Gospel Story Finder

“Becky, could you please ask your brothers to come to the family room?” Mom said. “Dad and I have something to tell everyone.”
I went and got Chip and Keith, and we gathered in the family room.
“I received some great news today,” Dad said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Grandpa Greer sent us a letter saying that Great-Grandma Meikle is going to be baptized.”
“Who is Great-Grandma Meikle?” Chip asked.
“She is Grandma Greer’s mother,” Dad said. “Do you remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa last year? We also visited Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home where she lives.”
“But Great-Grandma must be 100 years old!” Keith said. “She can hardly walk. How can she be baptized? When I was baptized, I was eight years old. Grandmas can’t be baptized.”
“Great-Grandma’s birthday is next week,” Mom said. “She will be 88 years old. She wants to be baptized on her birthday. To be baptized, a person needs to be eight or older. Remember when Brother Garcia was baptized? He wasn’t eight years old.”
Brother Garcia’s daughter Maria was in my class at school. We ate lunch together. She told me the missionaries had been visiting her dad. She loved to have the missionaries in her home. “Did Great-Grandma Meikle have the missionaries visit her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “They visited her every week and answered her questions. Grandpa Greer has also been helping her learn the gospel. And Great-Grandma attends church meetings in the nursing home. She has made many friends in the Church.”
“Who is going to baptize her?” Keith asked. “Dad baptized me. Great-Grandma doesn’t have a dad.”
“The missionaries could do it,” Mom said, “but Great-Grandma has asked Grandpa Greer to do it.”
“Can we go?” Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “It’s too far away.”
“Can I write a letter?” I asked.
“What a great idea!” Mom said, smiling. “Let’s all write her letters telling her how happy we are for her.”
“I’ll tell her about my baptism so she won’t be nervous,” Keith said on his way to get a pencil and paper.
After everyone finished their letters, we put them in a big envelope and addressed it to Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home. Maybe she would write back and tell us all about her special day. It was great news knowing that even great-grandmas can be baptized.

Their first stop in India was Edwin’s brother’s house. Edwin’s parents and siblings were there too. Right away, Edwin and Elsie started teaching them. Their family was happy to learn about the gospel.
A few weeks later, Edwin and his family gathered around the swimming pool in his brother’s yard. The pool had been cleaned, painted, and filled with fresh water. Everyone was wearing white. The women wore flowing saris that draped over their shoulders. The men wore loose Indian-style jackets and trousers.
Edwin stood in the pool with his father. “Samuel David,” Edwin said, “having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Edwin felt happy as he baptized his father. He felt even happier when he baptized his mom next. By the end of the day, Edwin had baptized 18 people!
The next day, Edwin and Elsie rode a train for six hours. They visited more family members and taught them about the gospel. Edwin baptized four more of his relatives in a nearby river.
Finally, Edwin and Elsie took a 16-hour train ride to visit Elsie’s parents. Elsie’s father was a leader in another church. He didn’t get baptized, but he thought the Book of Mormon was a good book. He helped translate the Book of Mormon into Telugu, one of the languages spoken in India.
When Edwin and Elsie finished their mission, there were enough new members to start one of the first branches of the Church in India! Edwin and Elsie were happy when they returned to Samoa. They were grateful Heavenly Father had sent them on a mission!

The teens from the different wards in the Ipswich stake enjoy being around each other. They really like going to youth conferences—or conventions as they are sometimes called—where something as simple as singing together can bring the Spirit. Rebecca Fagg remembers attending her first youth convention as a 14-year-old. “I was struggling a bit and finding attending church to be quite a lot of effort. Then I went to the youth convention. The power of all the youth together made me realize how great it is to be able to go to meetings like that. When we sang, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit. I just burst into tears.”

I love the story about how chiasmus was discovered in the Book of Mormon. In the summer of 1967, a missionary elder by the name of John W. Welch, who now goes by "Jack," was serving in Germany. While out proselyting one day, he saw a poster advertising a lecture to be given by a Catholic scholar on the New Testament. Since the lecture was taking place on his preparation day, he and his companion decided to attend. The professor spoke of a form of Hebrew poetry in the Bible known as chiastic parallelism or chiasmus. It was the first time Elder Welch had heard of the topic. He was intrigued and subsequently read a book on the subject recommended by the Catholic lecturer. The book was The Literary Art in the Gospel of Matthew, written by a man named Paul Gaechter. I'll now quote from Brother Welch's own account:

So far . . . the idea of finding chiasmus in the Book of Mormon had not entered the picture. That discovery occurred on August 16, a few days after I had finished Gaechter's book and my rereading of Matthew. Early that Wednesday morning, I was awakened by what seemed to me to be a voice, whose words were these: "If it is evidence of Hebrew style in the Bible, it must be evidence of Hebrew style in the Book of Mormon." . . . I got out of bed. . . . It was still dark. I went over to the desk on the other side of our one-room apartment. Picking up the copy of the German Book of Mormon I had been using that summer, I wondered: If it is here, where? I felt clearly prompted to begin reading where my companion and I had left off the night before, which happened to be in King Benjamin's speech. I read Mosiah 4. When I turned the page to Mosiah 5, the classic chiastic passage in verses 10-12 jumped off the page. I do not believe that I ever would have found this through my own intellectual efforts ("The Discovery of Chiasmus in the Book of Mormon 40 Years Later," Journal of Book of Mormon Studies, 16/2: 79).

When I was seven years old, my parents asked me why I was limping. They took me to a doctor, who said I had an incurable hip disease. It had caused my right leg to almost stop growing. Without treatment, my right leg would be four to six inches shorter than my left leg as an adult. He sent me to a specialized doctor who told me to keep pressure off the hip until I was full grown. Even then, I would still have a four-inch difference in the length of my legs. I had two choices: stay in bed or wear a brace. I chose the brace. I didn’t feel afraid because I had faith that Heavenly Father would take care of me.
Wearing my new leg brace, I tried to do the same things other children did. I played baseball, even though I couldn’t run very fast. My left leg kept growing, but my right leg stayed the same.
Then my father received a work opportunity in northern California. In our new town, I started fourth grade. I soon learned that Heavenly Father watches over His children. My parents took me to see Dr. Chan. He had been studying my disease and had an idea for a new surgery. If I was willing to take the risk, he was willing to experiment on me. I agreed, even though I would be in a body cast for up to six months. We had very good home teachers who gave me a wonderful blessing.
With the surgery, a medical miracle happened. My right leg began to grow. The cast was removed in just two months, and I learned to walk on my right leg for the first time in two years. I was soon walking and running again! Within 11 months, my right leg was the same length as my left.
After fifth grade, my family moved back to Colorado. I know it was no coincidence that my family moved to the only place where a doctor could help me. Heavenly Father guided my parents so I could be healed.
Because of this experience, two verses in Alma 36 have special meaning to me. I remember how the Lord healed me to do His work:
“But behold, my limbs did receive their strength again, and I stood upon my feet, and did manifest unto the people that I had been born of God.
“Yea, and from that time even until now, I have labored without ceasing, that I might bring souls unto repentance; that I might bring them to taste of the exceeding joy of which I did taste; that they might also be born of God, and be filled with the Holy Ghost” (Alma 36:23–24).
I am grateful that Heavenly Father blessed me to have the use of my right leg. He knew the things that He had in store for me to do, and He blessed me with the health to be able to do them more easily. As a Seventy, I travel and testify of the Savior, bringing the joy of the gospel to others so that they can know and feel what I know and feel.

“You can do it! You can do it!” fellow Scouts shouted as a 14-year-old comrade strained to complete one more pull-up within the time limit. Every muscle in his face grimaced with the effort; sweat glistened on his face and neck. As he brought his chin near the bar, his forearms and biceps started shaking—but he made his tenth try successful just as the whistle blew. Amid cheers, he dropped to the ground and the next patrol member hoisted himself into place.
The timed pull-up event was just one in a series of physical challenges Scouts faced as they moved from station to station during three days of competition. Broad jumping, rope climbing, push-ups, sit-ups, an obstacle course, three-legged bucket race, slingshot marksmanship, aquatics, frisbee golf, and travois building and racing (carrying an “injured” passenger), along with other races and relays, tested the athletic ability of individuals and patrols.

July 1
Dear Sarah,
So much has happened that I don’t know where to start. The home teachers came and helped Dad give Lindsay a blessing. After that, she wasn’t so scared. But she looked so little standing there with her bag in one hand and that big stuffed penguin under her other arm. I guess Mom and Dad told you in their letter that the surgery went fine. They let me go see Lindsay the second day. She still looked pretty sick.
After Lindsay came home, Mom had to spend a lot of time caring for her, and I helped a lot around the house, I didn’t have much time for the garden. I didn’t go all week, and when I finally got over there on Saturday, Mr. Trujillo was really sad. About half of our tomato plants were gone. Gophers got them. They just burrow underneath and pull the plants down—one day you see them, and the next day you don’t. He said he didn’t know how to get rid of the gophers. He was afraid to put out poison because pets might get into it. And he didn’t want to flush the gophers out and bash them over the head the way some people do. He’s really a nice man.
I told him I’d pray about it, and he kind of smiled and patted my head. On Sunday I fasted and prayed for Lindsay to get all well and for a solution to the gopher problem.
Monday morning I thought of Billy Swenson who lives down by the river. Remember him? He’s the kid who has live traps and catches squirrels and stuff up in the canyon. I went to see him, and we made a deal. He said that he’d come and trap the gophers and turn them loose down by the river if I would give him some tomatoes, three pumpkins, and two watermelons when they’re ready.
Mr. Trujillo was pretty surprised and happy. He looked at me in that puzzled way he does sometimes.
It took Billy four days to get all the gophers, but they’re gone. Yesterday we set out more tomato plants.
Love,Angela the Problem Solver
July 15
Dear Sarah,
How great to hear that the Gonzales family was baptized!
Guess what we had for dinner—zucchini squash that I grew myself! Mrs. Trujillo gave me a recipe, and Mom cooked it. Even Lindsay ate some of it. Mr. Trujillo says we’ll have beans in two more weeks.
I thought raking and planting were bad, but this week we’ve been hoeing weeds, and I have blisters again (not as bad as before because my hands are tougher) and a backache. But Mrs. Trujillo made lemonade and cookies, and we sat under the peach tree and ate them. They told me some stories about Mexico, and they asked about you. I told them about the Gonzales family. So it was kind of nice, even though I had aches and pains.
Love,Angela the Contented Gardener
August 10
Dear Sarah,
Nothing has been worse so far than picking beans. Mr. Trujillo can’t bend over now, so I picked all the beans, my rows and his. Your back aches, and the leaves make your skin itch, and the sun is beating down on you. Mrs. Trujillo gave me an old straw hat to wear. We got three bushels! Mr. Trujillo smiled and said, “There’ll be this many again in about ten days.” I could have cried. But by then it was cooler, and Mrs. Trujillo brought out ice cream with fresh peaches sliced on it. Then you’ll never guess what happened—Mr, and Mrs. Trujillo took me into their garage and gave me one of their kids’ old bicycles. It was all clean and shiny, with new paint and new tires and the chain all oiled. I gave them both a hug.
I took a big, juicy peach home to Lindsay, and she ate it all!
Have you found any new people to teach?
Love,Angela the Cyclist
August 20
Dear Sarah,
Mr. Trujillo and I took the beans to the Farmer’s Market and sold them. I got $8.00! After tithing, that’s $7.20 I have ready to send you, but I’ll wait till I get some more.
Yesterday I picked beans again. It was easier this time.
Do you remember the Claybourne family? The ones with all those kids? Well, he lost his job, and they’re having a hard time. Mom said they’re trying to get by on their food storage, so she wondered if I would mind giving them the beans from this picking to freeze for the winter. Mom said she’d like to freeze some, too, and that would help us have more money for bills and for you.
So I told Mr. Trujillo why I wouldn’t be selling my beans this time, and he looked at me sort of funny again, then gave me a bushel from his rows too. We gave the Claybournes zucchini also.
I hope you won’t mind about the bean money.
Love,Angela the Delivery Girl
September 2
Dearest Sarah,
We sold some tomatoes this week, and I got $13.00. They’re easier to pick than beans, and I like the way the vines smell. I also like to stop every now and then and eat one—all juicy and warm from the sun. I wish I could send you one in the mail.
I hope that you’ll understand this part. I was in a store last week, looking for notebooks and pencils for school, when I saw this little sweatshirt just Lindsay’s size with a penguin on it. She needs school clothes. I knew it would remind her of you; she still adores the penguin you sent her. It was $9.99, and so I bought it for her. Lindsay was thrilled. She put it on and wouldn’t take it off, even for bed. But after tithing and the notebooks … well, I hope you understand.
School starts Monday.
Love,Angela the Spendthrift
P.S. I promised the Claybourne kids some pumpkins for Halloween and a watermelon.
September 15
Dearest Sarah,
Thanks for not minding about the sweatshirt. Enclosed is a money order for $7.20.
Mom says having the vegetables is helping. The bills for the operation are getting paid gradually, and Lindsay’s eating fine now, and Mom and Dad always seem to find the money to send you.
Now for my surprise! The Trujillos are having the missionaries come and teach them! They came over last night, and the elders taught them the first missionary lesson. Mr. (Brother) Trujillo gave the prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for “the flower”—he meant me!—“that bloomed in his garden and showed him a more beautiful way of life.” Wasn’t that beautiful? And they’re coming back next week for another lesson.
We served watermelon from the garden!
Love,Angela the Missionary

“I believe my first experience in having the courage of my convictions took place when I served in the United States Navy near the end of World War II.
“Navy boot camp was not an easy experience for me, nor for anyone who endured it. For the first three weeks I was convinced my life was in jeopardy. The navy wasn’t trying to train me; it was trying to kill me.
“I shall ever remember when Sunday rolled around after the first week. We received welcome news from the chief petty officer. Standing at attention on the drill ground in a brisk California breeze, we heard his command: ‘Today everybody goes to church—everybody, that is, except for me. I am going to relax!’ Then he shouted, ‘All of you Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’ A rather sizeable contingent moved out. Then he barked out his next command, ‘Those of you who are Jewish, you meet in Camp Henry—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’ A somewhat smaller contingent marched out. Then he said, ‘The rest of you Protestants, you meet in the theaters at Camp Farragut—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’
“Instantly there flashed through my mind the thought, ‘Monson, you are not a Catholic; you are not a Jew; you are not a Protestant. You are a Mormon, so you just stand here!’ I can assure you that I felt completely alone. Courageous and determined, yes—but alone.
“And then I heard the sweetest words I ever heard that chief petty officer utter. He looked in my direction and asked, ‘And just what do you guys call yourselves?’ Until that very moment I had not realized that anyone was standing beside me or behind me on the drill ground. Almost in unison, each of us replied, ‘Mormons!’ It is difficult to describe the joy that filled my heart as I turned around and saw a handful of other sailors.
“The chief petty officer scratched his head in an expression of puzzlement but finally said, ‘Well, go find somewhere to meet. And don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’
“As we marched away, I thought of the words of a rhyme I had learned in Primary years before:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
“Since that day there have been times when there was no one standing behind me and so I did stand alone. How grateful I am that I made the decision long ago to remain strong and true, always prepared and ready to defend my religion, should the need arise.”

Illustration by Tracy Walker
I was 14 years old when I experienced my first Christmas without snow. My family had just moved from the mountains of Utah to Texas, USA. To me, Texas felt too flat and hot. It was hard to feel the Christmas spirit when I had no friends at my new school and especially when there was no snow on the ground. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere, so I often felt lonely and sad.
Despite my gloom, Christmas was only a week away, and I was depending on our Christmas family traditions to lift my spirits. The fun activities my family did together in past years always made me feel so happy. Traditions were a big part of how we celebrated Christmas, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. They were called traditions for a reason, so I knew they had to be kept.
The days leading up to Christmas crawled by slowly. We hadn’t done anything together as a family yet to celebrate, so I was feeling pretty defeated. When Christmas Eve finally arrived, I waited all day for something to happen—anything that would show me that our cherished family traditions could still be kept in our new home. I’m sure I could have spurred these treasured traditions on my own, but I didn’t want to. In a way, I was looking for a sign to show me that the Christmas spirit was still alive.
Day faded to night and I grew more and more upset. Tears welled up in my eyes as my family gathered together to say our evening prayers. My entire home felt cold and empty, even with all of us living inside it. Suddenly, my dad pierced the silence with one question.
“Would anyone like to receive a priesthood blessing?”
My heart skipped a beat. I had worried so much about whether or not we would be putting up Christmas lights or baking holiday cookies that I had forgotten about one very special tradition we did every Christmas Eve—we all received a priesthood blessing. Receiving a blessing from my dad in the past always gave me peace, but not everybody in my family enjoyed receiving one. Sometimes my siblings and my mom would say they didn’t feel like they needed one. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again if everyone else was going to turn it down.
But this time was different. My mom stood up and sat down on the chair my dad had brought out for us.
“I would like one,” she said softly.
We were all very surprised, but my dad didn’t even hesitate. He placed his hands on my mom’s head and began to speak. I could sense how tuned in my dad was to my mom’s feelings and personal struggles. He spoke words of comfort and peace to her during this time of change.
I suddenly felt a burning sensation within my chest—almost like someone had lit a match inside of me. I knew I was feeling the Holy Ghost, even though the burning in my chest wasn’t the way I had always felt the Spirit before. It was like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me, and it wasn’t even my priesthood blessing!
As my father quietly said “amen” and I opened my tear-filled eyes, I realized that my whole family was crying. We had all heard the Spirit speak to us in a tender and loving way that everything was going to be OK. My mom and dad hugged, and I felt like the raincloud that had been hanging over my head for so long had finally given way to sunshine.
We may not have kept every tradition that year, but we always remembered how it felt to witness the power of God flow through my dad’s priesthood blessing. I will always remember how it changed my feelings of sadness to peace and joy. I also learned a valuable lesson about the power of the priesthood. When everything around you seems to be going the wrong way, a priesthood blessing can remind you of the Lord’s watchful and loving presence in your life.

“Listening to the Spirit becomes essential as you go home teaching or visiting teaching,” says Jack Cook, a high councilor in the College Station Texas Stake. “We have a high priests group leader and his companion who were visiting a single mother and her daughter. The family was active but talked of feeling spiritually ‘empty.’ There was just not a lot of spiritual movement.
“While visiting one day, this man felt prompted to suggest that this sister might consider attending the temple. Her eyes lit up. She’d never considered the possibility.
“With attending the temple in mind, she set goals, made progress, and grew tremendously,” Brother Cook says. “The day she attended the temple she was ecstatic. Her home teacher had listened to the Spirit and made a difference in her life.”

The first day of concert choir was always the worst day of the year. The teacher had to cajole 150 teenagers into an arranged seating assignment. If I had to sit next to a stranger, I would run the risk of being subjected to two hours of irritating interaction instead of being able to exchange news and confidences with friends.
I sat in the first row, sandwiched among friends as we waited for our seating assignments. I surveyed my peers and submitted a fervent prayer to end up sitting by someone I knew. Consequently, I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my face when I was assigned to sit next to Ashley—a girl I’d rarely spoken to. I was sure the happiness of my junior year of choir had been doomed.
For the next few days, the situation proved as miserable as I’d predicted. But time worked its magic, and my walls of reserve were broken by this girl’s unusual character. Before a month had passed, we were both the truest of friends, each keeping confidences about the other’s life and loves.
Ashley’s enthusiasm for life spilled over to include everyone she came in contact with. I began to look forward to choir more than any other class merely for the sake of being with her. She was the happiest person I knew, and she constantly delighted me with her humor. Ashley stood out because of her kindness and true Christlike attitude.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

During May, I had the opportunity to run in the Utah High School State Track Championships. I ran in three events, and it was a great experience. But my state track experience did not compare to the experience I had the day before the meet.
For a few months, my ward had been planning to go to the Manti Utah Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. I was so excited to go, but then I found out it was the day before the state track meet. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I had been working all season to prepare for my events, and I thought I needed as much rest as possible before I ran. We’d definitely get home from the temple late, and I needed to be in bed earlier than that.
I asked myself, “What is more important: getting rested for state track or serving at the temple?” I knew where the Lord wanted me to be and where I wanted to be, so I was determined to be there.
At the temple, I felt the Spirit of the Lord, and it brought me great peace. I didn’t even think about running the whole time I was there. I knew I was in the right place, helping others who had gone before me. The feeling was wonderful!
The next day, my nerves were calm, and I ran the best I ever had. I knew I was blessed because of my faith in choosing to go to the temple. I have a testimony of the temple, and I know the value of the work that goes on there. This experience is one that I will treasure in my heart forever.

My name is Somaro Manning, and I am a professional building contractor in Jamaica. In October 2023, my business partner, Loren McDonald, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I had the opportunity to bid on and complete a Church humanitarian project in our area. Little did I know this opportunity would lead to my baptism into the Church.
My business partner, whom I consider to be my brother, would often nudge me, encouraging me to be baptized. After working on the humanitarian project and having in-depth conversations with strong men in the gospel, I met with the missionaries and saw how truthful and sincere they were in spreading the gospel of Christ. On November 6, 2023, I was baptized a member of the Church. My wife is not yet a member, but my hope is that she will accept the gospel soon so that she, too, can experience the joy and blessings that the gospel brings.

Elder Darrell and Sister Maylene Call from Texas are serving as humanitarian missionaries in the Dominican Republic. Unbeknownst to them, they were a part of one of those waves of righteous energy. Elder Call needed a root canal and was directed to the G3 Foundation for the procedure. This foundation is also a form of that positive energy and was established in 2004 by Dr. Len Aste and Dr. Ganon Rowan with the purpose of bringing dental students to the Dominican Republic to provide much needed dental care to those in need.
Brother Call’s appointment was scheduled with the foundation for a month later. A couple of weeks before the appointment they were given the assignment to help in the Church’s warehouse conducting an inventory of items being stored there. They discovered a surplus of items leftover from previous projects that, with approval, could be immediately distributed to those in need. Among these items were boxes of reading glasses and the Calls weren’t sure what they should do with them.
Surgery day for Elder Call finally arrived. While on site, Elder and Sister Call were given a tour of the services offered by the clinic, which not only included dental procedures such as cleanings, extractions, and fillings, but also included vision and medical care. It was a wonderful experience to see the nearly 60 volunteers giving of their time and talents. It was indeed one of those waves of energy to bless the people in the Dominican Republic.
During the tour of the G3 Foundation, Elder and Sister Call were introduced to those providing vision care and learned of the need for additional reading glasses. Sister Allison Mumford from Emmett, Idaho worked with the vison care services and helped fit reader glasses for those who needed them. She recalled, “We worked two long clinic days and distributed many more glasses than I expected. We ended up running out of supplies. Then, according to the Lord’s timing, the Calls visited again and offered us glasses from the Church warehouse. It was a direct blessing from a loving Heavenly Father, who knows today what our needs will be tomorrow.”

I don’t really know where a young man begins to go wrong. I couldn’t have had a happier childhood. My father was a nature lover, and he had schooled us in the beauties and appreciation of the out-of-doors. My mother enriched our lives with her wit and her songs. And I grew up in the Church. I loved the gospel stories, and I looked forward to becoming a deacon. I remember my baptism day and the feeling that accompanied this ordinance.
But about the time I became a teacher, I began to sit with a crowd of boys in the back who were without a streak of reverence, I’m afraid. From this time on, I never really appreciated the gospel or made the effort to study the scriptures and gain a testimony, and any person without the gospel and spiritual motivation in his life will naturally turn to worldly things. It took a terrible accident and three years to do it, but I finally was able to see through the fads and falsities that had become a part of my life in the early years of high school and to realize just how plastic and superficial many of those values really are.

During my freshman year at BYU, my testimony blossomed. I developed a deep love for the Savior, the prophet Joseph Smith, and the restoration of the gospel, and I had a real desire to serve a mission. The fall semester at that time, ended late in January but, my 19th birthday was not until the end of March. I was confused about my timing and spent many hours in fasting and prayer to know the Lord's will. By Christmas I still had not received an answer; so I registered for another semester.
On the second day of the semester, I was on my way to the field house for the first devotional when I received a strong impression, "Sit in front."
Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the Quorum of the Seventy was the speaker and the first words out of his mouth were, "If there is any one in this audience who is thinking about going on a mission, go now!" There was my answer.
After the devotional I called my parents, checked out of school and, before returning to my home in Idaho, I met with both my Bishop and Stake President. Then, as was required in those days, I drove to Salt Lake for an interview with a General Authority.
The authority I was assigned to was A. Theodore Tuttle, the very man who had spoken at the devotional a week earlier. I told Elder Tuttle of my experience and he said, "As I arose to give my talk I was impressed to give that advice." The rest of the talk had nothing to do with missionary work.
I tell this story for two reasons: first, to emphasize how important devotionals can be in your lives if you come prepared and open to be taught by the Holy Ghost and second, to demonstrate that God is aware of each of you and your desires. He will answer your prayers and fulfill the righteous desires of your hearts. I know this is true!

When our four children were young, my husband and I assumed that if we set good examples and brought them up in the gospel with lots of love and consistency, they would certainly not depart from that path.
One summer day we were forced to abandon that assumption. Our eldest son, about 14 years old, went swimming with his friends. When I came to the swimming pool with the younger children, I thought I saw him with a cigarette in his hands. I was worried, so I spoke to him about it later. He simply said I was mistaken. Unfortunately, that was the beginning of his lies.
Over time he distanced himself from us more and more. He was no longer approachable and often became angry without provocation. Alcohol, drugs, foul language, and a host of lies were added to the cigarettes. And his behavior toward the family became insufferable.
At first we tried to restrict his activities in order to protect him, but that just brought more resistance. Discipline had no effect. When I reproached him and challenged him to change, our discussions often became loud arguments that brought more distance between us.
Our fears for our eldest son were hard on my husband and me. We tried to find guidance through prayer, but I felt helpless watching my eldest son choose such a dangerous path. As we prayed, we felt guided to allow our son more space instead of controlling him with stricter rules. This seemed extremely counterproductive and counterintuitive, but all our previous attempts to stop his behavior had been unsuccessful. So we chose to punish or restrict him only when his actions directly affected our family life.
Despite trying to follow the Lord’s counsel, we found the situation worsened. I struggled to overcome my self-doubts and discouragement. My husband and I tried to be consistent with family home evening and family prayer, but I was overwhelmed with guilt as I remembered every time we had fallen short and every time I had behaved wrongly toward our son. I cried a lot, slept little, and was sometimes so physically exhausted that I only just managed to function.
Family life as we had known it hardly existed anymore. Family home evenings regularly ended in chaos and arguments. I especially was impatient with my loved ones and loudly let them know.
My husband and I recognized that we couldn’t let our family be ground down by the situation. We decided to continue following the counsel of the Lord and the prophets, so we made an effort to hold spontaneous, informal family home evenings with the children who were willing. But I still couldn’t accept that our eldest son was caught in Satan’s traps. With prayer, fasting, and hope—all that seemed left to us—we cast our burden on the Lord and trusted Him.
The problems got worse. At one particularly difficult time, I asked my husband for a priesthood blessing. I hoped for words of comfort and encouragement. But the Lord knew my true needs. I was admonished for arguing so loudly with my son. The Lord made me aware that He had never once shouted at me—but I shouted at my children all the time.
In that blessing, I was additionally counseled that I needed to talk to my son about my worries for him instead of reproaching him. I realized that my anger and criticism had actually been a manifestation of my fear for him. I was constantly attacking him, and he defended himself any way he could. I considered ways to change my behavior.
At this time, I was serving as an institute teacher. I found it wasn’t difficult to deal calmly and considerately with the youth at church because I did not have to struggle with the emotions of a mother.
I tried to look at my son not with the eyes of a concerned mother but as an outsider. This strategy, and much prayer and fasting, helped me to rein in my emotions and see my son—who was now almost 18—with new eyes. I was once again able to see his good qualities. I managed to express my feelings and worries to him sincerely and without becoming anxious.
This became a turning point in our relationship. My son and I discussed many things, and I became able to let him bear the consequences of his behavior on his own. My husband and I merely counseled him and advised him of ways he could solve his problems for himself.
Gradually, he started accepting our love and support. Our dealings with him, after five hard years, are now characterized primarily by respect. His life is, in many respects, still broken, but he is on the way to getting it in order. He is gradually recognizing what is really important in life and what brings lasting contentment.
Acting on the Lord’s counsel has helped our family regain a much happier life. My husband and I have learned to shape our own lives and our family life instead of trying to shape our son’s.
I now know what it means to entrust my children to the Lord. He knows them better than I do. I have learned not to feel accountable for all my children’s decisions. My husband and I discovered that the best help we could give our son was to turn to the Lord and trust in His will and counsel.

John R. Moyle lived in Alpine, Utah, about 22 miles as the crow flies to the Salt Lake Temple, where he was the chief superintendent of masonry during its construction. To make certain he was always at work by 8:00 A.M., Brother Moyle would start walking about 2:00 on Monday mornings. He would finish his work week at 5:00 P.M. on Friday and then start the walk home, arriving there shortly before midnight. Each week he would repeat that schedule for the entire time he served on the construction of the temple.
Once when he was home on the weekend, one of his cows bolted during milking and kicked Brother Moyle in the leg, shattering the bone just below the knee. With no better medical help than they had in such rural circumstances, his family and friends took a door off the hinges and strapped him onto that makeshift operating table. They then took the bucksaw they had been using to cut branches from a nearby tree and amputated his leg just a few inches below the knee.
When against all medical likelihood the leg finally started to heal, Brother Moyle took a piece of wood and carved an artificial leg. First he walked in the house. Then he walked around the yard. Finally he ventured out about his property. When he felt he could stand the pain, he strapped on his leg, walked the 22 miles to the Salt Lake Temple, climbed the scaffolding, and with a chisel in his hand hammered out the declaration “Holiness to the Lord.” (See “Two Traditions of John Rowe Moyle,” in Biographies and Reminiscences, ed. Gene A. Sessions, 1974, 202–3.)

One day during home evening, my mom was talking about the Holy Ghost. She said that often the Holy Ghost speaks by giving you a thought in your mind.
When she said that, I was so surprised. Just earlier, I had prayed and asked my Heavenly Father to help me hear the Holy Ghost. But I didn’t know that the Holy Ghost could speak to me in my mind like that. All my life I’d had thoughts that guided me to choose the right. Now I knew that those thoughts came from the Holy Ghost!
Since then, I have noticed the Holy Ghost a lot more. Just last Sunday, we were having home evening again. This time it was about testimonies. I didn’t really know what a testimony was, so I asked my dad. He told me that a testimony is something you know or believe to be true. He said we get our testimonies from the Holy Ghost. I then thought of how I started noticing the Holy Ghost more, and BOOM! I also had a testimony!
Knowing this makes me feel much happier. I want to be a better follower of Jesus Christ and always listen to the Holy Ghost.
Illustration by Brenna Vaughan

Shortly after I began attending a ward, the counselor in the bishopric asked to visit with me after Sunday School. He said, “Sister Nyland, we’d like to call you to serve in the nursery.” I began to laugh, assuming he was kidding, and said, “Really, what would you like me to do?” He was a little taken aback by my laughter, but said, “Really, we’d like you to serve in the nursery.” I immediately sobered and said I’d be happy to do that. Now, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t happy to do that. I liked children in the abstract, but the reality of twenty-five toddlers was a bit much. I was quite comfortable teaching college students, because they were quiet, they hung on my every word (in case it showed up on an exam), and they never chased each other around the room or crawled under their desks. The best words to describe my first day the in the nursery were shell shock. I have never felt more unprepared, unskilled, and ill suited for a calling in my life.

I was smart enough to know that the nature of two-year-olds wasn’t going to change much, so if I was going to survive this calling, I was the one who would need to change. I made that call a matter of prayer night and day, and each Sunday for six weeks the nursery was, frankly, a nightmare. Then on the seventh Sunday, when I walked into the nursery, it was like a switch had been flipped. I absolutely loved it! I loved the children; I had fun playing with and teaching them; I didn’t even mind sitting on the floor. From that day until I was released, the nursery was one of the favorite callings I’d ever had. I was so grateful for that change of heart.