Gospel Story Finder

Last November, I had the privilege of being invited—along with President Henry B. Eyring and Bishop Gérald Caussé—to attend a colloquium on marriage and family at the Vatican in Rome, Italy. In attendance were religious representatives from 14 different faiths and from six of the seven continents, all of whom had been invited to express their beliefs on what is happening to the family in today’s world.
Pope Francis opened the first session of the assembly with this statement: “We now live in a culture of the temporary, in which more and more people are simply giving up on marriage as a public commitment. This revolution in manners and morals has often flown the flag of freedom, but in fact it has brought spiritual and material devastation to countless human beings, especially the poorest and most vulnerable. … It is always they who suffer the most in this crisis.”1
In referring to those of the rising generation, he said it is important that they “do not give themselves over to the poisonous [mentality] of the temporary, but rather be revolutionaries with the courage to seek true and lasting love, going against the common pattern”; this must be done.2
This was followed by three days of presentation and discussion with religious leaders addressing the subject of marriage between a man and a woman. As I listened to the widest imaginable variety of worldwide religious leaders, I heard them agree completely with each other and express support for one another’s beliefs on the sanctity of the institution of marriage and of the importance of families as the basic unit of society. I felt a powerful sense of commonality and unity with them.
There were many who saw and expressed this unity, and they did so in a variety of ways. One of my favorites was when a Muslim scholar from Iran quoted two paragraphs verbatim from our very own proclamation on the family.
During the colloquium, I observed that when various faiths and denominations and religions are united on marriage and family, they are also united on the values and loyalty and commitment which are naturally associated with family units. It was remarkable for me to see how marriage and family-centered priorities cut across and superseded any political, economic, or religious differences. When it comes to love of spouse and hopes, worries, and dreams for children, we are all the same.
It was marvelous to be in meetings with worldwide presenters as they universally addressed their feelings of the importance of marriage between a man and a woman. Each of their addresses was followed by testimonies from other religious leaders. President Henry B. Eyring gave a final testimony at the colloquium. He bore powerful witness to the beauty of a committed marriage and to our belief in the promised blessing of eternal families.
President Eyring’s testimony was a fitting benediction to those three special days.

My parents, Apparecido and Mercedes, came from different religious backgrounds, but their life experiences prepared them to accept the restored gospel.
My father was raised in a good family but not religious. Nevertheless, as a young man he was interested in religion. He read the Bible, attended Bible classes, and studied the life of Jesus Christ. His studies caused him to have great interest in both the Savior’s gospel and the family, leaving him with a desire to marry someone of like mind.
By contrast, my mother came from a deeply religious family. They embraced gospel principles, attended church services, and faithfully practiced their religion. Growing up in that environment, my mother became the type of person who never missed a church meeting.
And so, after my parents married and my three brothers and I came along, they did their best to raise us within the light of their knowledge of gospel principles. One day my aunt, who was an inactive member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said to my father, “You have four boys, dear. If you really want to raise a family centered in Christ and have God in your family, you need to go to my church.”
My father heard what she said, but he didn’t take any action until the day the full-time missionaries tracted in our neighborhood, knocked on our door, and began teaching us. He quickly realized that they represented the church my aunt had encouraged him to investigate.
One of the things that initially interested my parents in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is the importance the Church places on the family and the teaching that “much of God’s work of salvation and exaltation is accomplished through the family.” Before they were baptized, my parents were so impressed with what they were learning that they invited neighbors to join them for the missionary lessons.
As they met with the missionaries, and continued studying the gospel after their baptism, my parents learned of ways “to bring up [their] children in light and truth” and how to spiritually “set in order [their] own house” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:40, 43).
They learned that “the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children” and that “happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
They learned that “successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
They learned that families can be eternal and that the “same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory” (Doctrine and Covenants 130:2).
And they learned that “the ultimate purpose of every teaching, every activity in the Church is that parents and their children are happy at home, sealed in an eternal marriage, and linked to their generations.”
With that knowledge, they desired to be sealed as a forever family.
After my parents were baptized, they practiced what they were learning, moving from the world to the gospel kingdom. They worked to unite our family by having home evening and family scripture study, faithfully attending Church meetings, and doing family history work. With those efforts toward unity, they hoped to create a family centered on the plan of salvation with an eye toward eternity.
In 1965, the year my parents were baptized, the closest temple to São Paulo, Brazil, was in Mesa, Arizona, almost 6,000 miles (9,650 km) away. Travel was too expensive for our family, so my parents had to wait until the dedication of the São Paulo Brazil Temple in 1978 before they could receive their temple ordinances and be sealed. At that time, I was serving a mission in Rio de Janeiro.

In October 2021 the Book of Mormon musical began its performances in The Millenium Centre in Cardiff. On the opening evening, I had the privilege of going to the Millennium Centre, along with Stake President Jason Spragg and Bishop Stefan Liassides of Cardiff Ward. We had all attended training in preparation for questions from the media or audience members.

We waited as the audience made their way out after seeing the show, where they were met by 40 missionaries in bright white shirts and missionary tags clearly in view. These young men and women stood firm in their beliefs and were a shining example to us who stood by. They were polite, friendly, and answered all questions. Some people stopped to listen and then while walking away would exclaim, “They are the real ones”. I remember seeing one young missionary run to his mission president in excitement proclaiming, “We need more, we need more!” He was referring to the pass-along cards, and leaflets with more information about the Church.

Due to COVID restrictions these missionaries had spent most of their mission working with social media to share the gospel and to contact people. Now they had the opportunity to meet face-to-face and to share their beliefs.

These young men and women were wonderful examples. Even though some people rushed past, or said they weren’t interested, the missionaries were not disheartened and carried on sharing what they knew to be true. How lucky we are to have real missionaries in each of our wards and stakes.

Tears filled my eyes and overflowed as I read Homer Ellsworth’s “Travail” in April’s New Era. Brother Ellsworth’s beautifully articulated message should indeed reassure us of our Heavenly Father’s love. It is imperative for our growth in his spiritual kingdom to know that whatever we may be asked to endure in this life is for our good. What may appear to be a tragedy can be a blessing.
The blind baby in the article could have been ours. Our baby boy also was born without eyes where blue eyes should have been. I don’t know if that other baby’s earthly parents had been conditioned for the shock and the grief they were to endure. I was, but I didn’t know it until my baby was born. Seven months before our precious little one arrived, I attended the dedication ceremonies of the stake center in Jacksonville, Florida, where our late President David O. McKay dedicated the beautiful Church building. After the closing prayer he moved rapidly past the waiting line of Saints, shaking each hand as he went past. To look upon his angelic face framed by the beautiful shock of white hair was a blessing in itself. As he came to me his smile faded momentarily and his countenance imparted a message I did not understand. With a warm, almost comforting voice he said, “Bless you, sister.” I did not connect that blessing with my unborn child. I did know that he saw my future, and that alone was another testimony that he was truly a prophet of God, a seer, and a revelator. During the next few months I felt an uneasiness, some undefined worry or some unrecognized fear. Again I did not think it had anything to do with my pregnancy, nor did I think of it in connection with what the prophet had said.
When my precious baby arrived, my initial, and I think normal, reaction was of shock and unbelievable grief. As that grief began to subside, I realized that this was what the prophet had seen. The love I felt for my Heavenly Father was magnified, for I knew we had been chosen by him to be the parents of this special spirit who had, such a short time ago, been in his presence. I don’t know why we were chosen, but I thank him each day for this privilege and the blessings we have that are directly related to our having this special one to care for and love. His five brothers know this too. Their love and empathy for anyone with a handicap or affliction is a joy to behold.
Although we have been told that for Rusty sight is impossible, that no operation will ever give him his vision, I believe he will see before his life is over. I have always believed it, and I believe my Heavenly Father has given me this assurance.
Almost 19 now, Rusty is a young man of great faith. His childlike innocence combined with a childlike faith continue to testify to me of God’s continuing love. We are all children of God, and Rusty is one of his special ones.
Joyce Carter MickiewiezOxnard, California

When they reached the starting point on the Moose River, Sister Lamb, the activity specialist, showed the girls how to load the canoes and took her place in the first one. As the canoe began floating away, she called to Kim Barclay still standing on shore, “Kim, throw me a paddle.” At the same instant that Kim tossed her one, Sister Lamb added, “Make sure it’s one that floats.” It was too late to check. As the paddle slapped the water, it floated.
The six canoes started drifting down the river towards Nina-Moose Lake, and it was time to check the maps. Each boat had one in a waterproof bag. Quickly the girls learned that portages are measured in rods and that there are 320 rods to the mile. They scanned the map, mentally figuring the length of the portages that lay ahead—“25 rods, how far would that be? Oh no, here’s one that’s 120 rods.” At the end of the first day, after having made seven portages, ranging from 24 to 96 rods, the numbers on the map started to take on new meaning as the distances were measured in shaky legs and sore shoulders.
Soon the girls started taking on the same attitude that the original French voyageurs had about making portages. They were willing to carry incredible amounts, often carrying nearly their own weight in packs and equipment, rather than make two trips across the portage with lighter loads. Sitting on a rock waiting for the others to make it across one of the longer portages, Sarah Crompton said, “I thought I couldn’t make it until I got to the end. Then it didn’t seem so bad.”
In the evening, camp was set up in designated campsites, and the girls showed off their outdoor cooking skills. Instant pudding was prepared with red-tinged but safe-to-drink lake water. It was hard to mix smooth with just a spoon, but hunger makes for nonfussy eaters. Lumps were okay with everyone.
The girls could make a pan of boiling water into mashed potatoes and creamed chicken or spaghetti enough to serve ten. But there are limits to what a campfire can do. As Brenda Crepeau was reading the recipe from the back of the box of skillet lasagna, she asked, tongue in cheek, “How do I turn the oven to 400 degrees? I don’t see any knobs on this fire!”
Evening camp was a time to swim in the pure water of the lakes and just relax tired arms from paddling and tired legs from hiking. The sunsets made the water shimmer as it turned the surrounding forested hills into silhouetted sentinels. The loons, with their haunting cries, floated low in the water, their white speckled backs catching the last rays of light. As soon as the last blush of sunset faded from the sky, an annoying buzz rose like a cloud from the damp grass. The mosquitoes were better than any clock to indicate that it was bedtime. It was time to suspend all the food packs high between two trees out of the reach of marauding bears.
One morning, as soon as all six canoes were loaded and launched, the group met in the middle of the lake. The girls held on to the gunnels of neighboring canoes as maps were unfolded and the course for the day discussed. According to the map there seemed to be two choices. Either they could paddle across the lake, unload, and hike across a 120-rod portage, or they could stay in their canoes and attempt to paddle up a small stream to the neighboring lake.
To the girls there seemed to be no question—anything to get out of unloading the canoes and portaging. Stake President Hennebry, who along with his counselors were accompanying the girls as priesthood advisers, pointed out some potential problems. Nobody in the group had been this way before. No one was absolutely sure that the stream on the map would be wide enough to handle a canoe. The portage was steep and difficult, but it was a sure thing. It was the group’s decision. They would take a vote.
The thought of missing a long, hard portage was enticing. The majority was willing to take a chance on what seemed to be the easier route, the stream.
When the first canoe reached the mouth of the stream, it was blocked by a beaver dam. “No problem,” said Andrea Miles, Karen Johnson, and Ganine Conner, “we’ll pull our canoe over the dam and scout on ahead and see what the stream looks like.”
It was deceiving. Because of the beaver dam, the stream widened into a pond and looked at first like it was going to be the easy route everyone hoped it would be. All six canoes were lured in, and they followed the twisting, curving stream. Another beaver dam was crossed, then another. The stream was getting so narrow that the canoeists could hardly fit a paddle between the edge of the canoe and the bank.
The stream became shallow, and the girls had to get out and walk. At first, everyone tried to keep her shoes dry, but as one by one they slipped off of dry footing and into the sticky mud, they gave up and tried to wade. The mud was waist deep, and they had to tow the canoes behind them. The sucking, gooey mud pulled at each leg with every step. They abandoned any hope of staying clean and dry. But where was the next lake? Wouldn’t it be around the next curve, or the next? Finally their leaders said that it was hopeless. The stream was becoming nothing more than a swamp, and still the lake was nowhere in sight.
Tired, muddy, and discouraged, the girls turned their canoes around and started back the way they came. Only it was harder getting out than it had been getting in. They had broken the beaver dams during their entrance, and the water had drained out of the ponds leaving them high, but certainly not dry.
After slogging through a mile or so of mud, the last canoe was again back at the starting point. After rinsing off and climbing back in their canoes, the group gathered for a moment of thought. They had wasted the whole morning in a useless attempt to find an easy way. Now they would have to turn around and take the long portage, the trail so clearly marked that would take them to the next lake. The comparisons to life were only too obvious. As the girls tried to clean up a bit, rest, and eat lunch, they were subdued as they thought about their experience. Slowly, they began to draw analogies to their own lives.
Sister Rice, the Young Women president said, “Much of the time we think we can gamble and take the easy way, but it often gives us nothing but grief. We became mired down so we could hardly move, but we repented of our decision and turned around. It was hard just getting back to where we had started from. If we had been wise, we would have taken the ‘straight and narrow’ way, the portage, and been ahead.”
Later at the last night fireside, President Hennebry again reminded the girls of their experience. “You’ve experienced something you can relate to life. But on this trip you can remember the experience without remembering the pain. Satan has a map which marks what seems to be the easy way that will still get you where you want to go. It’s an attractive lie. Just like our experience in the swamp. At first the barriers were easy to cross, but it made it so much harder to come out. In life if you find that you have chosen the wrong stream, no matter how hard it is, repent and come back.”
The lesson on making decisions was a valuable one. The girls learned from it and remembered. Throughout the rest of the trip, if anyone jokingly asked, “Hey, there’s a stream on this map. Do you think we ought to try it?” they would be shouted down with a loud, “No, thanks.”
The trip of nearly 50 miles and 8 lakes was tough, but there were few complaints. Karen Chase noticed this especially, “It’s amazing to see people’s talents. It’s been great to be together, and I didn’t hear a single complaint.”
The trip was a confidence builder for Michelle and Brenda Schroeder. “I didn’t realize what we were getting into, but it’s beautiful,” said Michelle. Then with an arm around her sister, Brenda, she said, “And I’ve been glad to be with my sister before she goes away to college.”
Brenda had her own thoughts on the trip. “I thought I would die. I didn’t think I could carry any of that stuff, but I did. Then I knew I could do it again.”
On the last day as the group was heading back to the parking lot to meet the van and truck that were to pick them up, Sonda Donley, loaded with two heavy packs, one in front and the other on her back, was smiling but walking slowly uphill on the final portage. She said, “I feel fine. I just wish I could pick up my feet.”
After returning the canoes to the outfitter, washing their faces in the luxury of hot running water out of a tap, and combing their hair in front of a real mirror, the Summiteers spread out a map and mentally retraced their route.
When their fingers stopped at Gebeonequet Lake and the stream that went nowhere, they made a resolve. On future canoe trips and in their own lives, they would follow the correct paths. And because of their associations with fine leaders and advisers and by relying on their Heavenly Father, they knew that their feet would be guided as was promised in the scriptures.
“I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things I will do unto them, and not forsake them” (Isa. 42:16).

We never fail to meet on Tuesday nights. By now, over 60 people have attended, almost half of them friends of other faiths. After we had been meeting for two years, Eddie asked how we had grown from our meetings. Each of us acknowledged the remarkable strength we derive from each other. We have become friends who support and love one another. The Spirit is always present as well. We’ll keep going, inviting new friends every week to delight in and ponder on the things of our souls (see 2 Nephi 4:15).

As that first school year drew to a close, I again found myself without enough money to pay my tithing and my last month’s rent. I paid the tithing, hoping to find some extra work I could do somewhere to earn money. I was concerned because my already busy schedule did not provide much in the way of extra time, and I did not want to be late in paying Sister Knight. The day that my rent was due, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door, Don Wood, a member of the BYU football team, was standing in the doorway. He handed me an envelope that he told me he had received earlier that evening from his father, President Charles W. Wood, then first counselor in the Union Oregon Stake presidency. President Wood had asked Don to deliver the envelope to me. Don had said he would be seeing me at school the following Monday or Tuesday, but President Wood had replied, “No, you take it to him tonight. As my plane was landing in Boise, I was impressed that Jim needed some help. I think he needs it now, and I want you to deliver this envelope to him tonight.”
I had never spoken to President Wood nor, to the best of my memory, to Sister Knight or any other person concerning my lack of funds. As the oldest of seven children from a very poor family, I had always been aware I could not expect any financial assistance from my family. The experiences I had already had my first year at BYU had greatly solidified my testimony of tithing.
Recalling all this in my mind, I thanked Don for delivering the message and envelope. Slowly I opened it; inside was $20.

But that was all before I began using my famous one-liner: “I intend to go on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” This was not an original phrase for me. I just happened to pick it up one day in World Studies II, Advanced Review of the Emerging Third-World Nations. In this class we spent a lot of time memorizing the African states, capitals, and leaders. A Mr. Cranberg from Trenton, New Jersey, taught the course very methodically. Most days I quickly memorized my three countries and went on to my geometry. I never noticed that everyone else around me did the same until one day I suddenly detected a slight change in Mr. Cranberg’s drone.
“Anderson, stand!”
“Sir?” replied Anderson, standing in the formal Eaton manner.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading, sir.”
“World Problems?”
“No, sir.”
“How then, explain, do you expect to succeed in this class? And if you do not succeed in this class, how do you expect to understand this complex world in which you live?”
“I live in the dorms, sir. It’s very educational.”
Even I snickered at this.
“Don’t be funny, Anderson. You do not seem to understand the necessity of succeeding in this world. What may I ask do you intend to do after your graduation?”
Looking straight ahead and without a smile, Anderson replied, “I intend, sir, to go on a mission for the Mormon church.”
“A what?”
“A mission, sir.”
“To where? Africa?”
“My brother, sir, went to New Jersey.”
The class broke into an uproar. Mr. Cranberg, furious at this apparent slight toward his home state, assigned us all 18 extra pages of reading, with outline. All of us except Anderson who got 36. No one complained much because of the great joke. And also because of who Anderson was.
He was fairly good-looking and a pretty good athlete, but most of all he was just the sort of fellow who was friends with everyone. Never crude or wild or conceited like some of the boys I watched, he was always so friendly, as though his world were an excellent place into which he wished to draw all his fellows. Even me, it seemed, which puzzled me. I had never had a close friend with whom I confided my problems, my hopes, my dreams. I believe that is why his warmth fascinated me. And also that is why I took as my own his famous line.
It was not that I intended to go anywhere for the Mormon church. In my mind the Mormons were still out in the Rocky Mountains trudging around the hills in their covered wagons. I didn’t connect Scott Anderson with them; I just admired him so much that I stole his line. Besides, I was tired of being “we” and needed a conversation stopper.
But soon after I began using it, I became Anderson’s close friend.
It happened in gym through a bizarre accident. We were on the field playing soccer, when suddenly a ball came sailing from nowhere.
“Save it, Jack, save it,” I heard, and the next thing I felt was a terrible blow to my head. Some primitive instinct told me to fight back, so I kicked with all my strength and heard a crunch before I fell into blackness.
When I awoke, I saw the white curtains of the infirmary and knew I was going to be sick.
“Want me to call Ol’ Collins?”
I rolled over and in my misery saw Anderson’s grin with a slightly fat lip and missing one tooth.
“Anything you want,” I groaned.
Collins came bustling in, murmured about “concussion” and “our mother” and bustled out.
“I didn’t know you could kick so hard.” Again I saw the snaggly grin.
“It must have been the blow to my head. It gave me strength.”
“Your head is only half your problem. We also have two months in the clink together for fighting.”
“Fighting? Who was fighting? And what’s the clink? Where am I, Africa?”
“You and I, sir, have two months in detention hall.”
And that’s how I met Scott Anderson.
For a first friend there could have been no better. He showed me how to play soccer, and I showed him geometry and sentence diagraming. He explained to me the caste system of Eaton from the lowliest freshman to the headmaster. His parents had been assigned to a post overseas, so he was at Eaton finishing up his junior year. His comprehension of human systems astonished me just as my understanding of split participles fascinated him. I felt as though that day of our soccer crash had been for me a grand awakening to a world that had always been but I had never seen. I was a blind man granted sight.
It was four weeks into our detention that I mentioned to Anderson his famous quote from World Problems.
“That was some line,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s no joke, you know. I really am going on a mission.”
“A mission, a mission, what is a mission, Dr. Livingstone?”
“I’m going out into the world to teach people about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“Why?”
“Because the Church is true.”
“Are you really Mormon?”
“Sure thing, died in the wool, true blue.”
“No kidding. I never thought they got out of Utah.”
“Yeah, they did. Got out all over the world.”
So not only did I meet Scott Anderson, but also the Mormon church.
Too soon the term came to an end. When I came back from vacation, Scott Anderson was gone. “Moved,” somebody told me, “back to Utah.” I clung even more to his famous one line in memory of our friendship.
It was a fresh April day at the Apothecary Outdoor Restaurant when I had a final chance to use Anderson’s line. We had just finished our salad and were beginning our soup when an acquaintance of my mother stopped to greet us. He added the usual, “And what are you going to be doing next year, Jack?”
“I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir,” I replied.
“You will?” He seemed more than astonished. “Why I didn’t know you were Mormons!”
“We’re not,” my mother smiled her let’s-get-on-to-other-things smile.
“But I am,” the man went on. “As a matter of fact, I’m bishop of the Manhattan Third Ward.”
“A bishop? I’ve heard of bishops,” I said. “You see, I had this friend at school …”
And so I met Bishop Beesely. And now I am going on a mission for the Mormon church. My father thinks that I am tomorrow’s Dr. Livingstone because I am going to South Africa.
My mother, though, is her same plural self. Just yesterday she said, “We’ll be needing some white shirts and dark suits now, won’t we, Jack?”

I have a dear friend who is a brilliant, retired university professor, a prolific author, and, above all, a committed disciple of Jesus Christ. He has visited the Holy Land dozens of times to participate in conferences, conduct academic research, and lead tours. According to him, every time he visits the land where Jesus walked, he marvels because he undoubtedly learns something new, astonishing, and fascinating about the Savior, His mortal ministry, and His beloved homeland. The awe my friend shows when he talks about all that he learns in the Holy Land is contagious, and this amazement has been fundamental in his great achievements and academic pursuits in his life.
As I have listened to his experiences and felt of his enthusiasm, I have reflected on how much more spiritual wonder, so to speak, that we can and should feel for the gospel of Jesus Christ and the difference it can make in our discipleship and in our journey toward eternal life. The wonder I refer to is the sensation of emotion, awe, or amazement common to all who wholeheartedly center their lives on the Savior and His teachings and humbly recognize His presence in their lives. Such a feeling of wonder, inspired by the influence of the Holy Ghost, stimulates the enthusiasm to joyfully live the doctrine of Christ.
The scriptures contain several examples of how this sensation is manifest. The prophet Isaiah, for example, expressed the depth of his gratitude for the Lord through his rejoicing in Him. Those who heard Jesus preaching in the synagogue at Capernaum were astonished at His doctrine and the strength with which He taught. It was this same feeling that penetrated every fiber of young Joseph Smith’s heart as he read from the Bible the first chapter of James, leading him to seek the wisdom of God.
My brothers and sisters, when we truly are in awe of Jesus Christ and His gospel, we are happier, we have more enthusiasm for God’s work, and we recognize the Lord’s hand in all things. Additionally, our study of God’s words is more meaningful; our prayers, more intentional; our worship, more reverent; our service in God’s kingdom, more diligent. All these actions contribute to the Holy Spirit’s influence being more frequent in our lives. Thus, our testimony of the Savior and His gospel will be strengthened, we will keep Christ alive in us, and we will live our lives “rooted and built up in him, and stablished in the faith, … abounding therein with thanksgiving.” When we live in this way, we become more spiritually resilient and protected against falling into the trap of spiritual apathy.
Such apathy is characterized by the gradual loss of our excitement to engage fully in the Lord’s gospel. It generally begins when we are feeling that we have already attained all the necessary knowledge and blessings for our happiness in this life. This complacency, so to speak, causes us to take the gospel gifts for granted, and from then on, we run the risk of neglecting both our regular immersion in the essentials of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the covenants we have made. Consequently, we gradually distance ourselves from the Lord, weakening our ability to “hear Him,” becoming indifferent and insensitive to the greatness of His work. Doubt regarding the truths we have already received may enter our mind and heart, making us vulnerable to the enemy’s temptations.
Pastor Aiden Wilson Tozer, a renowned writer and valiant Christian, wrote, “Complacency is a deadly foe of all spiritual growth.” Wasn’t this exactly what happened to the people of Nephi shortly after the birth of Christ? They “began to be less and less astonished at a sign or a wonder from heaven, … [disbelieving] all which they had heard and seen.” Thus did Satan “blind their eyes and lead them away to believe that the doctrine of Christ was a foolish and a vain thing.”
My beloved brothers and sisters, in His perfect and infinite love and knowing our human nature, the Savior has established the way for us to avoid falling into the trap of spiritual apathy. The Savior’s invitation gives us a broader perspective, especially considering the complex world in which we live: “Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me.” As we accept the Savior’s invitation, we demonstrate our humility, our desire to be teachable, and our hope to become more like Him. This invitation also includes serving Him and ministering to God’s children “with all [our] heart, might, mind and strength.” At the core of our effort in this journey are, of course, the two great commandments: to love the Lord our God and love our neighbor as ourselves.
This type of behavior is part of Jesus’s divine character and was evident in everything He did during His earthly ministry. Therefore, when we intentionally and truly dedicate ourselves to look unto Him and learn from His perfect example, we come to know Him better. We grow in enthusiasm and desire to incorporate into our lives the ultimate standard of how we should live, the example we should set, and the commandments we should follow. We also gain additional understanding, wisdom, divine character, and grace toward God and our neighbors. I can assure you that our ability to feel the Savior’s influence and love will be intensified in our lives, magnifying our faith, our desire to act righteously, and the motivation to serve Him and others. In addition, our gratitude for the blessings and challenges we experience in mortality will solidify and become part of our true worship.
My dear friends, all these things strengthen our spiritual wonder regarding the gospel and move us to joyfully keep the covenants we make with the Lord—even in the midst of the trials and challenges we experience. Of course, for these outcomes to happen, we need to immerse ourselves with faith and real intent in the Savior’s teachings, striving to incorporate His attributes into our way of being. In addition, we need to draw nearer to Him through our repentance, seeking His forgiveness and His redeeming power in our lives and keeping His commandments. The Lord Himself promised that He would direct our paths if we would trust in Him with all our hearts, acknowledging Him in all our ways and not leaning on our own understanding.
A man I met recently, whose name is Wes and who is attending the conference today, accepted Christ’s invitation to learn of Him and of His gospel and began to experience the awe of His love after 27 years of distancing himself from the covenant path. He told me that one day he was contacted via Facebook by a missionary, Elder Jones, who was temporarily assigned to Wes’s area before going to his originally assigned mission in Panama. When Elder Jones came across Wes’s profile, not even knowing beforehand that he was already a member of the Church, he felt the guidance of the Holy Ghost and knew that he should immediately contact Wes. He quickly acted on this impression. Wes was amazed by this unexpected contact and began to realize that the Lord was aware of him despite his distance from the covenant path.
From then on, Wes and the missionaries began to communicate frequently. Elder Jones and his companion provided weekly acts of service and spiritual messages that helped Wes to recover his awe of the Savior and His gospel. It rekindled the flame of his testimony of the truth and of the Savior’s love for him. Wes felt the peace that comes from the Comforter and gained the strength he needed to return to the fold. He told me that this experience brought him spiritually and emotionally back to life and helped him to eliminate the feelings of bitterness accumulated over the years because of the difficult experiences he had been through.
As my aforementioned thoughtful professor friend has observed, there is always something wonderful and fascinating to learn about Jesus Christ and His gospel. The Lord has made wonderful promises that are extended to all those, including us, who seek to learn of Him and incorporate His words into their lives. To Enoch, He said, “Behold my Spirit [shall be] upon you, wherefore all thy words will I justify; and the mountains shall flee before you, and the rivers shall turn from their course; and thou shalt abide in me, and I in you.” Through His servant King Benjamin, He declared, “Ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.”
Therefore, as we genuinely and continually strive to learn of the Savior and follow His example, I promise you, in His name, that His divine attributes will be written in our minds and hearts, that we will become more like Him, and that we will walk with Him.
My beloved brothers and sisters, I pray that we will ever stand in awe of Jesus Christ and His complete, infinite, and perfect love. May the remembrance of what our eyes have seen and our hearts have felt increase our amazement at the Savior’s atoning sacrifice, which can heal us of our spiritual and emotional wounds and help us to draw closer to Him. May we marvel at the great promises that the Father has in His hands and that He has prepared for those who are faithful:
“The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.
“And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious.”
Jesus is the Redeemer of the world, and this is His Church. I bear witness of these truths in the awe-inspiring, sacred, and sublime name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, amen.

Colten and Preston are teenagers who live in Utah. Their parents are divorced, and they have not received permission to be baptized. Even though they can’t pass the sacrament, they bring the bread each week. And even though they can’t enter the temple to do baptisms with the youth when their ward goes to the temple, the two brothers find family names next door at the family history center. The greatest influence on helping our youth feel included is other righteous youth.

A true story from the USA.
Eli leaned on his rake and looked up at the bare branches of the oak tree. He was raking leaves in his grandma’s yard and had already made a giant pile. He smiled. Autumn always made him think of roast turkey and pumpkin pie.
Just then Grandma came out of the house.
“Thank you, Eli!” she said. “The yard looks wonderful. I’m glad you could rake the leaves before the first snow.” She wrapped her jacket tighter around herself. “I’m going to visit a friend at the nursing home. Want to come?”
“Sure!”
Eli set his rake against the tree. A large orange leaf fluttered down and landed on his foot.
What a pretty leaf! he thought.
He felt like he should take it with him. So he carefully picked up the leaf.
“Who are we going to visit?” he asked.
“Mrs. Overly,” Grandma said. “She just moved in last month.”
As they walked, Eli twirled the leaf’s stem between his fingers. The nursing home was only a block from Grandma’s house. Eli liked to join her on her visits. The people there always seemed happy to see him.
The doors swung open. Eli spotted Mr. Hansen sitting in his wheelchair by the front desk.
“Good morning, Heber,” Grandma said.
Mr. Hansen never said a word, but he held up his hand, and Eli gave him a high five.
They went to Mrs. Overly’s room. She smiled when they walked in.
“Well, hello!” She reached for Grandma’s hand. “It’s good to see you. And who did you bring with you today?”
“This is my grandson Eli,” Grandma said. “He has been raking leaves for me this morning.”
Eli remembered the leaf he was holding. He held it out to Mrs. Overly. “I brought one for you!” he said.
“Oh!” Mrs. Overly’s smile got bigger as she took the leaf. “How did you know that I love leaves? I used to have a lovely leaf collection, but I couldn’t bring it with me when I moved here. Now I can start a new one!”
The feeling Eli had to take the leaf must have been from the Holy Ghost! Eli didn’t know that someone needed a leaf today, but Heavenly Father knew.
Eli grinned. I wonder who else I can help if I listen carefully to the Holy Ghost! he thought.

Mr. Cooper says that he’s going to be baptized but won’t say when. I hope that it’s before my mission is over two weeks from now. But even though I’d like to be with him then, the important thing is that he get baptized when he’s ready.
Great news! Frank Cooper was baptized yesterday! And last night he gave a party to celebrate and invited a lot of his friends and the members of the ward. He said that it was also a farewell party for me. At the party, we made an appointment to visit one of his nonmember friends. I wish that I could go to that appointment with Elder Butler, but I’ll be home by then.

My family and I were driving home from my grandparents’ house after Christmas. The roads were very icy. Our minivan got stuck going up a hill. My dad got out of the van and tried to push it up the icy hill, but it wouldn’t move. We were stuck. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us. My dad got back out of the van and pushed again, and we went up the hill! Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, and He loves us.
Andrew B., age 7, Wisconsin, USA

Emilee Dolberg, 12, of Stockton, California, came out on top in several subjects in her grade. She placed first in the handwriting contest, first in spelling, first in the math contest, first in essay writing, and first in the talent competition (she plays the piano).
Emilee went on to compete with individual winners from other schools on a district level. She was first in handwriting, third in math, and first in essay writing. Her essay placed fourth nationally.
Emilee is secretary of her Beehive class in the Stockton Fourth Ward.

Braden and Dad carried heavy buckets of alligator pellets toward the feeding dock. The tops of the alligators’ heads came to the surface and glided toward them. When Braden and Dad reached the feeding spot, some of the alligators had their mouths open.
But Braden wasn’t scared. Working with Dad on the alligator farm was the best.
“Feeding time!” Braden said. He picked up a scoop of pellets and tossed them into the water.
Chomp. Chomp. Splash.
Some of the alligators caught the pellets in the air. Others snapped at them when they hit the water. Braden and Dad kept tossing the food until their buckets were empty.
“Thanks for helping me,” Dad said. “Let’s go. The missionaries will be coming soon.”
Braden and his family had started talking with the missionaries a few months ago. He liked the missionaries! And he liked learning about the Church. Dad was a member of the Church, but he hadn’t been going to church very much. Mom and Braden had never been baptized.
“Last week you set a goal to read Mosiah 18,” Sister Cox said that evening. “How did that go?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other and were quiet for a moment. “We were busy this week,” Mom said.
“I read it!” Braden said.
“Great job!” Sister Blood said, reaching over for a high five. “How did you feel after you read it?”
Braden gave a big smile. “Really good. And I prayed about being baptized. I really want to.”
“That’s great! I know that makes Heavenly Father very happy,” Sister Cox said. She turned to Braden’s mom. “How are you feeling about it?”
“I’m still not sure. I think I need a little more time,” Mom said.
Braden felt a little sad during the rest of the lesson. He wished both his parents were members of the Church. And he wanted to be a member of the Church too!
When the missionaries left, he told his parents that he meant what he said earlier. “I really want to be baptized. And …” Braden took a deep breath. “I really want Dad to baptize me.”
After a moment, Dad spoke up. “I really want that too.”
Mom was quiet. “Let’s pray about it.”
Braden knelt down with his family and asked Heavenly Father if he and Mom should be baptized. He felt warm and loved.
For the next few weeks, Braden read the scriptures and prayed every day. At first, he was always the one asking his parents if they would pray and read with him. But soon, they started asking him. When he and Dad fed the alligators, they would talk about the scriptures or what they learned at church. He and Mom would talk about the missionary lessons. Every day, Mom and Dad seemed a little happier.
One day during a lesson with the missionaries, Mom said the words Braden had been waiting for: “I want to be baptized.”
For the next few weeks, Braden felt like he was floating on clouds.
Finally, it was the day of Mom and Braden’s baptism. When Braden came up out of the water, he felt Heavenly Father’s love for him and his family. He gave Dad a big hug.
Dad held Braden close and whispered, “Thank you for being a good example and helping us. I love you.”

Each year the young men try to make the upstairs spook alley even better than the year before. This year each of the quorums was in charge of a room. “It was pretty spooky,” one little clown was heard to say, “but you don’t have to go through it alone.” The young men make sure that one of their number or a young woman who isn’t busy at the moment accompanies each child through so that no scares are taken too seriously. And many children brave the alley not only because of their “big” friends who help them through, but also because if they don’t go through the spook alley, they don’t get to go down the cardboard slide. The Moffat brothers, Kayle and David, have always volunteered to build the slide. Kayle built it with David’s help for a couple of years, but now he is serving as a full-time missionary and David is handling it alone. David says that by the time he gets his call in a year or two, Kayle will be back and able to take over again.

“I grew up in Mormon country, but I never heard of the Mormons except maybe one time,” said Elder Hartman Rector, Jr., a convert to the Church. “I grew up in Missouri, and one day as my mother and I were driving over to Huntsville, the county seat, I saw a couple of mounds in a field. We were traveling about twenty-five miles an hour in a Model T Ford, so I had time to look around. I asked my mother what those mounds were. She said she thought that they were the graves of two Mormons who had died moving through the country years ago. I didn’t know what a Mormon was, and she didn’t say anything more about them. That was the only time, as a boy, that I ever heard the term Mormon.
“My home in Moberly was up on a hill,” Elder Rector remembered, “and a creek that ran about fifty yards below it formed a swimming hole. Everyone learned to swim in that creek. We called it the Old Well.
“I was the only boy in a family of three children, and I was spoiled. My grandmother saw to that. Her name was Lucy Ellen Mason, and she would save marshmallows for me. Back in those days, before plastic packaging, marshmallows in an open package would turn as hard as rocks. I still love hard marshmallows.
“My grandmother was very religious. I would spend a whole week with her before school started, and every night we would go to revival meetings (something like the meetings Joseph Smith went to before he prayed in the Sacred Grove to find out about the true Church). She would also read the Bible to me as I sat on her lap.
“My father never joined the Church. But I guess he’s about as honest and honorable a man as I’ve ever known. If he gave you his word, you never had cause to question it. He was a stern disciplinarian. When he told me that I had to do something, then I knew I had to do it.
“When I was about seven, Dad sort of hoodwinked me into milking cows. He said, ‘You’re not big enough to milk the cows.’
“Well, I knew I was big enough to milk them, so I said, ‘Of course, I can milk them.’ I got up early, got the bucket, and went out and milked the cows.
“My dad then said, ‘I believe you can milk the cows. You’ve got the job!’ For the next dozen years I milked eight to twelve cows each night and morning.
“Dad was a lot smarter than I was. One day I said to him, ‘I don’t want to milk cows.’ He replied, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to want to. … as long as you do it.’
“My dad loved to play baseball, and I loved baseball too. I was sure I was going to pitch for the St. Louis Cardinals, and I might have done it, too, if the war hadn’t come along. As a result, I went into the service. Although I hate war, the Fourth of July and what it stands for always gives me a thrill. I have the strongest feeling for my country’s flag. I can’t see it pass by without getting a lump in my throat. I considered it a tremendous privilege to serve my country in the military.
“My mother was a sweet, wonderful woman who really loved my father. Their example had a great effect on me. I wanted to live like that; I thought it was the only way to live. It was quite a shock when I got out into the world and discovered that their relationship was rare.
“Sunday was a day spent visiting our relatives. My dad’s sister, Aunt Lila (whom I baptized in 1955, the only other member of my family who has joined the Church), had four children. My three boy cousins were practically my brothers. In fact, one of them came to live with us for a year and went to junior college with me. He even helped with the milking!
“I loved school. There were only thirteen pupils in my little school. They didn’t teach all eight grades each year, but alternated certain grades. They double-promoted me twice, so I missed the second grade and the fifth grade completely. I went from that little school to a big junior high school with three hundred sixty students. I found that there were many things I didn’t know, and I really had to study hard. By the time I got to college, studying wasn’t at all difficult for me.”
Elder Rector says that “one of the most important things to learn is to be where you should be when you should be there. If you can do that, there’s nothing that you can’t do. If you think about it, when you have been in trouble, it was probably because you were where you shouldn’t have been at the time.
“There is a time to be born, a time to die, and a time to do everything in between. When it’s time to go to bed, you ought to be in bed. When it’s time to get up, you ought to be up. There’s a time to play, and there’s a time to be in school. Be there. There’s a time to be in church. Be there. Be where you should be when you should, and everything else will follow in its proper time.”

At Christmas time we often hear people talk about already being in the Christmas spirit or not yet. The prospect of a white Christmas, a visit to a Christmas market and preparing presents or that special Christmas feast are popular ways to summon that legendary festive cheer.
Unfortunately, the actual meaning of Christmas is often lost along the way. I was able to learn this lesson very intensively on my mission. In December 1997 my companion and I were transferred to a small town in Wales and settled in together. There was a very small, loving ward there. We enjoyed our time there and worked hard, hoping to tell people about Christ. During the second half of December we noticed how all the companionships, in a virtually competitive atmosphere, reported where and how often members invited them for dinner. It almost seemed like a sport, cramming as many Christmas dinners as possible into the two Christmas holidays. Many of the more experienced missionaries spoke about how delicious the traditional Christmas dinner was and could hardly wait for that special day to arrive. Amidst all this gladness, my companion and I realised that we had not even received a single invitation yet. Something was wrong. But we did not want to impose ourselves either and kept hoping that someone might yet invite us for dinner. Nothing happened, while Christmas was approaching fast. Just before Christmas we held a zone conference, where all the missionaries serving in Wales came together. A wonderful spirit permeated that conference. But what mattered much more to us missionaries were our packages from home that were given to us. Giddily, my companion and I returned to our flat. Defying all my parents’ rules and admonitions on the package, I opened it that same night. It contained a few small presents, a letter from my parents and Christmas sweets. I was delighted! It was a great evening, with both of us enjoying the goodies received from home. With the small caveat that it was not actually Christmas yet.
Sadly, we had not received any dinner invitation by the 24th of December. To make matters worse, the 24th happened to be a preparation day and we had planned to play football (soccer) with all the other missionaries, after which everyone would go straight to their respective dinner appointments. We were very disappointed to learn that the other elders had forgotten to give us a ride to the event. My companion and I walked the streets of our town in the rain, just to kill time. We were anything but in the Christmas mood.
Tired and disappointed, we returned home in the evening to prepare a meal. I remember vividly stepping into our flat, the heating broken yet again and the Christmas packages from our families long unpacked and consumed. Gloomily, I stood in our living room, feeling very lonely and unhappy indeed. All I could do was turn on some Christmas music. So I did. Handel’s Messiah was on and my gaze wandered to a picture of our Saviour and older brother, Jesus Christ. A picture as it can be seen in thousands of missionary flats: taped to the wall crooked, without a frame. And all of a sudden, it was Christmas! I knew why I was here. I knew what we were celebrating and what really mattered.
I have celebrated many wonderful Christmases in my life and beautiful memories abound. That Christmas in Wales in 1997, however, has probably been my most intense Christmas yet. The real gift I received that Christmas was a more intense love for my Saviour and friend, Jesus Christ.

I was good at saying my evening prayers. But morning prayers were a different matter. I always managed to find an excuse for not praying when I left my room in the morning. The Spirit would often prompt me to think, “I really should be saying prayers every morning.” I tried but often failed after a few poor attempts.
For about a year, I had been praying for an answer to a question. I was planning to go to university, but with just a few weeks to go before my application forms had to be finished, I still didn’t know what to study. I couldn’t work out why I had not received an answer.
My nervous and often desperate feelings of confusion became so bad that on one particular night I lay awake in bed, tears in my eyes, unable to sleep. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayers? I had patiently prayed for a year about various courses and options, but I felt I still hadn’t received an answer.
One night while reading the scriptures I came across Alma 37:37: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let your heart be full of thanks unto God.”
I had read that scripture before in Primary, Young Women, seminary, and Sunday School lessons, but this time I really understood what I was reading. I made up my mind to pray every morning. I left little notes everywhere to remind me, and sure enough they began to work.
A few days later, I received an answer to my prayers about what to study. I knew what I had chosen was wrong, and I knew what I had to do instead. The cloud of uncertainty that had hung above me lifted, and the prospect of university became much brighter. I was even excited.
Heavenly Father did answer my prayers, just as the scriptures said He would. I know He loves us and listens to our prayers. I had to listen to what the Spirit was telling me to do and exercise a little extra faith and effort before my prayer was finally answered.

I wanted to visit Salt Lake City and surprise my good friends Elder Kimball and Brother Lamar Williams. Finally, in the spring of 1969, eight years after my baptism, I visited Salt Lake City and met with Elder Kimball. He was delighted and spent the rest of the day with me.
While in Salt Lake City, I went to a salon for a haircut. I shared my testimony with the barber, who was a convert himself. One gentleman, waiting for his turn, overheard me and told me about his travels to India. He paid for my haircut, invited me to dinner, and drove me to Brigham Young University. I was impressed by the campus. I mentioned that I wanted to continue my studies here but could not afford it. The man offered to pay $1,000 for my tuition. I was surprised and immensely grateful.