Gospel Story Finder

When I had been in Taiwan a little over two months, I was assigned to be the companion of a Chinese sister. As we were introduced, Sister Chen said, “I know you will teach me many gospel principles I can apply and learn.” I remember feeling overwhelmed by her expectation of me.
At first, the language and cultural barriers separating us seemed formidable. But with time, Sister Chen and I developed a communion of hearts far greater than my elementary Mandarin and her almost nonexistent English could express. Finally one day Sister Chen said, “You are no longer an American, Sister Myres, and I am not Chinese. We are sisters.”
I was at her side when she received her endowment in the Tokyo Temple. Sister Chen had thought that I would be her teacher. But she is the one who taught me the meaning of oneness, as explained by Paul: “God that made the world and all things therein … and hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth.” (Acts 17:24, 26.)

“My parents lived in the Mormon colonies in Mexico and at the time of the exodus, they moved to Moreland, Idaho, and opened a blacksmith shop,” recalled Elder Fyans. “And that’s where I was born. As a young child, I remember walking the hundred feet or so from our home to where Father had built his shop. The forge, the anvil, and the horseshoes fashioned by my father are vivid memories. I remember walking uptown with my father one day when I was still very young and going into a store where he bought me a bottle of soda pop. In those days that was a rare treat, and I remember how impressed I was with my father’s generosity.”

One way we cultivate righteous thoughts is by keeping in mind our purpose in mortality. For example, one woman found that she felt discouraged, particularly when she compared her life with the lives of others who had more wealth and material possessions than she had.

But she decided to control her thoughts, and she made an effort to focus on the kind of person she wanted to become instead of being concerned about the things she did not have. She prayerfully studied the scriptures, concentrating on the Savior’s life and on making her life more like his.

As she did this, she became more sensitive to the needs of those around her. She found that her testimony and her family became more precious to her. She began to admire Christlike character in others more than she had admired worldly wealth. Her new outlook on life helped her feel much happier.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.

Years ago, I was asked to meet with a man who, long before our visit, had had a period of riotous living. As a result of his bad choices, he lost his membership in the Church. He had long since returned to the Church and was faithfully keeping the commandments, but his previous actions haunted him. Meeting with him, I felt his shame and his deep remorse at having set his covenants aside. Following our interview, I placed my hands upon his head to give him a priesthood blessing. Before speaking a word, I felt an overpowering sense of the Savior’s love and forgiveness for him. Following the blessing, we embraced and the man wept openly.

I am amazed at the Savior’s encircling arms of mercy and love for the repentant, no matter how selfish the forsaken sin. I testify that the Savior is able and eager to forgive our sins. Except for the sins of those few who choose perdition after having known a fulness, there is no sin that cannot be forgiven. What a marvelous privilege for each of us to turn away from our sins and to come unto Christ. Divine forgiveness is one of the sweetest fruits of the gospel, removing guilt and pain from our hearts and replacing them with joy and peace of conscience. Jesus declares, “Will ye not now return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?”

Let me tell you a story that I heard recently in Mexico.
Thirty years ago, David Castañeda; his wife, Tomasa; and their children lived on a dry, little, run-down ranch near Torreón. They owned thirty chickens, two pigs, and one thin horse. They walked in poverty. Then the missionaries called on them. Sister Castañeda said, “The elders took the blinders from our eyes and brought light into our lives. We knew nothing of Jesus Christ. We knew nothing of God until they came.”
The elders taught them, and they were eventually baptized. They moved into the little town of Bermejillo. They started in the junk business, buying wrecked automobiles. They gradually built a prosperous business. With simple faith they paid their tithing. They put their trust in the Lord. They lived the gospel. They served wherever they were called to serve. Four of their sons and three of their daughters filled missions. They have been made fun of for their obedience to gospel principles. Their answer is a testimony of the power of the Lord in their lives.
Some two hundred of their family and friends have joined the Church due to their influence. The children, now grown, and the parents take turns going to Mexico City each month to work in the temple. They stand as a living testimony of the great power of this work of the Lord to lift and change people.

In Malaysia, the idea of dating one’s spouse after marriage is almost unheard of. My husband and I first learned about this counsel from books and magazines and from American Church members who lived in our branch in the city of Kuala Lumpur. When we heard of the good that can come to a couple who continue to court each other after marriage, we decided to try this “foreign” idea.
In the beginning it was easy for us to spend an evening together because we had no children to worry about. However, when our children began to come one after another, we had to devise new ways to date each other. Because finding a baby-sitter for the evening is difficult, we have had many dates at home after the children are in bed. These home dates are in no way inferior to those we occasionally have outside our home.
We have found a number of activities we enjoy doing together. Sometimes we watch a videocassette while munching snacks and sipping soft drinks, just as we would at the movie theater. Other nights we play computer or board games. Our evenings spent in these activities always end with laughter.
One regular activity is putting together our family photographs on a large poster. Later we frame the finished poster and hang it on our stairway wall. We now have quite a few posters, so we rotate them from time to time. Evenings spent making posters are not only fruitful, but they also bring warm and sentimental feelings to our hearts.
One Valentine’s Day I prepared a candlelit dinner for two. With soft music in the background, the atmosphere was truly romantic. Dating each other regularly has helped increase the romance in our marriage.
Our list of activities for home dates continues to grow. We have found that dating each other is about finding ways to spend time together and about taking time to build and nourish each other. When days are difficult and challenging, I look forward to our home dates when we can spend time together just talking.
My husband and I have found this “foreign” idea to be of great help in strengthening our marriage.

During an interfaith event in October, I was asked by Mrs Lynda Ford-Horne, Chair of the Poole and Bournemouth Holocaust Memorial Committee, if I would be willing to accept the invitation to be one of the volunteers to light one of the seven candles for the Holocaust Memorial Service that was being held on Sunday 26th January at The Poole Lighthouse Theatre.
The six candles represent the six million Jews that were murdered during the holocaust, with the seventh candle representing the other million victims from groups that were also murdered.
I am the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew and when Lynda asked me, I felt that I was being given this honour to represent my Jewish ancestors and my heart was very full.
On the day of the Memorial Service, tears fell as I stepped forward to light the candle and my heart and soul felt very close to my Jewish family that have passed through the veil. I gave thanks that I was able to do this task in their name.
A few days after I had accepted the invitation, Lynda phoned me and asked if I could also put forward the name of a young person from our Church that was involved in doing service projects, someone that willingly helped others and would accept the responsibility to do one of the young person’s readings.
I contacted President Plumbley from the stake presidency and Nicky Linford from the stake Young Women presidency for a recommendation and they both agreed that Ruby Matthews-Quigley from Poole Ward would be a great representative from the Church. This was approved by Ruby’s bishop, Bishop Merry.
After talking with Ruby’s mother, I spoke to Ruby and she was delighted to be asked to take part.
Following the event, Ruby said: “When I was asked to do a reading for the Holocaust Memorial Day I was honoured as I knew that the person had to be someone who was doing good work within the community and that they would be a representative of the Church.
When I was doing the reading, I felt humbled by these words I read out: We value the sacrifices of those who have risked their lives to protect or rescue victims, as a touchstone of the human capacity for good in the face of evil.”
After the event Bishop Merry said: “I am grateful, as Ruby‘s Bishop, for the way she actively participates within the community and ward. Ruby’s good nature and selflessness are a good example of what ministering should look like – where we think of another’s needs without looking for recognition or personal gain. I look forward to seeing what the next few years will look like for Ruby as she contemplates where her discipleship takes her.”

Darcey closed the door behind her. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading. She looked up and said, “You were supposed to be home by twelve.”
Darcey nodded mutely. The expression on her mother’s face told her she was in more trouble than she had been in years. Yet at that moment she felt only an overpowering sense of relief that made her want to run to her and tell her how good it was to be home.
But she could only stand there, her hair and clothes reeking of cigarette smoke and beer. She felt like a dead skunk.
They said nothing more. Her mother got up and turned off the kitchen light. Darcey went up to her room. She undressed, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling, wondering how she could have been so gullible. How could Wendy be like that, she thought.
When she woke up the next morning she was still exhausted, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. So she showered and dressed, then slipped out the front door and walked up the street to Wendy’s house. Wendy’s parents were on a trip to Seattle, so Darcey went around to the deck. Wendy inevitably forgot to lock the sliding glass doors when she got home. As she stepped inside the house, Darcey found Wendy slumped over the kitchen counter.
“Morning,” said Darcey.
Wendy stared and peered around at her, slowly bringing her hands up to her ears. “Not so loud,” she whispered, hoarsely.
“You look awful,” said Darcey.
“Just a hangover.”
Darcey took the car keys out of her pocket and placed them carefully on the counter.
“Thanks,” said Wendy. Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell, did you?”
Darcey shook her head.
“Yeah, my dad would kill me if he found out. You know, you tell your parents; they tell my parents; everybody gets into trouble over nothing.”
“Me, tell? I’m the one who got the ticket.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Wendy, this is serious. I’ve got to go to court. What am I supposed to say?”
“That we were in my crummy old Escort, and no harm done. Okay?”
Her voice had taken on a scolding tone. Darcey looked past her, at the design of the wallpaper on the far wall. When she looked back, Wendy had fallen asleep.
Darcey left her and went home, heading for her room. The car was all Wendy cared about now, and that had been the first really stupid lie of the whole evening. How could she have thought that Wendy really had permission to drive her father’s sports car. But make one lie believable and the rest fall right in line. Darcey had been told they were going to a party at Steve Margerson’s, but somehow they ended up in Schenectady at Union College.
“It’ll be great,” Wendy had insisted, over Darcey’s objections. “Besides, you’re in my car. So you’re stuck. Anyway, nobody’s going to make you do anything, and it’s about time you went to a real party, one that’s not for little kids. Besides, Glenn says they’re all really smart. You can talk about intelligent stuff with them.”
Yeah, Darcey thought bitterly, intelligent stuff. Wendy had told everybody that her brother Glenn—a Union College junior—had invited them. She had told them she was two years older than she was. She told lies the whole evening, while Darcey hid in a dark corner of the living room, losing her hearing to the blast of the stereo, nibbling on potato chips, and not daring to touch anything liquid.
Then in the momentary lull between songs, someone complained to Wendy, “I thought you said she’d be fun.”
“Oh.” Wendy had replied. “She’s the designated driver.”
At least they stopped trying to get her to drink after that. But by the time she had convinced Wendy to go home, she found herself with the responsibility of taxiing inebriated party-goers around uptown Schenectady.
She had finally headed home across the I-890 business loop, thankful that none of her passengers had thrown up on her. In fact, now, on a bright Saturday morning, with an empty stomach and a headache, she could have written the whole episode off as a learning experience—if only she hadn’t taken the Broadway exit.
Darcey sighed. Whatever was going to happen would happen. The one redeeming consequence of really messing up was that her parents would take a good long time figuring out a proper punishment.
At school on Monday, Mary McMacken rushed up to Darcey and said breathlessly, “You really went to a party at Union and got stopped for drunk driving?”
“I didn’t get stopped for drunk driving,” Darcey gasped. “Who told you that?”
Mary was taken aback. “Wendy,” she said. “Anyway, how was it? I mean, the party. Were there any neat guys there?”
“No!” Darcey replied, with a vehemence that stunned Mary into silence. And then she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she turned around and walked away.
But Darcey couldn’t get away from it. All of her friends were just as inquisitive—or for reasons Darcey could not understand—just as impressed. The day was almost over before she caught up with Wendy. “Hi, Darcey,” Wendy said, pleasantly.
“You said you weren’t going to tell,” Darcey burst out. “Everybody thinks I got stopped for drunk driving.”
Wendy shrugged. “It was a drunk-driving checkpoint, Darcey.”
“I wasn’t drunk!”
“So what? For once in your life you’re actually an interesting person. I was only doing you a favor.”
“I don’t want to be an interesting person,” said Darcey, biting her lip, knowing she hadn’t said what she meant.
“Darcey,” Wendy said in an exasperated, condescending tone of voice, “I mean, sometimes you can be a real, uh, oh, forget it.” Wendy briskly walked away.
Wendy’s words stung all the more because Darcey knew that for a brief moment the party had sounded daring and exciting. But all she wanted now was to be her uninteresting old self.
Darcey threw her books on her bed. Then suddenly she caught her breath. The room was clean, too clean. Of course, it was wash day. She quickly rushed downstairs, into the kitchen, around the corner, down to the basement. She stopped before reaching the last step.
Her mother glanced over her shoulder at her while folding towels. “How was school today, Darcey?”
Instead of answering, she sort of nodded. She turned around and went back to her room.
When her mother came in Darcey didn’t look up. Her mother sat on the bed next to her. She took a folded slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to her.
Darcey took the ticket glumly.
“Darcey,” said her mother, choosing her words very carefully, “I know it must seem like your father and I go to great lengths thinking up reasons to discipline you. But we have very vivid imaginations, and we inevitably imagine the worst that could have happened. What we really want to know is that you’re all right.”
Darcey turned to her mother, and the tears came. She explained what had happened, about driving home, the checkpoint at the Broadway exit, and the police. She’d had to do all those things she’d only seen before on TV—walking along a line on the pavement, touching her nose with her fingertips, trying to convince the police she wasn’t drunk. And she hadn’t had her purse with her, so she didn’t have her driver’s license.
After what had seemed an interminable conversation with his sergeant, the officer handed her the ticket and said, “Driving without a license. Court date’s in two weeks. Bring a parent or guardian.”
The whole time Wendy had staggered about shouting, “Darcey, c’mon. Let’s go home. Darcey, I wanna go.” The officer had escorted Wendy to the car, buckled her in and said, “Don’t let her have the keys.”
This episode would have to go down in Darcey’s life as an unapproachable low in her definition of personal humiliation.
Two weeks later she was in court as the bailiff called her name. Darcey and her father approached the bench. The judge examined her file briefly and then turned to his clerk and said, “Mel, there’s an attachment here.”
The clerk shuffled through his papers and came up with a torn, half-sheet from a legal pad. He handed it to the judge, who read it and said, “Well, young lady. It seems we have some extenuating circumstances here. Let me see. The car belonged to your friend and she had driven you both to the party where a bit of drinking was going on—against the law for someone of your age, I might add.”
“Yes, sir,” said Darcey, wondering how he had known all that.
The judge saw her expression and held up the paper. “Note from the officer on the scene. Well, next time you might consider a taxi. The court appreciates the reasons you drove without a license, but ends don’t justify the means. Nevertheless, I don’t think we have an actionable offense here. Though I might suggest to your father here that a month or two wouldn’t be too long a time for your driving privileges, being what they may, to be suspended. And if you haven’t taken your defensive driving course yet, I will have the court require it.” He banged his gavel on the table and said, “Case dismissed. Next case.”
“Well, let’s go,” Darcey’s father said simply.
To her dismay, Darcey’s father took the judge’s advice seriously. She went six weeks without driving.
As for Wendy, no one told. Not Darcey, not her parents. But a week after the incident Wendy’s father found a crushed beer can under the front seat of his car, and it was a brand he never touched. The cat pretty much worked its way out of the bag after that and Wendy ended up being grounded for a million years.
And everybody agreed that it didn’t make her a more interesting person at all.

“Please. Please. Please.”
“No. And stop following me around.”
“But I want to come with you,” she continued to beg in her six-year-old voice.
“Knock it off, Linzie. Just once I’d like to go somewhere without you coming with me.” I could feel the anger in my voice rising. I was so tired of her being my tagalong. Everywhere I went she had to come too or else she would throw the biggest tantrum. She knew that even the slightest whimper would get her anything she wanted. This time was no exception.
“Where are you going, Bree?” my mom called from the kitchen, where she was making dinner.
“I have to go to the store to get some paper for school. I’ll be gone only 10 minutes.”
“Well then you can take Linzie with you.”
“Yea! Yea! Yea!” The tears immediately ceased when Linzie realized her victory.
“Mom, she’s such a pain. Why do I always have to take her with me?”
“Because she’s your sister, that’s why.” I should have expected that one.
“Fine. Whatever. Hurry up, and get your shoes on, Linzie.” I knew I was acting like a brat, but I had hours of homework to do.
“Okay, let’s go,” Linzie said angelically.
During the drive to the store, I turned up the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk to my sister. We both stared straight forward. The store was busy, and the lines were long. All I could think about was all the homework that awaited me, and how I was going to be up past midnight finishing it. The ride home started off as solemn as the ride to the store. I was determined to let Linzie know how annoyed I was.
“Bree, Bree,” she said timidly.
“What, Linzie?” I didn’t bother turning down the radio.
“You know why I always want to go with you everywhere?”
Her sincerity caught my attention. “No, why?”
She sat quiet for a moment before responding. “Because—because I’m gonna miss you a lot because you’re going to college soon.”
I looked at her. She was staring at me with her beautiful blue eyes. I really didn’t know what to say. “I’ll miss you too. A lot. I’ll still get to come home sometimes, though.”
“Will we be able to do stuff when you come home?”
“Of course, silly girl.”
“Good,” she said as we rounded the corner onto our street.
That was all that was said, but that day I learned a huge lesson about the importance of developing a lasting relationship with my sisters and brother—even when they’re young. It reminded me of the scripture in Mosiah 3:19: “Becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him.”
I don’t think Linzie knew the huge impact her innocent comment had on me. Now I try to be more tolerant of the things that my younger siblings do, because when I’m gone, I will miss them.

Yesterday I found out that Jenny and her family are moving to Washington in two weeks. Her father is leaving Saturday to go find a house there. I wish she didn’t have to go, but her dad got transferred and she can’t even finish her first year of junior high here. She seems to be pretty happy about it because she said there might be some cute boys in their new town. She’s just boy crazy. I’m glad I’m not. I would always be sad because every boy I liked would never like me back. Who would like a girl that looked like an ant wearing railroad tracks on her teeth? Will I ever be pretty? If I were Cinderella, my fairy godmother would have to do a lot more for me than just give me a pretty dress to wear. By the time she got through with me, the ball would be over and the prince would have run off with some boy-crazy girl like Jenny. I’ll miss Jenny though.
Jenny moved, and now I’m becoming better friends with a girl named Robin Warner who just moved into our ward. She’s my age, has braces, and feels like I do about boys! We’re going to be great pals!

Let’s look at how Steve and Tom planned their careers.
Steve wanted to become a doctor. He had scored well on national aptitude tests and liked the idea of being a respected, wealthy member of the community. Every once in a while, Steve even thought about how rewarding his life of service would be.
But during his senior year in high school, Steve chose to have fun. He substituted woodworking for physics, music appreciation for calculus, and varsity athletics for college preparatory English. He had a great time, but he didn’t learn a lot that would build a background for a career in medicine. He entered his freshman year in college and decided to relax there, too. He took some easy courses and left himself more than enough time to socialize and goof around. Steve wasn’t a bad fellow, but he hadn’t used his time and resources well.
When Steve returned from his mission, he had a serious discussion with an academic counselor. He realized how far he was from his goal of becoming a doctor. Discouraged, he changed his major and eventually dropped out of college altogether. He’s working part-time now, still trying to decide on a career.

Photograph from author
I grew up in a small, rural village in the Philippines. My family was poor. In the Philippines, if you don’t have money, you can’t go to school. Despite that obstacle, I was an ambitious young man.
I told my parents I wanted to become a doctor or a teacher or some kind of a professional, but they always told me to stop dreaming. We didn’t have money for me to go to a university. My parents wanted me to be content and not disappointed with my life.
“Being a professional is not for us,” they said. They didn’t believe that anything better was in store for our family than what we already had.
But that was before we joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
We lived far away from any cities, but the missionaries found us and kept coming back. They made many sacrifices to teach my family, but they changed our lives forever.
When we joined the Church, I learned I was a child of God with potential to grow and learn and become (see Moses 1:39; “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Gospel Library). With gospel knowledge, I knew it was time to elevate my family’s station. We were no longer just poor people from a small village—we were worthy sons and daughters of God deserving of blessings He has promised to His faithful followers.
The missionaries brought the gospel into my life, the gospel brought music into my life, and music got me a scholarship to attend the university. I earned a bachelor’s degree in secondary education and then a degree in music, majoring in choral conducting. Now I teach music at Liceo de Cagayan University and conduct the Liceo U High School Glee Club. I also lead a choir of members of the Church. Our mission is to share God’s truth through music.
Graduating from the university gave me a new life. I don’t know where I would be today without the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Everyone deserves the chance to learn, as I did, that they have a Heavenly Father and that He has blessed them with potential to grow and learn and become.

As a 26-year-old, Robert G. Ellis Jr. was working as a police officer in a Senate office building in Washington, D.C., USA.
“I spent a lot of time pondering what I had learned about Jesus,” he recalls. “My father and mother didn’t attend any church, but they had allowed me to go, and I had enjoyed attending more than a dozen denominations.” As a newly married young adult, he felt that he should be baptized—but in what church?
“My spirit was troubled. I wanted to find a church that was true to Christ’s teachings. People would say that all the churches were the Lord’s Church, but they did not hesitate to say that another denomination was wrong. I prayed, ‘I want to be baptized, but I don’t know which church to join.’”
Remembering that Jesus Christ said, “Ask, and it shall be given you” (Matthew 7:7), Robert kept pleading. One day while he was at work, Robert again felt troubled, and tears came to his eyes.
“I felt frightened and did not know if my thoughts were right or wrong. Then a peaceful feeling came over me. Without totally realizing why I was doing it, I walked over to an elevator operator and asked, ‘What church do you belong to?’”
The elevator operator was Norman Maxfield, a returned missionary attending Georgetown University.
“He looked up from some books. I could tell he was surprised. He said, ‘I’m a Mormon. Why?’
“I said, ‘I want to be baptized, but I don’t know which church to join.’
“He asked, ‘What do you believe in?’
“‘Jesus Christ,’ was the answer I proudly gave.
“He asked, ‘May I tell you about my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?’ As he told me that Christ’s Church had been restored to the earth, I knew that my prayers had been answered. The feeling within me was wonderful.”
That was in 1977. Today Brother and Sister Ellis are members of the Church in Virginia, USA.

For us, those missionaries—Elders Reed Harris and Marty Kemsley—were like two angels. When they taught us how to hold a family home evening, they brought their whole zone. Somehow we managed to fit all those missionaries into our small home. The first hymn we sang was “Love at Home.” We’ve always remembered how that made us feel.
Later, Elder Harris asked us, “Do you know why we were so persistent to teach you and bring you to church?” Then he answered, “Because we know that you are going to be leaders in the Church.”
We never forgot that. Since our baptism, we have had many wonderful opportunities to try to emulate the Savior as we have served Heavenly Father’s children. I have served in many leadership positions, including as Relief Society president and Young Women president. Javier has served as elders quorum president, twice as bishop, and as stake president.
Recently we served a full-time humanitarian mission in Bolivia. That calling gave us the blessing of meeting many wonderful brothers and sisters, sharing our faith in Jesus Christ, and giving love, help, and humanitarian aid to some of our nation’s most vulnerable people and areas.

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism nearly two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at this young age. He may not fast as long as we do on some Sundays. In fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll go up and bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval. His sincere testimony touched me. He was feeling something. So did I.

When I was afforded the privilege to serve as a mission president, I became intimately acquainted with almost 500 missionaries. We had one young missionary who was very ill. After weeks of hospitalization, as the surgeon prepared to undertake extremely serious and complicated surgery, he asked that we send for the missionary’s mother and father. He said that there was a possibility that Elder Davidson could not survive the surgery. The parents came; and late that evening, his father and I, in the hospital room in Toronto, Canada, placed our hands upon the head of that young missionary and gave him a blessing. What happened following that blessing was a testimony to me.

Elder Davidson was in a six-bed ward in the hospital. The other beds were occupied by five men with a variety of illnesses. The morning of Elder Davidson’s surgery, his bed was empty. The nurse came into the room with the breakfast these husky men normally ate. She brought a tray over to bed number one and said, “Fried eggs this morning, and I have an extra portion for you.” Bed number one was occupied by a man who was lying on his bed with his toe wrapped up in a bandage. He had suffered an accident with his lawn mower. Other than his injured toe, he was well physically. He said to the nurse, “I’ll not be eating this morning.”

“All right, we’ll give your breakfast to your partner in bed number two!” As she went over to him, he said, “No, I think I’ll not eat this morning.”

She said, “That’s two in a row. I don’t understand you men, and there is no one this morning in bed three.” She went on to bed four, bed five, and bed six; and the answer was the same. “No, this morning we’re not hungry.”

The young lady put her hands on her hips and said, “Every other morning you eat us out of house and home, and today not one of you wants to eat. What is the reason?”

And then the man who occupied bed number six came forth with the answer.

He said, “You see, bed number three is empty. Our friend Davidson is in the operating room under the surgeon’s hands. He needs all the help he can get. He is a missionary for his church; and while he has been lying on that bed while we have been patients in this ward, he has talked to us about the principles of his church—principles of prayer, of faith, of fasting wherein we call upon the Lord for blessings.” He said, “We don’t know much about the Mormon church, but we have learned a great deal about Davidson; and we are fasting for him today.”

I might tell you that the operation was a success. In fact, when I attempted to pay the surgeon, he countered, “Why, that would be dishonest for me to accept a fee. I have never before performed surgery when my hands seemed to be guided by a power which was other than my own. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t take a fee for the surgery which Someone on high helped me to perform.”

Elder Davidson framed his life with faith.

I am so grateful I was blessed with the strength to break the unhealthy cycle with my ex-husband. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I learned it was possible for me to forgive through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement.
I felt a huge weight lifted from me as I learned to completely trust that God would judge righteously knowing all the facts of our circumstances. I realized I was hurting myself by holding on to pain and resentment toward my ex-husband. I needed to forgive him in order to heal myself.
Elder Tad R. Callister, an emeritus General Authority Seventy, once wrote:
“One of the blessings of the Atonement is that we can receive of the Savior’s succoring powers. …
“… His spirit heals; it refines; it comforts; it breathes new life into hopeless hearts. It has the power to transform all that is ugly and vicious and worthless in life to something of supreme and glorious splendor. He has the power to convert the ashes of mortality to the beauties of eternity.”2
I know this is true, because I experienced it.
I am so blessed that I have been able to experience the succoring power of the Savior. He healed my heart so I could forgive. He transformed all that was ugly into a glorious experience. I have been filled with joy, and I can honestly say I’m grateful for this trial because it helped me become a stronger, better disciple of Christ.
Years later, I am still saddened at times about my divorce, but it is no longer a painful memory. It is merely an experience in my life that taught me so much about myself and helped me gain a closer relationship with God. And my ex-husband and I have remained cordial, thanks to the Savior’s healing power.

Jared watched the sun drop lower and lower, until it was just at the treetops. It was the first day of Christmas vacation. “Some vacation!” he muttered. He’d been alone all day with nothing to do. Oh, he’d gone for a walk, but all he’d found were scruffy storefronts and a few little kids with shabby coats playing in piles of dirty snow.
Since his dad had left them, Jared’s life had changed a lot. There wasn’t enough money to live in the house he’d grown up in, and they’d had to move to a big city so his mom could find a job.
His new home was in an old apartment building. From his point of view, everything was awful. They went to church in an old warehouse, with only about thirty other people. Their whole Primary had fifteen kids, and most of them were little. How could you have any fun being a Cub Scout all by yourself? His hometown had been small, but at least it had had a real ward.
School wasn’t any better. The building was as run-down as his apartment. The kids were loud and rough and made a point of avoiding him. He hadn’t found a friend yet, although he’d really tried to be friendly. And he was the only Church member in the whole school.
He leaned his head against the cold window glass, watching for his mom’s little green car, hoping that she’d come soon with something warm and good for dinner. She was always so late and so tired from work that they usually ended up eating canned soup and sandwiches. He’d help her clean up, then they’d read scriptures and have prayer together. He always felt better after that, when he went to bed. Mom was always tired these days, but it was a physical sort of tiredness. In spite of it, she had a kind of peace about her that gave him peace, too.
The trouble was, when he left for school in the mornings, that peace usually slipped away and he felt that there just was nothing to look forward to here. And now, Christmas. Jared hadn’t talked about it, but he was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be one for them. How could they afford anything? Mom had had to spend any extra money on uniforms for work and on tuition for the computer course she was taking two nights a week so that she could get a better job. Jared had decided to keep quiet about Christmas.
When two headlights blazed across the window, Jared threw his arm up to shield his eyes. The lights went out. He heard his mother’s hurried footsteps, then her key in the lock.
“Hi, honey,” she said, reaching to give him a hug. “How was your day? Did you have some fun?”
“Sure, Mom,” he murmured, turning his head so that she wouldn’t see his frown.
“Well, I brought us home a treat!” She was carrying a plastic grocery bag with a box bulging in it. Jared felt a spark of interest.
“What’s in the box?” he asked as she set it on the little table.
“Dessert. It was even free. My boss said I could take the doughnuts we didn’t sell. Since this is Christmas Eve, we can’t sell them even as day-old stock when we open again on Saturday. I just brought a couple for each of us since we’ll be having holiday treats tomorrow. So set the table now, and we’ll get tonight’s feast going.”
Wow! Jared thought, his mouth curling into a sarcastic scowl. Stale doughnuts—yippee! But he didn’t say anything as he set the table. Soup bowls, of course. And the plates for the sandwiches would do for the doughnuts, too. Then they wouldn’t have to wash more dishes.
Mom seemed full of energy tonight, for a change, chatting away about her day. It only made Jared’s dark mood darker. As they finished eating, more headlights swept across the ceiling, and then there was a knock at the door.
“Sister Holdrup, hi.”
There stood Brother Eldridge, their home teacher. What does he want? Jared wondered.
“Some of us are going to sing Christmas carols at a homeless shelter. We need extra voices. Can you join us?”
“That sounds like fun,” Mom said. “Come on, Jared, let’s go. We can wash the dishes later.”
“No,” Jared said. “I don’t want to.” That’s all I need, he thought—singing stupid Christmas carols at a stupid homeless shelter.
“But, Jared—”
“No!” Jared shouted. “I’m not going!” He ran into his room and slammed the door.
As he threw himself down on the bed, he heard his mother apologizing to Brother Eldridge for his behavior.
“It’s OK,” Brother Eldridge told her. “If you change your mind, here’s the address. We’ll be singing in about an hour.”
Jared covered his ears. Can’t she see how awful everything is? Can’t she see that there’s nothing to be happy about, especially Christmas?
There was a soft knock on the door. Jared ignored it.
“Jared, may I come in? I want to talk to you.”
He relented a little, hearing the sorrow in her voice. “OK,” he said, but he put his arm across his eyes.
“Jared, I know things aren’t easy for you. I know how you must miss your friends.”
And the park. And having someplace to ride my bike. And Cub Scout day camp. And … and even Dad. Especially Dad. Then the hot anger came up again, and tears began seeping from his eyes. “Why did Dad have to leave us, Mom? What did I do to make him leave?” Choking sobs stopped Jared’s questions.
Tears flowed from his mother’s eyes, too, as she gathered him into her arms. “I don’t know exactly why he left, Jared, but I do know this: It had nothing to do with you—not who you are or anything you did. He left because of things inside him. He thought he could solve his problems by leaving.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“I don’t know. But I think that when you are very unhappy, like Dad was, it makes it harder when you choose to look for happiness by running away. I think it’s better if you face your troubles and solve them. One thing I’ve learned from moving here is that you have to decide to be happy where you are, no matter what. Then nothing can make you unhappy, because you’re happy from the inside out.”
Jared was still for a long time, while his mom held him tight and rocked him. Then he said, “How do you get happy like that, Mom?”
“Jared, a few nights ago we read something that Mormon wrote to Moroni about what to do when things were awfully bad. Do you remember what he said?”
Jared shook his head. “But I want to know. I really need some help right now, Mom, because everything’s just awful!” He got up and got his Book of Mormon from the shelf.
“It’s in Moroni, chapter 9, verse 25. Can you find it?”
“Here.” He began to read: “‘My son, be faithful in Christ; and may not the things which I have written grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up. …’”
“Do you understand any of that, Jared?”
“A little. Things must have been pretty awful if Mormon was worried that Moroni would feel so bad that he’d die.”
Mom nodded. “What about you, Jared?”
“I’ve thought about running away.”
“I’m glad that you didn’t. But I don’t want you to go on feeling awful. Mormon didn’t want Moroni to suffer, either. What did he tell his son to do?”
“To be faithful in Christ. But what does that mean, exactly?”
“What do you think?”
“Pray every morning and night?” Jared guessed. Mom nodded. “And read the scriptures every day?”
Mom nodded again. “Those are two of the most important things. But Mormon tells Moroni something else. See, here, where he says ‘may Christ lift thee up’? How can Jesus do that for you?”
“I don’t know. Joseph didn’t leave Jesus’ mom, so how can He help me?”
“Well, He understands how you feel, and what to do about it. Alma explains that in Alma, chapter 7, verse 11: ‘And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.’ Jesus Christ took on Himself pains of every kind, Jared—your kind of pains, too.”
“Why did He do that?”
“Let’s read the next verse: ‘And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.’ Do you know what infirmities are?”
“At Cub Scout camp, there was an infirmary. That’s where you went if you got hurt or sick. Is it like that?”
“Yes, it is. And what does it say Jesus can do when we are hurt or sick?”
“It says He knows how to succor us according to our infirmities. Is that sort of to be like a doctor to us?”
“Even better than a doctor. Because He has suffered every pain and every bad thing and has overcome them all, He knows how to comfort us, heal us, and show us how to be happy, no matter what.”
“Then He knows how to help me.” Jared sat up straight. “Mom, Dad didn’t understand this about Jesus, did he? If he had, he wouldn’t have left. He could have stayed and found out how to get happy again.”
“I don’t know, Jared. Maybe so. I just don’t know.”
“I’m sorry for Dad, but maybe we can ask Heavenly Father to help him learn. Can we do that, Mom? Right now?”
“Yes, Jared. That is a very good thing to do, for all of us.”
They knelt beside Jared’s bed, and Jared prayed like he had never prayed before, asking that he and his mom could feel Jesus Christ helping them with their problems, and that his dad could learn how to be happy, too.
“Mom,” Jared asked as they got up, “is it too late to go sing with Brother Eldridge?”
Mom looked at her watch. “No, we have half an hour before they sing.”
“Do we have time to go to your bakery and get all the leftover doughnuts? Are there very many? I bet those people at the shelter don’t get good doughnuts very often.” Excitement was beginning to trickle through him.
His excitement grew as they filled boxes and loaded the car. The singing was beautiful, and Jared felt better than he had since before Dad left.
Brother Eldridge had his arm across Jared’s shoulders as they walked out of the shelter. “Say, Jared,” he said. “I go ice fishing every year between Christmas and New Year’s. Could I talk you into coming with me?”
“Wow!” This time Jared meant it sincerely. “Thanks! I’d really like that.”
On the way home, Jared was quiet.
“Are you OK?” Mom asked.
Jared nodded. “I’m better than OK, Mom. I think Christ has lifted me up and has ‘succored my infirmities.’ I’m happy!”

As I desired to understand the scriptures and the doctrine, I started to learn things—things started to click. This had an effect on me and led me to start doing things differently and also to go to my bishop and talk to him about things I had been carrying around and good things I wanted to make happen in my life.
For me, this was a crossover between gaining a testimony and understanding what the Atonement can do for me. I worked pretty closely with my bishop. I’d always been close with him, but as soon as I got serious and got into the scriptures, I began to recall things that I had done and that I didn’t want to carry with me. So I started talking to my bishop about certain things so that I could be free of the burden. I went to him, and we spoke and counseled together. Afterward, as I left the bishop’s office, it was like I was free, a big burden was lifted off of me.
That’s when an understanding of the Atonement—of what the Savior has done for us—came to me. And that’s when I truly felt that He knew me, He did this for me, and He loved me. Having the courage to go to my priesthood leader and talk to him helped me so much. I had a very tender, sweet relationship with my bishop because he took the time to work with me. And the scriptures were the catalyst.