher here on the faculty, I am a part-time minister of the First Methodist Church in Glendale, California.” (I grew up in Hollywood, California, and that’s where I was living at the time.) He said, “You know, Paul, in our young married group, of which I am a sponsor, we are studying other religions, and we have never had a Mormon come and talk to our group. Would you come and be a guest speaker?”

Well, I could see a chance to raise my grade, so I said, “Why, I’d be honored to.”

So on the appointed day I drove over to the First Methodist Church in Glendale. And you know how many Protestant churches align themselves on existing corners, often competing at the same hour, and the traffic was horrendous this particular morning, so I made a pass around the building and came by once more trying to find a place to park. There was a gentleman standing just off the curb, and he was waving me down. So I pulled over and he said, “Are you Mr. Dunn?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Dr. Davis described your car. If you’ll get out, this gentleman will park it for you.”

(Now just a little editorial note: Have you ever noticed how many firesides we have invited special speakers where they had to park a long way off? Think of a LeGrand Richards when somebody wasn’t thoughtful enough to be out there. I just testify from my General Authority’s vantage point: It happens, even in the true Church. Spiritual courtesy and consideration are so vital to receiving the Lord’s spirit.)

Well, I was escorted in, and we went down some stairs through a long corridor. And I stopped in my tracks. The refrain from the song “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was being played on an organ. I thought I was having a revelation. I said, “What’s that?”

They said, “We’re trying to set the stage for a Mormon talk.”

I said, “Thank you.” I walked through the door, and seated before me were two hundred young adults—in kind of an oversized Relief Society room, beautiful in appointment, with a large fireplace. On the mantle over the hearth were two large candelabras with many candles casting a soft light on a picture. Do you know what the picture was? The Salt Lake Temple and the Tabernacle, framed. And I said, “Oh, thank you.” There wasn’t a peep in the audience, reverently listening to a strange hymn. I was escorted to the front of the room. I took my place; they had an appropriate devotional. Then Dr. Davis said some very nice things about me, as guest speaker, and turned the time to me. I tried as hard as I could to represent you properly, to teach some Methodists about the difference between Mormons and Protestants, Catholics, and Jews. When I had finished, there were about twenty minutes of inquiry, questions from the group that were thoughtful and courteous. I was then escorted to the back of the room, a benediction was offered, and one by one the couples filed out, saying such things as “Thank you, thank you. We haven’t understood you people. You have helped us today. Thank you, thank you.” Three days later I got one of the nicest notes I have ever received. It’s still in my Book of Remembrance. Every time I hear the word Methodist, I feel warm and good.

When it comes to tools for teaching about the gospel, orange juice may seem like an unusual choice. But for Kayden’s family, it’s been just that. Kayden and his family celebrate his victories with a glass of orange juice. Such an odd beverage of choice has garnered attention and allowed Kayden to share his standards with others. In fact, after Kayden won the world championship, his mom exclaimed, “Orange juice and root beer all around!” When somebody asked, “Can’t you stop being Mormon for just 10 minutes?” Kayden and his mom explained that, no, they could not loosen their standards for even a few minutes, because their standards are part of who they are and what they stand for.

The first time I ever said that I was going on a mission for the Mormon church was at the intermission of the New York Philharmonic Annual UNICEF concert. I was standing beside my parents as they discussed the performance with their friends and a Mr. Blaiseworthy turned to me and said, not that he really cared, “And what are you going to be doing after your graduation next spring?”
My mother immediately began to explain that we, meaning she, had sent off applications to Princeton and Harvard and New York University, that we would probably be studying business. I had heard this “we” answer before. But I swallowed once hard and without looking at my mother replied, “I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” Then I smiled.
My mother, not smiling, smoothed things over carefully and explained that I have a wonderful sense of humor but that Harvard was really our preference. Mr. Blaiseworthy gave me a peculiar stare and politely hurried off. In minutes my mother was back laughing with some woman in blue hair. I believe they were discussing how we had loved Eaton.

Our family recently attended church in a nearby community. We enjoyed the meetings, but during the children’s activities in Primary, something happened that was interesting yet disturbing to me.
During singing time, the chorister innocently passed out a piece of candy to each child and instructed them, “This is a singing pill I’m passing out. After you all finish eating, you will be able to sing extra loud and pretty.”
It was very effective: singing time was a great success. But I worry about the subtle, unintentional lesson taught.

Some years ago I was appointed chairman of the board of a music school in the city of Hanau, Germany. As part of my duties, I attended an exhibit of musical instruments. Although I am not a musician, I strolled through the thousands of instruments and tried to ask an intelligent question or two.
As I wandered around the main floor, I noted that each exhibit had a soundproof enclosure, supposedly so that those trying out trumpets, cornets, French horns, organs, drums, or tubas would not disturb those trying out violins, clarinets, pianos, flutes, oboes, or saxophones. Actually, “not quite soundproof” would be a more accurate description of those enclosures. A terrible noise filled the air, as if musicians from several orchestras were all tuning their instruments at once.
Then I saw a sign reading “Orchestral Instruments” with an arrow pointing upstairs. I’m saved, I thought, even though the sign was a bit unclear—the instruments on the main floor were orchestral instruments. But I headed up the stairs anyway, hoping to find a little peace and quiet.
Instead I found myself in another large room filled with even more musical instruments—most of them used for performing rock music. The air was filled with much louder and shriller noises than those I was trying to escape. I quickly scanned the room for the closest exit.
But suddenly I stopped. For just a fraction of a second, I thought I heard a beautiful melody among all those discordant sounds. Was it possible? Or was it an illusion?
Then I heard the melody again. What an unmistakably beautiful sound! It was definitely a strain of violin music—almost lost in the ocean of noise. I looked around to see where it was coming from. I noticed that two others had heard it as well and were also seeking it out.
Eventually, we found what we were looking for. In the smallest booth in the hall, a man was softly playing a beautiful violin while his wife stood nearby. He told us that he was a Swedish violin maker and that he was trying to market his product the best he could amid the electric guitars and synthesizers.
“I was deceived,” he told us sadly. “I rented this spot because it was supposed to be the site of the orchestral exhibits.” Then he turned again to his violin, and we listened entranced as he played a familiar masterpiece. We no longer heard the discord around us—just the beautiful notes of that violin.
Some time later, while standing in an overcrowded room with too many intermingling voices, I was once again forced to choose what I would listen to among many discordant sounds. This time I didn’t hear beautiful music, but I was struck with the thought that often in life we are surrounded by many voices, some of which advocate false ideas, such as “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” (2 Ne. 28:7). Still other voices are loud and raucous, brazenly tempting us to try something new—such as a new morality that simply turns out to be the old immorality.
But even among these loud, conflicting messages, if we choose to listen carefully, we can hear the soft sound of a heavenly voice. And we can know that the still, small voice of the Spirit is just as real as the beautiful melody of a well-played violin.

Amber Martin and Kortney Kline are closer to earning their Young Women Personal Progress Award after organizing all the youth in the Valley Forge Pennsylvania Stake to donate their reading books to an inner-city school in Philadelphia. A stake youth dance was held and the “admission fee” was to bring some books. Amber and Kortney managed to collect over 500 books. These two young women said it was an awesome experience to give youth in their stake an opportunity to donate books to students in need.

The Vimahis attend the Pangai Ward in the Ha‘apai Tonga Stake. They used to have to travel through two villages to get to church because their old building burned down. Feleti didn’t mind the distance they had to go. In fact, he says, “I am happy with church because I like to go to Primary.” Now their chapel has been rebuilt, and about 25 children attend Primary. Five of them are in Feleti’s class.

His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Darwin. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you say something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he’d find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father by not attending church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
Then the next time he got ready for church, his father again told him if he went, never to return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can only come about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and he wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
But in the meantime, he’d developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
If he would complete his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he’d have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. He continued something he’d done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father kicked him out for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission and said if I went I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
His branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited Domingos to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, with uplifting music, with Church activities, missionary work, and study of the scriptures. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was only thinking about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he’s eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

I was a directionless 16-year-old moving around the country when a pastor of a local church in northern California took me in. He gave me a roof over my head and my first exposure to Jesus Christ. I began to attend the local church’s youth congregation. After a few months, I was given free schooling at a youth ministry school, allowing me to become a youth minister over a group of 8–15-year-olds. Life seemed to be falling into place, but I still lacked a life plan. When my pastor suggested I enroll in the army, I realized it could help me gain the focus I needed for my life. Plus, I was excited to serve my country and knew it was a great opportunity to receive an education. So I enlisted.
I soon learned that even though there are a lot of tough things in life, basic training may be among the toughest. But on Sunday, all soldiers were given a small break to attend religious worship, which provided a much-needed rest—not just from the daily rigors of the army, but also from a stern drill sergeant as well. I eagerly accepted this opportunity and began attending a different faith’s worship services each week. When I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I told the members I was already a member so they wouldn’t try to convert me. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the three-hour break, so I decided to go back the following week.
That time I took John, my training partner, with me to church. The first speaker was a woman who was graduating from basic combat training. She shared her conversion story and then sang the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” (Hymns, no. 29). I glanced at John and noticed tears forming in his eyes.
“What is this feeling?” he asked. “I’ve got the tingles.”
As I replied, “It’s called the Spirit,” it struck me that something special was going on—something about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was different.
John and I soon met with the missionaries, and they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon. John readily accepted his copy; I was more hesitant. In basic training our only free time was the four hours we had for sleep, and I did not feel like we could waste a precious minute doing anything other than sleep. But John felt differently.
That night as I climbed into my bunk, I noticed a light coming from the bunk next to me. It was John reading the Book of Mormon instead of sleeping. The night guard for our barracks later approached and asked John what he was doing. John matter-of-factly replied, “I’m reading the Book of Mormon.” The guard responded, “Oh, John, you’re not reading those lies are you?” I grimaced on the top bunk. I knew I should defend John and the Book of Mormon, but I cowardly decided to roll over and act like I was asleep.
John climbed out of his bunk, stood up, and, addressing the guard boldly, stated, “This is another testament of Jesus Christ. You take that back.”
I lay in anguish all that night. I had failed to defend my God and my training partner. I felt like I had denied my Christ and denied my discipleship. I, who was a certified minister, had lain in bed, while John, after having the Book of Mormon for only a few hours, had bravely stood up to defend it. Overcome with shame and embarrassment, I knew that the only thing I could do was to read the Book of Mormon for myself.
As I began to read, it wasn’t long before I gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. I was so excited and knew I had to share the good word with my adopted family. I wrote home to my pastor and eagerly explained what I’d learned. I was surprised, confused, and mostly sad when he wrote back telling me I could never go home to them again unless I stopped going to the LDS Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I wanted to remain close to my family, but by then I knew the Book of Mormon is true and that I would do everything in my power never to let God down again, even if it meant giving up my family (see Matthew 10:37–39).
So I did what I had to do. I got baptized.
About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
Illustration by Andrew Bosley
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.
The Lord has blessed my life with so much. He brought the pastor into my life so I could learn about Jesus Christ and straighten out my life. Then He helped me find the Church and the restored gospel, and He cleared the way so I could serve a mission. I am so grateful that He trusts me enough to call me to share His gospel with His children. He knows each and every one of us, and if we have faith in Him, He will always prepare a way for us and guide us to the right places at the right times.

The author lives in Utah, USA.
Photographs by Getty Images
I had just finished breakfast when my stake president called to tell me that my mission application had been denied. My heart sank as he told me why—I needed to lose a certain amount of weight before I would be able to serve. As he explained to me what I would need to do in order to resubmit my papers, the only thing I wanted to do was climb into my bed and hide.
After the shock wore off, I called my dad at work and explained what had happened. He paused and then asked, “Well, what are you going to do?” Would I give up? Let go of my dream to serve a mission? No.
“I’m going to go for it,” I replied. “I’m going to try to lose the weight.”
Within a week, I had a solid plan of action. I learned as much as I could about nutrition and exercise and, after setting some goals, I was ready to get started. I felt so much love and support from my Heavenly Father. I knew that I was doing the right thing and that He would help me every step of the way.
As I worked hard every day, I began to see progress! It was exciting to notice the physical effects of diet and exercise, but what surprised me most was the spiritual health I was gaining. I became more confident and self-aware as I developed into the person Heavenly Father wanted me to be.
I realized that as my spiritual health increased, it actually became easier for me to improve my physical health. The sacrament was so important in helping me stay focused on my goals. It became a sacred time of reflection for me as I thought about my Savior and how much He had helped me on this journey. I knew that He would stay by my side no matter what.
Prayer also made a big difference. There were so many times when I was running on the treadmill and would just start crying because I was so tired and my lungs hurt and I just wanted to go on a mission. I would say a prayer because I knew that someone in the mission field needed me, and I knew that I needed help to get there. After every workout, I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the strength to go on.
The gospel teaches us that our bodies and our spirits are one, but until this experience, I had never thought about how directly the health of my body could affect the health of my spirit. As I thought about my body as a temple, this connection between body and spirit began to make more sense. I knew that one reason we keep the temple so clean and beautiful is because it helps the Spirit to be there. So it makes sense that as I began to eat healthy and exercise more, I began to feel the Spirit even more.
I also noticed that I felt more energized and more willing to talk to and serve the people around me. I could feel the Spirit guide me as I put my trust in the Lord, and I discovered that I could turn to Him for help with any trial or hardship I might face.
Photograph courtesy of Jillian Pierson
After months of hard work, I finally received my mission call! I was so excited I could hardly wait. And when I entered the Missionary Training Center, I felt prepared both physically and spiritually.
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to learn how to take care of both my body and my spirit. Working toward a meaningful goal gave me the motivation I needed to become a better version of myself. I learned that if I rely on the Lord as I try to accomplish my goals, He will help me every step of the way.

Dan was born in Flintshire, Wales, on August 4, 1811. After receiving a college education there, he immigrated to the United States and became the owner and captain of a little river streamer called The Maid of Iowa. He operated it as a freight and passenger boat on the Mississippi River above St. Louis, Missouri. One day as a group of converts to the Church were leaving his boat at the wharf in Nauvoo, they were welcomed by the Prophet. Dan stood quietly watching the greeting. Suddenly the Prophet left the group and walked over to Dan. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he said, “God bless this little man!”
Dan was so touched by those few words of praise that he decided to investigate the church that had such a thoughtful man as its leader. To the many converts to whom he preached the gospel in the British Isles he always declared: “I have come in obedience to the counsel of the martyred Prophet, as a messenger to my native land.”

My father died when I was seven. I was the oldest of three small children our widowed mother struggled to raise. When I was ordained a deacon, she said how pleased she was to have a priesthood holder in the home. But Mother continued to direct the family, including calling on which one of us would pray when we knelt together each morning. I was puzzled. I had been taught that the priesthood presided in the family. There must be something I didn’t know about how that principle worked.
About this same time we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).
I have also seen some faithful women who misunderstand how priesthood authority functions. Mindful of their partnership relationship with their husband in the family, some wives have sought to extend that relationship to their husband’s priesthood calling, such as bishop or mission president. In contrast, some single women who have been abused by men (such as in a divorce) mistakenly confuse the priesthood with male abuse and become suspicious of any priesthood authority. A person who has had a bad experience with a particular electrical appliance should not forego using the power of electricity.
Each of the circumstances I have described results from misunderstanding priesthood authority and the great principle that while this authority presides in both the family and the Church, the priesthood functions in a different way in each of them. This principle is understood and applied by the great Church and family leaders I have known, but it is rarely explained. Even the scriptures, which record various exercises of priesthood authority, seldom state expressly which principles only apply to the exercise of priesthood authority in the family or in the Church or which apply in both of them.
In our theology and in our practice, the family and the Church have a mutually reinforcing relationship. The family is dependent upon the Church for doctrine, ordinances, and priesthood keys. The Church provides the teachings, authority, and ordinances necessary to perpetuate family relationships to the eternities.
We have programs and activities in both the family and the Church. Each is so interrelated that service to one is service to the other. When children see their parents faithfully perform Church callings, it strengthens their family relationships. When families are strong, the Church is strong. The two run in parallel. Each is important and necessary, and each must be conducted with careful concern for the other. Church programs and activities should not be so all-encompassing that families cannot have everyone present for family time. And family activities should not be scheduled in conflict with sacrament meeting or other vital Church meetings.
We need both Church activities and family activities. If all families were complete and perfect, the Church could sponsor fewer activities. But in a world where many of our youth grow up in homes where one parent is missing, not a member, or otherwise inactive in gospel leadership, there is a special need for Church activities to fill in the gaps. Our widowed mother wisely saw that Church activities would provide her sons with experiences she could not provide because we had no male role model in the home. I remember her urging me to watch and try to be like the good men in our ward. She pushed me to participate in Scouting and other Church activities that would provide this opportunity.
In a church where there are many single members, who do not presently have the companionship the Lord intends for all of His sons and daughters, the Church and its families should also have special concern for the needs of single adults.
Priesthood authority functions in both the family and the Church. The priesthood is the power of God used to bless all of His children, male and female. Some of our abbreviated expressions, like “the women and the priesthood,” convey an erroneous idea. Men are not “the priesthood.” Priesthood meeting is a meeting of those who hold and exercise the priesthood. The blessings of the priesthood, such as baptism, receiving the Holy Ghost, the temple endowment, and eternal marriage, are available to men and women alike. The authority of the priesthood functions in the family and in the Church according to the principles the Lord has established.
When my father died, my mother presided over our family. She had no priesthood office, but as the surviving parent in her marriage she had become the governing officer in her family. At the same time, she was always totally respectful of the priesthood authority of our bishop and other Church leaders. She presided over her family, but they presided over the Church.
There are many similarities and some differences in the way priesthood authority functions in the family and in the Church. If we fail to recognize and honor the differences, we encounter difficulties.
Keys. One important difference between its function in the Church and in the family is the fact that all priesthood authority in the Church functions under the direction of the one who holds the appropriate priesthood keys. In contrast, the authority that presides in the family—whether father or single-parent mother—functions in family matters without the need to get authorization from anyone holding priesthood keys. This family authority includes directing the activities of the family, family meetings like family home evenings, family prayer, teaching the gospel, and counseling and disciplining family members. It also includes ordained fathers giving priesthood blessings.
However, priesthood keys are necessary to authorize the ordaining or setting apart of family members. This is because the organization the Lord has made responsible for the performance and recording of priesthood ordinances is the Church, not the family.
Boundaries. Church organizations like wards, quorums, or auxiliaries always have geographic boundaries that limit the responsibility and authority of the callings associated with them. In contrast, family relationships and responsibilities are not dependent upon where different family members reside.
Duration. Church callings are always temporary, but family relationships are permanent.
Call and release. Another contrast concerns the initiation and termination of positions. In the Church, a priesthood leader who holds the necessary keys has the authority to call or release persons serving under his direction. He can even cause that they lose their membership and have their names “blotted out” (see Mosiah 26:34–38; Alma 5:56–62). In contrast, family relationships are so important that the head of the family lacks the authority to make changes in family membership. That can only be done by someone authorized to adjust family relationships under the laws of man or the laws of God. Thus, while a bishop can release a Relief Society president, he cannot sever his relationship with his wife without a divorce under the laws of man. Again, his sealing for eternity cannot be ended without a cancellation procedure under the laws of God. Similarly, a youth serving in a class or quorum presidency can be released by priesthood authority in the ward, but parents cannot divorce a child whose life choices are offensive to them. Family relationships are more enduring than Church relationships.
Partnership. A most important difference in the functioning of priesthood authority in the family and in the Church results from the fact that the government of the family is patriarchal, whereas the government of the Church is hierarchical. The concept of partnership functions differently in the family than in the Church.
The family proclamation gives this beautiful explanation of the relationship between a husband and a wife: While they have separate responsibilities, “in these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners” (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Liahona, Oct. 2004, 49; Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102; emphasis added).
President Spencer W. Kimball said this: “When we speak of marriage as a partnership, let us speak of marriage as a full partnership. We do not want our LDS women to be silent partners or limited partners in that eternal assignment! Please be a contributing and full partner” (The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 315).
President Kimball also declared, “We have heard of men who have said to their wives, ‘I hold the priesthood and you’ve got to do what I say.’” He decisively rejected that abuse of priesthood authority in a marriage, declaring that such a man “should not be honored in his priesthood” (The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, 316).
There are cultures or traditions in some parts of the world that allow men to oppress women, but those abuses must not be carried into the families of the Church of Jesus Christ. Remember how Jesus taught: “Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, … but I say unto you …” (Matthew 5:27–28). For example, the Savior contradicted the prevailing culture in His considerate treatment of women. Our guide must be the gospel culture He taught.
If men desire the Lord’s blessings in their family leadership, they must exercise their priesthood authority according to the Lord’s principles for its use:
“No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; by kindness, and pure knowledge” (D&C 121:41–42).
When priesthood authority is exercised in that way in the patriarchal family, we achieve the “full partnership” President Kimball taught. As declared in the family proclamation:
“Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, [and] compassion” (Liahona, Oct. 2004, 49; Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102).
Church callings are performed according to the principles that govern all of us in working under priesthood authority in the Church. These principles include the persuasion and gentleness taught in the 121st section, which are especially necessary in the hierarchal organization of the Church.
The principles I have identified for the exercise of priesthood authority are more understandable and more comfortable for a married woman than for a single woman, especially a single woman who has never been married. She does not now experience priesthood authority in the partnership relationship of marriage. Her experiences with priesthood authority are in the hierarchical relationships of the Church, and some single women feel they have no voice in those relationships. It is, therefore, imperative to have an effective ward council, where male and female ward officers sit down together regularly to counsel under the presiding authority of the bishop.
I conclude with some general comments and a personal experience.
The theology of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints centers on the family. Our relationship to God and the purpose of earth life are explained in terms of the family. We are the spirit children of heavenly parents. The gospel plan is implemented through earthly families, and our highest aspiration is to perpetuate those family relationships throughout eternity. The ultimate mission of our Savior’s Church is to help us achieve exaltation in the celestial kingdom, and that can only be accomplished in a family relationship.
No wonder our Church is known as a family-centered church. No wonder we are distressed at the current legal and cultural deteriorations in the position of marriage and childbearing. At a time when the world seems to be losing its understanding of the purpose of marriage and the value of childbearing, it is vital that Latter-day Saints have no confusion about these matters.
The faithful widowed mother who raised us had no confusion about the eternal nature of the family. She always honored the position of our deceased father. She made him a presence in our home. She spoke of the eternal duration of their temple marriage. She often reminded us of what our father would like us to do so we could realize the Savior’s promise that we could be a family forever.
I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.
I anticipate that glorious future day when the separated will be reunited and all of us will be made complete as the Lord has promised. I testify of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, whose priesthood authority and whose Atonement and Resurrection make it all possible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

By Rajane S., Jamaica
Photograph © iStock/Thinkstock
I have always been fascinated by genealogy work, so when our Area Presidency gave the youth the goal of gathering 10 ancestors’ names to do baptisms and confirmations for them at the temple, I was ecstatic.
I started my research without any help, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I had three names without any information, and at that point I felt stuck both spiritually and physically. I decided to ask my mother for help. She suggested that I call her mother. When I called my grandmother, she was more than happy to help. She even gave me permission to act as proxy on behalf of the names we talked about. I was overjoyed and grateful.
The temple trip was approaching, and I had no names from my father’s side. A few hours before I was to leave home, I felt impressed to go to the cemetery and have my father call his aunt to come. We went to the cemetery, and as I watched my father and great-aunt walk around the cemetery, I felt myself being led toward some of my ancestors’ headstones. I felt their willingness to be part of the gospel. With help from the Holy Ghost and from my family members, I had reached my target. I had the names of 16 temple-ready ancestors!
When I went to the temple, I could feel the enthusiasm and excitement of my ancestors who were ready and waiting. During the baptisms and confirmations, I could feel their souls filled with joy and peace. I felt amazing, and all I wanted to do was thank them for giving me the opportunity to be a part of something so special.

Then Twain describes, with an eye single to humor, his visit to Brigham Young, a man who was “quiet, kindly, easy-mannered, dignified, [and] self-possessed,” who had “a gentle craft in his eye that probably belonged there.” Twain says he kept trying to draw out President Young on government, politics, and Congress, but the President ignored him, and Twain “subsided into an indignant silence.” At the end of the interview, claims Twain, Brigham “put his hand on [Twain’s] head, beamed down on [him] in an admiring way and said to [Twain’s] brother: ‘Ah—your child, I presume? Boy or girl?’” An excellent rejoinder—even if it isn’t true.

The year was 1876. Warren N. Dunsenberry, first principal of Brigham Young Academy, had just resigned after the first preliminary term of the academy’s existence. Karl G. Maeser, an experienced educator who was also the first convert to the Church in Germany, had been called to take his place. He dropped by President Young’s office before leaving for Provo and asked if there were any instructions.
“Only this,” the president replied. “I want you to remember that you ought not to teach even the alphabet or the multiplication tables without the spirit of God. That is all. God bless you. Goodbye.”
Karl G. Maeser went to Provo and became an unforgettable force in the lives of the 29 students awaiting him there and in the lives of the many students who were to come under his influence during the 16 years of his administration. The faculty that first year consisted of Dr. Maeser and two assistants. Classes were held in a vacant store, and the students were mostly from Utah Valley.
Ninety-six years later a tall, well-built, rather handsome, youngish but balding man walked into a cafeteria on the BYU campus and sat down at a table where two freshmen boys were discussing the vicissitudes of college life over their roast beef dinner and green punch. He began asking them questions about their feelings, their likes, their dislikes, and their hang-ups regarding their university experience.
Finally one of the young men asked him, “Do you teach around here or something?”
“Yes, I work here,” the man replied.
“What do you do?”
“I’m president.”
“President of what?”
And so Dallin H. Oaks, president of Brigham Young University, introduced himself to these students. “I’m glad to meet you,” the young man with the questions responded. “I come to assemblies, but you’re so far away I can’t see your face.”

One hundred and two years ago the student graduation speaker, Alfred Kelly, mounted the podium as I do now and forever changed the course of BYU.
BYU was in financial difficulties, and plans were in place to sell some of the school property. However, Kelly had a vision. In his vision he literally saw the present-day BYU that we now know.
As past BYU president Jeffrey R. Holland has told the story, while Alfred Kelly stood on Temple Hill,
everything he saw took on the appearance of people, young people about his age moving toward Temple Hill. He saw hundreds of them, thousands of young people coming into view. He knew they were students, he said, because they carried books in their arms as they came. . . .
The students then entered these temples of learning with their books in hand. As they came out of them, Kelly said their countenances bore smiles of hope and of faith. He observed that they seemed cheerful and very confident. Their walk was light but firm.
Alfred Kelly’s vision changed the course of BYU with “all believing in the dream of a Provo schoolboy, all believing the destiny of a great university which that day had scarcely begun” (Jeffrey R. Holland, “Who We Are and What God Expects Us to Do,” BYU devotional address, 15 September 1987; emphasis in original; see B. F. Larsen, “Fifty Years Ago,” speech given at a BYU alumni meeting, 25 May 1962, B. F. Larsen biographical file, BYU Archives, 4–5).

After Parley P. Pratt was ordained an Apostle, Oliver Cowdery, one of those appointed to help select the Apostles, gave a specific charge to Parley, saying that he would “have the same difficulties to encounter in fulfilling this ministry, that the ancient Apostles had.” He said that Parley would face “strong dungeons and gloomy prisons,” but such circumstances should not daunt him, because the trials would enable him “to receive the glory” the Lord had in store for him.7
Parley’s life followed that pattern. He at times faced crushing poverty. He experienced ridicule as he preached the gospel. He was imprisoned in 1838 and 1839 on charges stemming from difficulties that Church members faced in Missouri. Yet Parley also experienced the blessings Oliver had promised. Not long after his release from prison, he wrote, “We are well, and greatly prospered in the Lord, after all our tribulation.”8