Gospel Story Finder

Often I have felt the priesthood power, power outside myself, moving through me to the person being blessed. I remember blessing a young mother who came seeking renewed strength to endure a difficult pregnancy. She had great faith, and as I blessed her as her bishop, I felt power streaming down my arms and through my fingers into the crown of her head. I felt it course through her body, even to the tips of her toes. It was a powerful, cleansing, rejuvenating force, almost electric in its energy, yet calm and soft and assuring. After the blessing, she arose, and with tears in her eyes said, “I felt that all the way to the tips of my toes.”

In elementary school I was overweight. I remember stepping onto the scale every morning, praying that I had lost just one pound. Sometimes I came home in tears because of my schoolmates’ cutting remarks.
My older brother and sister, David and Shannon, also had their challenges. When David was one year old, he was severely burned. Scars covered his hands, arms, stomach, and legs. Shannon had a walking disability and was born with a slower mental capacity that often made her act younger than she was. Almost daily children at school made fun of them.
Despite their trials, my brother and sister looked to Christ in everything they did. Both of them served honorable missions. Their humility, constant faith, and perseverance provided wonderful examples. They are everything I want to become.
In this life we may be criticized and persecuted. That’s part of why we came here—to rise above the persecution and become stronger because of it. David, Shannon, and I are better people today for having been faithful in difficult experiences. I often say that everything given to us in life can be either a blessing or a curse. The strength of one’s heart determines which it is.

Illustrations by Natalie Hoopes
Every day on the bus ride home from school, I would see Lenny. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt and worn-out tennis shoes, and he often had a big smile. He also had a disability. Often, the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him, but my pride stopped me.
One winter afternoon when I got on the bus, the Spirit’s promptings were especially strong, and I had a little extra courage. So when I saw Lenny in his usual spot, I decided to sit next to him. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and then turned toward Lenny.
“Hi, I’m Ashley,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice.
He smiled at me, and all of my fear and pride melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, a friendship began to form.
The next day, I sat next to Lenny again. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card addressed to “the pretty girl I see on the bus every day.” Valentine’s Day was long over, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for me to talk to him before giving it to me. I couldn’t help the tears from trickling down my cheeks.
Now I talk to Lenny daily. We exchange simple gifts on holidays, and we even went bowling with a group of friends. Each time I’m with Lenny, I’m reminded of the scripture in 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.” Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

Some years later in Cusco, a city high in the Andes of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room that opened onto the street. It was night, and while Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He wore only a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.
On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This starving street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.
Later the little boy returned. He slid along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. When he was near the point where the woman would see him again, I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.
Then, as something symbolic, I set him on Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer the hungry little boy darted out into the night.
When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about my experience. He was deeply moved and told me, “You were holding a nation on your lap.” He said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”
As I have visited Latin American countries nearly 100 times, I have looked for that little boy in the faces of the people. Now I do know what President Kimball meant.

“Hooray! No more school until Monday!” Jennifer said as the bus pulled up to her stop.
“I’m glad too,” Katie said.
Jennifer and Katie stepped off the bus.
“Want to come over and play tomorrow? ” Katie asked.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” Jennifer said. “We have general conference tomorrow.”
“What’s that?” Katie asked.
“Well, it’s for our church,” Jennifer said. “Twice a year we listen to talks from our Church leaders—the prophets and apostles.”
“You mean a bunch of sermons?” Katie asked.
“Kind of,” Jennifer said. “But we can watch it on TV.”
“Sounds boring,” Katie said. “And it’s all day?”
“It’s not too bad, but if I can get off early I’ll call you,” Jennifer said.
“OK. See you!” Katie waved as she walked to her house.
Mom and Dad asked Jennifer and her siblings to set a goal to watch at least one full session of general conference a day. If Jennifer watched Saturday morning, then maybe she and Katie could work on their playhouse in the afternoon.
The next morning, Jennifer awoke to the smell of warm cinnamon rolls. She heard the Conference Center organ prelude music coming from the living room. She went to the kitchen to help Mom move the cinnamon rolls from the baking sheet to the plate.
“Mom, after I watch the first session this morning, can I play with Katie this afternoon?” Jennifer asked.
Mom smiled. “Well, general conference is really important, and it only happens twice a year,” Mom said. “But after you watch the first session, you may decide for yourself what to do with the rest of your day.”
“OK,” Jennifer agreed.
“You might want to pay close attention too,” Mom added. “Katie might have some questions.”
As the session started, Jennifer caught herself daydreaming about playing with Katie. Then she remembered what Mom had said. Maybe she would learn something from conference that she could share with Katie. Maybe she could even explain to her why general conference really wasn’t boring at all.
Jennifer started paying closer attention. She liked listening to the choir sing and watching as the camera scanned the faces of the singers. She liked listening to the speakers too. Although she didn’t understand all of the talks, she liked it when she could recognize her favorite scripture stories or when the Apostles told stories about their own lives. Jennifer especially loved seeing the kind face of the prophet and listening to him speak lovingly of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Just like going to church, listening to general conference gave Jennifer a warm, peaceful feeling inside.
After lunch, Dad turned on the TV for the afternoon session, and Jennifer followed Mom back into the living room.
“Have you decided what you are going to do?” Mom asked.
Jennifer nestled into the couch. “I think I’ll just listen to conference some more,” she said. “I can play with Katie next Saturday. And, after all, conference only comes twice a year.”

Gaining a testimony is a major step. But what do you do when you know something is true and necessary—but it looks impossible to achieve? For example, what do you do when you have been taught how important temples are, yet you can’t travel to one? You do what the Lehmanns and other East German Saints did. You pray, and you live to be worthy of temple blessings someday in the future. And it looked like it would be a long way into the future.

But even faithful people can be surprised by blessings. And when the East German government announced in 1982 that the Church would be allowed to build a temple there, the members were grateful and astonished. “It blew me away,” says Michael simply. “From that time on, I knew everything else was possible.”

The brothers talk about the time they went with their father to see the temple while it was under construction. After work one night, they took off, riding their dilapidated bikes 25 miles through the hilly countryside. And when they got to the temple site, they just stood across the street from the rising walls and watched.

And they wept.

But suicidal thoughts continued to enter my mind when I least expected them. The temptation to end my excruciating pain was very strong. But I wanted to be healed. Though I didn’t understand then that I was suffering from an acute illness (an illness that is severe and sudden), I knew I could be healed. So I asked for a priesthood blessing.
My husband, unaware of my struggles, said many things during the blessing that told me Heavenly Father was aware of me. He promised me that I would handle my challenges. Immediate healing was not the solution, but I accepted that Heavenly Father would help me overcome my struggle.

Some fine carpenters from Norway who arrived and settled in Manti were given the assignment of building the roof for the temple. They had never built a roof structure before, but they had experience as shipbuilders. They didn’t know how they would design a roof. Then the thought came to them: “Why don’t we just build a ship? Then, because a well-built ship is solid and secure, if we turn the plans upside down, we’ll have a secure roof.” They set about to plan to construct a ship, and when it was completed, they turned the plan upside down and it became the plan for the roof of the Manti Temple.
In this case they used lessons from their past experience—the principles of shipbuilding—to help them meet the challenge. They correctly reasoned that the same principles they had applied to building a seaworthy vessel would also apply to building a solid roof. For example, both structures needed to be waterproof. The basic integrity of the structure wouldn’t be affected by its orientation—whether right side up or upside down. The most important thing was to have a working knowledge of the basic principles required to erect any structure that was built to last.

Mark felt a tightness inside as he slid into his seat. This was the third elementary school that he had attended in the past few years. And although the first day in a new school was always the hardest, something far worse was bothering him: Grandpa Jim was dead. And nobody in his family could explain to Mark what really happens to someone when he dies.
Mark looked down at his desk as the announcements came over the loudspeaker. By the time they stood for the Pledge of Allegiance, he had his emotions under control. When he sat down again, he noticed the girl across the aisle staring at him.
What’s with her? he thought. He felt like making a face at her, but instead he got out his new notebook and the worn, gold mechanical pencil Grandpa Jim had given him.
“I want you to have this, Mark,” Grandpa had said. “It has been exploring with me through miles and miles of wonderlands. I used it to write my best ideas and thoughts in my journal. Sometimes I thought of the ideas myself. Other times I read or heard a good thought from someone else and jotted it down. I’ve had some wonderful adventures while going idea hunting, and I have a hunch that you’re ready to start your own search.”
Oh, Grandpa Jim, Mark had thought, looking at the thin face lying on the hospital pillow, You’re not finished adventuring! And how can I search alone? Don’t leave me, Grandpa Jim. But Mark hadn’t said anything except “Thank you” in a very quiet voice.
And Grandpa Jim had stopped adventuring. One winter afternoon Mark had stood aching and helpless beside a silent grave. Even Grandpa Jim’s gold pencil in his pocket had given him no warmth.
Mark got through his first day at school by avoiding everyone. When some of the guys invited him to play baseball after lunch, he just shook his head and wandered around inside the school yard until the bell rang. After school he walked home alone. Two blocks from his house, someone came up behind him. He moved aside, but instead of walking by, the girl who had stared at him in class fell into step beside him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Marci. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
“I live on the corner, down from your house,” she said. “I saw your moving van. It’s nice to have someone my age on our block.”
Mark thought, Why don’t you go away, but he just said, “Oh.”
“Do you like to play tennis?” Marci asked. “There are courts next to my house. We could play today if you want. My little brother sometimes plays with me, but he isn’t very good yet.”
“I’ve never played before,” said Mark, hoping to discourage her.
“Oh, that’s OK. We have an extra racket, and I can teach you. You look like you’d be a good player. I’ll come by at four o’clock to get you. See you then.”
Before Mark could protest, she was running down the sidewalk. “Now what’ll I do,” he groaned. “I don’t want to play tennis or anything else!”
Marci rang his doorbell right at four o’clock. His mom answered and called Mark to the door. “Have fun,” she said, gently pushing him out the door after Marci.
Marci explained how to serve and the various ways to hit the ball. Before long, Mark was running around the court, chasing the ball and sometimes even smacking it soundly across the net. He was surprised at how good it felt. He set his jaw and concentrated on each return, until soon he was getting more balls over the net than he was missing.
“You’re good!” shouted Marci, stepping back to serve. “It’s hard to believe that you haven’t played before.”
Mark felt a flush of pleasure as he stretched to return Marci’s serve.
When they had to go home for dinner, Marci said, “I’m glad that you moved here.” Then she jumped into the air, curled into a forward roll, and sprang up beside him again, grinning. “You’re neat.”
Marci asked Mark to do something nearly every day after school. They played more tennis, and she took him exploring in the forest behind her house. They hunted tadpoles and turtles, found giant yellow mushrooms and more kinds of fungi than Mark had ever seen, and chased squirrels until they scampered, chittering angrily, high into the trees’ foliage.
“Let’s have a picnic,” Marci suggested one afternoon. “I know a place along the creek where there’s a deep pool full of fish. Do you fish, Mark?”
“I used to,” said Mark, suddenly serious. He hadn’t taken out his rod since Grandpa Jim had become too weak to go with him.
They met early Saturday morning and tramped deep into the forest. “It’s really beautiful here,” Mark said. The leaves were in full color, and the colors astounded him. He was used to subdued hues of tan and yellow. The flaming oranges and brilliant golds here filled him with wonder. He almost felt happy.
After an hour of walking, they reached the pool. They baited their hooks and cast into the pool.
“I sure hope we catch something,” said Mark. “I love fresh fish.”
“I hope so, too,” said Marci. “You’d better be good, Mark, because I promised Mom that we’d bring some fish home for dinner.”
“I’m already good!” shouted Mark as his rod bent double. He planted his feet and began reeling in a large, speckled trout.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Marci cried. As Mark reeled it in, she added, “He must be awfully old to be so big. I bet he’s a grandpa.”
Mark went cold. He looked down at the fish. A grandpa. A grandpa he was about to send to his death. He reached down, unhooked the frantic fish, and threw it back into the water.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Marci.
“I couldn’t let him die. He’s a grandpa.” His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to prevent them.
“Oh, Mark,” said Marci. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my Grandpa Jim,” choked Mark. “He died last winter. I miss him so much. I don’t understand why he had to leave me. I don’t know where he went or if I’ll ever see him again.”
Marci reached out and took Mark’s hand. “You will see him again, Mark,” she told him. “I know why he died, and I know where he is.”
Mark looked up at her, startled. “Where?” he whispered. “Where is he?”
“His body is dead,” Marci explained, “but his spirit lives in the spirit world.” She smiled at Mark. “Did you grandpa believe in Jesus?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He did. I don’t know much about Jesus, but Grandpa told me one time that some of his best ideas came from the Bible. Grandpa Jim liked good ideas.”
“Here’s one of Jesus’ teachings,” Marci said. “‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’*
“So, you see,” Marci went on, “only your grandpa’s body died. His spirit is still alive. Someday, because of Jesus, his spirit will come back into his body, and he will be resurrected. That’s why Jesus said that He was the resurrection and the life.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Marci told him.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“Because my dad died two years ago.” Marci turned and looked into the pool. “At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do. I guess I’ll always miss him, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Marci, will you help me learn that scripture, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Marci. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”
“Grandpa Jim wrote in a journal. He gave me his gold pencil to write in my own journal, but I haven’t started one yet. Maybe I’ll do it today. Do you have any more good scriptures that I could write down?”
“Lots,” Marci told him. “In fact, I can give you a whole book of them when we get home. You can use your pencil to underline them right in the book because there will be too many to copy.”
“What book is that?” asked Mark.
“The Book of Mormon,” said Marci.
Mark looked at her beaming smile and felt a warmth creep into his heart.
“The Book of Mormon,” he repeated. He’d never heard of it before. But if the Book of Mormon helped make Marci happy, he thought, maybe it can do the same for me.

One day I went to the market with my mom, my brother, and my sister. As we were leaving and were out in front of the store, I saw paper money floating in the breeze. I tried to grab it before it blew away, and I called to my mom to come and help. After we had gathered all the bills, we looked around to see who they could belong to. We saw no one, just a van pulling away. We couldn’t find a wallet or a purse. When we counted the bills—five twenties, one ten, and two ones—we realized I had found $112!
Mom reminded me that it wasn’t mine. She said it might belong to someone who needed it to live. After we called my dad at work to hear what he thought, we all decided that my mom would call the manager of the store and tell him we had found some money. We didn’t tell him the amount, but we left our name and phone number in case anyone asked for the money. My mom said that if no one claimed it after two weeks, I could keep it. She put it away in a box.
The very next day, an older lady phoned and explained that she had called the grocery story when she realized she was missing some money. The manager had given her our number. She told us she was missing five twenties, one ten, and two ones. Her husband was in a wheelchair, and they needed that money for food and other things. It was her Social Security benefit. She also said that she had been praying all night that her money would be found by someone honest so that it would be returned to her.
When we pulled up to her small home, Mom handed me the box with the money in it. I got out of the car and took it to the lady. She was smiling. She turned to my mom and dad and said, “Thank you for raising an honest child.”
I was glad that we were the people who found the money so that she could get it back. I felt very happy. I know Jesus would have returned the money if He had found it.

When you think of Argentina, you might picture cattle ranches and cowboys. But Hugo Lopez lives in the city. He lives in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina—one of the largest cities in South America. Hugo is a member of the Palermo Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Belgrano Stake, which covers a large section of downtown Buenos Aires. This means that his home, his school, and his ward meetinghouse are all located among the skyscrapers and busy traffic of this city of nearly 14,000,000 people.
Hugo, age 10, was born in Buenos Aires, but he also lived in Santiago, Chile, for two years. He is the youngest child in the family and has an older brother and sister. His sister is married and has two children. Hugo is very proud to be an uncle so young!
Hugo is in the fifth grade. He walks to his school, which is not too far from his apartment. From the street, the school looks like many of the other big buildings in the city, but hidden behind the tall double doors are classrooms that fill two stories and surround an outdoor courtyard and recreation area in the center of the building. When school is dismissed each day, hundreds of students with uniform white jackets swarm through the halls and out into the street. It is sometimes difficult to tell the teachers from the students, as they also wear the same white-jacket uniforms.
Because he wants to be a good student, Hugo works very hard at his schoolwork, and his studies keep him busy every day. He tries very hard to do the things he knows are right and to be a good example. He is the only member of the Church in his school, and he has learned it can be difficult to be the only one in a group who wants to choose the right. When his friends use bad language, for example, Hugo tries to show them a better way to talk. “It makes me feel sad when they won’t listen,” he says, “but I still try to choose the right way.”
Each week, Hugo looks forward to Wednesday and Friday afternoons. “After school on these days, I go to the Conservatorio de Música, a special music school,” Hugo says. “I am learning to play the flute, and I sing in the choir!” His eyes sparkle with excitement when he talks about music and what he is learning at the music school. He will study the flute for two years, and if he studies seven more years, he can become a teacher. Or he may specialize in a mechanics course in high school so he can earn money to fulfill his dream of going on a mission.
Actually, Hugo is working very hard right now to prepare for a mission. Bishop Sergio Lohrmann, of the Palermo Ward, says: “Hugo has a great knowledge of the gospel. He bears his testimony every month—and when he does, it strengthens the testimonies of the members of our ward as he tells of his love for Jesus Christ and for the gospel.”
When Hugo bears his testimony, he always thanks his mother and the teachers who have taught him to come to church, where he can learn. And he tells of a special prayer in his heart that his father will someday listen to the missionaries and come to church, where he can feel the love of all the ward members. Hugo feels very sad that his father and his brother are not interested in learning about the Church right now. He says: “My brother thinks that coming to church is a waste of time. But it’s not a waste of time—it is gaining eternal life!”
Hugo tries to set a good example at home, as well as at school. “I have a good relationship with my Dad. I know he has very sensitive feelings, and I try not to do anything to make him feel left out,” he says. “We sometimes go on walks together and just talk—these are our special times together.”
And, as a good missionary should, Hugo studies his scriptures. When asked about his favorite scripture, Hugo quickly turns to Joseph Smith—History 1:52–53 [JS—H 1:52–53] and begins reading aloud about the Prophet Joseph’s first experience seeing the gold plates. “I love the Joseph Smith story,” he says when he completes those verses. But one look at the pages of his scriptures shows that this is only one of his favorites. His scriptures look like a missionary’s—many important verses are marked clearly in bright colors, and he knows them well.
Each day brings opportunities for Hugo to be a missionary. Whether he is studying his scriptures, setting a good example for his friends at school, or going on long walks with his father, he tries to always do and say the things he has been taught.
So each Sunday, Hugo and his mother will walk again through the busy streets of Buenos Aires to attend their Church meetings and to learn more about the gospel. And—if it happens to be a fast Sunday—Hugo will bear his testimony!

Raphael Queiroz eyes the volleyball net, tosses his ball high, then runs a few steps forward and leaps. For a moment he hovers above the floor, seeming to defy gravity. A split second later he meets the volleyball and drives his hand into it. The ball flashes over the net at a terrifying speed.
Anyone watching might wonder how an opponent could return the missiles Raphael launches. “Wow!” is the only response one stunned observer can make.
Raphael just shrugs—but with a hint of satisfaction in his serve. “Actually,” the unassuming Brazilian says, “I prefer soccer. But since I’m not agile enough to play the game well, I play volleyball.”
Perhaps it’s his size. At 6 feet 5 inches (196 cm) and 205 pounds (94 kg), he may not be as quick as smaller, lighter players. But he certainly has the height and weight to put a volleyball only fractions of an inch over a net with such power that only the brave would want to intercept it.
Soccer may be Raphael’s sport of choice, but volleyball is most definitely his game. And he is really good at it. He is so good, in fact, that he played in the final game of the high school volleyball nationals. “That,” Raphael says, “was one of the three happiest days of my life.”
And the other two? “The day I was baptized a member of the Church and the day I received my patriarchal blessing.”
At 19, Raphael de Morais Queiroz of the Jardim Massangana Ward, Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake, has learned a couple of important lessons some people never learn. He knows that when you place the Lord first in your life, good things happen. He also knows that sometimes you have to adjust your dreams to take advantage of the talents and opportunities the Lord gives you.
Raphael’s parents joined the Church before he was born, so he grew up in a gospel-oriented home.
“Growing up in the Church, you’re taught from a very young age the principles of the gospel and the importance of keeping the commandments,” he says. “But you still need to get your own testimony.”
Raphael remembers one day in seminary when the class was watching a video about the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith. “I started crying. ‘Why?’ I asked myself. As I concentrated on what I was feeling, the answer came: I was receiving a witness from the Holy Ghost that Joseph Smith is a prophet and that the Church is true.”
He smiles at the memory. “Good things happen in seminary,” he says.
Good things happen at church, too. During one priests quorum lesson, he felt impressed to get a patriarchal blessing. “In preparing for it, I did some studying, then went to the bishop, and he sent me to the patriarch. I was overwhelmed by what I heard. The Lord entrusted me with a lot. I love my blessing.”
Since those experiences, he has found his testimony strengthened in other ways. Scripture study is one of them. He especially likes the Book of Mormon. “I admire Nephi,” Raphael says.
Like Nephi, Raphael was born of goodly parents. Family is important to him. He feels particularly close to his only sibling, 18-year-old Gabriela.
“To me, Gabriela is an example of righteousness,” Raphael says. “She always follows Church standards.” He points out that she attends seminary twice a day—once early in the morning and again in the evening.
When asked why, she says, “I love learning the gospel. I get a different perspective in the different classes. Then, too, I have friends in the evening class I like being with. Mostly, though, I love feeling the Spirit. I feel it often in seminary.”
For Raphael, his sister illustrates how placing the gospel first in your life can give you strength to resist worldly pressures. “Having a gospel perspective helps us meet our challenges,” he says. “It teaches us to stay away from temptations. Although I’m not free from temptations, I always try to avoid them. Youth need to learn how to avoid temptations by deciding ahead of time how they will handle them.”
He knows well the temptations athletes face. “As an athlete, I always do what athletes do, but not the bad things—I don’t break the Word of Wisdom or do the other things young men sometimes do. I try to set an example as a Latter-day Saint.”
“At first,” he says, “my friends thought my choices were funny. But later they respected me for my standards.”
It was a friend who introduced Raphael to volleyball. In 2001 a teammate on his soccer team in Recife pointed out that some private high schools offer volleyball scholarships. At the time, Raphael was trying for a soccer scholarship but found his physical assets kept him from playing at the level the coaches wanted. But he seemed to have an unexplored talent for volleyball. “So I played volleyball until I got good at it,” he says. He became so good that he was able to secure a full scholarship to a private high school.
At school, he played in the Recife city championships, then in the regionals in northeast Brazil, one of the most important tournaments in the country. But his success didn’t end there. Not long afterward, he was asked to join the Pernambuco State team to prepare for the national high school tournament. His team won almost all its games, losing only in the final match. He has the medals to show for it.
“As a volleyball player,” he says, “I’ve learned to play as a member of a team. One person can’t win alone. You have to look out for one another and help one another.”
In the same way, the Church has taught him to play as a member of the Lord’s team. “The Church has taught me to teach and care for others, to always watch for when people need help. There’s no better place to learn to live the gospel than in the Church. The Lord wants all of us to practice the gospel. That’s why I’m going on a mission.”
Raphael will be giving up a college athletic scholarship to do so. Recruited by several schools, he was tempted to accept a scholarship from one of them. But at this point in his life, he would rather serve on a mission than serve on a volleyball court. He knows he is making the right choice.
“As much success as I have had in sports,” he says, “I want to do better as a missionary. I feel that no matter where I go, I can do well—if I let the Lord coach me.”

Please go talk with your bishop. He should be one of your best friends. He wants to help you in your life and help you return to our Father in Heaven.

I know because I kept delaying a visit to my bishop. I was scared that he would laugh at me and tell me that I was stupid for doing the things that I had done. To my surprise, as I told him what I had done, I could see a tear in his eye and I knew he was hurting for me. After telling him, he asked me a few questions and we talked for several hours.

My life changed—for two years I had felt ashamed, guilty, and unwanted. After talking with my bishop, I knew the Lord loved me and wanted me to do what is right.

Later, my bishop gave me a temple recommend and was at the temple the day that I was married for time and all eternity. Because of my Savior’s love, I was now worthy to enter our Father’s house and be married.

Your life will change if you talk with your bishop and have the strength to change it. It may not be easy because Satan will always be there telling you, “You’ve done it once—it won’t hurt to do it again.” But it does hurt.

Fast and pray. The Lord will help you.

Name withheld.

Prayer was a very important part of my life. As a child, I was taught to pray. I remember one time when I was riding out to the ranch with my father. As he drove, he started humming or singing, “‘Ere you left your room this morning, Did you think to pray?’”* Then he glanced at me and asked, “Son, did you pray this morning?”
“No.”
“Don’t you pray in the mornings?”
“I pray at night,” I replied.
At that moment, he took the time to explain to me the importance of praying in the morning and at night. From that time on, it became part of my life to pray both morning and night. In 2 Nephi 26:15 [2 Ne. 26:15], we are told that “the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.” We often experienced that scripture. I learned in my youth that as we were faithful and did our part, the Lord blessed us.

I saw the promise come to fruition that my doctors would be guided. When I awoke after one of my operations, the surgeon came to see me.
“I was all done,” she explained, “but something told me to go deeper, and I found additional problem areas, which I was able to remove. We’re fortunate to have found them.”
She is not a member of the Church, but the promise of the blessing I had received early on had come to pass. The Spirit had guided her.

Later when Robert was in college, his bishop called him to be the elders quorum president. Robert was willing to serve, but he wasn’t sure what to do. His school classes were very hard. His teachers didn’t want him to do any work outside of school. He knew it would be hard to accept the calling and do well in school. He and his wife, Mary, prayed to know what to do. They listened to the Lord’s answer. Robert accepted the calling and later finished school. He showed the Lord when he was young that he was willing to listen. As an Apostle, Elder Hales listens and tells us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear in general conference.

Grady Grimshaw was always grumbling. He grumbled when Mom served her latest creation for dinner: barbecued tuna pizzawiches. He grumbled when Dad told him to make his bed. He grumbled when his little sister tied bows on his fierce stuffed gorilla. And he grumbled when he walked Pepper, the dog, and she had to stop and sniff at every bush and mailbox.
Grady was always grumbling.
One sunny day while Grady was dutifully walking Pepper, he passed the house of Mrs. Sherman, who was outside weeding her rose garden. “Hello there, Grady,” she called to him, pushing back her floppy sun hat. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Would you like to take a rose home to your mother?”
“Roses make me sneeze,” Grady said, walking on.
As he neared the Cooper home, he saw Mr. Cooper fixing his lawn mower. “Hi, Grady,” Mr. Cooper said. “Nice dog you have there.”
“She has fleas,” Grady said, not stopping for a second.
Then he came to the Parnell house. On the porch, asleep in a chair, was a tiny woman he had never met. Her white hair was pulled into a tight little knot at the top of her head, and she wore a big plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Every breath she took ended in a high-pitched whistle.
Grady wished he could whistle like that.
The woman suddenly opened one eye. “What are you staring at?” she demanded crossly.
Grady jumped. “I—I’ve never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you before, but I’m not standing around gawking, am I?”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman closed her eyes again. Grady hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
The woman’s eyes flew open, “Goodness, child, are you still there? What is it you want?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what a nice day it is—or that you like my dog?”
The woman peered up at the sky. “Clouds. It’ll probably rain. And I don’t like dogs. They stink.”
“Pepper doesn’t stink,” Grady said defensively, “at least, not unless you get real close.” He plunked himself down on the porch step. This was not at all the way most adults he knew acted.
The woman sighed. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Grady Grimshaw.” He pointed. “I live down there, in that brown house.”
The woman raised herself up a little. “That corner house? How dreadful! I lived on a corner once. All the neighborhood kids trekked through the yard on their way to school and killed the grass and dropped things. Had to put up a big old ugly fence.”
“I like living on the corner. I get to live on two streets instead of just one.”
“Well, I’d rather live on my own one street, thank you very much,” the woman said. She reached for a glass of water on a nearby TV tray.
“What’s your name?” Grady asked as he handed her the glass.
“Dinah. Dinah Parnell. Only I’m never in the kitchen, and I don’t know any banjo players, so don’t sing that old song at me.”
“I won’t.” Grady felt Pepper tugging impatiently on her leash. “I guess I’d better go,” he said, standing up.
“Yes, I guess you’d better.” Mrs. Parnell closed her eyes. “But you can come back sometime, if you want.”
Grady was thoughtful as he and Pepper headed for home. Mrs. Parnell sure was different from most other ladies he knew.
Mom was putting the finishing touches on a sardine and broccoli casserole, and Grady got out the plates to set the table without even thinking about grumbling. “Mom, have you met that Mrs. Parnell lady?”
“Dinah Parnell?”
Grady nodded.
“Yes, I have. Did you meet her just now?”
He nodded again. “She doesn’t seem very happy.”
“Well, she’s not, really,” Mom said, putting the casserole into the microwave. “She’s Mr. Parnell’s mother, and she’ll be staying there awhile because she isn’t well. I think it’s hard for her to be away from her home. She’s lonely.”
“She sure grumbles a lot.”
“I think she could use a friend.”
Grady thought about that for a moment. His face brightened. “Would you help me make some brownies tomorrow after school so I could take some over to her?”
“Of course—that would be nice, Grady.” Mom smiled. “Here, would you stir this orange juice for me, please?”
Grady took the pitcher and was so busy thinking about Mrs. Parnell that he didn’t grumble this time, either.
The next day, Grady took a plateful of warm brownies to Mrs. Parnell. She only managed a “Humph!” when he came up the porch steps, but she listened when he told her about the bee that had gotten loose in class that day, and she only grumbled about the rain and the price of tomatoes in the grocery store.
A few days later, Grady went to see her again. He told her about his bicycle accident, and she showed him the scar on her hand from when she had fallen off her horse many years ago. He complained about the boy at school who fell on the cupcake Grady’d taken in his lunch, and she told him about the girl in the third grade who used to call her “Curlilocks” in front of everybody, so she’d put a rubber snake in the girl’s book bag and the girl yelled and then they both started laughing and became good friends. This time Mrs. Parnell only grumbled about how her eyes didn’t work very well anymore. Grady got her favorite book from inside and read to her.
Grady liked visiting Mrs. Parnell. He started looking for other grumblers who needed to be cheered up, too, and pretty soon, he decided that instead of a grumbler, he would be a grinner. He grinned when Mom served oatmeal turkeyburgers for dinner. He grinned when Dad told him to put away his toy cars. He grinned when Pepper shook water all over him after her bath. And he grinned when his little sister pushed the two-million-piece puzzle he had been working on for three weeks off the table.
(Well, that last one wasn’t quite a grin—but it wasn’t a very loud grumble!)

Ben Carson said of himself, “I was the worst student in my whole fifth-grade class.” One day Ben took a math test with 30 problems. The student behind him corrected it and handed it back. The teacher, Mrs. Williamson, started calling each student’s name for the score. Finally, she got to Ben. Out of embarrassment, he mumbled the answer. Mrs. Williamson, thinking he had said “9,” replied that for Ben to score 9 out of 30 was a wonderful improvement. The student behind Ben then yelled out, “Not nine! … He got none … right.” Ben said he wanted to drop through the floor.
At the same time, Ben’s mother, Sonya, faced obstacles of her own. She was one of 24 children, had only a third-grade education, and could not read. She was married at age 13, was divorced, had two sons, and was raising them in the ghettos of Detroit. Nonetheless, she was fiercely self-reliant and had a firm belief that God would help her and her sons if they did their part.
One day a turning point came in her life and that of her sons. It dawned on her that successful people for whom she cleaned homes had libraries—they read. After work she went home and turned off the television that Ben and his brother were watching. She said in essence: You boys are watching too much television. From now on you can watch three programs a week. In your free time you will go to the library—read two books a week and give me a report.
The boys were shocked. Ben said he had never read a book in his entire life except when required to do so at school. They protested, they complained, they argued, but it was to no avail. Then Ben reflected, “She laid down the law. I didn’t like the rule, but her determination to see us improve changed the course of my life.”
And what a change it made. By the seventh grade he was at the top of his class. He went on to attend Yale University on a scholarship, then Johns Hopkins medical school, where at age 33 he became its chief of pediatric neurosurgery and a world-renowned surgeon. How was that possible? Largely because of a mother who, without many of the advantages of life, magnified her calling as a parent.

Haven, a 14-year-old from Utah, USA, decided to celebrate being a young woman in the Church by serving others.
“It started as a small idea,” she says. “My uncle went to Bangladesh on a humanitarian trip and learned about difficult things the people there were experiencing. I wanted to help them—so I looked on the JustServe app and got the idea to make homemade kits for the refugees there.”
Haven collected donations at her school, created a GoFundMe page, and even took out neighbors’ garbage cans to help raise money for the kits. “I take out about 22 garbage cans and 11 recycle cans every Monday and Tuesday,” she says. “I normally use the money I earn for my choir program and to save for a mission, but I decided to use my funds that month to help buy supplies instead.”
Haven then went out and bought all the materials she needed for the kits, including socks, gloves, scarfs, and hats. She assembled each kit and also got in contact with the director of Lifting Hands International to coordinate the delivery of the kits in Bangladesh.
“Putting the kits together took up the most time in my project. But every time I put a piece into the kit, I knew that it would go to someone in need and that they would be blessed for a long time by it.”
By the end of her project, Haven felt her confidence build in her ability to serve. “I learned from this how much help I can be if I try my hardest. I also felt compassion for the people I was helping, which helped me feel closer to the Savior and feel some of what He feels for us.”
As we celebrate the anniversary of the Young Women organization, each of us can remember that we are examples of Christ. Like Haven, we can be a big help to others when we try our hardest to serve as He would.