Gospel Story Finder

Sara slipped into the long, soft, blue robe that she was to wear in the Christmas program. Pulling the matching hood over her brown curls, she turned to Jennie. “Do I look like Mary now?”
Jennie grinned. “You sure do, except for your size. It won’t matter, though, because Joseph is only eight too.”
Sara giggled at Jennie’s joke, then said seriously, “I really wanted to be Mary in the program, but now that it’s time for the performance, I’m a little scared.”
Jennie reached out to straighten the folds on Sara’s robe. “You’ll do just fine. Everything went well at rehearsal this morning.”
Sara’s stomach gave a little lurch when she heard the organ begin playing “Silent Night.” That was her cue to go on stage.
Sister Perkins came over and smiled at both girls. Looking at Sara, she said, “The curtains will be opening soon. It’s time for you to take your place.”
Sara hurried to her spot on the stage and sat down on a bale of straw. Eric, who was playing Joseph, was already there beside the manger. As Sara bent to arrange the blankets around the doll representing Baby Jesus, she heard the music change and the gentle strains of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” swell.
The curtains slowly opened on the quiet scene. A single spotlight highlighted Mary and Joseph admiring the Baby Jesus. Neither Mary nor Joseph had to say anything. Brother Egger stood out of sight with a microphone and told about the events of Jesus’ birth as they were silently portrayed on stage. The organ played softly while he spoke: “And it came to pass in those days, …”
Sara was distracted by something moving just below the stage. She moved her eyes carefully, trying not to turn her head and spoil the scene. There, climbing the stairs to the stage was her three-year-old sister, Katie.
Sara’s heart sank as Katie came toward her. What shall I do? she wondered. Why isn’t Katie sitting with Mom and Dad? Sara sneaked a peek at her parents. Her mother wore a stricken, helpless look. Sara felt Katie brush against her knees as she bent to look into the manger. Katie’s going to ruin the Christmas program! Why did she have to do this?
Sara was startled out of her thoughts by Katie’s awed “Oh! He’s beautiful!”
As Katie continued to just stand and intently watch the doll in the manger, Sara swallowed and felt calm. There was something about the spell around Katie that Sara couldn’t bring herself to break. 1 think the best thing to do is just let her stay, Sara decided. She’s being quiet.
So Sara reached out and slipped her arm around her sister’s waist and nestled her next to her on the bale of straw. Katie relaxed against Sara, still gazing lovingly at the Baby Jesus.
Katie sat watching quietly as the shepherds came. The organist played “The First Noel,” and Brother Egger read from the Bible about the shepherds coming to see Jesus. Even after the shepherds had left and the Wise Men had entered, Katie leaned against Sara, enraptured.
Katie really loves Baby Jesus, Sara thought. I don’t blame her for wanting to get close and see better. She gave Katie a little squeeze. I’m really glad now that she came.
When the curtains closed, Sara gently whispered into Katie’s ear, “It’s time for the next scene, so you must go back to Mommy and Daddy.”
Katie looked at her sister. “OK.” She started to leave, then paused and turned. “Thanks, Sara. I liked looking at Baby Jesus with you.”
Sara smiled. “I’m glad.” She led Katie to the side stage door. “Now go back to Mommy.”
After the program the students looked through the crowd for their families. Just as Sara found her parents, she overheard an elderly man speaking to her mother. “I’m so glad I came. Because of your girls, I caught a glimpse of the Savior tonight that I’d never seen before. Thank you.”
Nobody at home said anything about Katie’s unexpected appearance in the program until Mother tucked Sara into bed. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Katie,” Mother said, “but I’m really sorry she interrupted your program. She’d slipped off Dad’s lap, and by the time we realized what she was doing, she was up in front, and it was too late to stop her.” Mother sat down beside Sara on her bed. “I hope it didn’t ruin things for you.”
“No. It was fine, Mother.” Sara squeezed her mother’s hand.
“I really admired the way you handled it,” Mother continued. “It’s hard to know what to do at times like that. What you did was beautiful. Usually people giggle when something unplanned happens, but people got especially quiet after Katie said how beautiful the baby was.”
“At first I was really worried,” Sara admitted. “I didn’t know what to do. Then I realized that the real Mary would have wanted her sister, as well as shepherds and Wise Men, to see her baby. Anyway, there was something special about Katie tonight. It was as though she really understood about Baby Jesus somehow.”
“You’re right, Sara.” Mother’s voice was soft. “Several people came up to me afterward and said the same thing. Even though Katie’s part in the program wasn’t planned, I think it touched people’s hearts. I think a lot of people will never forget tonight’s program.”
Sara settled back on her pillow. “I’m glad.”
Mother bent to kiss Sara. “I think you’re really special too. You taught us older folks a lot in the kind way you treated your sister. I’m sure Jesus was pleased with how you represented His mother tonight.”

Walking home from school was usually not very exciting. Sometimes I thought about my math homework, sometimes I thought about what we did in gym class, and sometimes I walked without thinking about much at all.
But this day was different. My mind was racing. Ahead of me I could see two of the guys I sometimes played with—Josh and Marcus—making snowballs and pointing at me.
“Hey, David, come here!” Josh yelled, laughing. “We want to show you something.”
Marcus laughed too.
Josh and Marcus were both a year older than me, and they could throw hard. I knew it was only a matter of time before they would start hurling snowballs my way. Even though they were usually nice to me, I thought maybe they had even packed ice into the snowballs.
I started to think of ways I could stop their attack.
Run across the street to avoid them? No, they would make fun of me and call me names.
Run as fast as I could past them? No, they were faster than me and would catch up to me in no time.
Mount a snowball attack of my own? Not a good idea, considering there were two of them and only one of me. They also had the advantage of being at the top of the hill, and I had no place where I could take cover at the bottom.
I decided to do the only thing that made sense—walk calmly past them and wait for the snowballs to fly.
As I neared the hill, a thought came to my mind. I remembered Samuel the Lamanite, who preached the gospel while standing on a wall. When the people didn’t like what he was saying, they threw rocks and shot arrows at him.
I knew the Lord protected Samuel from the rocks and arrows. Perhaps He could make the snowballs miss me.
I said a prayer in my mind, asking Heavenly Father that the snowballs would not hit me. I knew I needed to be brave and not doubt—just like Samuel. As I reached the hill, I felt confident that I wouldn’t get hurt.
Just as I expected, the snowballs began to fly. A couple of snowballs whizzed past my head so close that I could feel the breeze as they zoomed by. Some of the snowballs flew past my arms, and a few landed right at my feet, but none of them hit me. Not one!
The boys kept throwing until I was out of range, but I knew I was safe. The rest of my walk home was not very exciting—and I couldn’t have been happier about it. I had been protected like Samuel the Lamanite. I knew that praying and exercising faith in the Lord had blessed me.

During the Great Depression, we had certain values burned into our souls. One of these values was gratitude for what we had, because we had so little. Rather than becoming envious or angry because of what we did not have, many of us were grateful for the meager, simple things with which we were blessed, like hot, homemade bread and oatmeal cereal.
I remember my beloved grandmother Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson making homemade soap on the farm. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that desperately needed a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. I have since developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

Brother Christensen: I have seen the growth of individuals, wards, stakes, and missionaries as students have followed the seminary and institute program. When President Augusto Lim of the Manila Philippines Stake was sustained as stake president, he said he was fearful for the continued existence of his stake, because of the lack of experienced leadership. In talking to him later, he said, “Now I find we have so many who have been through the seminary and institute program who know and can teach the gospel. The seminary and institute program has built leadership in our area.”

As my research on Hyrum continued, my friend suggested I compile the work into a book. I had never anticipated writing a book. Had he not asked me to do so, I would never have done it. But, in March 2001, I began.

Within a few weeks, knowledgeable people told me that there was a potential conflict between what I was doing and what some professionals in the field were working on. They told me to wait until these problems could be resolved. I had no experience with which to counter their cautions, but I had a strong feeling in my heart. In fact, it was more than a feeling.

President Marion G. Romney once said, "I know what Enos meant when he said, the voice of the Lord came into my mind ...' (Enos 10.) By this means," President Romney continued, "I have received in sentences answers to my prayers."

That is often the case for me. I get feelings and impression, but sometimes I get sentences. Amid those mortal voices telling me to wait, an immutable voice spoke to my heart and said, "Go forward."

That was all it said. No fanfare. No details. No explanation. None was needed. The direction was simple. Just go forward.

Like the message I had received a year earlier about willingness, this one proclaimed a theme in Hyrum's life. Hyrum was always going forward and he was always on the right course.

In the weeks that followed my personal "go forward" experience, I wrote the entire first draft of Hyrum Smith's biography. Reading through my journal, I am amazed at the experiences I had during that time. I felt that the Lord was helping me”and, perhaps, Hyrum too. As it turned out, the conflict either evaporated or it was resolved by means never explained to me. No one ever contacted me to tell me it was alright to proceed. Had I waited, I might still be waiting, and I would have only wasted time. Instead, I just followed the impression I had received and went forward.

I recently heard some experiences of families of suicide victims that give hope to others who are suffering. I must point out that individual spiritual experiences of Church members do not determine Church doctrine. Still, these experiences are compatible with the ideas we have been discussing. The first experience deals with a young woman whose father took his life when she was five years old. The father was not a member of the Church, nor was the daughter until many years later.
“As I was growing up,” she says, “I had the subtle feeling that there was something my father very much wanted me to do for him. I had been taught in my church that he had murdered himself and was in hell. But it seemed to me that even though he had been wrong to kill himself, he had thought he was doing the family a favor. (He was an alcoholic who couldn’t get rid of the habit.) I began to search the Bible to see what might have happened to him. As time went by, I came to know that he had somehow suffered through his problems—and that now he needed me to do something for him. I kept thinking, ‘But what can you do for someone who is already dead?’ And the answer would come, ‘Someday, if you keep searching, you will know.’
“Eventually I was baptized into the Church. When I first heard of baptism for the dead, I was overwhelmed. Now I knew what my father wanted me to do! I did the necessary work and sent his name to the Idaho Falls Temple, where I had the privilege of seeing a brother baptized by proxy for my father. His endowment work was done the same month. I have a strong feeling that he has accepted both ordinances and is greatly blessed by it.”

In a previous general conference, Elder Benjamín De Hoyos spoke of such an event. He said:
“Some years ago while serving in the office of public affairs of the Church in Mexico, [a companion and I] were invited to participate in a radio talk show. … [One of the program directors] asked [us], ‘Why does the Church have such a long name? …’
“My companion and I smiled at such a magnificent question and then proceeded to explain that the name of the Church was not chosen by man. It was given by the Savior. … The program director immediately and respectfully responded, ‘We will thus repeat it with great pleasure.’”

José Gonçalves da Silva suddenly awoke to people calling his name. It was dark, and he had no idea where he was.

“I was asleep when the bus rolled,” José recalls of the early-morning accident in January 2008. “Nobody could find me because I was in the back of the bus covered with luggage. Some of the brethren finally located me as they began to gather up the suitcases.”

When the bus driver lost control on a narrow stretch of winding road in southern Venezuela’s dense rain forest, José and other Latter-day Saints from Manaus, Brazil, were approximately halfway through their three-day trip to the Caracas Venezuela Temple. José suffered only minor injuries, but several brothers and sisters had to be hospitalized.

“It’s time you quit going to the temple,” concerned family members told José, who was 80 when the accident occurred. Undeterred, however, he declared: “I need to go to the temple. If the Lord allows it, I will return.”

He immediately began saving money for his fourth trip to Caracas, which he made in early 2009. For Brother Gonçalves da Silva, the 40-hour bus ride is easy compared to the three trips he previously made to the São Paulo Brazil Temple. For many years, the São Paulo Temple, located thousands of miles southeast of Manaus, was the closest temple to this city of two million people in the northern state of Amazonas. Then, in 2005, Manaus became part of the Caracas Venezuela Temple District.

During those years of traveling to São Paulo, “we would take a boat here in Manaus and spend four days getting to Pôrto Velho,” the capital of Rondônia State, José says. “Then we would take a four-day bus ride to São Paulo. My wife is not a member of the Church, and when I went to the temple for the first time in 1985, I went alone. I spent the night at the bus terminal in Pôrto Velho because I arrived late and there was no bus. The next morning I headed for São Paulo. It was a nice experience, but I arrived a little tired.”
He then spent three full days serving in the temple before making the eight-day return trip home. It takes him a year to save enough from his pension to cover the costs of traveling to the temple.
“It is a sacrifice to go, but it is worth it,” says Brother Gonçalves da Silva, who has done much vicarious work for his family. “I felt a special joy the day I was baptized for my father, when someone was baptized for my mother, and when I represented my father as my parents were sealed. It was a wonderful opportunity. All my brothers and sisters are gone now, but I have done the work for them during my temple trips.”
José believes that the sacrifice inherent in traveling so far to the temple will help Latter-day Saints in Manaus be grateful for the day a temple is dedicated there. “I am excited for that day,” he says.
Manaus had one small branch with 20 members when José joined the Church in 1980. Since then he has seen the Church blossom there to nearly 50,000 members living in eight stakes.
“When the announcement came in 2007 that a temple would be built in Manaus,” José says, “I wept for the great joy I felt, and I prayed that the Lord would allow me to live long enough to see the groundbreaking,” which occurred a year later. Now he prays that he will live to see the temple completed and his wife baptized so that they can be sealed.
“We don’t know when we will die, but we should be prepared and happy when that time comes,” Brother Gonçalves da Silva says. “I’m looking forward to returning to the presence of my Father in Heaven and my Savior, Jesus Christ. Being in the temple helps me prepare for that day.”

I went to a conference in President Rex Reeve’s stake. He took me through the building and showed me 2,000 chairs prepared for the people. I asked him how he knew there would be 2,000 people present, and he answered, “We sent the home teachers out to invite everyone to come, and they have given us their report. They have informed us that 2,000 people will be here tomorrow.” Evidently the word got out that I would be one of the speakers because seventy-five of those 2,000 didn’t show up. But they had an attendance of 49 percent and it has since grown much higher.

Let me tell you about some church workers I have known who went the extra mile. President A. Harold Goodman, of the Provo Temple presidency, once lived in Tucson, Arizona. While there, he was called to be home teacher to a man that no one had been able to visit. After attempting several times without success to find him at home, he went to the neighbors and found out that the man was working two jobs and left home every morning at 5:30 A.M. So the next morning at 5 A.M. Brother Goodman was sitting on the front porch; when the lights went on in that house, he jumped to his feet and knocked on the door. The man answered the door, and Brother Goodman said, “Good morning, I’m your home teacher.” The man was surprised to see someone so interested in him, and a warm relationship developed.

In 1986, President Ezra Taft Benson promised the Saints that the power of the Book of Mormon would begin to flow into our lives the moment we began a serious study of the book (see Ensign, November 1986, page 7). Inspired by his promise, my wife and I decided to start reading the Book of Mormon with our family.
At the time we had four children, ages six months to six years. At first, we were able to read only one column each day. With 531 pages and twice that many columns, the book seemed like a never-ending undertaking.
Despite, or maybe because of, how slowly we read, we made every effort to read each weekday. Our children were eager to please—often waking us to start reading. Although we missed very few days, it took us more than six months to read 1 Nephi.
By this time our two oldest children were able to read a few words by themselves. As we slowly made our way through 2 Nephi, including quotations from the writings of Isaiah, we were growing as a family in spiritual as well as other ways. We added a daily devotional time and another child to the family. Dirty diapers and cries of hunger often interrupted our reading, but each day we would finish our allotted column no matter how long it seemed to take.
About the time our oldest turned 11 years old, we started reading at an accelerated pace—one page per day. As we neared the middle of that year, we received word that the Alberta Temple would be rededicated the next spring, an event our family had been looking forward to. We did some calculating and found that if we continued reading at the same pace, we would have one chapter of the Book of Mormon left to read on the day the dedication would begin. We planned to travel the 1,200 kilometers to attend this event, rise early that morning, and drive to the temple grounds to read the last chapter.
The morning of the dedication dawned bright and clear. The temple grounds were beautiful, and we sat down behind the old stone monument as we prepared to read.
The Spirit seemed to be with us more strongly than usual as we finished the chapter and concluded the volume of scripture. It had taken us about five years to complete reading it. We each took a turn praying for confirmation that the Book of Mormon was indeed the word of God. We didn’t see any angels or hear voices, but we did feel the calm, peaceful, loving presence of the Holy Ghost. Tears filled our eyes as the Spirit testified to each of us of the truthfulness and sacredness of the Book of Mormon.
We gave thanks for the opportunity we’d had to become closer to the great prophets of the Book of Mormon and for the blessings that we had received through reading their words—blessings of increased faith, strength in the face of adversity, and greater love and tranquility in our home. Indeed, we had received the blessings a prophet of God had promised us.

When I was born, my father was reading a textbook on wills and testaments in the hospital waiting room. He had decided to become a law student when he worked with lawyers at the Los Angeles Flood Control District in Southern California. Always a family man, my dad felt he could support the family better if he were a lawyer himself. With a wife, two children, and a full-time job, however, he knew school and studying would have to be at night.
Later, when I was in law school myself, I wondered how my dad had managed. I asked, “When did you sleep?” He said he studied as much as he could, and when he was so tired that he couldn’t study anymore, he would sleep for three to four hours. That went on for five years. I marveled at his grit.

As a young man living in Kirtland, Ohio, Lorenzo Snow, fifth president of the Church, was converted and baptized in 1836. He had studiously and conscientiously compared the teachings of the missionaries with the teachings of the Savior. Becoming convinced of the truths of the gospel, he had sought baptism by immersion.

Following confirmation, he constantly anticipated an assurance that he had received the Holy Ghost. Two or three weeks following his baptism, he reflected that he had not yet received a testimony of the truth. Being uneasy, and laying aside his books, he left the house and wandered through the fields. A gloomy spirit and indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop him. It was his custom, near the close of day, to retire to a nearby secluded grove and engage in secret prayer. This night he had no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed, and the heavens seemed like brass over his head. But, determined not to forgo his evening practice, he sought his accustomed place and knelt in solemn prayer.

“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray,” recalled President Snow, “than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge. … I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water.” (Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow, p. 8.)

In this manner Brother Snow received comforting assurance as the Spirit of the Lord came upon him, and the Holy Ghost blessed him with a testimony that remained with him to the close of his earthly existence.

You need to know that I am quite fearful of heights. Standing on anything higher than six feet from the ground, I begin to feel very uncomfortable. Being so afraid of heights, several years ago I did something that I never thought I could do. Some experienced mountain climbing friends of mine invited my two youngest sons and me to go with them on a hike down the Pine Creek Trail in Zion National Park. This hike takes you through a magnificent, deep, narrow, twisting, slot canyon. The thing that makes this particular hike so exciting (for those who are not afraid of heights, I might add) is the seven required repels as you descend this slot canyon.

Repelling is the technique used to descend from something by rope. The equipment consists of special climbing ropes, gloves, straps, anchors, a harness that goes around your waist and hips and a carabineer which is an oblong metal ring that the rope passes through to help control the speed of your descent. Repelling requires a sense of adventure, some skill and some physical strength and is definitely not for those who are terrified of heights. In spite of my fear of high places, and after a lot of persuasion from my friends, I reluctantly decided to make this hike. The most compelling reason for doing something this scary was knowing that my boys would love it.

Well, off we went and after a little practice with our equipment and some fairly easy repels, which I am pleased to say I handled quite well, we found ourselves at the end of the slot canyon with one more rappel to go. This last rappel was the biggest one of all. It was a 125-foot free fall down through a dark cavern into a shallow pool of water! A free fall rappel means being suspended on the rope free of any other kind of support. I cannot describe how frightened I was as I looked over the edge of the cliff into the darkness and saw how far it was down to the bottom.

I watched as some of the members of our group confidently secured themselves to the rope, leaned back over the edge of the cliff, and with great excitement began their descent to the ground below. All the way down they would shout back up to us telling how fun and thrilling it was. Finally, it was my turn. I carefully made my way to the edge of the cliff. Realizing my two boys were watching, I wanted to portray an image of strength and control, not that of a quivering wimp. Notwithstanding my best efforts, I am sure they could see that I was truly scared to death.

Terrified, I held firmly onto the rope and slowly backed up to the edge. Trying not to look down, I took a deep breath and leaned back into my harness and began to inch my way over the cliff into the great, dark abyss that extended 125 feet below me. After a few steps over the edge, it opened up into a large cavern. No longer would I be able to provide any support with my feet. I now had to “free fall." At that moment, I fought with images in my mind of the rope breaking and falling to a certain death. Shaking and hoping that the rope would support me, I took another deep breath and carefully let more rope pass through my carabineer until I was hanging there in mid air. As I firmly held the rope I could literally feel its strength. It was then that I looked up and I could see that the rope was still connected securely to the anchor in the rock above. The rope safely held me and instantly I felt confident that I would be all right. At that moment a wonderful, reassuring feeling of excitement swept over me. My rappel to the ground below was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

“I’m afraid to share my testimony with nonmembers because:
“They might not be prepared to hear it.”
“They might reject it, and then I would feel rejected.”
“I’m not sure what to say or how to express my testimony.”
During the second week of our member-missionary class, I recognized a marvelous opportunity to share my testimony of the plan of salvation with a nonmember friend who had just had her first baby. By putting my trust in the Lord, I was able to express my testimony of God’s love. It was a wonderful experience that led to tears of joy and an undeniable feeling that God does love us. I followed up later by sharing a copy of the Book of Mormon with her, which she welcomed and agreed to read.

One mother from Illinois, USA, shared how she made time to talk with her children:
“When our children were small, I got into the habit of watching a few favorite television programs. … Unfortunately, the programs came on at the same time the children went to bed.
“… At one point I realized I had put my programs at the top of my list and my children farther down. For a while I tried reading bedtime stories with the TV set on, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t the best way. As I pondered about the days and weeks I had lost to my TV habit, I began to feel guilty and decided to change. It took a while to convince myself that I could really turn off the TV.
“After about two weeks of leaving the television off, I felt a burden somehow lifted. I realized I felt better, even cleaner somehow, and I knew I had made the right choice.”2

11. In 1956, after returning home from several years in Washington, D.C., and having declined several attractive offers there, I received an offer to work at the University of Utah. My wife said I should take it. She said presciently, “I feel if you go there, maybe you will have some influence on students.” I replied impatiently, “I’ll be typing news releases, not working with students.” The subsequent opportunities included being a bishop of a student ward, dean of students, and teaching hundreds of fine students in political science. It wasn’t status that mattered, of course, but being stretched and being given opportunities to serve.
Our wives are often inspired but sometimes in counterintuitive ways—a reality, young men, which your fathers may be brave enough to explain to you sometime.

Years later, in junior high, I found myself in a hard situation. I had a bad habit I was trying to get rid of. I knew it wasn’t so serious that I had to talk to my bishop, but it was still really bothering me.
I was embarrassed and didn’t want to ask anyone for help. Not even my parents. Not even Heavenly Father. I determined I could overcome this challenge on my own.
Weeks went by. I tried so hard to be better but without result. I was still struggling. I knew the Sabbath should be the focus of my week because of the sacrament. I had also been taught that the sacrament was a tool I could use to access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
After trying and failing for so long, I finally decided to turn to the Lord. At last I set aside my pride, opened my heart, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for help, strength, and forgiveness. I stopped waiting for change to happen to me and started focusing on taking small steps toward improvement, with faith that the Lord would bless my efforts.
For the first time I focused on preparing for the sacrament all through the week. The sacrament became something I looked forward to. I began to see it as an opportunity rather than a routine because it brought the power of the Savior’s Atonement into my life.
I felt change in my life. The things I was struggling with faded. I became more confident in myself. I was able to open up to my parents and seek more assistance. I felt grateful to the Lord for all of the help I had received. I felt forgiven. I felt clean.
I grew to understand what that speaker meant all those years ago. When I centered my life around being ready for the Sabbath, I came closer to Jesus Christ in a way that purified me and made me stronger.
Through prayer and guidance from Heavenly Father, I learned that I could not walk through this life alone, but that the Savior and Heavenly Father truly had to be a part of my life. I learned that when I spent my whole week preparing to partake of the sacrament, I was better able to fully access the power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I learned that Heavenly Father loves us and has created a way for us to be forgiven and receive blessings, but we need to do our part to make it more meaningful. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for all that He has done for me and continues to do for me when I remember to prepare for the Sabbath.

Nearly 200 years ago, the American short story “Rip Van Winkle” became an instant classic. The main character, Rip, is an unambitious man who is very good at avoiding two things: work and his wife.
One day, while wandering in the mountains with his dog, he discovers a group of strangely dressed men drinking and playing games. After accepting some of their liquor, Rip becomes drowsy and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, he is surprised to find that his dog is gone, his rifle has rusted, and he now has a long beard.
Rip makes his way back to his village only to discover that everything has changed. His wife has died, his friends are gone, and the portrait of King George III in the tavern has been replaced by a portrait of someone he does not recognize—by General George Washington.
Rip Van Winkle had been sleeping for 20 years! And in the process, he had missed one of the most exciting periods in the history of his country—he had slept through the American Revolution.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.

As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.