Gospel Story Finder

David loved to sit on the front porch and think, and that was exactly what he was doing one warm summer day.
“I want to be very, very smart like my dad,” David said to the postman who delivered the mail. “I’m going to read and learn everything!”
The postman smiled. “That’s a very good ambition,” he said, “but that will take a lot of time and study.”
“Ambition,” David repeated to himself after the mailman left. “That’s a big word. The mailman is smart and uses big words.”
This gave David an idea. “That’s what I’ll do to become smart. I’ll learn smart-sounding words.”
Just then David’s little brother, Bobby, came around the corner of the house carrying a baseball and mitt. “Hi, David. What are you doing?” he called.
“Thinking,” David answered.
“What about?” Bobby asked.
David sat up tall and answered, “Ambition.”
“Ambition?” Bobby looked puzzled.
“Yes, ambition. Everyone has to have it you know,” David said with authority.
“Oh, but how do you think about it?” Bobby wanted to know.
“I’m thinking about how smart I am when I use ambition,” David said proudly.
“I’d rather play ball,” Bobby said as he ran off to do just that.
David went into the house and took the dictionary from the bookshelf. He put it on the table, closed his eyes, opened the book, and then with his finger he pointed to a word.
“There,” he said to himself. “This is where I’ll start.”
He looked at the word his finger had found. “Ex—ex—a exa—I can’t even say it!” David exclaimed. “How can I become smart if I can’t even say smart words?”
“What’s that, David? Is something wrong?” his mother asked as she came into the room.
“It’s this word,” David replied. “What does e-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n spell?”
“Exasperation,” she answered.
“Exasperation,” David repeated with a smile. “That’s a good, big, smart word.”
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David felt better now. He walked back outside and down the street. Mrs. Smith was sweeping her sidewalk and stopped to say hello to David.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” he answered.
He held his head high and tried to look very smart as he said, “Exasperation. Ambition.”
Mrs. Smith looked puzzled. “Oh my, David,” she murmured. “How perplexing!”
“Per-plex-ing. Perplexing,” David repeated after her. “That’s a very smart word to remember.” He went on down the street until he came to the corner grocery store. Mr. Packer, the grocer, was David’s friend.
I’ll show Mr. Packer how smart I have become, he thought.
David walked into the store and stood very tall in front of the counter and said, “Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mr. Packer asked rubbing his head in a curious way.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.” David repeated the words loud and clear.
“My, my,” was all Mr. Packer could say.
David left the store and hurried home. “Oh, Mother,” he said. “I have become so smart. And it didn’t take much time at all!”
“Smart?” Mother wondered.
David stood very proud and tall, and said, “Yes, just listen to me. Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mother asked.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Mother said.
“It has to mean something?” David questioned.
“Yes, or no one will understand you. Do you know what those words mean?”
David hadn’t thought about that. He slumped down in a chair feeling quite silly while his mother explained.
“Ambition is a strong desire to achieve. Exasperation is a feeling you get when you are irritated or annoyed. And perplexing is when you are confused or puzzled.”
“Those words mean all that? I guess I’ll never be smart,” David sighed.
“Yes, you will. But you have to learn the meaning of words before you can use them,” she replied.
“That’s a lot of work!” David said.
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David thought very hard. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll just have to do it. I’ll study and work until I learn the meanings too.”
Mother smiled and said, “Now that’s the smart thing to do!”

A true story from Indonesia.
Harvey sat squished in the back of the taxi with Ibu (Mom) and Bapak (Dad). They were on their way to the church for Harvey’s baptism.
“Bapak, how did you feel when you were baptized?” Harvey asked. Bapak got baptized a few months ago. Now that Harvey was eight, he was going to be baptized too!
Bapak thought for a minute. “The water was so cold!” he said with a laugh. “But I also felt a lot of love. Even though most of our family are not members of our church, I felt their love and God’s love.”
When they got to the church building, some other people from church helped them fill the font with water and get ready.
“Harvey, it’s time to change into your baptism clothes,” Ibu said. Harvey nodded and found the bag with his clothes. But only his white pants were in the bag. He couldn’t find his white shirt! He checked the other bags and looked around the church.
“Ibu, my shirt isn’t in here,” Harvey said.
Ibu frowned. She checked a few bags too. “We must have left it in the taxi.”
“We have some extra baptism clothes in the closet,” Sister Putri said. “I’ll go get them.”
But the only baptism clothes from the closet were too big for Harvey. Ibu looked worried. The baptism would start soon. A lot of people were already here, and Harvey didn’t have his shirt.
“Maybe we can say a prayer that the taxi driver will bring the shirt back,” Harvey said. “But if he doesn’t bring it, I can just wear a shirt that’s too big. I don’t care what I wear. I just want to be baptized.”
Ibu and Bapak nodded. Together they went to the kitchen, where it was quiet. Then they folded their arms and bowed their heads.
Harvey said the prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank Thee that I can be baptized today. Please help the taxi driver to bring back my shirt. But if not, that’s OK too.”
After their prayer, Harvey went to change into the shirt that was too large. It reached all the way to his knees.
“Harvey!” Sister Putri called from the hallway. “The taxi driver is here.”
Harvey and Ibu found the taxi driver by the front door. He was holding Harvey’s shirt!
“I looked back and saw it on the seat,” he said. “I thought it might belong to you.”
“Thank you so much,” Ibu said.
Harvey took the shirt from the man. “Thank you.”
The man smiled and waved goodbye.
Soon, it was time for the baptism to start. Harvey changed into his shirt. It fit perfectly! And it was white and clean.
When Harvey walked into the font, the water was freezing! Bapak said the prayer and baptized Harvey. When he came out of the water, he felt fresh and calm inside.
Bapak led Harvey out of the font and wrapped a soft towel around Harvey’s shoulders. Harvey thought about all the people who helped and supported him. Ibu, Bapak, the taxi driver, and his family. And Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ too.
Harvey gave Bapak a hug. “You’re right. The water was cold!” They both laughed. Then Harvey looked into Bapak’s eyes. “But you were right about something else too. I feel a lot of love.”

Today another group of pioneers exemplifies this important principle. On Tuesday, the 12th of January, a massive earthquake struck the country of Haiti. The earthquake left the capital city of Port-au-Prince in shambles. Its impact was devastating—an estimated 1,000,000 people were left homeless, and over 200,000 were reported dead.
While the world followed the unprecedented international response, another remarkable and inspiring rescue effort was under way in Port-au-Prince—this one directed by a committee made up of local Haitian Church leaders organized according to the priesthood pattern and operating under inspiration. Members of the committee included, among others, the two stake presidents and the two stake Relief Society presidents in Port-au-Prince and the mission president, who at age 30 presides over 74 full-time missionaries in the Haiti Port-au-Prince Mission. All of his missionaries are Haitian, and miraculously not one of them was injured in this devastating earthquake.
Into the hands of these local inspired leaders were placed the resources of the Church, resources which included the generous contributions of many of you. For these contributions, the people of Haiti are profoundly thankful. Under the direction of the committee, truckloads of provisions arrived from the Dominican Republic almost immediately. Within days of the earthquake, planeloads of food, water purification systems, tents, blankets, and medical supplies arrived, along with a team of doctors.
The nine chapels in and around Port-au-Prince were mostly undamaged—another remarkable miracle. During the weeks that followed the earthquake, they became shelters for over 5,000 Haitians and bases from which food, water, and medical attention were distributed. Basic needs were met, and order began to emerge out of chaos.
Though the faithful Haitian Saints have suffered greatly, they are filled with hope for the future. Like the early pioneers in 1846, their hearts are broken but their spirits are strong. They too are teaching us that hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.

“Is anyone still awake?” The first time I asked, I had received two whispered responses in the affirmative. Now, hours later, the silence answered that I was the last one in the room who couldn’t get to sleep.
It was my first night in the Missionary Training Center (MTC). That day, I had said good-bye to my parents, met my companion and the other new missionaries going to Italy, and been to the first set of classes. I was exhausted, but my mind was spinning with anxiety. “What have I gotten myself into?” I asked myself over and over. I didn’t know if I could really learn to be a missionary. Would I have the courage to fly to a foreign country and talk to strangers about the gospel? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be here. Tears started to roll down my cheeks.
Then I remembered something my mom had told me about her brother Larry. Uncle Larry served his mission in Uruguay and Paraguay in the 1970s. At first he had spent sleepless nights worrying about his inadequacies. When he felt like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he would get out of his bed, go into the bathroom, and kneel down to plead with Heavenly Father for peace. Somehow, with the Lord’s help, Uncle Larry made it through and served a faithful mission.
I felt some hope at this thought and crept down the hall to the bathroom. In the dim light, I knelt on the cold tile floor and sobbed. I begged Heavenly Father to grant me a feeling of peace so that I could have the courage to move forward.
I waited. Nothing happened. I waited some more, hearing only the sound of my crying. Finally, there was nothing to do but go back to bed.
In the moment before I fell asleep, the answer came. The Spirit filled my mind with a bright, warm impression of a beautiful place. Suddenly I knew that although I might have a hard time with fear in the beginning, if I pressed forward, I would get to where the Lord meant me to be. The thought filled me with peace, and I fell asleep.
The Spirit had hinted of beautiful things ahead. In hard moments during my stay at the MTC, I closed my eyes and remembered what I had felt. With prayer and hard work, I outlasted my fears.
It wasn’t long before I found myself in Genoa, Italy, with my new companion. In the kitchen of our apartment was a glass door that led to a balcony. I stepped out on the balcony and gazed at the city. I already knew and loved this city. This was the place I had seen in my mind’s eye that night at the MTC. I knew the Lord had led me to this moment, and I was right where I belonged.

One choice source on my ancestors was prepared by a remarkable woman in 1888. She labored without any doctrinal understanding or the abundant resources we have. Following impressions of the heart, her persistence and extensive correspondence produced a 16,000-name lineage-linked treasury of information about our Talbot family. My mother obtained this record. A descendant, Cathy Frost, with two preschool children and expecting another, is computerizing those names. My wife, Jeanene, and I will personally clear them for temple work using the simplified helps I’ve described today. Our family will go to the temple for these ancestors.

Some months went by, and the family moved to a different town. The following December, Greg came into the house carrying an envelope. “We got a letter from Sister Fuhriman,” he called. He tore it open and read:
“I will miss your family this Christmas. I don’t believe I ever told you how much I enjoyed Christmas Eve in your home. I must tell you now what I did not tell you then.
“Some years before you moved into the house across the road from me, I had a dream. I could see your house, all lit up and glowing. When I awoke from that dream, I had the most wonderful, happy, peaceful feeling—something I had not experienced very often since my husband’s death.
“Months went by, and I forgot all about my dream. Then came your invitation for Christmas Eve. I had such a wonderful time sharing in your family celebration.
“After the boys walked me back home, I stood on my porch to make sure they returned home safely. Just then I noticed your house all aglow. It was the same picture I had seen in my dream years ago, and I had the very same feeling of peace. I just wanted you to know how I appreciated you.”
As Greg read Sister Fuhriman’s words, he remembered the warmth he had felt that night. He was grateful his family had shared their celebration with Sister Fuhriman, bringing her Christmas comfort and joy.

Recently, you may have read about Sister Ella Hoskins, who at 100 years old was called to help the young women in her ward with Personal Progress.20 About two years later, at 102, Sister Hoskins earned her Young Womanhood Recognition award. The young women, the ward and stake Young Women and Relief Society presidencies, and family members gathered together to celebrate her accomplishment. Boundaries of age, organization, and marital status faded away in faithful service. Young women expressed gratitude for Sister Hoskins, for her teaching, and for her righteous example. They want to be like her. Afterward, I asked Sister Hoskins, “How did you do it?”
She promptly responded, “I repent every day.”

Osc and I both ordered the Porter House special. Carol wanted filet mignon, and Marie ordered salisbury steak. After the waitress had taken our orders, Marie said, “Did you hear what Brother Craig did at Mutual last week?” Osc and Carol shook their heads. “He found out that last month it was the teachers from the Fourth Ward who started playing basketball in the cultural hall before our Relief Society was finished.”
Osc and Carol listened with interest, but I had no idea what Marie was talking about. She was speaking English, but most of it didn’t make a bit of sense to me.
“Well,” she continued, “one of their basketballs bounced right onto the table that held all the cakes the women had made in their cake-decorating lesson and smashed almost all of them.”
“Oh, man,” said Osc, “I bet Sister Hansen went nuts.”
Marie nodded. “She tried to make the boys stop, but they just grabbed the ball and ran out of the cultural hall, tracking frosting all over the building.”
“So that’s where all that mess came from,” said Carol.
“Right,” nodded Marie.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Wait a minute; wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Will somebody please explain what in the world you’re talking about?”
“Church stuff, Jared,” said Osc.
“I figured that much, but I never knew Mormons had nuns and monks.”
“Huh?” we said in unison.
“Nuns and monks. You know, sisters and brothers.”
Marie giggled and Carol tried to hide her grin behind her napkin.
“Don’t be such a Gentile,” said Osc. “We’re talking about people in our ward. Mormons call each other brother and sister. Like Carol, she’s Sister Lunt. Marie is Sister Allen, and to them I’m Brother Whitman. Understand?”
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “But I don’t understand what a bunch of teachers were doing in a cultural hall playing basketball. Imagine what would happen if some faculty members got caught dribbling a basketball in the school auditorium?”
Osc sighed. “A cultural hall is a Mormon gym.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. And teachers aren’t teachers. They’re 14- and 15-year-old guys who have the Aaronic Priesthood.”
“Give me a break. High school guys have the priesthood in your church?”
“Sure,” said Osc. “I’m a priest.”
“Oh, really, Father Whitman? Where’s your collar?”
“Come on, Jared. Not a Catholic priest. It’s different with Mormons.” He looked at Carol who was biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Sister Lunt, would you mind translating our Mormon talk for Jared tonight? I’m not getting through to him.”
“Sure, Brother Whitman, I’ll be glad to.”
Our dinner arrived and interrupted the conversation. It took us nearly an hour to work our way through the steaks, baked potatoes, salads, and vegetables. But dinner was fantastic, and not because I was sitting in front of the largest and most delicious steak I had ever seen. Osc, Carol, and Marie were great company, too, even if they were Mormons.
While the waitress was clearing away the remains of our feast, Marie and Carol excused themselves so they could go make themselves even more beautiful for part two of the double date.
“Great meal, Osc. This is a blast,” I said, after they’d left.
“Hey, what else could you expect from your best friend?”
“So what’s next,” I inquired.
Osc slid a toothpick into his mouth. “I told you this was a steak night, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and we’ve had our steaks. Now what?”
“Another steak,” was his reply.
“No way, man. I can’t eat another bite. I thought we’d be going to a movie or something.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Carol and I planned this. It’s steak night all the way.”
When the girls came back, we paid our bill, left the restaurant, and drove until we came to a large building. “This is the place, guys,” said Osc, as he pulled into the crowded parking lot.
I couldn’t believe it. These guys had led me into a Mormon trap! “Hold it,” I said. “I’m not going to church with you. Osc, you said this was going to be a steak night.”
“Yeah, a steak dinner and a stake dance. This building is a stake—s-t-a-k-e—center, Jared, and there’s a dance here tonight.”
“Oh, a dance.” I blushed for doubting my friends. “Sorry I panicked, but I figured you guys were dragging me to some sort of religious revival. Let me guess. The dance is in the cultural hall.”
Osc chuckled and Carol said, “Very good, Jared. You’re finally getting the hang of Mormon-talk.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first Mormon dance. Waltzes, maybe. Or if it was really wild, a square dance. But the music coming through the door of the cultural hall sounded familiar enough, and the few kids I saw in the lobby looked like regular kids.
On the inside, though, it didn’t look like any dance I’d ever seen before. The first thing I noticed were the lights—they were still on. They weren’t glaring bright, but they were on. And the music was different too. At most school dances, the music’s loud enough to pry the floorboards loose; this music was loud, but not enough to melt anybody’s eardrums.
As it turned out, we danced every dance that night, and I had the time of my life. After it was over, Osc drove us all home. When he got to my house, the first stop, he parked the car, turned around from the front seat, handed Carol a shopping bag, and said, “Go ahead, Carol.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out two packages, each wrapped in the Sunday comics. “These are mementos of tonight,” she said, handing one to Marie and one to me.
“The finishing touch on steak night,” Osc added. “And yours has something special inside, Jared. You just can’t open it until you get home.”
I said good night and went inside. I went straight to my bedroom and opened the package. Inside was an aluminum tent stake with “Steak-Stake Night” written on one side in light red nail polish and “Group Date #1” written on the other side. Also in the wrapping was a navy-blue paperback book, the Book of Mormon. I propped the stake up among the trophies on top of my dresser and flopped down on my bed to look at the book my friends had given me.
Pasted inside the front cover was a photo of the three of them taken at one of those instant photo booths. Under the photo was a message Osc had written:
Dear Jared,
This book contains the precious truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and it’s a book that each one of us has studied and read. We know it’s true, and we know its principles are the keys to happiness, not only in this life, but in the life to come. As your friends, we hope you’ll read it, think about it, and pray about it. If some parts are difficult to understand, we’ll be glad to explain them to you or find someone who can. We know if you’ll read and pray about this book, you’ll learn for yourself that it’s true.
Your Mormon friends,Oscar, Carol, and Marie
I closed the book and lay on my bed thinking about the three of them. Oscar, Carol, and Marie were special people, some of the best I’d ever known. I wondered what made them that way. Whatever it was, I was glad to have friends like them, friends who cared enough about me to share something that was obviously very important to them.
It was getting late, so I put the Book of Mormon on my desk and started getting ready for bed. Tomorrow I’d start reading that book to see if I could find out what makes it—and my friends—so special.

In a little Mormon town like Whitney, religion was in the very air everyone breathed. It was the center of the community’s existence. “Father and Mother taught their family complete devotion to the Church and full integrity in the payment of their tithes and offerings,” President Benson declares. He often recounts the time when his father had to choose between paying his tithing or a $50 debt. He paid the tithing, and almost immediately received an unexpected offer of $50 for a hay derrick he had built.

Late in 2018, I was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, better known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease—a rare, terminal, neurological disease. ALS kills the motor neurons connecting my brain to my muscles. My mind still runs at the normal rate, and I understand everything people say to me, but I can no longer control muscles except my eyes. Communicating is hard and slow for me, now that I must use my eyes to type on a device what I want to say.

ALS has left me a quadriplegic, depending on a machine to breathe and on my wife, Tiffany, for everything else. My disease will likely take my life before I see my children grow up. I published a book of my lessons and talks for them and others to read after I am gone.

With this perspective of gratitude, how could I not be happy? ALS is not fun, and it is clearly the low point of my life. But it is not low enough to counter my happiness.

I have come to see ALS as a calling, and I am trying to magnify it. In fact, I expect to look back on this disease and laugh—grateful for what this challenge has helped me become. And if that is how I will see things later, why not see them that way now?

I don’t want to give the impression that this challenge is easy. It took me a long time to get my emotions and fear under control. I have learned a lot as my physical body has faded away.

I have learned about how God sometimes gives us blessings. At first, we are called to do something that seems hard—or even impossible! Then the Lord teaches us and lifts us through His grace, or the “enabling power” made possible by His Atonement. Only after we get to the other side of the task do we see His hand and His blessings in our lives. As President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities equal to your tasks. Then the performance of your tasks will be no miracle, but you will be the miracle.”

That pattern has happened to me over and over. So, I have faith that ALS will turn out the same way for me.

My disease will likely take my life before I see my children grow up. I published a book of my lessons and talks for them and others to read after I am gone. Until the end comes for me, I am trying to magnify my calling and be more like Jesus.

Thanks to technology that lets me type with my eyes, I will continue to share my testimony and my faith in God’s plan of happiness until He calls me home.

When I was 11 years old, my bishop called me in for an interview in his office. He said, “Ulisses, it’s time to start your preparation to go on a mission.” I was astonished because I was only 11 years old! But he said, “We have to start that process now.”
My bishop said, “I’ll interview you once in a while to see how your progress is.” Then he gave me some direction. He taught me about the commandments, the priesthood, worthiness, and honesty. I was so impressed because he looked in my eyes and said, “You will serve a mission if you follow the directions I am giving you.”
I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”
When I was going to high school, I worked to save money for my mission. My parents were poor and couldn’t afford to pay for everything. I didn’t earn a lot of money, but after paying tithing, I decided to buy one piece of clothing per month for my mission. One month I bought a shirt, another month a tie, another month another shirt. During those three years, I saved enough to buy everything I needed. I saved enough to pay for my mission. I learned the principle of saving. I learned the principle of being obedient to the law of tithing and how many blessings we receive when we pay tithing.
My mission was a great experience because it helped me understand the principles of life and how to apply the gospel in my daily activities.
Boys and girls, prepare for a good mission and a good life. The Lord is waiting to give us all the blessings we need.

At 10 years of age, he read all 16 volumes of the family’s illustrated Book of Mormon and Church history stories and decided to follow Joseph Smith’s example. Sneaking into a grove of trees across the road from his home, he knelt, prayed, and received a confirmation from the Holy Ghost that Jesus Christ is his Savior, Joseph Smith was a true prophet, and the Book of Mormon is true.
That conviction has spurred a lifetime of dedicated service in the Church, including as an Area Seventy, stake president, and president of the Utah Orem Mission. At the time of his call, Elder Evanson was serving as a Valiant activity leader in his ward in Lethbridge.

Youth from the Castro Valley Second Ward, San Leandro California Stake, were so inspired by the New Era article “Yagottawanna” (Feb. ‘92), that they decided to build a youth conference around it. It was a day-long affair, with speakers in members’ houses talking about each of the three topics: following through, choices, and avoiding pitfalls. The youth walked from house to house where the presentations were given.

At the end there was a barbecue and volleyball game, and each person received a T-shirt with the theme printed on it. They say they love wearing them, and the chance to explain to curious onlookers what “Yagottawanna” means.

When my parents got married, they bought the refrigerator secondhand. My mother took it upon herself to paint it a strange yellow color I have never seen on any other refrigerator. (She also ended up painting the floor, some of the other furniture, and a new dress.) But we actually saw the strange yellow color only when the refrigerator broke down, had to have a new part, and Mama took everything off of it.
Its color was hidden because my mother covered it with all sorts of things: a good cartoon from the newspaper, a well-known saying, my dad’s picture, scriptures to be memorized, the ticket from the cleaners, an ad for some product, a letter to be answered, a recipe, the shopping list, the ward telephone directory, and even our report cards. As we got older, she put up lists of weekly assignments, schedules, and messages for the family. We didn’t have a chalkboard or a bulletin board, so our parents also posted gospel pictures on the refrigerator.
In February, my mom would put up a big heart with all our names written on it; in March, her wedding picture and a list of some things she would like for her birthday. June she dedicated to Dad, because it was the month of his birthday—she did the same in the month each of us was born. In September, a Mexican flag was displayed. In November, the month in which my parents remembered their ancestors, Mom put up pictures of loved ones, providing an opening to talk about them. In December, she displayed a small nativity scene she had fashioned out of cloth.
Each time one of us went on a mission, Mom stuck a missionary photo on the fridge and didn’t take it down until our return. When Mom’s only brother died, she displayed on the refrigerator a picture of the two of them together and never took it down. She didn’t ever mention it, but to see her so profoundly contemplating that picture, we knew how much her brother meant to her.
Together, the refrigerator and my mother united the family.

Tiffany Roy, of the Port Charlotte Ward in Florida, had an experience in which she was true to the teachings of the Church even though it was uncomfortable.

“I had just moved to another state and started school. There was a group of girls who found out that I was Mormon and started asking me all these questions. When they found out that I would not swear, this little group of girls blocked me from going inside the classroom. They told me that they would not let me go in until I would swear. I told them that we would be sitting there all day because I would not lower my standards for them. The girls let me go inside because they knew I wouldn’t do it. They avoided me the rest of the year. I did not care what they thought of me. I stood true to my faith by doing this.”

Sister Darcee Benge, a missionary in the Hawaii Honolulu Mission, wrote us about how she learned that her prayers were being answered. She wrote, “I have always believed that God was there, but like you, I felt that he had never answered my prayers. It wasn’t until later that I realized he had been answering my prayers all along. When I prayed about big decisions in my life like college and a mission, I was waiting for a force through my body and a voice saying, ‘Yes, do this!’ That never happened to me. As the days went by, situations would arise that encouraged me and made my decisions easier to make. When the time came to make a final decision, I felt good about what I was doing, and it seemed like a good idea. I have had many prayers answered in this way. I just didn’t realize it until later. Another thing I have to remember is that what I want isn’t always what God wants for me. I have to trust in his ways.”

Photographs by Daniel Scott
Amelia, a young woman in New Zealand, hadn’t been to church in seven years.
During her parents’ divorce, Amelia’s family was put in a difficult situation, and they decided to stop attending church. “We weren’t getting support from anybody,” Amelia remembers.
But one Sunday, seven years later, Amelia’s mom decided to give church attendance another try. She had a good experience and invited her daughters to come back to church with her. Amelia thought, “What do I have to lose?”
“I was a little on edge at first,” Amelia says. “I didn’t have the most positive association with the Church.”
But she decided to accept her mother’s invitation, and she doesn’t regret it. “As soon as I walked into church, people said to me, ‘I haven’t seen you here before’ and ‘Welcome to our church’ and ‘I’m so glad you’re here!’” Amelia remembers.
“Nobody alienated me. Everyone was really welcoming and kind.”
But as Amelia looked around during church, she started to think she might not belong after all. “I couldn’t help but separate myself from people because I started comparing myself to what other kids knew and who they knew,” Amelia says. “Many kids in my ward are family or have been close friends since they were young, so they seemed to know each other well,” she says.
After sacrament meeting the bishop came up to Amelia and said, “Hi, I’m Bishop Watts. I would love for you to say hi to everybody.” He took her to the Young Women classroom and introduced her to the other girls. “That was such an important interaction because it gave me this spark of hope that I could make a community where I was,” Amelia explains.
And that encouraged her to go back to church the next Sunday.
The next week, Amelia met India, the bishop’s daughter. She said, “Hi, I saw you the other day. My name is India. It’d be really nice to get to know you.”
That day, the class was talking about something Amelia hadn’t learned yet. India leaned over and asked, “Do you understand this?” Amelia said, “No.” So India helped her understand the lesson.
“I can’t remember the lesson now, but I do remember how she noticed that I needed help,” Amelia says. “Her kindness toward me was the most important lesson I learned that day.”
India taught Amelia everything she could about church, and she helped Amelia find answers to her questions. During those early weeks and months she became like a guide to Amelia. “She always knew exactly what to say,” Amelia remembers. “It was the most spiritual thing I had experienced in years.”
As Amelia tried to fit in with new people, India reassured her that nobody would judge her for being new at church. “She made me feel comfortable with being new,” Amelia says.
Amelia let India know a little bit about her struggles in her family situation, including having lived with an abusive father before her parents’ divorce. “India was the first person I trusted in that environment,” Amelia says. “I know that Heavenly Father works miracles, because whenever I talked to India, she always said something that helped. She made sure I never felt alone.”
Amelia says that India gave her reassurance that she could get back on track to what Heavenly Father wanted for her. “I don’t think I could have come back to church without India or Bishop Watts,” Amelia says.
India (left) helped Amelia feel welcome back at church.
Amelia and India’s friendship helped Amelia come closer to the Savior. “When I came back to church, I wasn’t sure how to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. India helped me understand that even though I couldn’t see the Savior, I could still feel His love, influence, and miracles in my life,” Amelia explains. “She showed me Christlike love. Now, I want to be somebody’s India. I want to be there for somebody when they need me.”
I wasn’t sure how to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. India helped me understand that even though I couldn’t see the Savior, I could still feel His love, influence, and miracles in my life.
Amelia believes that ministering means more than taking an assignment—it’s about reaching out to people. “It’s seeing someone in a difficult situation and, instead of waiting for them to ask for help, being there when somebody else can benefit from it,” Amelia says. “India and Bishop Watts ministered to me when I was worried about not having a community. Now that I do, I’m so glad that somebody reached out.”
Amelia wants other youth to know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love them, even when they feel like they don’t belong. “If you feel like you’re not good enough, or that you don’t belong here in this Church, remember that this is your place too,” she says.
“And you can always come back.”
Find more from Amelia on the Gospel Living app!

November 1831: William E. McLellin listened intently as he sat in a Church conference with Joseph Smith and a few other elders. Just a few days before, Joseph had given him a revelation that answered five questions that William had shared only with God (see Doctrine and Covenants 66). Now the members at the conference had decided to publish the Prophet’s revelations in a compilation called the Book of Commandments (later called the Doctrine and Covenants).
The challenge: Some elders were not convinced that the revelations came from God. They thought the language was not refined enough. To answer that claim, the Lord issued a challenge: “Appoint him that is the most wise among you” to write something “like unto” the revelations. If one could do that, the elders could say the revelations were not true. If one could not, the elders needed to “bear record” that the revelations came from God (see Doctrine and Covenants 67:5–8).
The result: William, a former schoolteacher, took the Lord’s challenge and tried to write a revelation. He failed.1 William’s failure strengthened his testimony of Joseph Smith as a prophet. Along with other elders at the conference, William signed a statement declaring that he knew “through the Holy Ghost” that the revelations were “given by inspiration of God” and that they were “profitable for all men and are verily true.”2

With great anticipation, my family waited in line at the Bountiful Utah Temple open house. Our guide explained to us that as we walked through the temple, we would need to wear covers over our shoes. Tens of thousands of people had already visited the temple that day, walking through rain and snow. Shoe covers would help keep the temple clean.
I assumed we would put the covers on our shoes ourselves. But when we reached the door, I saw a group of young men and young women—volunteers from a nearby stake—placing the covers onto people’s shoes. Caught by surprise, I automatically raised one foot, then the other, as a young woman assisted me. I was a little embarrassed, feeling that I could certainly have done it myself. And I doubted that the task was enjoyable, considering the cold weather, the wet and messy shoes, and her uncomfortable kneeling position. As the young woman finished, I offered an inadequate thanks. Even after she had assisted thousands of others, her smile and kind response were sincere and tender.
I felt overwhelmed by her act of service. Then suddenly I was filled with a sweet thought. If the mortal Messiah were here today, wouldn’t he also be serving in a quiet, selfless way—making that which was unclean clean? Deep emotion washed over me, and I felt the Savior’s deep love. Had he not knelt in Gethsemane and died on Golgotha to make the highest, most sacred things possible for us?
A feeling of reverence accompanied me throughout the tour. The temple was beautiful, but what I remember most happened at its doorstep.

One such event for me involved a small boy. He was perhaps the ugliest child I had seen up until then. He was tied into a chair with a wide band of white bed sheet. His head lolled from side to side, and he drooled onto a bib tied around his neck. His face contorted into grimaces and his thin, matchstick arms flailed the air without control. I stood in the doorway, and, in spite of myself, I stared.

He was alone in the room, tied in that chair with a large white tray in front of him. On the tray was a jumble of children’s building blocks. The little boy was building something with those blocks. The structure took shape slowly as he carefully focused his rolling eyes on the block he needed; and then, with a concentration that made his entire body rigid with effort, he controlled his flinging arms and hands to reach for the block.

He’d aim for the block, reach, and overshoot. Aim again and again and finally, with a lunge, capture the block and grasp it in jerking, clawlike fingers. Then the block was lifted with intense concentration, finally wavering spasmodically into place. The entire structure tottered dangerously as the new block landed.

I found myself watching in fascination as the structure grew, my own body becoming rigid as he reached for each block, grasped it, lifted it slowly and carefully, and dropped it into place. I was beginning to turn blue when I realized that I was holding my breath with each block as the structure tottered and threatened to fall over.

The structure grew slowly and with such great, great difficulty that I found myself sweating the effort of watching. Yet I knew, somehow, that I couldn’t and shouldn’t try to help. It grew and grew into walls and parapets and minarets until at last the capstone was ready to set into place.

The final triangular block that would top the west tower was moving into place when the arm that moved it gave a sudden, convulsive jerk, and the hand that held the block struck the lower wall of the great structure. It came down with a clatter and a crash as the blocks tumbled across the tray and spilled off onto the floor.

The boy watched it go, his rolling eyes filled with a look that I have seen many times since but have never quite become accustomed to. He sat as the clatter trailed away into silence. Then he heaved a great sigh, pushed the debris aside and slowly, ever so slowly and ever so carefully, picked up the first block and set it into place again.

There were tears running down my face as I stepped into the room and, without a word, gathered the scattered blocks from the floor and piled them at the edge of the tray. Then I stood back and watched for a while longer the infinite care and patience as the second structure began to take shape.

I stood and watched for a long time, forgetting the demands for my time in another part of the building. No one else came along while I was there, and it probably was good because I’d have been embarrassed to have been found there like that with my face wet from tears. One just glancing in might not have seen what I had seen and might not have understood.

For, you see, I was silent witness to a miracle—a small miracle, but a miracle nevertheless. I had seen something of incredible ugliness turn before my eyes into something of tremendous courage and unspeakable beauty.

It etched itself, that afternoon so long ago, forever in my mind.