Gospel Story Finder

One woman I know had a father who was often angry and easily upset. She said, “For many years, I saw Heavenly Father the same way I saw my own—someone who for the most part kept his distance and was easily disappointed.” This impacted her ability to truly understand Heavenly Father. However, she shared that Heavenly Father helped her learn that “He is slowly walking me out of fearing Him and into the saving power of His love.” She began to see the real Him.

In 1873 Jonathon’s wife, Kitty, got leprosy. Leprosy is a contagious disease that people feared getting, and at that time there was no cure for it; if you got it, you were forced to live in a leper colony. The sailors who took the lepers there were so afraid of this dreadful disease that they pushed the patients into the sea, forcing them to swim to shore.
When his wife had to go to the leper colony, Jonathon went with her. This valiant and giant man of God worked in the colony and fought to obtain government assistance for the lepers to have a more comfortable place to live. He became a leper himself and died two years before his wife did. Why did he risk his life and do all this? Because he loved her so much! He knew that life is eternal and love is eternal, even through times of sickness and suffering.

Marny and Nancy attend early-morning seminary with one other student. It’s at 6:30 in the morning, and they have evolved a creative way of dealing with the early hour. They arrive at seminary with their hair undone, their makeup unapplied, wearing sweat suits or whatever else they can throw on. Then, after seminary, they both go to Nancy’s house, where they shower and dress for school.
Melissa attends a once-a-week seminary class, doing the rest of the work through home study. Both classes are taught by a Sister Babcock who is, by all accounts, a real ball of fire. She used to be a champion sprinter, and she still keeps things moving fast. “We never fall asleep in her lessons no matter how tired we are. She makes it so interesting, and she’s so enthusiastic. It gives you a real boost. We also have Mutual, and that helps. But I especially look forward to Sundays. Sunday is WOW! Supercharge! You come home from church a mile high! Getting together with LDS friends has the same effect. It’s like being in a desert and seeing water. ‘A Mormon! Talk to me!’”

Eric was excited. He had a jingle in his pocket!
Today he had his own money to spend. He was going to go shopping with his mother.
At the store, Eric saw rows of candy, toys, and books. What should I buy? he wondered. He studied everything on the shelves. “Mom, I’m going to buy that big dump truck,” he said proudly.
His mother turned over the box to check the price and shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey, you need many more dimes and nickels to buy this truck. Do you want to wait and save enough money?”
Eric felt very sad. He slipped his hand into his pocket to feel the smooth coins. “Let’s look around some more,” he suggested.
He paused by the games and puzzles. But he had plenty of those already.
Then Eric saw something he hadn’t seen before. “Look, Mom, books!” he shouted, and raced toward the shelf. Eric loved books. Softly he touched the covers—a fuzzy puppy, a colorful circus train, and a barn full of farm animals.
“Mom,” Eric called, “I’ll buy this clock book and learn how to tell time. Then I’ll know when it’s time to go to Primary and to bed.”
Mom smiled in agreement as they walked quickly to the cashier. “How much, please?” asked Eric.
“Thirty-five cents, young man,” she replied.
Eric jingled the coins in his pocket. Then he took out four dimes. “Is that enough?” he asked.
“It certainly is,” the clerk answered. “And here’s your change.”
“Wow, I get a whole nickel back!” Eric exclaimed excitedly, and he put it in his pocket with the dime and other nickel.
Mom watched to be sure Eric held the package tightly. She noticed he slid a hand in his pocket to feel the remaining dime and nickels.
“Let’s celebrate,” Mother suggested. “Do you know a boy who likes doughnuts?”
Eric smiled broadly and said, “I’ll treat you today.”
At the bakery Eric pointed to a doughnut inside the case.
“We’ll have that big frosted one,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, honey, for sharing your treat with me,” said his mother.
Eric gave the lady all his money and waited to see if she’d give him any change back. She returned from the cash register and pushed two pennies toward him. “There, young man. Now you have two more pennies to spend.”
Eric laughed happily as they finished their doughnut and went back to the car. When they got home he burst from the car to find Dad.
“Dad, guess what! I bought a new book, and then I treated Mom and me to a doughnut. And best of all—I still have a jingle in my pocket!”

As I was going to the park with my friend Emma and her mom, I saw the temple and started to sing “I Love to See the Temple.” When we got to the park, Emma’s mom told my mom that she wanted to start going to church again. My mom was surprised because Emma’s mom hadn’t been to church for a long time. She told my mom, “Natalie was singing Primary songs, and Emma doesn’t even know any.” Now Emma is a Sunbeam. I’m glad I could be an example.

I was 13 years old when I first saw the full-time missionaries. I was living apart from my family at the time, going to school in another town in the Philippines. One day while riding the bus, I saw two nicely dressed young men sitting near me. I didn’t know who they were, but I was impressed with what I assumed were their uniforms. For some reason, I wanted to wear one, too.

My father’s dying words impressed me so deeply that I did wear the “uniform” of a full-time missionary. I served in the Philippines Quezon City Mission.

At the same time, in the heart of western Germany, another marvelous lady, recently widowed, still in her thirties, was terrified by the difficulties of the future. She had two young daughters and felt left alone in a country without hope. Right then two young missionaries rang the doorbell and brought the message of light, truth, and hope.
I give thanks eternally to those diligent American missionaries and most of all to Sister Carmen Reich, who became my mother-in-law, for her faith, strength, and willingness to listen to the still, small voice. My life has been very different because of the miraculous insight of these great individuals.

Emma K. came from Midvale, Utah, to interview Sister Cheryl C. Lant, Primary general president. Emma and Sister Lant talked about the purpose of Primary while they toured the Relief Society Building. The Relief Society Building is where the offices of the general presidencies of the Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society are. It has beautiful displays about the purpose and history of these organizations.
Emma: “What good things are the children of the Church doing?”
Sister Lant: “One of the best things they are doing is learning from their scriptures. Every Sunday, we see children bring their scriptures to Primary. They open them, they read them, and they’re learning directly from the words of the Lord about what He wants them to do.”
Emma: “What do you hope they can learn to do more often?”
Sister Lant: “We need to be more kind to our brothers and sisters, to our parents, to our friends, and to everybody around the world.”
Sister Lant had a question for Emma. She showed Emma a painting of Jesus with children. “Can you think why that’s my favorite thing to look at every day when I come into my office?”
Emma: “Maybe because it shows the love Jesus has for children.”
Sister Lant: “That’s right. In Primary, the most important thing that we want to teach the children is that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love them. All the children in this picture come from different places, so they represent all the children around the world. Heavenly Father and Jesus love all of us, no matter where we live. We’re all His children.”

On a spring morning in 1845, Willard Richards, an Apostle of the Church, his wife Jenetta, and their son Heber John went to Lucien Foster’s gallery in Nauvoo, Illinois, to have their photograph taken.
Photography was a new invention, and the visit to the gallery must have been an exciting adventure for the Richards family. The resulting family portrait, shown above, would eventually become priceless to Willard and Heber John because, four months later, Jenetta died suddenly.
More than one hundred and fifty years later, it is still priceless as part of the collection of photographs housed in the Museum of Church History and Art, Salt Lake City, Utah.

My neighbor came across the street and said, “Hey, guess what we’re doing for youth conference? We get to build two barns.”
I grunted. “Two barns? Thrill city. Whoever came up with that dumb idea? Youth conferences are supposed to be fun.”
“We’ll have fun working.”
“Get real,” I told him. “I have a hard time cleaning my room.”
Maybe the adults thought I was Laman or Lemuel at the next stake dance committee meeting. I asked them, “Whatever happened to white river rafting for youth conference? Do you really expect us to get up at 5:00 A.M. on the first three days of our summer vacation?” One of the girls on the committee decided she wouldn’t go as she’d wreck her fingernails. She threatened to organize something for her own ward. None of our complaining did any good. The stake youth leaders stuck to their plan.
A fierce hailstorm pelted Duvall, Washington, the night before the conference. “Bummer, now they’ll have to cancel our exciting barn building extravaganza,” I said sarcastically.
Miraculously, the weather cleared, and I found myself standing with 180 kids in carpenter aprons, pockets full of nails and wearing a T-shirt that read, “You Love Who You Serve.”
We were given the choice of helping to build a barn/shed or a barn/house. I picked the barn/shed. It sounded easier. We banged nails. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t awful. Ward Roney, the to-be-owner of the barn/shed was a sturdy man, weathered by long hours on the tractor. He told me his favorite sound was the belch a cow makes when she’s in a warm shed eating hay. His old shed blew down in a bad storm, and the insurance wouldn’t pay to replace it. He was either brave or foolish to let a bunch of teenagers build his shed. Surely he realized we’d never finish the huge thing. If we could do it, one observer noted, it’d be an Amish barn raising by Mormons for Catholics.
Brother Beecham, the builder in charge of our shed, held the American Homes world record for the fastest home framed. The old record stood at 36 hours, and Beecham’s crew accomplished it in four. I got a kick out of watching him stroll across thin high timbers like they were sidewalks. With the construction boom in Seattle, I knew Brother Beecham was passing up a lot of money to teach us.
Normally, when I work I look at my watch every five minutes. Before I knew it, the walls were up, and we were ready for a crane to position the giant trusses of the roof. But there was no crane. Instead of machine power, we’d use muscle power, and some of the muscles were mine. The ground crew strained to position one truss. Then three of us on the roof pulled up the point with a rope as the ground crew hoisted. We cheered when the truss was securely nailed into place. What a team. Up there, 30 feet off the ground, a great sense of brotherhood developed between the “roof crew.” It was great up there. It was fun. I really developed a closeness to all of them as we worked and sweat and hammered our thumbs hour after hour.
The first day some of the girls were afraid to hit the nails on the head. By the second day they were mean. They’d developed aim and aggression in their hammering. Unfortunately, the girls used their new skills on the boys at the pie eating contest, which turned into a pie throwing war.
I added a word to the theme, “You Love Who You Serve.” I thought it should also say, “You Love Who You Serve With.” I didn’t know 75 percent of the people the first morning. We’d lived in the same stake for years and never spoken to each other. On a construction site, you have no choice. You have to say to the person next to you, “Grab the end of that board.” “Watch your head!” “Help me nail this down.” And people were great. If you asked them for an 18-foot board they got it. True, the physical structures were impressive, but even better were the structures built between each other.
There were lag times when there was no work for me, and I thought I’d have fun if I had nothing to do. But I really amazed myself. It got so I wanted to work.
Mr. Roney told us the quality of our work was A-1, top-notch. The look on his face as this place went up taught me I’m happiest when making someone else happy.
It appeared that there was no way we could finish two such big projects in just three days. We poured on the steam. At first a few people hung around the first-aid station and in the hay, drinking pop. But even the “resters” helped when the TV and newspaper reporters came out with their cameras. We wanted to work through dinner, but after a half hour, the adults made us come down. Funny, I’ve never refused food before. Dusk was stealing precious light. There were just a few things left to do. Thirty of us stayed to finish instead of going back to the city to clean up for the dance.
That evening we had a victory celebration! We danced in a barn we had built, and it didn’t fall down. After seeing each other at our worst for three days, our appearance mattered very little. The last day we had a testimony meeting in the barn/house, and 200 people sat on benches on the top floor. The sun streamed into the room, bathing everyone in the warm blond reflection of new wood. I thought, “We built this; we really did it.” We had saved the Dazey’s and Roney’s more than $20,000.00 in labor costs.
When the sacrament came to me, I thought of Jesus Christ in a whole new way. He was a carpenter. I remembered working along with my friends and feeling something. I glanced around. It wasn’t just my friends; the Savior was there too.

In 1973 I was the seminary teacher for our ward. Since we did not live in a heavily church-populated area, we had early morning seminary, beginning at 6:10 A.M. Every morning 35 to 40 choice young people would get up and come to the church in order to attend our New Testament class, and every morning it was like a small miracle to me. To study the gospel that early in the morning took a special dedication, and I admired my students as they daily appeared for more gospel instruction.

For several years it had been the policy of our stake to have a scripture chase tournament in which teams from the eight wards competed, and the two top teams would then go to a regional competition with four other stakes.

That year we had a great team of seven people, five girls and two young men. They had worked hard all year, spending a great deal of their own time outside of class studying for the competition, and the excitement began to increase as the day for the stake play-off approached. Of course, our team had scouted the other wards and knew that the team to beat was our neighboring Fourteenth Ward.

The night of the stake competition came, and after several closely contested matches, we completed the contest in second place, losing to Fourteenth Ward. Our team had done well, and I was satisfied that the real purpose of the competition, to learn the scriptures, had been accomplished. And we had qualified for the regional contest coming up the next weekend.

During that week the team worked even harder studying and reciting the scriptures back to each other. They also set their goal of beating the first-place team from our stake, feeling sure that we would be matched with them during the regionals.

Regional competition was a total day where the ten top teams from the five stakes competed in a double elimination tournament, and as the day progressed, so did the excitement and pressure. As in all competition, elation for one team meant great disappointment for another, and as our team competed, we too experienced high and low moments. We lost our first round, which meant we had only one more chance. However, we rallied and won the next two games, which put us in an excellent position. Four of the ten teams had already been eliminated, and we felt that we could at least take a second or third. Of course, each of us nurtured a hope of first place, although it was never openly talked about.

As we sat and talked about our next game, Steve got up and ambled over to the board to see who our next game would be with. He was back in a minute with an excited look on his face.

“Hey, Fourteenth Ward lost to North Third Ward! It’s their first loss, and guess who they play next!”

Well, here it was. I could feel the excitement go up a notch, and every member of the team was thinking the same thing when Steve voiced it aloud:

“We can beat those guys! If we beat them in regionals, that’ll show we’re really the best in our stake. The pressure’s greater here, but I know we can beat those guys! And that’s really why we came here.”

We had about two minutes before the game, and we hurriedly discussed last-minute strategy. As we were about to get up, I said something I hadn’t said all year, because I knew l didn’t have to. Still, it came out.

“Okay, just one more thing. Whatever happens, remember that the most important thing is to be fair. If the judge makes a bad call, don’t argue. Be honest in everything you do.” I could tell from the seven looks I got back that l had insulted their integrity, and I wished I could stuff the words back in my mouth.

“Seattle Ninth and Seattle Fourteenth Wards, would you please take your places?” Both teams moved into place, and l grabbed an empty seat on the front row of spectator seats. The cultural hall was about three-fourths full, complete with parents and friends to cheer each team.

I slumped in my chair and said funny things to myself like, “Remember, you’re the teacher. Don’t get excited. Present a good image. You’re not supposed to be nervous. It’s only a game. No matter what happens, they’ve done a great job.” Brother Stock reached over and slapped me on the back. “This is it! We’ve got to win this one.” Thanks, I needed that.

In our scripture chase, we had three types of questions. The first was an individual question, where the first person on either team to find the correct scripture from the clue given received a point for his or her team. The second was a team-help question, where all members of the team had to have the same scripture, but they could help each other. The first team to get it received two points. The third type was a team-no-help, where all the team had to have the scripture, but they couldn’t help each other. The first team to get it received three points. There was a total of seven clues given, and the team with the most points won that game. The loser of this match would be eliminated from the tournament.

I don’t remember the sequence of events or questions, but at the end of six questions, the score was tied six to six. I was no longer able to pretend I was not excited but was sitting on the very edge of my chair, cheering for our team with the rest of the parents and friends.

Now! Now was the time for a home run, a hole in one, a 50-yard field goal, a 30-foot jump shot, a 4-minute mile, a whatever is great in any sport—now was the time when a competitor put full dedication into one last supreme effort, knowing there would be no more chances.

“Okay, teams, here we go for the final question. A team-help, worth two points, and everybody on the team must have it. Remember, you can help each other, and the judge for each team will check your Bible to make sure you have it right. When you get the correct scripture, put your finger in the page, close your Bible, and turn on your switch. Ready? Situation: Where does it say that a man cannot take the priesthood upon himself? Chase!”

Hands and books flew, and I knew they were going to have to be fast. Hebrews 5:4—it was so easy; they’ve got to have it by now! There! The lights came on almost at the same time, but our team was first! I could tell from the looks on their faces that they all had the right scripture.

“Okay, Ninth Ward, does everyone have Hebrews 5:4?” [Heb. 5:4] Everybody nodded. “Judge, would you check each Bible to make sure they have the correct page?” Everyone opened their books as the judge passed slowly down the row to make sure everything was right. He looked at the moderator, nodded, and said, “Everybody has it.”

Explosion behind me and all around. Parents and friends were cheering, and the team was grinning from ear to ear—all except Steve. He quietly motioned to the judge and pointed to something in his Bible. After a few seconds of whispering, the judge returned to the moderator and explained the situation. I knew immediately what had happened. In his haste, Steve had gotten one page off when he marked his Bible with his finger. As sometimes happened, the judge didn’t catch it since it was only one page away from the correct answer.

I didn’t need to listen to know that the other team’s members all had the correct scripture and that we had lost. I didn’t care, because all I could think about was an 18-year-old priest who taught me more in less than a minute about honor and integrity than I had ever read or heard. To say nothing would have been the easy thing to do. No one knew, no one questioned, and our team had already been declared the winner. I quickly reviewed in my mind the quiet manner in which Steve had corrected the mistake, with no expectation of recognition or honor, just the sure knowledge that there was only one right thing to do. And through the misty eyes and the lump in my throat, I silently thanked my Father in Heaven for allowing me to associate with spirits as choice as Steve.

During my junior year in high school, I was very involved with my drama club and was getting ready for an audition. There was only going to be one play that year, and I was auditioning for the lead role, so I worked really hard to get ready for the tryouts. As the day of the audition drew near, I felt more and more excited.
On a Sunday before my audition, my Young Women leader announced an upcoming temple trip. We would be going to the Manhattan New York Temple, which was unusual for our ward, because it was about three hours away. She told us that in the next few days, she would need to know who was planning on coming. Then she announced the date of the trip. My heart sank. It was the same day as my audition. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. If I went on the temple trip, I might not be able to audition to be in the play.
I know that going to the temple is important, and I always look forward to going on temple trips with my ward. I love feeling the Spirit and taking time to be out of the world. At the same time, I loved performing with my drama club and being a part of a show with my friends.
It took me longer than I expected to make my decision. At first, I decided to skip the temple trip and go to the audition instead. I convinced myself that because there was only one show that year and because there would be more temple trips, it would be OK to miss just one trip to the temple—I would just go to the next one. After I made that decision, I still felt conflicted. I prayed about it and was not convinced that I’d made the right choice. I decided to skip the audition and go on the temple trip. I finally felt at peace, and I knew that the Lord was happy with my decision.
After I told my parents that I’d decided to go to the temple, my dad called my director and explained the conflict. The director told my dad that he would work with me so I wouldn’t have to miss out on the show. When my dad told me the news, I was filled with joy. I would be able to go to the temple and participate in the show! I didn’t get the lead that year, but I did learn a valuable lesson: when we choose the right, we are blessed.

Lisa’s family had moved to town two years ago. She was so outgoing and friendly that she soon had become accepted as one of the group, both in high school and in the Church.

But she hadn’t always been the way she was now. In ninth grade, in another town, there had been some problems. She doubted if her parents were even aware of what they were. One night at a party some things had happened that never should have.

For the longest time, she had kept it covered up. Months drifted by. On the surface Lisa was the same as always, but on the inside, she worried that God had not forgiven her. She prayed every day for forgiveness.

But then one day the bishop gave her a birthday interview. She’d been in interviews before and had always managed to avoid talking about the thing which still troubled her. But in this interview, for some reason, her bishop made her aware of a scripture. Maybe she’d heard it before, but for some reason, this time it seemed to be just for her.

“Lisa, would you read this out loud?” the bishop had asked.

She read from the 58th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, verses 42–43 [D&C 58:42–43]: “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”

The scripture gave her the courage she needed to tell the bishop about what had happened, and with his counsel, she was eventually able to complete the steps of repentance.

And now she knew for certain that the Lord had forgiven her, and she wasn’t weighed down with guilt any longer. She would never forget how wonderful it was to feel all the guilt and shame being lifted off her shoulders, to feel that Father in Heaven had accepted her repentance, and that the atonement of the Savior made it possible for her to be forgiven of the mistake she had made.

After that experience, lessons about the Savior became very important to her, for she knew that she herself owed so much to him for what he had done for her.

Lisa stood up. Nobody in the ward knew about her past. And she would never tell them either because it would serve no purpose. But there was one thing she wanted them to know about.

“I’m grateful that Jesus loved us enough to take upon him our sins and make it possible for us to repent …”

Joey Berger liked lollipops. He liked red ones, yellow ones, orange ones, green ones, and purple ones. He was only allowed one very small one each day after school. His older brothers, Nick and David, groaned when it was his turn to choose a treat for family home evening, because he always asked for lollipops. They called him the Lollipop Kid, but Joey didn’t mind.
Now he had a problem. Even sucking on his favorite cherry-flavored lollipop didn’t help. He bit off part and chewed it as he wondered what he could do to help Brother Sawyer feel better.
Joey had been four years old when the Sawyers moved next door to his family three years ago. His mother had asked him to visit the new neighbors with her when she took them a plate of cookies. They’d found Brother Sawyer sitting on the porch swing, sucking on a red lollipop.
Right then, Joey had known that he and Brother Sawyer were going to be friends. Brother Sawyer, who wore bib overalls like Joey’s Grandpa Berger did, invited Joey to visit him after school each day, They would settle down on the swing and read a story together. At first, Brother Sawyer had read the stories and Joey listened. Then, when Joey had learned to read and Brother Sawyer’s eyes had begun to fail, Joey read while his friend listened. They always sucked on lollipops as they read. Brother Sawyer joked that he was the only person he knew who ate more lollipops than Joey did.
Then, about a year ago, Sister Sawyer had died and things changed. For a long time Brother Sawyer didn’t invite Joey to join him on the porch. Gradually, though, he started to feel better, and he and Joey once again spent many happy hours together.
But yesterday Brother Sawyer’s eyes were sad, and he told Joey that it would soon be a year since his wife had died.
“Do you still miss her?” Joey had asked.
“I’ll always miss her,” Brother Sawyer replied softly. “We would’ve celebrated our sixtieth anniversary this year.”
Joey wanted to do something for his friend. “Mom, can I take some of the cookies you baked to Brother Sawyer?”
“That’s a good idea, Joey.” She placed some of the still-warm cookies on a plate. “Invite him to dinner tonight too. He’s probably lonely.”
Brother Sawyer wasn’t on the porch swing when Joey arrived. Carefully balancing the plate of cookies in one hand, he rang the doorbell. After several minutes, Brother Sawyer answered the door. His eyes were red, as though he’d been crying.
“These are for you,” Joey said, handing him the cookies.
“Thank you, Joey.” Brother Sawyer set the plate on a small table by the swing without taking a cookie.
“Would you like to have supper with us tonight?”
Brother Sawyer shook his head. “I wouldn’t be very good company right now.”
Joey took the wrinkled hand in his own. “I think you’re good company.”
A smile touched Brother Sawyer’s eyes briefly. “You’re a good friend, Joey. But sometimes a person needs to be alone.”
“You’re thinking about Sister Sawyer,” Joey said.
The old man nodded. “I wish it was the right season to plant flowers. Martha always loved flowers. She said they reminded her of a rainbow.”
“I’ll help you plant lots of flowers in the spring,”
Brother Sawyer patted Joey’s hand. “Thank you.” He pointed to a small tree in the front yard. “Do you remember when we planted that tree?”
Joey nodded. He’d helped Brother and Sister Sawyer plant it shortly before she’d died.
“I promised Martha that I’d take care of it. It looks forlorn now.”
Joey stared at the tree, its branches stripped of leaves. He didn’t know what forlorn meant, but he supposed it meant sad. Like Brother Sawyer, Joey thought.
Joey stayed a little longer, but nothing he did cheered up his friend. Finally he trudged home, more discouraged than ever. But what could he do?
Joey thought and thought. “That’s it!” He rushed to his room and grabbed his piggy bank, Turning it upside down, he shook it until all the coins tumbled onto his bed. Two dollars and thirty-seven cents. That wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
He took the stairs two at a time and ran into the kitchen, where his mother was paying bills, “Mom, do you have any chores I can do to earn some money?”
His mother looked thoughtful. “I might. What do you need the money for—or is it a secret?”
“It’s a secret, but I can tell you.” Quickly he explained his plan to his mother. “That’s a wonderful idea!”
He did jobs for his parents all the rest of the week. By Saturday he had seven dollars and thirty-seven cents. That should be enough, he decided, His father took him to the grocery store, where he bought five sacks of lollipops. At home he looked at them, thinking about how much he’d enjoy eating them. But he had a much better plan …
That evening his whole family helped him decorate the little tree outside Brother Sawyer’s house, tying lollipops to the branches with pieces of yarn. When they were finished, lollipops “blossomed” from every branch.
“Do you think Brother Sawyer will like it?” he asked his mother.
“I’m sure he will,” she answered. She kissed Joey’s cheek. “I’m very proud of you.”
The next morning, he woke early, eager to see the tree in daylight. Drawing back the curtains, he looked out the window. Lollipops splashed brightly against the pale blue sky.
Pulling on his clothes, he ran next door. He smiled when he found Brother Sawyer sitting on the porch.
“Look what happened to our tree,” Brother Sawyer said with a little catch in his voice. “It’s blooming lollipops! Martha would have loved it.”
Joey didn’t know what to say, so he threw his arms around his friend and hugged him tightly.
“You’re a fine friend, Joey,” Brother Sawyer said, tears in his eyes, “Come on, let’s go have a lollipop.”
Joey looked at the tree, but Brother Sawyer shook his head, “Lollipops from that tree are too special to eat. I have some red ones in the kitchen.”
Joey slipped his hand inside his friend’s and followed him inside.

Senior Classman Kevin Scott was assigned to preside over a dining table of ten freshmen midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy. Seniors at the Naval Academy at Annapolis assist in training new midshipmen not only in tactics, but also in courtesy and discipline.
During the dinner Senior Scott requested that each midshipman give his full name, his hometown, and his state.
One of the freshmen answered, “Midshipman Ernest Ward Sax, sir, from Salt Lake City, Utah.”
Senior Scott said, “Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does that mean you do not smoke or drink liquor or coffee?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have a copy of the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you read it?” was the next question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you loan it to me?” requested Scott.
“Yes, sir.”
An unusual but friendly relationship developed, with an exchange of books and pamphlets between young Midshipman Sax of Salt Lake City and Senior Classman Scott of North Carolina.
Annapolis graduate Kevin Scott is now a Marine lieutenant in flight training in Florida. Newly baptized Kevin Scott is the ward mission leader, the “spark plug” of the ward missionary effort. He is now testifying to others about the restoration of the gospel and enthusiastically encouraging our members to spread the message.
Midshipman Ward Sax, now in his second year at Annapolis, is the son of a caring Mormon family, a young man who honored his priesthood responsibility.

For most of my life, I’ve struggled with repentance. I knew it was important and that I should do it, but I didn’t fully understand it. And because it was something I didn’t do well, I felt discouraged whenever someone would emphasize its importance in a talk.
It got to the point where I even disliked hearing the word repentance because it reminded me of something I wasn’t doing. It seemed as though I was falling behind, and the longer this problem continued, the further behind I got.
Finally, I heard the following statement in general conference from then–Young Men General President Stephen W. Owen, and I began to think differently: “The joy of repentance is more than the joy of living a decent life. It’s the joy of forgiveness, of being clean again, and of drawing closer to God. Once you’ve experienced that joy, no lesser substitute will do.”1
Another general conference talk awakened in me a further desire to do better. President Russell M. Nelson said: “Whether you are diligently moving along the covenant path, have slipped or stepped from the covenant path, or can’t even see the path from where you are now, I plead with you to repent. Experience the strengthening power of daily repentance—of doing and being a little better each day.”2
As I did my best to follow this counsel, I found answers to concerns and gained a better understanding of the blessings of repentance. Yet I wondered what I still didn’t understand about repentance that was making it so hard.
As I prayed for help with repentance, I expressed to Heavenly Father that I truly wanted to change and was willing to change. I knew the Lord would help me. And indeed, He did help me change.
At first, sometimes the change wasn’t permanent and I needed to try again. But the efforts we make matter to the Lord. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “With the gift of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the strength of heaven to help us, we can improve, and the great thing about the gospel is we get credit for trying, even if we don’t always succeed.”4
Since gaining this understanding of repentance, I have felt more confident in my ability to follow this counsel given by President Nelson: “Nothing is more liberating, more ennobling, or more crucial to our individual progression than is a regular, daily focus on repentance. Repentance is not an event; it is a process. It is the key to happiness and peace of mind. When coupled with faith, repentance opens our access to the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”5
When I made the decision to repent better, I had no idea it would have such a far-reaching and lasting influence on my life. The blessings that have come are real. I came to realize that the feelings of discouragement I had were from the enemy of my soul, who didn’t want me to repent. I also came to realize that I was not so much always falling behind through my failure to repent as I was sometimes simply forfeiting blessings I could have received if I’d made more of an effort to do the things I could be doing.
As I have continued to do my best to repent each day, I’ve felt God’s love and direction in ways I could have scarcely imagined before. I no longer feel weighed down by sin. I have come to recognize the privilege and blessing that repentance really is. I now understand what Brother Owen said: “Once you’ve experienced [the joy of repentance], no lesser substitute will do.”

When I was set apart as one of two Sunday School teachers for our Young Adult class in Taipei, Taiwan, my bishop promised that the Holy Spirit would help me whenever I needed it. I didn’t realize then how important that promise would be.
I was among the younger members in the class, so I was nervous. It helped having a teaching partner. She would give the lesson one week, and I the next. I diligently prepared my lessons, and people told me how much they enjoyed them. I felt that everything was under control.
Then one Sunday I went to class and found that my teaching partner, who was to teach the lesson that day, wasn’t there. My face was pale as I ran to telephone her.
“I’m sorry,” she said sleepily. “What time is it? I guess I overslept.” She was still in bed, and the class should have already started!
As I crossed the hallway to the classroom, my stake president greeted me with a smile. “My wife and I would like to join your class today,” he said brightly. Too surprised to say anything, I weakly nodded my head and smiled feebly. My only thought was on the lesson, which, if I remembered correctly, was based on 3 Nephi, chapters 15 through 19. [3 Ne. 15–19]
Seven minutes of class time had passed when I walked into the crowded room. The class president offered a prayer. Then, with trembling hand, I opened the Book of Mormon. I had planned to invite class members to share their testimonies, because I didn’t know what else to do. But as I began reading the scriptures, I felt some power greater than myself helping me select appropriate verses for discussion. My tongue was loosed, in the same way the Lord had promised Oliver Cowdery: “And at all times, and in all places, he shall open his mouth and declare my gospel as with the voice of a trump, both day and night. And I will give unto him strength such as is not known among men” (D&C 24:12).
Never in my life had I felt such humility. I knew that it wasn’t me, but the Spirit, that was teaching. I felt as though I was the Lord’s musical instrument, and he was filling the classroom with beautiful harmony through me. I was so overwhelmed that I felt physically weak.
Joyfully I read with the class the profoundly touching scene when the Savior said to the Nephites: “Blessed are ye because of your faith. And now behold, my joy is full. And when he had said these words, he wept” (3 Ne. 17:20–21).
There wasn’t a sound in the room. Everyone had tears in their eyes. To me, the account we had read was more than just words. In my mind I could vividly see the Savior and those faithful disciples around him. I could sense that the Savior was close to us, and we to him.
Finally, I shared the prayer of the Savior for the Nephites when he asked that, “because of their faith, … they may be purified in me, that I may be in them as thou, Father, art in me, that we may be one, that I may be glorified in them” (3 Ne. 19:29). “Think about that,” I said to the class. “Our Savior may be glorified in us, if we purify ourselves and become one with our Lord. What bliss, and what a blessing!”
Then I wept.
This wonderful experience was a fulfillment of my bishop’s promise. It taught me that the Lord has great love for us and that the Spirit is always there to help us if we live worthily and abide by the counsel of those who preside in righteousness over us.

I had set a goal to read all of the magazine, even if I didn’t think I needed a particular article, and that’s why I read “Managing Postpartum Depression: A Gospel Perspective,” in the August 2009 issue.
But when my daughter was born in October of that year, I immediately recognized the symptoms I was experiencing and quickly got the help I needed, as the article suggested. I recovered in just a few months.
The Liahona is more than just a magazine; it is a recipe, a map, a guide, and a compass.
Bertha Viola Rétiz Espino, Mexico

The Togola family learned about the gospel as they were supporting humanitarian efforts online.
Photograph courtesy of the Togola family
While I was serving as president of the Ghana Accra West Mission, I received an email from a Church member in California named Dale Wight. For some time, Brother Wight had been sending Church literature to a man named Ibrahima Togola, who lived in Mali, a landlocked country in West Africa. They had met online, where both of them were supporting humanitarian efforts.
There were no missionaries in Mali yet. However, Ibrahima was willing to travel more than 720 miles (1,160 km) by bus to Accra, Ghana, if I would arrange for missionaries to teach him. In the following weeks, I visited with Ibrahima several times online. He came to Ghana, where I met him and arranged for the missionaries to teach him. He was baptized soon after and returned to Mali. (He is now a member of the Bamako Branch, which is part of the Cote d’Ivoire Abidjan East Mission.)
Without the miracle of modern technology, think how difficult it would have been for Ibrahima Togola to learn about the gospel. Instead, he was able to engage in gospel conversations that changed his life.

In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told of an experience he’d had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice had told him to take a different route home, one that would add about ten miles to his trip. Although he had been eager to get back home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a rollover accident. A young family had been traveling a long way to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving the car, fell asleep, the car had drifted too close to the side of the road and had rolled off a steep embankment. Brother Johnson was able to help the young family by calling for help on the phone he carried in his car and by administering first-aid to the father, who had some serious cuts and bruises.