Gospel Story Finder

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter the mandatory military service required of young men during World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, but first I needed to telephone my stake president, Paul C. Child, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures, and it was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Having heard from some of my friends of his rather detailed and searching interviews, I desired minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge; therefore, when I called him I suggested we meet the following Sunday at a time I knew was just an hour before his sacrament meeting time.
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures.” He then suggested a time three hours before his sacrament meeting, and he instructed me to bring with me my personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.
When I arrived at his home on Sunday, I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. President Child said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?” I replied that I had not. When he asked if I knew I was entitled to such, I again replied that I had not known.
He instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “‘Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels—’”
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then, in a calm, kindly tone, he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.”
It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion as we together read of the responsibilities, the duties, and the blessings of the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood—blessings which come not only to us but also to our families and to others we will have the privilege to serve.

Years ago, while at the beach with my family, I noticed signs and flags warning us of a strong current flowing away from the shore into deep, turbulent water. Invisible to my untrained eyes but easily detected by lifeguards on a nearby watchtower, the powerful current posed a danger to all who left the safety of the shore and entered the water. I remember rationalizing, “I’m a strong swimmer. Swimming will be great exercise. I’ll be safe in the shallow water.”

Ignoring the warnings and feeling confident in my own judgment, I entered the water to enjoy a “refreshing” swim. After a few minutes I looked up to locate my family on the nearby beach, but the beach was no longer nearby! The deceptive current I had been warned of had captured me and was quickly pulling me away from my family.

Confidently at first and then desperately, I tried to swim toward shore, but the unforgiving current dragged me farther and farther into deeper, rougher water. I became exhausted and began choking on inhaled water. Drowning became a real possibility. My energy gone, I frantically and finally called out for help.

Miraculously, it seemed, a lifeguard was immediately at my side. I wasn’t aware that he had watched me go into the water. He knew the current would capture me, and he knew where it would take me. Avoiding the current, he swam around and just beyond where I was struggling; then he patiently waited for me to call for help. Too weak to swim to shore alone, I was and still am grateful for his rescue. Without his help I never could have made it back to my family.

That day I made a poor choice that produced potentially serious consequences for me and for my family. As we now consider together the gift of choice, I pray that the Holy Ghost will help each of us individually evaluate the choices we are making.

Boy Scout Christian Washburn, inspired by the strength and courage of his younger sister who has had cystic fibrosis since birth, decided to organize a fund-raiser for cystic fibrosis research as his Eagle Scout project.
“Laura Beth has a continually positive attitude,” says Christian. “During all those times in the hospital, good or bad, Laura Beth would always have a smile for you.”
Christian’s project, a walk-a-thon, raised more than $50,000 for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation’s research.
Christian and ten other Scouts in the Orange Sixth Ward, Orange California Stake, all received their awards at the same time.
“I’m proud to have been a part of this great effort, and I’m proud of my sister,” says Christian.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.
The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.
This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.
When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Several years ago I presided over one of our missions. Two of our missionaries were teaching a fine family, and they had expressed a desire to be baptized, and then they suddenly cooled off. The father had learned about tithing and canceled all further meetings with the missionaries.
Two sad elders reported to the branch president, who himself was a recent convert, that he would not have this fine family in his branch.
A few days later the branch president persuaded the elders to join him in another visit to the family.
“I understand,” he told the father, “that you have decided not to join the Church.”
“That is correct,” he answered.
“The elders tell me that you are disturbed about tithing.”
“Yes,” said the father. “They had not told us about it; and when I learned of it, I said, ‘Now that’s too much to ask. Our church has never asked anything like that.’ We think that’s just too much, and we will not join.”
“Did they tell you about fast offering?” he asked.
“No,” said the man. “What is that?”
“In the Church we fast for two meals each month and give the value of the meals for the help of the poor.”
“They did not tell us that,” the man said.
“Did they mention the building fund?”
“No, what is that?”
“In the Church we all contribute toward building chapels. If you joined the Church, you would want to participate both in labor and with money. Incidentally, we are building a new chapel here,” he told him.
“Strange,” he said, “that they didn’t mention it.”
“Did they explain the welfare program to you?”
“No,” said the father. “What is that?”
“Well, we believe in helping one another. If someone is in need or ill or out of work or in trouble, we are organized to assist, and you would be expected to help.
“Did they also tell you that we have no professional clergy? All of us contribute our time, our talents, our means, and travel—all to help the work. And we’re not paid for it in money.”
“They didn’t tell us any of that,” said the father.
“Well,” said the branch president, “If you are turned away by a little thing like tithing, it is obvious you’re not ready for this Church. Perhaps you have made the right decision and you should not join.”
As they departed, almost as an afterthought, he turned and said, “Have you ever wondered why people will do all of these things willingly? I have never received a bill for tithing. No one has ever called to collect it. But we pay it—and all of the rest—and count it a great privilege.
“If you could discover why, you would be within reach of the pearl of great price, which the Lord said the merchant man was willing to sell all that he had that he might obtain it.
“But,” said the branch president, “It is your decision. I only hope you will pray about it.”
A few days later the man appeared at the branch president’s home. No, he did not want to reschedule the missionaries. That would not be necessary. He wanted to schedule the baptism of his family. They had been praying, fervently praying.

In 1962, 11 of my high school classmates from Preston, Idaho, and I joined the National Guard. Basic training was like a vacation until we got to Fort Ord, in California.
We needed one another in order to survive our new military surroundings and the onslaught of the other recruits, many of whom used reprehensible language and seemed to have no morals. I sought every opportunity to be with my Latter-day Saint buddies for support from the harassment of our fellow recruits.
After basic training, a couple of my school classmates and I stayed on at Fort Ord to continue training in field communications. Soon, two of the tough, stout recruits in our training class began having a contest to see which one could say the most detestable and vulgar things. Each morning when they arose, they would shout vulgarities so everyone in the barracks could hear their filthy language.
One morning I found myself in front of them and, longing for relief, demanded that they stop. Embarrassed, they turned their ugliness on me, calling me several names. Then they warned me that they had better not catch me alone.
Later that morning, as I was picking up trash, I found myself alone between barracks. Suddenly I saw someone coming my way. It was one of the recruits who had threatened me.
I prepared for the worst as he approached me. But he began telling me how much he respected me and wished that he had the courage to live as I lived. He admitted that his parents would be disappointed if they knew how he was living. He said he would never again use vulgar language in my presence. Then he turned and left.
As I passed the next barracks, I saw the second fellow coming my way. He approached me and apologized for the way he had been acting. He also told me how much he respected me, saying he hoped that someday he could live as he had been taught.
One weekend when my Latter-day Saint buddies were on leave, these two young men invited me to go to a movie with them and their group. As we walked together, someone swore. The two stout recruits told the group that there would be no swearing while I was with them.
After the movie, when the group decided to go to a club for some drinking, my friends excused themselves, explaining that they were going to spend the evening with me. Once we were alone, they asked me about my family and the kind of church I belonged to that would help young men develop the standards by which our Latter-day Saint group lived. I answered their questions and told them about the Church.
I learned that heaven sustains courage and blesses those who stand up for what is right.

My daughter Carl Anne wrote to me describing a very difficult time in her life:
“In these lines of the song ‘Peace in Christ’:
‘There is Peace in Christ,
When we walk with Him.
Through the streets of Galilee
To Jerusalem.
Mend the broken hearts,
dry the tear-filled eyes.
When we live the way He lived,
There is peace in Christ,’”
“I have been impacted by these words because they remind me that in one of the most difficult moments I have ever experienced, I was able to recover because Jesus Christ helped me to remember the enabling power of His Atonement. I remember when my heart was broken, and I felt very sad about the loss of my first pregnancy—it feels like it was just yesterday—the day that I poured out my soul in prayer to My Heavenly Father seeking to feel peace and hope that everything would be all right. At that precise moment, I felt an intense warmth as if I were being embraced by my Savior Jesus Christ! Because He had experienced all of my pains and sorrows in the Garden of Gethsemane, I knew He felt my pain now. I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father had a more perfect plan for me than I expected! Today, a year later, I am grateful to be the mother of a beautiful baby who brings me great joy, and to have the knowledge that it was all done in the Lord’s perfect timing.”

She was shy. I was outgoing. Why was she getting all the attention?
This question must have passed through my mind a million times every Sunday during my early teen years. Donna Gilliam was in my Beehive class, a quiet, pretty girl whose parents were deaf. Because of this she knew sign language perfectly. And all the adults thought that was so sweet. She would translate at Young Women functions, and the mothers would cry. She would translate at everything. And everyone, except me it seemed, was deeply moved.
That was a time in my life when I was selfish, wanting attention, wanting to be in the spotlight. But competing with Donna was impossible. In her shy way, she, and her family too, found a special place in our meetings and in the hearts of the ward members. Nevertheless, my jealousy continued.
A month after my fourteenth birthday, my mother was in a very serious car accident. Though she did not die, she suffered serious injuries. She had to stay in the hospital in traction for a month and a half. The accident happened in November, and it soon became clear that our mother would be spending Christmas in the hospital. Because it was important to include her in all the family activities we could, that meant we too would be spending Christmas in the hospital.
Others in my family looked forward to that Christmas as a “special experience” or more likely a growing experience. I viewed it as plain terrible.
I wasn’t much of a spiritual uplift to my family on Christmas Eve. I isolated myself in the corner of the hospital room and just sat there feeling sorry for myself. We were all just looking at each other, getting ready to open our Christmas presents, but somehow the usual anticipation and excitement were missing.
That’s when Donna walked in.
“Hello, Sister Fee,” she said quietly to my mother as her parents came in behind her. “We just came by for a minute. We thought we might sing.”
We all looked up in surprise. Her parents were deaf! How could they sing? I put my presents to the side and lifted my head in interest. I wasn’t exactly happy that they were going to sing, considering my jealousy of Donna, but I listened anyway.
I wasn’t at all prepared for the feelings that burst from within me as I listened to their soft voices sing “Silent Night.” Their hands moved in simultaneous motions, telling of the Christ child and heavenly peace. Tears spilled from my eyes, though I tried to control them. I heard the soft crying of my mother from the hospital bed. Donna’s eyes were tear-filled too. It became all too clear to me that I had been unfair to her.
When the song ended, their hands rested at their sides. We all looked at each other, overcome with emotion. Then they left, as quietly as they had come. Still in the corner of the room, I pondered the new perspective I had gained. Why had I ever been jealous of her? She had a very special talent. She and her family had brought a special spirit into our Christmas, changing it from a gloomy one into a celebration of renewal and hope. The Spirit assured me that my mom would be okay. That Spirit also brought me a new realization that I had talents too.
Right there in that hospital room I then promised myself that I would work on my own talents and stop being jealous of others. With that goal in mind, I found peace within myself. The song repeated softly in my head, “Silent night, holy night.”
All was calm in my heart.

Across from me sits a young woman with a soft, slightly husky voice that could be the envy of any movie star. She is tan, blonde, very tall.
“Any problem being 5 foot, 14 inches, and female?” I ask.
Her eyes crinkle with quiet mischief. “Oh not at all,” she deadpans. “You just get used to sewing ruffles—a lot of ruffles—on your pant hems.”
Meet Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl from Salt Lake City who likes romantic comedies and long talks with good friends. Who craves hamburgers and roasted marshmallows. Who hates jogging. Who could watch replays of Mary Lou Retton’s perfect vault a million times. Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl, who also happens to be one of the most honored high school basketball players in the state of Utah.
Quite honestly, Dylann’s sports dossier reads like a page out of a Guinness Book of World Records. Examples? While attending Skyline High School, Dylann was—
Named to the 4A All-State Basketball team.
Selected MVP for her region.
Recognized as the first female to earn a career 1000 points at Skyline.
Made a member of the Utah all-state academic team.
Voted prep of the week by the Deseret News.
Chosen as a member of the prestigious Carnation and Converse All-American teams.
She also managed to letter in three sports (track, softball, and volleyball) besides basketball. By the time Dylann graduated last spring she had received over 55 letters from colleges and universities (including Stanford) expressing an interest in her. And that’s just for starters.
With stats like that, Dylann could create resentment. After all, who honestly likes someone with talent and brains and looks? Yet people like Dylann. In fact, they like her a lot—maybe because she’s always more impressed with others than she is with herself. Dylann’s mom, DeEtte, says that her daughter is baffled by the attention she has received—she doesn’t think she’s all that special. Mrs. Duncan notes that “Dylann has an uncanny ability to put people at ease and to show her love for them.”
What’s the secret to this very nice person’s tremendous success on court?
Let’s face it—being born with natural athletic ability helps. The person who trips over his own shoelaces even when he isn’t wearing any probably won’t accomplish what Dylann has, no matter how willing he is to sacrifice his body for his sport. And, as coach Joan Burdett of Skyline High School notes, Dylann has plenty of athletic ability. She comes by it naturally: Dylann’s siblings—Doak, Dixon, Deon, and Dana—are a lively, fit bunch, and dad Douglas played varsity basketball in college. It was he who helped Dylann learn some of her own inside moves under the basketball standard in front of their house.
Still, designer genes aren’t enough. Any coach can tell you that plenty of naturally gifted athletes warm the bench while others take their place. The successful athlete has something extra.
Like enthusiasm for one thing. Douglas Duncan talks about his daughter’s general “zest for life” and, as everyone who watches her play knows, Dylann crackles with excitement. Her enthusiasm, however, is not restricted to the formal boundaries of a high school basketball game: Dylann shows the same kind of enthusiasm, the same kind of intensity, at a practice. Coach Burdett says that Dylann is “willing to work and work and work at something until she gets it. I don’t think she would accept anything less of herself. She wouldn’t accept anything less than excellence.” This enthusiasm for excellence, coupled with Dylann’s ability to listen to instruction, are two big reasons for her success. Burdett, in fact, calls Dylann “coachable”—probably the highest compliment a coach can pay an athlete.
Talent, enthusiasm, coachability—all these things go a long way toward the creation of a successful young athlete. Still, these things might not have mattered had Dylann not had one more important quality.
Take just a moment now and think about the choices below:
You really want to take some art and graphics classes, but you wonder if you have the time to take them and play basketball and do well in your core classes, too. What do you do?
A friend you haven’t seen for a while wants you to go to a new movie you’re dying to see. You haven’t put your day’s mileage in yet (remember, you ought to jog but you tend to put it off), and you know you’ll never do it if you go with your friend. What do you tell her?
You would love to have one best goofing-around friend—the kind of friend you tell everything, call anytime. To develop that type of relationship, however, you’ll have to slack off on some of your responsibilities at school.
Easy choices to make? They weren’t always easy for Dylann. “It’s a real effort to not be distracted, to stay motivated,” she notes. Of her senior year she says, “I found myself without one really close friend.” And although Dylann is an exceptional student (she has been honored nearly as much for her academic achievements as for her athletic ability), she admits that her “grades did suffer a little bit. I could have had A’s in things I got B’s in.” All this led Dylann to write about certain regrets in her Sterling Scholar Portfolio last spring: “Sometimes, although I’ve tried to fill my life with exciting and interesting activities, I feel a touch of regret that I haven’t had enough time to pursue everything that I would like to experience. I have not had time to study as much as I would like nor have I practiced the guitar and the piano to my satisfaction.”
To get some things, you often have to give up other things. Many of us have a hard time accepting this truism emotionally: we want it all and refuse to choose what matters most. Thus our energy and talents dissipate into a thin cloud of indecision. Not so for Dylann. She knows how to choose, and she isn’t afraid to do it.
This is not to suggest that Dylann doesn’t have a lot of fun on her way to being the best. Although she couldn’t do everything she wanted to in high school, she still made time to take advanced placement classes, to sing, to participate in student government, to order out at a local drive-in.
At present, Dylann is a freshman at Brigham Young University on a full-ride scholarship, majoring in electrical engineering. She is also a member of the Y’s top-ranked women’s volleyball team.
Volleyball? I do a quick double take. Now why would a high school basketball superstar like Dylann Duncan decide to switch sports?
“My height isn’t outstanding for basketball anymore,” she points out, smiling. Besides, she was ready for a new challenge and Dylann liked Coach Elaine Michaelis and her program. “Anyway,” Dylann laughs, “volleyball is a lot more fun.” Typical Dylann.
In her Sterling Scholar Portfolio Dylann spoke of regrets. But she also spoke optimistically of the future: “In the vast life ahead of me,” she said, “I will change my regrets to actions.” It seems that Dylann is well on her way to doing just that.

Third, we should not argue. Arguing never leads to understanding. I listened to President Harold Wright, recently released as president of the Mesa Temple in Arizona. He has served over the years as stake president and regional representative and has had many contacts with nonmembers. He said that for years he would go to general conference and notice those people outside Temple Square passing out literature antagonistic to the Church. President Wright noticed one man in particular who seemed to be there every time. One conference he talked with the man and found that he was a minister from Los Angeles. President Wright talked to him every time he came to conference, and they came to be friends. One day he said to this man, “Have you ever attended a session of general conference?”
The man said, “No, I haven’t.”
President Wright asked, “Would you like to go in?”
The man answered, “I would very much like to go in.”
So he took the minister to the session. President Wright said his friend felt an influence he had never felt before in his life, and he commented on it repeatedly.
As far as I know, the minister didn’t join the Church, but what a beautiful way to respond to someone with a difference of opinion!

A priests quorum decided one winter to gather food for the needy as a service project. This event soon developed into a competitive activity with the Laurels to see who could gather the most food.
Jim, one of the members of the quorum, became very excited about participating in this activity. He planned to use a cart he had built for a parade and was determined that he was going to collect more food than anyone else.
The night came, and the priests and Laurels met at the chapel. They went out at the same time and returned at the specified time later in the evening. Much to everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He was rather sober and didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Some of the boys made fun of him and asked, “Where’s your food, Jim? We thought you were going to beat us all.”
Seeing the situation Jim was in and knowing that he had an interest in automobiles, the adviser grabbed him and said, “Come outside, Jim, I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser said, “What’s wrong, Jim?” Jim began to cry and said, “I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”
“Are you upset?”
“No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.”
Because of the priesthood Jim held, he had received the ministering of angels and through the Holy Ghost had been guided to do something that was far more important than winning the contest.

During World War II, a friend of mine was serving in the South Pacific when his plane was shot down over the ocean. He and the other crew members successfully parachuted from the burning plane, inflated their life rafts, and clung to those rafts for three days.

On the third day they spotted what they knew to be a rescue vessel. It passed them by. The next morning it passed them by again. They began to despair as they realized that this was the last day the rescue vessel would be in the area.

Then the Holy Spirit spoke to my friend: “You have the priesthood. Command the rescuers to pick you up.”

He did as prompted: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, turn about and pick us up.”

Within a few minutes the vessel was beside them, helping them on deck. A faithful and worthy bearer of the priesthood, in his extremity, had exercised that priesthood, blessing his life and the lives of others.

A father tells this story of his son:
“The great blessing we have in our home is the oldest of our three boys. He is thirty-one years of age and was injured at birth. As a result of brain damage, his muscular coordination and powers of speech have been severely impaired. Mentally, he’s just as normal as anyone.
“He has one of the greatest personalities I’ve ever seen. Everything is okay with Mike. He’s a grand sport, so grateful for everything you do for him, never complains. He has a great sense of right and wrong and is always on the side of the good guys. He had more to do with my joining the Church than anything else. I learned a lot about praying by praying for him.
“About the time our regional Deseret Industries store was to be completed, the bishop made the suggestion that perhaps Mike could find a job there. Neither my wife nor I could bear to think of taking him any place and leaving him alone like that, but after talking to the bishop and stake president, we decided to give it a try.
“It has turned out to be one of the greatest things that has ever happened in our lives, or in Mike’s. At first they had him dyeing shoes, with the result that he got more dye on himself than on the shoes. So they put him to washing dishes. He must have broken too many because they changed him to sorting rags. Presently he is cutting off buttons, for which he is paid eighty cents an hour. Can you imagine what eighty cents worth of buttons would be? I doubt that a normal person could cut off eighty cents worth of buttons an hour. But the main interest at Deseret Industries is making people feel useful and happy.
“If you want to give yourself a spiritual treat, just visit Deseret Industries and associate with those who work there and see how much love and concern they have for each other, and how happy they are in their work.”

At age 14, Martin of the Westlands Branch found himself away from his home in Nairobi, attending a boarding school where he was the only member of the Church. In Martin’s school, on certain days of the week, only tea and bread were offered for breakfast. With 700 students, school authorities did not have the means to provide a special menu for one, so Martin chose to take water with the bread.
On Sundays he had to attend church with the rest of his schoolmates. There he had to listen to religious teachings he knew were sometimes distorted. From time to time schoolmates would steal glances at him as they talked in low tones about his “strange” beliefs. Occasionally, some would even call him a devil worshipper.
These challenges strengthened rather than weakened Martin. He was greatly encouraged by monthly visits from his parents and frequent messages from his branch president, who always sent the latest issue of the New Era. Reading it helped increase his courage to face these trials.
Joseph of the Riruta Ward holds the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. He remains faithful to the gospel despite being the only Church member in a large school in which many of his peers participate in drugs and other evils. Joseph has never missed church. He is always early, and he is clean and ready to serve as assigned by his quorum president and bishop. He helps prepare the sacrament almost every Sunday.
Humphrey of the Upper Hill Ward is also a teacher. He was baptized into the Church just two years ago. As Martin did, Humphrey currently attends boarding school. Part of the reason his faith has grown so much since he joined the Church is that he receives all his seminary assignments by post (by mail), does them, and returns them promptly to his seminary teacher.
When boarding school closes, Humphrey typically has to walk 45 minutes one way on Sundays to get a ride to church. Nevertheless, he is always early at church and ready to serve as assigned.
Whenever he receives an assignment to speak, Humphrey is diligent in his preparation. It is clear to all who listen that he has put much effort into preparing his talk.

In the San Diego California North Stake, the stake Young Women president, Sheryl Arrington, had similar ideas for helping her young women make the modest choice.
When they heard about plans for a modest fashion show, many young women rose to the occasion. “Modesty is important to me because it is important to the Lord,” said Hyesuhn Lee, a Laurel. “I know that being modest will help me reach my goal of going to the temple.”
Several other Laurels like Hyesuhn were invited to participate in the show, and the enthusiasm spread to the Mia Maids and Beehives, who offered to help as well. The show was expanded to include casual clothes, modeled by the Beehives, and Sunday best, showcased by the Mia Maids. With so much participation, Laurel Paige Mange discovered that she was in good company. “The show reminded me that I am not the only one facing the challenge of staying modest.”
The show took as its theme “Be Thou an Example,” and the young women truly became examples by inviting the 11-year-old girls in the stake to come see modesty in action. Christie Richmond, a Laurel, remembered the show’s simple lesson: “We can wear beautiful gowns and clothes and look pretty and be modest at the same time. Modesty will help you feel good about yourself because you know you are doing the right thing.”
Laurel Kierston Knobloch agrees. “I feel confident and comfortable when I know I don’t have to tug and pull at my clothes.”
The girls’ confidence was increased by their participation in the show. Not only did they get to wear beautiful, modest clothes, they also learned poise and posture so they could walk confidently down the runway built for the event. Best of all, however, was the temple cutout that adorned the stage, reminding the young women about their goals to stay obedient, pure, and worthy in dress and action so they could move towards the temple. “Modesty makes me feel closer to our Heavenly Father,” reflects Laurel Bee Xiong.
Sister Arrington agrees that modesty is a way for a young woman to grow spiritually. For her girls in California, as well as for the young women in Utah and anywhere else, when it comes to modesty, “young women are always beautiful when they follow the Lord’s principles,” she says.

I dropped the phone onto the wall cradle and slumped dejectedly into an easy chair. I looked up at the ceiling.
The phone call had come as a complete surprise. I tried to recall the last time that I had been assigned to give any kind of a talk in church. A missionary farewell was to be held in our ward next week, and our first counselor wanted to know if I would be willing to speak in church. It would have been very difficult to say no, but the topic I was assigned certainly tempted me to do so.
Testimonies had never been an easy thing for me to discuss, and recently, it had become even more difficult. Not too long ago, I had decided to re-read the Book of Mormon. When I came to the end, I decided that finally I would test Moroni’s promise. After much prayer, I had received no miraculous witness, no flash of light, and now the bishopric wanted me to speak in front of the ward on the subject of testimonies. I felt that I could hardly attempt to teach others how to gain and strengthen a testimony when I could hardly gain one myself.
The remainder of the week, I went through the motions of preparing a talk on testimonies. I looked up several stories and scriptures to use as examples, and I reviewed several other Church books on the subject. By Sunday, I had a talk prepared, but I felt far from ready to give it.
I paid little attention to the bright, clear weather of that morning as I walked the few blocks to church. I kept thinking that despite my research, I wasn’t prepared for this talk. In fact, I felt that I didn’t have the right to tell my fellow ward members how to gain a testimony when I didn’t have one myself. Somehow, I managed to drag myself up the stairs and into a seat behind the podium. I had trouble looking at the bishop when he shook my hand.
After church finally let out and the agony was over, I left for home as soon as I could. I was still thinking of the talk that I had given. I had talked too fast. Because of my nervousness, I had squeezed a full five-minute talk into about 30 seconds. I could still see the desperate look on the missionary’s face when he saw how much time he would have to use up.
I threw open the front door and went straight to my room. I dropped my scriptures on the desk, flopped down on the bed, and loosened my tie. Then I removed my note cards from my jacket pocket so that I could review them one more time before I shredded and trashed them for good. During my review I re-read one scripture in particular that I had used in my talk. Doctrine and Covenants 76:78–79 talks about bodies terrestrial: “they who are not valiant in the testimony of Jesus; wherefore, they obtain not the crown over the kingdom of our God.” [D&C 76:78–79]
At this point I decided to take a good look at the scriptures. For some reason, I opened to Alma, chapter 18, verse 35 [Alma 18:35]. Here I found this scripture: “And a portion of that Spirit dwelleth in me, which giveth me knowledge, and also power according to my faith and desires which are in God.”
It was a small scripture, not one that is often quoted. In fact, it didn’t even deal directly with testimonies. But it made sense to me. This short scripture pointed me in the direction I had to search for my testimony—inside of me! The gift of the Spirit, which gives us knowledge, was inside of me!
I began to recollect the times that I had read the Book of Mormon in the past. The main question on my mind had never been, “Is this true?” Instead, I had wondered how to apply a certain bit of knowledge to everyday life. I recalled discussions with friends about Church doctrine. I remembered the good feeling I got from helping others.
Slowly, I began to realize that I had within myself a testimony that had been growing for some time. That one little scripture had helped me to realize my real strength. I felt like running to the bishop and asking if I could give my talk over. I had found my testimony. It had been hidden there all along. I still have the note cards from that talk, and written on the front is the Alma scripture reference.

I remember meeting with a man some time back. Seventeen years before, his wife had a problem. She embraced another man in a moment of weakness, and then this was kept a secret for 17 long years. And this good brother, her husband, who had kept the law, who had never violated the code, all of a sudden found out about this, and it almost totally destroyed him. He came to see me and he asked, “What do you think I should do?”

And I said, “You must forget and forgive. And when I say forget, it must be taken from your mind forever and ever.”

He said, “But I can’t. I can’t get it off my mind, seeing her in someone else’s arms.”

And I said, “Then you remember what it was like in the temple, and you view her in your mind every time kneeling across the altar from you. I am sure she has been punished enough and has suffered enough; she needs no more. She has repented, and you forgive her.”

Well, he took that advice and was kind enough to follow it.

When they shared the good news of their conversion with their relatives in Cuba, it was met with surprise and reservations. However, as the Fernandez Lee family’s lives changed and their faith grew stronger, their families’ views began to shift. Brother Fernandez’s mother, 76-year-old Nilda Méndez Herrera, noticed a big difference in her son’s life. This motivated her to receive the first teachings of the gospel through video calls from the missionaries who preached to her son in the Dominican Republic. Sister Yoleidy Lee de Fernández’s mother, 67-year-old Xiomara Munoz Latuazon, also felt inspired by the Spirit to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Luis Wilberto Tito Quintana baptized both women on May 25, 2024, in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, in a simple yet beautiful ceremony where the spirit of gratitude to the Lord reigned. The Lord works to rescue His children, no matter how scattered they may be on the earth. “For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land.
“Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean” (Ezekiel 36:24–25).

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to him for a very long time. Ask him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt that I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in his hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you doing with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

The Mysterious Benedict Society*, by Trenton Lee Stewart. Reynie is an orphan with a talent for solving problems. When he discovers an ad in the newspaper for gifted children looking for special opportunities, he goes to apply. After a series of interesting tests, he and three other children begin a dangerous and unusual secret mission to save the world—but they’ll need each other to finish the task.