Gospel Story Finder

When I was in Primary, my brother was a toddler, and my sister was a baby. My mother was very busy taking care of them during the day, so when I came home from school, I helped her. I put my brother in the stroller and walked around the block with him, again and again. We talked about the beautiful world together and looked at the birds, bugs, and our neighbors’ pets. It was a small thing, but it made a big difference! It helped my mom feel happy and rested. It helped my whole family. It was a way of helping like Jesus wants us to help.

Some years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying, Brother Monson, and neither must you. My mommy told me many times about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.” The words of the Psalmist echoed to my soul: “Out of the mouth of babes … hast thou ordained strength” (Ps. 8:2).
Through tear-moistened eyes, I recognized a beautiful and faith-filled smile. For my young friend, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth can declare to the world: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Ps. 30:50).

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to a university in another state. I went to decide if I wanted to go to school there.
While I was there, some girls already on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes.
Throughout the party I felt very uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (“The Power of Righteousness,” Liahona, January 1999, 81). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was out of place there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful I decided long ago that I would never drink. That decision helped me in my time of need.

A coach of the East St. Louis, Illinois, High School took a group of young men and turned them into champions. A St. Louis Post-Dispatch sports editor wrote:
“This is a story Hollywood wouldn’t believe: kids growing up in America’s biggest urban disaster, slugging it out, year after year. No money, no fancy facilities, just a coach who still believes pride and hard work can mean something.”
The coach told his players, “Life isn’t always fair, but we can still expect excellence from ourselves.”
He insisted on hard work from all of his players, the stars included. His team won more than many championships. (See Eugene H. Methrin, “The Stuff of Champions,” Reader’s Digest, Oct. 1991, p. 83.)

It was ten-year-old Joshua’s turn to teach the family home evening lesson. It was on faith. When he finished, he told his family, “If you have faith, you can do anything.”
His mother replied, “Well, almost anything.”
“No, Mom.” Joshua said. “You can do anything.”
Little did the Dennis family know that within days, their faith would be tested. On Friday, 22 September 1989, Joshua went with his dad and other leaders and members of a Boy Scout troop from Kearns, Utah, to explore an abandoned mine. After looking around inside the mine for some time, Joshua and some of the Scouts decided to turn back. They met Joshua’s dad and some other Scouts heading out of the mine, and Joshua gave his flashlight to his dad, who was leaving the tunnel with a visually handicapped boy.
Then Joshua decided to follow some older Scouts back into the mine tunnel, but they did not know that Joshua was behind them. They began to run. Joshua couldn’t keep up with them and was soon left behind in total darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in from of his face.
He turned around and tried to feel his way back to the entrance, but he made a wrong turn and slid down a slope. He climbed back up but went too far and ended up in an ore stope—a cavity where ore has been mined out—about two meters wide and seven meters deep. The stope was almost impossible to see from the main tunnel below because of rocks.
“I tried to find my way out for a long time,” Joshua recalled. He yelled, but his cries were muffled and no one heard him. By this time, he was tired and cold and his feet were wet. “I knew I was lost, and I realized I had better just sit down and wait,” he said.
Joshua slept a lot. Sometimes he would stand up and stretch or just sit and think. For five days Joshua had no food or water and only his coat to keep him warm in the 10° C temperature.
But he wasn’t afraid. “I prayed a lot that Heavenly Father would help me,” he said, and his prayers were answered with a feeling of comfort and with faith that he would be found. “I felt that I was being watched over by Heavenly Father.”
While Joshua was praying, friends and family were also fasting and praying that he would be found in safety. His parents waited anxiously for reports on the search for their son.
Many volunteers helped search the surrounding foothills, which are full of abandoned mines and air shafts. At least seven times some of them passed within forty meters of Joshua.
The longer the search continued, the more certain many people became that Joshua was not in the mine but had wandered away from it. Search dogs, helicopters, and people on horseback and on foot searched the cliff-lined hills of nearby Dry Canyon. There was no trace of the boy.
Inside the mine, Joshua waited calmly for someone to find him. To help pass the time, he sang “I Am a Child of God” and other songs that he had learned in Primary.
As each day passed, the chance of finding Joshua alive grew less, but members of the rescue team were determined to not give up.
When the search party came out of the mine after another unsuccessful rescue attempt on the afternoon of the fifth day, a Church member, John Skinner, persuaded the men in charge to let him go in with the other searchers for a final attempt. “I just had a feeling that he was still in the mine and that he was still alive,” he explained.
John Skinner had explored the Hidden Treasure Mine 120 times and was very familiar with the dozens of passages that wind through the eight levels. He could picture in his mind at least three places where Joshua might be. One of those places was the ore stope.
As the other searchers made another sweep through the mine, he, Ray Guymon, and Gary Christensen separated from the group, and John Skinner led them to the sections of the mine where he thought the boy might be. When they finally came to the ore cavity, they heard a faint cry for help but were not sure what it was. They remained still until they heard it again. The excitement grew as they and Joshua yelled back and forth, trying to find each other in the darkness.
“My heart just started pumping and pounding,” recalled Gary Christensen, the first to reach Joshua. “I wrapped my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me.”
“I felt like we were led there by the Lord,” Ray Guymon said.
All three men said it was very difficult to describe the feelings they had when they found Joshua, whom they had never seen before.
“I felt like he was my own,” Gary Christensen said. “I was just really happy inside.”
“It was an overwhelming feeling when we found him,” John Skinner said.
As Joshua was brought out of the mine, there were tears of joy and relief on the faces of many. Joshua, although excited, remained calm—he had not doubted that he would be found.
Because there was no light inside the mine, Joshua had lost track of time. He was surprised when he found out that he had been lost for so long. Dehydrated from going so long without water, and suffering mild frostbite on his feet, he was flown to a hospital, where he rested and doctors examined him.
At first the doctors thought they would have to amputate his little toes. But all he lost was some skin from his feet. He had to be in a wheelchair for about a week. Physical therapy strengthened his leg and foot muscles, and before long he was walking, running, and even riding his skateboard again.
Joshua received more than a thousand letters, many from other school children who wanted to know more about him and his experience. While he was lost, the students at Fox Hills Elementary School, where he was in the fifth grade, tied yellow ribbons on the fences all around their school to show that they were thinking about him and hoping that he would be back soon. It really made Joshua feel good to know that so many people cared about him. He tells everyone, “Heavenly Father does answer your prayers. Have faith and don’t give up.”

It was Christmas Day. Judith hummed as she walked to the church building. She and her siblings were going to their branch’s Christmas party.
Her sister, Esther, smiled. “Is that ‘Angels We Have Heard on High?’”
“Yes! It’s my favorite. I hope we sing it today.” Judith grinned.
“I love that song!” Désiré, her brother, added. He loudly sang, “Gl-o-o-o-ria!”
They all laughed. Judith couldn’t wait to celebrate with their branch. Not many people in Mali celebrated Christmas. In this part of Africa, most people didn’t know much about Jesus. To them, Christmas was just an ordinary day.
The streets were full of people. Vendors sold light green melons. People young and old carried jugs of water on their heads. A young boy led a donkey pulling a cart. Judith looked up at the tall, narrow tower of a mosque. It was a beautiful building where many of their Muslim neighbors worshipped.
Judith, Esther, and Désiré used to go to Papa’s church. But last summer, they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now the three of them walked to church together every week. Judith loved learning about Jesus in Primary.
At last they got to the party. Most of the families in the branch were already there. A projector was showing Christmas videos on the chapel wall. Judith watched Joseph lead Mary through Bethlehem on a donkey. The busy, dusty streets reminded her of Mali!
After the video ended, a taxi pulled up. Sister Valerie, the Relief Society president, got out.
“I’ve brought the food!” she called.
Everyone helped bring dishes up to the balcony. It was a feast! Potato salad, carrots, green beans, bright yellow rice, fried chicken … it was all delicious!
“Thank you so much, Sister Valerie!” Judith said.
Then the youngest children each got a ball, doll, or toy car. There weren’t enough gifts for Judith to get one, but she didn’t mind. She loved seeing the little kids smile.
The party ended with singing. Judith smiled when they sang “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
The whole branch sang together. It was so beautiful. Jesus really was born all those years ago! Judith was so grateful that she, Désiré, and Esther knew about Him. And she was so happy to celebrate His birth.

Having been raised in a competitive and non-religious Asian country, I have always had a great desire to become a successful person, but I didn’t have any eternal principles or truths to guide me. In my country, “successful” meant being rich and powerful.
My parents always taught me that there was no such thing as God. For them, religion or God was a bunch of nonsense and only for weak people. For a long time I considered myself atheist. They taught me that I shouldn’t trust anyone but myself. So from a young age I have used my high ambitions as motivation to study and work extremely hard.
My parents had high expectations for me. They wanted me to keep my grades high at all times. It made me sad to see their disappointed faces or to hear them argue with each other when I got a bad grade. Along with my regular schoolwork, I would also have to do extra homework on the weekend so I could keep an A average.
Even after accomplishing goals I had set, I still felt that there was something more in store for my life. Deep in my heart, I knew that surely there had to be more to it.
One day I decided I was going to find out for myself if there really was a God. If He did exist, I wanted to know what He wanted for me or if religion was just a bunch of nonsense created by the imagination of human beings. I was not afraid to receive either one of these two answers. I just wanted the truth.
Around that same time, I became close friends with one of my basketball teammates named Taylor. One morning I asked him for a ride to school. He said yes, but I would have to get up an hour earlier to go to seminary with him. I reluctantly said yes, not knowing what it was. I enjoyed seminary, though more because of what I felt than what I learned.
Soon after that, Taylor asked me to go to church with him. At first I thought church was a little boring and weird, but eventually I was moved by the warm and peaceful feeling that I felt at the service.
However, I still wasn’t persuaded that the good feeling had anything to do with God. How did I know that it didn’t come from myself? How did I know that I didn’t make myself feel that way?
After many internal debates, I went to Taylor’s mom in search of answers. She told me that I could receive my answers by reading the scriptures and praying about the answers that I was looking for. I prayed without receiving any answers and struggled to obey the rules and commandments that I was learning about. I became frustrated many times. I expected a marvelous and dramatic appearance of God or some sort of miraculous event to prove that God was real. Basically, I wanted an unshakable testimony all at once. The truth is, the more I prayed, the more clarity I felt in my life. The more I followed the commandments, the happier I became. The more I read the scriptures, the more revelation I received. Gradually, my testimony increased, like the rising sun in the morning.
It took me two years to decide to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though I lived many good moral standards and principles before, I can now say that I have found the eternal and ultimate truth: God lives. Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer. The heavens are open. A prophet of God walks the earth today. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. God really does forgive all repentant sinners. I may not be as smart or as gifted as other people, but the knowledge I have is priceless.

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening, I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

“Do we have time before dinner for our walk?” said Mr. Knight (names have been changed) from his wheelchair.
“Of course,” I responded, “I always have time for a walk.”
As I rolled my 90-year-old friend through the front door of the nursing home and across the street, we talked about skiing, slopes, and snowdrifts. Mr. Knight had been on ski patrol until an accident forced him to retire at age 86.
On our walks, I’d pour out my senior-year problems, and Mr. Knight would tell me stories several decades old, giving me courage to face the mountains of life that he had already conquered.
“So,” Mr. Knight asked, “did you have a date last night?”
“Yep,” I responded, dreamily thinking of the good-looking guy I had gone out with.
“Well, how did it go?”
“Great! He is so cool! I can’t believe he actually wants to date me!” I said, bubbling over with excitement. Brock was the star of the high school swim team. He was every girl’s dream boy. He wasn’t an active member of the Church and not exactly a good guy either, but he was incredibly good looking, and I was flattered he had asked me out. I thought as long as I didn’t do the bad things he was doing, I could still go out with him and have fun. Brock’s good looks hid many of his flaws.
I kept hanging out with him even though my parents weren’t crazy about the idea. I rationalized to them that his habits didn’t have any effect on me. Not surprisingly, they didn’t agree. When I told Brock this, he promised me he had quit drinking and smoking. But after a while, I could tell he was lying.
My parents taught me I should only date guys worthy to go on missions—guys who could one day take me to the temple. Brock was definitely not that type. Still, I had a hard time separating the excitement from the impending trouble.
As the weeks went by and I kept going out with Brock, I started lying to my parents about where I was going. And even though I wasn’t the one drinking or smoking, I knew I had crossed into a danger zone.
After going out with Brock one night, I sneaked into my house and headed to the bathroom to wash off my makeup. As I looked in the mirror I met a scrutinizing eye.
“Well, here you are,” scolded my reflection. “I see you finally made it home tonight.”
“Of course I made it home,” I countered.
“Surprising, though,” the girl in the mirror continued, “don’t you think? Brock was so drunk. It’s amazing he didn’t crash.”
I pictured myself mangled and bleeding in a coffin of twisted metal. The image seemed almost real, and I didn’t want to think about it.
I lashed back at the image in the mirror: “Quit overreacting! You’re starting to sound like my mother!” I slammed my fist against the light switch, and brushed my teeth and washed off my mascara in the dark.
After yet another week of sneaking around, fighting what I knew I should do, it was time to see Mr. Knight again. I tried to act natural, but Mr. Knight knew I was in trouble.
“You’re in a mess because you’re breaking the rules,” he said.
“What rules?” I asked, innocently raising my eyebrows.
“Your rules and God’s rules. When people go against the laws they know, they are sinning.”
If I had heard this from anyone else, I would have felt as if they had called me a sinner. Yet I knew Mr. Knight loved me and cared about my happiness, so I listened to what he had to say.
“You know that lying to your parents, even stretching the truth a little, is wrong. You know that lying to yourself is wrong. You know that dating someone who drags you down is wrong. You can’t expect to stand barefoot in the snow and not get cold.”
“Mr. Knight, I’ve lied so many times though. I don’t know how to start telling the truth. If I tell my parents the truth now, they’ll ground me until I graduate.”
I was afraid of facing the truth. I thought if I told the truth, I’d spend my senior year dateless and friendless.
“Mr. Knight, I’m not sure I can fix this mess.”
“Trust me, you can. Remember, you don’t have to do this all by yourself. You need the help of the Lord and His Atonement.”
“Hey, this isn’t a big enough problem that I need to repent. I don’t need the Atonement. Remember, I’m not the one smoking and drinking.”
“I know, but you still have things you need to change. Repentance means changing, and it’s possible because of Christ’s Atonement. You need to repent because you’ve broken God’s rules.”
I stopped pushing the wheelchair, realizing for the first time that I had offended God and not just myself. Now, instead of fearing my own face in the mirror, I was afraid of facing the Lord. I knew He was aware of everything I had done. I wanted to bury myself under a mountain.
Mr. Knight gave me instructions on how to get back to where I needed to be. I told my parents the truth about going out with Brock behind their backs. I knelt and told the Lord the truth. Still, a confession wasn’t enough. I changed my behavior. I quit dating Brock and only dated guys who lived Church standards. Lots of kids at school teased me, telling me I was stuck up, but I knew that what I was doing was right. Most importantly, faith and hope returned to my life, replacing the guilt and despair I had felt.
My fear of being friendless and dateless never happened. By being true to myself, I found friends who were true to me. Mr. Knight helped me see the need for the Atonement in my life so I could change and look at myself in the mirror. When I look to Christ and then look at myself, I am able to recognize in my reflection something of divinity and what He expects me to become.

“Mother helped us feel a closeness with our father. She made him a reality for us while we were growing up. I remember once when I was twelve going out with the bishop of our ward in Vernal to take baskets of fruit to the widows. When we pulled up in front of our house and the bishop gave me a basket for my mother, it was a shock. I never thought of my mother as being a widow, because we still had a father. He and Mother had been married in the temple, and I knew that he was with us, although he was on the other side of the veil. He loved us and knew what we were doing.

“I was raised in a home where faith was present and the commandments were taken seriously. I didn’t get a testimony of the gospel at any particular time. I just grew up with it! I didn’t really know what a strong testimony I had until I got to graduate school. Then, when I was confronted with a lot of questions and challenges, I found that I was strong. I think my mother’s faith was the greatest single factor in my testimony.

“The most important thing I can say to children is this: Lots of you boys and girls are having difficulties. Some of you have the challenge of not having a mother or father in your home. Some of you have physical handicaps. Others of you feel frustrated and inadequate because you can’t do the things you think you’re supposed to do—you can’t throw the ball far enough or you think you aren’t attractive, for example. Everybody has those feelings. Problems like these are part of the experiences that all of us have in this life.

“Remember that sometimes the greatest blessings our Heavenly Father gives us are blessings that come out of what we first think are hardships and problems.

“Hang on. Keep trying. Say your prayers. Trust in your Heavenly Father. He loves you, and He will bless you to carry on and accomplish what you need to accomplish in this life so that you will receive all of His choicest blessings in eternity.”

This story took place in the USA.
Janie closed her book and sighed happily. This book was her favorite! She had already finished it three times. She loved to read!
“Do you think I could build a little library?” Janie asked Mom and Dad later that day. She wanted to help others by sharing books with them.
“What’s a little library?” Dad asked.
“It’s a box that you put outside with books in it,” Janie said. “People can borrow them for free. Or they can leave books for others to read.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “We can help you build it.”
“Thanks!” said Janie. “Maybe we can have a bake sale to earn money for the supplies!”Janie and her sister, Carli, made signs announcing the bake sale. They placed them around the neighborhood. Mom and Dad let people know about the bake sale online. Janie was so excited!
Janie had a lot of fun making the treats. She made cookies, crispy cereal bars, and snowball cakes.
Soon the day of the bake sale came. Janie, Carli, and their friend Bella put a table in the front yard. They sold treats to a lot of their neighbors. Some people donated extra money too. Janie put all the money in a special jar.
After the bake sale, Janie had another idea. She entered some of her favorite treats into a contest at the county fair and won a prize! She put the prize money in the jar with the other money for her little library.
Now that Janie had the money for the little library, she needed books to fill it with. She went from door to door and asked her neighbors to donate books they didn’t need anymore. Some friends came by to give Janie their books too.
It was finally time to build her little library. Janie used the money she’d earned to buy supplies. She drew a design of the box and made measurements. Dad helped her cut the wood, and Janie helped him put the pieces together.
Mom filled in the cracks and seams to keep the water out when it rained. Janie helped hang up a sign telling people to take a book or share a book.
Finally Janie and her family took the box out to the front yard next to their big, shady tree. Dad put a post in the ground, and together they put the box on the post. They had made a little library!
Dad placed three heavy rocks around the post. “That should keep it from blowing over,” he said.
“I love it!” Janie said. “Now we can put the books inside.” They filled the little library with the donated books.
After that, Janie went to check the little library every day. She loved to see what books people added or took out. One day she saw a little girl choose one of Janie’s own favorite books! She was so glad she could help her neighbors by sharing books in the little library.
Illustration by Barbara Bongini

A few months ago, while participating in a service activity I was able to observe a sister who was heavily expecting. I wondered how much she would be able to offer while carrying such a physically demanding load. The agility and energy with which this sister moved to help lift a load for another needing relief, seemed to have lightened her own load. President Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985) observed, “Only when you lift a burden, God will lift your burden. Divine paradox this! The man who staggers and falls because his burden is too great can lighten that burden by taking on the weight of another’s burden.”3

I know a woman with several small children whose husband served in a time-consuming Church calling. He often came home late from work—just long enough to say hello—then off he went to perform his Church duties. The children sometimes had to be reassured, and sometimes the mother had to reassure herself, by saying, “Aren’t we glad that Daddy is worthy to serve Heavenly Father so we can receive so many blessings?” A support instead of a murmur brought results that had a lasting influence on that home and family.

When I was five years old, I became very ill. It turned out that I had polio, a disease that was completely unknown to the small-town doctor. I lay for several weeks on a World War I army cot in our front room beside a coal stove. Afterward, I could not walk. I remember very clearly sliding around on the linoleum floor and pulling myself up on chairs, learning to walk again. I was more fortunate than some. A friend walked with crutches and steel leg braces all of his life.
As I moved into school, I found that my muscles were weak. I was very self-conscious. I knew that I could never be an athlete.
It did not help a lot when I read about the man who went to a doctor to find a cure for his inferiority complex. After a careful examination, the doctor told him, “You don’t have a complex. You really are inferior!”
With that for encouragement, I set about through life and determined to compensate in other ways.
I found hope in my patriarchal blessing. The patriarch, whom I had never met before, confirmed to me that patriarchs do have prophetic insight. He said that I had a desire to come to earth life and was willing to meet the tests that would accompany life in a mortal body. He said that I had been given a body of such physical proportion and fitness to enable my spirit to function through it unhampered by physical impediment. That encouraged me.

Growing up in the Church, Sundays tended to feel tedious and monotonous. It was rare for me as a kid to actually listen to what was being said. Maybe that’s why it’s so interesting to me that to this day I remember a single line from a talk I heard when I was Primary age.
At the time I was sitting in sacrament meeting, wondering why I had to be at church every single week. Then the speaker said, “Sunday shouldn’t get in the way of our lives, Sunday should be the center of our lives.” At the time that idea was so different from what I’d always thought that I wasn’t really able to understand what it meant. Even so, I could tell it was important.
In Primary we learned that we came to church to take the sacrament. I figured these two things were related, but I could never figure out how. I didn’t think too much about the sacrament. It was just something I did, and it didn’t have any meaning to me. Throughout the years, though, those two ideas stayed with me. I knew I was missing something.
Years later, in junior high, I found myself in a hard situation. I had a bad habit I was trying to get rid of. I knew it wasn’t so serious that I had to talk to my bishop, but it was still really bothering me.
I was embarrassed and didn’t want to ask anyone for help. Not even my parents. Not even Heavenly Father. I determined I could overcome this challenge on my own.
Weeks went by. I tried so hard to be better but without result. I was still struggling. I knew the Sabbath should be the focus of my week because of the sacrament. I had also been taught that the sacrament was a tool I could use to access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
After trying and failing for so long, I finally decided to turn to the Lord. At last I set aside my pride, opened my heart, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for help, strength, and forgiveness. I stopped waiting for change to happen to me and started focusing on taking small steps toward improvement, with faith that the Lord would bless my efforts.
For the first time I focused on preparing for the sacrament all through the week. The sacrament became something I looked forward to. I began to see it as an opportunity rather than a routine because it brought the power of the Savior’s Atonement into my life.
I felt change in my life. The things I was struggling with faded. I became more confident in myself. I was able to open up to my parents and seek more assistance. I felt grateful to the Lord for all of the help I had received. I felt forgiven. I felt clean.
I grew to understand what that speaker meant all those years ago. When I centered my life around being ready for the Sabbath, I came closer to Jesus Christ in a way that purified me and made me stronger.
Through prayer and guidance from Heavenly Father, I learned that I could not walk through this life alone, but that the Savior and Heavenly Father truly had to be a part of my life. I learned that when I spent my whole week preparing to partake of the sacrament, I was better able to fully access the power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I learned that Heavenly Father loves us and has created a way for us to be forgiven and receive blessings, but we need to do our part to make it more meaningful. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for all that He has done for me and continues to do for me when I remember to prepare for the Sabbath.

Being a witness of the faith of young people has increased my faith. One young mother wrote:
“When I was 13 I knew my life was not worth living. I was living in an abusive home where there never seemed to be lasting happiness. My two best friends told me they didn’t want to be friends with me anymore because I thought I was too good for them, which made no sense but left me feeling completely alone.
“As the battles in my house continued to rage, I went to my bedroom. I was so scared. I knelt and called to the one person I still knew I had. I pleaded to my Father in Heaven to somehow take me home. I said, ‘Father, I need to be with you. I need to feel your arms around me.’ As I sat crying and quietly waiting in that desperate moment for Heavenly Father’s arms to reach down, I heard a voice, ‘Put your arms around yourself, and I will be with you.’ As I followed that prompting, I felt Heavenly Father’s love assure me that I could go on, and I would go on and I was not alone.”
At a difficult time, this young woman turned to Heavenly Father. Her experience made her faith stronger and more real. The reward of her faith is evident in her temple marriage and family life today (see Alma 32:42–43).

“Have any of you ever broken a bone?” Blake asked members of his priests quorum. He gave each person a chance to respond. Then he told the story about breaking his leg during the state high school cross-country championships and how his teammate Sean picked him up and carried him to the finish line.
“Just like Sean helped me to do something I couldn’t do for myself,” Blake explained, “the Savior has done something for each of us that we could not do for ourselves.”
Then he showed a video, “Mountains to Climb,” where President Henry B. Eyring of the First Presidency bears testimony of the Savior’s Atonement.

Elder and Sister Edwards settled in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he practiced law. During that time, another life-defining event occurred. During Sister Edwards’s seventh and final pregnancy, she became quite ill and couldn’t eat. After a family fast and priesthood blessing, she improved. But halfway through the pregnancy she took a sudden turn for the worse, and the doctor told them to expect the baby by morning. That night was filled with fervent prayers by the anxious couple. Their daughter was later born at full term.

“Twenty-one years later, on the eve of that daughter’s wedding,” Elder Edwards recounts, “we learned that each of our older children had found a quiet place and had also poured out his or her heart to the Lord that night.” It was a powerful lesson of a family united in faith.

Nils heard creaking, cracking, and then a great big crash! Everyone in the house jumped up to find the two missionaries buried in a pile of blankets and boards that had been Nils’s bed. His bed had been too small for these two grown men who were in Sweden preaching the gospel.
They had come just after supper and had stayed so late that Mama had insisted they stay the night. She had let them sleep in Nils’s bed while he slept on the floor.
Dismayed, Nils looked at his broken bed. Mama whispered, “Don’t worry. Papa will make you a new one.”
But Papa didn’t seem to have time. He worked all day and talked to the missionaries in the evenings. He said that the Book of Mormon explained everything he hadn’t understood in the Bible.
Soon Mama, Papa, Peter, Botilla, and Bengt were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Nils and his baby sister would have to wait for their eighth birthdays. Even though they were happy, everyone else in town seemed angry—especially Grandmother and Grandfather. Nils’s family decided to go to America where they could be with other Church members.
“You will like America, Nils,” Mama said, “and when we get there, we will get you a new bed.”
The ship to America was crowded with other Swedish and Danish members of the Church. Nils slept on top of two giant water barrels. He was afraid that when the ship rocked back and forth he would roll off! He could hardly wait to see land and sleep in a bed that held still.
But Nils’s first bed in America didn’t hold still. After leaving the ship, they got on a train. Nils fell asleep listening to the clacking of the wheels. When they got off the train at a place called Council Bluffs, they loaded their belongings in wagons pulled by oxen. Nils had thought the ship was crowded, but this was worse!
“No room for mattresses or pillows,” shouted the man in charge. “Pack only your clothes and blankets!”
“No pillow, no mattress, and no bed,” Nils sighed.
His family shared a wagon with a widow and a newly married couple. Every night Nils and his family slept on the ground, and day after dusty day they walked until they made it to Salt Lake City. Once there, they shared a house with another family.
The family’s first home of their own in the valley was a little room dug from a hillside, with a dirt floor. They slept in blankets that could be rolled up during the day. They longed for a more permanent home.
Finally Papa found them some land for a place of their own. Once again, they packed everything into their wagon and rode to Huntsville, Utah. The valley there was green and full of tall grass, and the hillsides were covered with trees. Their second home was a rough cabin with a leaky willow-branch roof and corn-husk mattresses on the floor.
Finally, on Christmas Day, they moved into a real log home with a wood floor, pine shingles on the roof, and real beds! Four and a half years after leaving Sweden, Nils snuggled under his quilt in his own new bed. It creaked a little when he moved, reminding him of the night his old bed broke. How much had changed! Nils smiled. Maybe someday he would grow up to be a missionary in Sweden too. But if he did, he would watch out for little beds!
Years later, Nils P. Lofgren did return to Sweden as a missionary.

Judy always seemed to be angry, but Raybell remembered one day last summer when she wasn’t. Raybell’s yellow kitten had disappeared. She had searched everywhere around their farm and finally had walked down the road calling it. Raybell was afraid a coyote had come down from the hills and eaten it. Tears were falling as she walked along the road. Suddenly she looked up, and through the blur of her tears, she saw Judy running across the field toward her with the yellow kitten in her arms. She held the kitten out to her. “Is this yours?”
Raybell gathered the soft kitten into her arms. It purred and rubbed its nose against her cheek. “Yes. Where did you find it?”
“When I cut through the field I heard a loud meow, and there it was, between the rows of wheat. I thought maybe it was yours.”
“Thanks for bringing her to me.” Raybell smiled, and Judy smiled back.