Gospel Story Finder

At the age of 14, I moved from the Bay Area of California, USA, to St. George, Utah. Traveling to a different state started as an exciting adventure, but once my family arrived and I started attending a new school, I quickly became lonely. My loneliness led to very unhealthy thoughts and feelings. I began to question whether my family loved me and even thought of suicide.
One Sunday I was really struggling and was wondering if there was even such a thing as love in the world. At church that same Sunday, my father spoke in sacrament meeting and told the congregation that if they had a question—any question at all—then they could ask God and He would give them an answer. That night, I humbly prayed before Heavenly Father as I never had done before. I told Him how lonely and sorrowful I was and told Him that I felt hopeless.
At this time, I felt that I only needed one question answered: “Heavenly Father, do You love me?” Although it seemed difficult to put this question in my prayer, I asked, desiring to know the truth with every beat of my heart. The answer came through the Spirit, and an overwhelming feeling of calm and peace filled my soul. To this day I cannot explain the depth of Heavenly Father’s love that I felt that night. Knowing that God loves me unlocked my testimony of everything else.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed that the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark!

Eight-year-old Sarawuth Buttho’s eyes lit up as he looked into the package of clothes. He turned and darted up the stairs into the living area of his “home on stilts” in the Ubon Branch in Thailand. After a few minutes, he called to his father, “Dad, I’ve never seen clothes like this. Come and show me how to put them on.”
Sarawuth’s sister, Oranut, and her friend, Chanchira Thondee, clasped their bags of treasure and ran next door to Chanchira’s house, where they tried on their new clothing. Seeing Oranut’s smile, watching Chanchira whirl in her ruffled lavender dress, or catching a glimpse of Sarawuth in his first-ever white shirt and tie would have been more than enough to thank the children in Bangkok for their wonderful gift.
The Primary children in the English-speaking branch in Bangkok, Thailand, had heard about their brothers and sisters in the Issan region of Thailand. They knew that they were very poor and that they had very few clothes to wear. In fact, they learned that the only change of clothing these children had was their school uniform, which they wore to school every day. They did not have any special clothes for Sunday.
Encouraged to begin to serve their fellowman in any way they could, the Primary children in Bangkok began a project to share what clothing they could spare with the children in the Issan region. They brought the clothing they wanted to donate to Primary, where the leaders made sure everything was clean, pressed, and mended. Clothing for about twenty children was then placed in plastic bags and tagged to show the size and age of the boy or girl who would receive it.
After missionaries serving in the region distributed the parcels of love, they reported some wonderful stories of gratitude:
Uthaiwan Arkomkong, age three, lives with her father and mother in a small room at the side of an equipment yard where her father works as a mechanic. Normally very shy, little Uthaiwan laughed and danced around the room when she put on the yellow ruffled dress that was in her package.
In the Srisaket Branch, two eight-year-old girls received dresses on the very day they were to be interviewed for baptism. They were happy to have their pictures taken in their new dresses on this special day.
When a pair of shoes was put aside by a teenager because they “squeezed her toes,” they were taken to Sister Pongsuwan, mother of three young daughters. “Do you want to be Cinderella?” asked Brother Dang as he knelt before her and slipped the shoes on her tiny feet. The shoes fit perfectly. Sister Pongsuwan danced and twirled with happiness, telling everyone that she had never had a pair of shoes before!
The love of the Primary children in Bangkok for their young brothers and sisters in the Issan region was returned many times with bright smiles and warm “thank yous” as gifts of the heart were exchanged—children to children.

When he was three years old, he surprised his parents with his Christmas wish: a violin. He had heard his older sister playing her violin and really liked the sound.
For Christmas he got his own little violin, and he surprised everyone by figuring out how to play songs on it by ear. When he was five he got a bigger violin and started taking violin lessons. Then he surprised everyone with how much he loved practicing.
Now Benjamin is nine. And people are surprised because he plays in the high school orchestra. That’s pretty unusual for a fourth grader! Some of his favorite pieces are by Vivaldi and Handel. His favorite Primary song is “A Child’s Prayer.”
Right now Benjamin is trying to learn to compose music. He wants to write a piece that he can play in church.

Another instance of worry: Oliver Cowdery and Rollin Robinson, a printer’s devil, or apprentice, overheard a small religious group of Palmyra townspeople plotting to destroy the manuscript and Oliver reported this to Lucy Mack Smith, who, being warned, could prevent it. Their plan was to trick her into showing them the manuscript, draw her attention elsewhere, then grab it from her hands and throw it into the fire. Mother Smith never showed them the pages and attempted to teach them its purpose, and at one point she said to them:

If you should stick my flesh full of [firebrands] and even burn me at the stake, I would declare, as long as God should give me breath, that Joseph has got that record and that I know it to be true.17

It was a scene much enjoyed and appreciated by President and Sister David O. McKay whenever they had the opportunity to rest during visits to southern California. Often they would sit for hours, holding hands, entranced by the changing panorama.
On one occasion, as nearly as I remember it, I was visiting with the President and his wife and we observed a huge sea lion struggling from the water, slowly moving above the high-tide line. We could see its sides heaving as it gasped for breath and finally collapsed from exhaustion on the beach.
President McKay took an immediate interest in this event and shared with me the knowledge that this great seal had been in a fierce battle to protect its mate and herd from a marauding band of pirate seals. After successfully fighting off the attackers, the sea lion sought the refuge of the cove to nurse its wounds and possibly to die in peace.
I listened in stunned silence. How did President McKay know all this? He seemed so certain and precise in his description.
At his suggestion we walked out to the point of the hill overlooking the ocean to get a closer look. What President McKay had said about the alleged battle appeared true; the seal was bleeding profusely from wounds on its back and side. Except for laborious breathing, the animal did not move or blink its eyes.
Becoming impatient with its inaction, I picked up a rock to hurl at the beast with the intention of making it move back into the water and swim away. As my muscles flexed I felt President McKay’s restraining hand on my arm. He didn’t say a word, but in his touch I felt a powerful, silent exhortation to be kind to God’s creatures.
We continued our way down to the beach and gave aid to this slick-skinned animal. I shall never forget President McKay’s kindly words and gentle touch as he seemed to soothe the suffering and torment of that sea lion.
He was not afraid of the animal, and the sea lion seemed to know that President McKay was a true friend. When the bleeding had stopped and the sea lion was sufficiently rested, it slipped back into the water, gliding away to rejoin its mate.

Many years ago, my parents decided to recarpet the house. The night before the new carpet arrived, my mom asked my brothers to remove furniture and rip out bedroom carpets so the new carpet could be installed. My then seven-year-old sister, Emily, was already asleep. So, while she slept, they quietly removed all the furniture from her room, except the bed, and then tore out the carpet. Well, like older brothers sometimes do, they decided to pull a prank. They removed the rest of her belongings from the closet and off the walls, leaving the room bare. Then they wrote a note and tacked it to the wall: “Dear Emily, we moved. We’ll write in a few days and tell you where we are. Love, your family.”

The next morning when Emily did not come for breakfast, my brothers went to find her—there she was, sad and alone behind a closed door. Emily reflected on this experience later: “I was crushed. But what would have happened if I had just opened the door? What would I have heard? What would I have smelled? I would have known I was not alone. I would have known I really was loved. The thought never even crossed my mind to do something about my situation. I just gave up and stayed in my closet crying. And yet if I had simply opened the door.”

My sister made an assumption based on what she saw, but it wasn’t a reflection of the way things actually were. Isn’t it interesting that we, like Emily, can become so weighed down in sadness or hurt or discouragement or worry or loneliness or anger or frustration that it doesn’t even occur to us to simply do something, to open the door, to act with faith in Jesus Christ?

Mr. Icedale got up one Saturday morning and looked out his window. There was snow everywhere, and icicles hung from his rooftop. “Snow!” he snarled. “I hate snow! I might as well go back to bed.” And with that, he jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over himself.
A squirrel crawled across the outside ledge of Mr. Icedale’s window and scratched on the screen. He wondered if Mr. Icedale might have a few crumbs for him that morning. But when he saw Mr. Icedale snuggled under his blankets and quilts, he stopped scratching and quietly crawled away.
Right next door lived Grammie Brown, whose grandson Jeffry had spent the night. Jeffry loved staying with her.
Grammie woke him up earlier than usual that morning. “Look outside—it snowed last night!” Her voice was filled with the wonder and amazement of new-fallen snow. “Quick—come down! We’ll eat some hot cereal and toast, then go for a walk before anyone else makes a print in the snow.”
Jeffry pulled on his long johns, his woolen socks, his jeans, a turtleneck, and a pullover. He raced downstairs without even making the bed and sat down to eat just as Grammie brought the toast and cereal to the table. They ate their hot, brown-sugared cereal in a hurry, then pulled on their boots, scarves, coats, hats, and gloves.
The streets were silent, and the snow crunched under their feet as first Jeffry stepped in Grammie’s footprints and then Grammie stepped in Jeffry’s. They trailed sticks behind them as they walked along. They fell backward into the snow and made beautiful snow angels by moving their arms and legs back and forth. Grammie made a big heart in the snow with the end of her stick and wrote “GB + JB” in the middle of the heart. Jeffry hugged her through all the layers of clothes that they had on. “I love you, Grammie. You’re the best grandmother ever!”
Grammie chuckled. “And you’re the best grandson ever!”
Suddenly Grammie straightened up. “I have a great idea. Let’s go shovel Mr. Icedale’s sidewalk before he gets out of bed!” Jeffry wasn’t sure it was such a great idea—it sounded like work, not fun—but Grammie was already pulling him along.
When they arrived, Jeffry stamped his foot and began to cry. “I want to keep playing! I’m too little to shovel snow, anyway.”
“Oh, Jeffry, I know that you can’t shovel snow. But you can make the snowmen.”
“The snowmen?”
“Yes, Jeffry, snowmen. You just roll snowballs along the sidewalk to make their bodies, and I’ll come after you and shovel up what little remains.”
Jeffry knew that his dad didn’t shovel the sidewalk that way, but it sounded like a good idea. He rolled two huge snowballs, two smaller ones, and two that were about the size of his own head. When Grammie had finished getting the snow off the sidewalks, she helped him roll the snowballs in front of Mr. Icedale’s bedroom window.
After they anchored the two largest in place, they stacked the smaller ones on top and filled in the gaps with more snow. Then they hurried to Grammie’s to get two carrots for the snowmen’s noses, buttons for the eyes and mouths, and two old scarves to wrap around their necks.
The snowmen were finished. Jeffry hadn’t known that shoveling sidewalks could be so much fun! He giggled as they ran back to Grammie’s house for hot chocolate and sandwiches.
Soon his parents came to pick him up. As they sat in the kitchen and talked, his dad looked out the kitchen window. “Who made the snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard?” he asked.
Jeffry looked at Grammie and put his finger up to his lips.
“Snowmen?” Grammie asked. “Well, look at that! Someone has made snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard. What a nice thing to do! He’s been a bit grouchy lately—maybe that will cheer him up.” She winked at Jeffry.
A few minutes later, as he stretched up to give her a hug and kiss good-bye, he whispered, “Let’s shovel Mr. Icedale’s walks again the next time it snows.”
When they passed Mr. Icedale’s house on the way home, Jeffry looked at the snowmen one last time. And there, with the window wide open, was Mr. Icedale putting out peanuts for the squirrels. He had a smile on his face—the first smile that had been there in a long time.
Jeffry leaned back in his seat with a great big smile of his own.

I will mention just one more. I know a fine person who had wanted to work at a particular institution his whole life. He was so happy to finally be working there. For some reason out of curiosity looked at a few pornographic sites on the Internet not with the intent to become addicted. The first looks led to longer searches and finally found viewing sites at work he lost his employment. "Anything like unto it" does include pornography and it does carry with it sadness.

Jeremy (name changed) is a boy at school who doesn’t have very many friends. Nobody ever wants to sit by him at lunch. One day I had a feeling that I should sit with him. I looked at Jeremy all alone at the table and thought for a minute. Then I took a deep breath, walked to the table, and sat down next to Jeremy. He had a big smile on his face. I felt good inside, and I knew that I had done the right thing.

Photograph courtesy of Leilani F.
They were going to crash headlong into a fence. And there was nothing Leilani could do about it.
Leilani F., a 16-year-old from Texas, USA, was sitting atop a blind horse. Sierra was an 11-year-old thoroughbred who had no intention of letting herself be guided anymore. The horse had chomped down on the bit and refused to follow any further direction.
“Sierra wasn’t listening and I started panicking,” Leilani said. It was about this time that Leilani started to reconsider her decision to try and help this horse.
A horse lover her entire life, Leilani volunteered with an organization that works with abandoned horses. The organization gave Leilani her pick of any horse in the program to work with. She chose Sierra.
“I knew nobody else would pick her because she’d gone blind,” said Leilani. “I felt sad for her, and I knew she was sweet. I wanted to give Sierra a real chance.”
Of course, it’s harder to keep such good feelings intact when you’re plowing straight for disaster.
“I’d been working with her and we were doing fine,” Leilani explained. “But then she decided to take the bit from me and trot off in a different direction. Nothing I could do would stop her.”
Photograph by iStock/Thinkstock
Sierra was so wound up that she refused to walk. She insisted on trotting, a much faster stride for a horse. As the fence drew closer and Leilani’s panic grew with each step, something happened that turned the whole situation upside down.
A feeling of peace washed over Leilani, and then, “I heard this thought very clear in my mind saying, ‘This is you.’”
Leilani was so shocked by the thought that she dropped the reins and literally almost fell out of the saddle.
“In that very moment, I felt in my heart the great love that my Heavenly Father has for me and the sadness He feels when I disobey him. I realized that my Father in Heaven was showing me that I was Sierra. We are all, in one way or another, blind horses.”
Dropping the reins also happened to save Leilani and Sierra from their impending crash with the fence. Sierra calmed down in reaction to the dropped reins and released the bit in her mouth. At that point Leilani picked up the reins again and gently steered them both clear of harm.
That day became a turning point. Leilani saw Sierra in a completely new light. From that moment on she worked slowly and carefully to build trust with Sierra. And in her own life, Leilani started listening more closely for the voice of the Lord to guide her past her own unseen dangers.
“God taught me little lessons through Sierra every time I rode her,” Leilani said. “Sierra can’t see hills and divots in the ground, so I have to tell her where they are. With a warning from a source she can trust, Sierra now knows that obstacles are ahead and is prepared so she doesn’t trip and fall. I learned that I must listen for warnings from God, that I must be ready to respond and be willing to trust what He says.”
Leilani learned each day how to draw nearer to God and listen more closely for His direction. After all, she had the perfect example right in front of her of what it means to turn your own intentions and plans over to someone who can see better.
Sierra became so good at trusting Leilani that the two of them took first place in two separate contests at a horse show. Sierra has since found a new home where she’s really hit her stride. She now trusts so completely that she can gallop across open fields at full speed—something she never could’ve done before. “She uses humans as her eyes,” said Leilani. “It makes her feel free.”
Leilani views keeping the commandments in the same light. “At first they might seem restrictive,” Leilani said, “but they keep us free.”
Her experiences with Sierra have helped Leilani in many ways. For starters, Leilani knows now that she wants to be a horse trainer in the future. But more importantly, “Because of Sierra, I’m learning more and more about how to hear and trust the voice of the Lord.”

As members of the Church enter the London Temple, immediately ahead of them is a reception desk. To the right of this desk, a painting shows a row of buildings in the distance with a bridge in the foreground. The stone bridge crosses the river Monnow and is the way into the little castle town of Skenfrith near Abergavenny.
The river is quite deep in places, and the right-hand side looking from the Bell Inn has steps leading down to the river.
This is the place where the first recorded convert baptism in South Wales, of James W. Palmer, took place on 13 April 1840. The baptism was performed by Wilford Woodruff, one of the Quorum of the Twelve, then serving as a missionary in the British Isles.
James W. Palmer kept a journal while serving as a missionary after his baptism. It includes the following entry in November 1840: “I preached at Skenfrith.” A later journal entry reads, “We now visited Skenfrith again… On Monday I baptised John Preece and William Williams in the river Monnow”.
Thus the story comes full circle, as the first convert to be baptised into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Skenfrith is subsequently instrumental in the conversion and baptism of further converts, there in the river Monnow.

It was a dry year when Mona and George Dunn decided to grow sugarcane on their farm near Lautoka. After six weeks without rain, the Dunns and the contractor whom they had hired to plant their crop feared that the seedlings would not survive. Brother and Sister Dunn and their sons fasted and prayed. As they returned from church the next Sunday, they met the contractor. “You are very blessed,” he said. “It has rained just enough to keep your cane alive.”
Later, when their water tank had nearly run dry, the Dunns again prayed for rain. As they sat on their veranda a few nights afterward, they saw a patch of clouds. “Wouldn’t it be marvelous if it poured right now?” said Sister Dunn.
“It will,” replied her husband.
And it did. The storm filled their tank to overflowing—but did not wet the road leading to their home.

As a young elder, I had been called to the old Primary Children’s Hospital that once stood on North Temple Street in Salt Lake City. There were children to be blessed. It was the Christmas season. I had never been in a children’s hospital before.
As our group entered the foyer, we noticed an attractively decorated Christmas tree, with beautifully wrapped gifts beneath its boughs.
A feeling of sympathy welled up within me as I noticed these tiny children, many with legs or arms in large plaster casts. Some were ever so weak and pale.
A young lad called out to us, “Will you give me a blessing?” Of course the blessing was given. I shall ever remember placing my hands on the tousled head of that faithful boy who was desperately ill. As we left his side, he looked up into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Brother Monson.”
We walked away, only to hear him call out, “Oh, Brother Monson, merry Christmas to you.” I could scarcely see him for the tears in my eyes. He had that glow about him that comes only at Christmastime. That boy trusted in his Heavenly Father. He acknowledged the priesthood of God. His faith was unwavering. I felt I was on holy ground.

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without. Some young people did not ask their mothers, “What’s for dinner?” because they knew all too well that their cupboards held very little.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
A year later, what I wanted more than anything else was football shoulder pads and a helmet. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were, shoulder pads and a helmet, except they were sized to fit Goliath—who, by the way, was six cubits or about nine feet tall.
“Mother, they’re too big,” I said.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said again. “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
Prior to high school I played a lot of neighborhood football. When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspaper in the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until the only way I could see where I was going would be to look out through the ear hole.
One time I rambled for a long gain at full speed right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. Then I would have to repack the cotton and newspaper as best I could, put it back on, and head back to the huddle.
My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Would I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? Could I ever grow into the man my father was? I wondered.
I think back on those days with some tenderness. Curiously enough, I also look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph; you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to “grow into” our responsibilities as priesthood bearers.

Fifth, let’s be prepared. I think often of Brother Herschel Pedersen, who was a basketball star at Brigham Young University many years ago. He said he was eating his lunch and reading his scriptures one day at the place where he worked and a rough individual looked in the door and said, “Oh, you’re reading that stuff, are you?”
Brother Pedersen said, “Yes. What do you know about these books, anyway?”
The man said, “I know all about them.”
“Oh, do you?” asked Brother Pedersen. “Tell me, then, when the Savior comes again what color will his clothes be?”
The man said, “That’s easy. They’ll be white.”
Brother Pedersen said, “That’s not what it says in here.”
“Oh, what color will they be?”
“Why don’t you try to find out?”
Brother Pedersen wouldn’t tell him. A week or two later the man came back ready for further discussion. After some time, he said, “Tell me, do you think there is any hope for a guy like me?”
You might think of asking questions you have worked out ahead of time. What would a person who doesn’t belong to the Church understand by reading this scripture:
“It shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.” (Isa. 2:2.)
Now all of us know what that means. It focuses our minds on the picture of the Salt Lake Temple. But if you weren’t a member of the Church, what would you think it meant? You wouldn’t know. You can ask that question. You might also ask what the Savior meant in the tenth chapter of the book of John:
“And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” (John 10:16.)
If you weren’t a member of this Church, that statement would be a mystery. You could ask somebody who the lost sheep were who heard the Savior’s voice. Just remember, you have the answers.
Sixth, we need to share our testimonies. We don’t have all the answers, but we don’t have to know everything to have a testimony. If you don’t know the answer to a question, bear your testimony. Maybe the one asking the question won’t believe it, but he will know that you are sincere in your faith.
Seventh, we must live our religion. We must each consistently live our religion so that other people will recognize what we stand for. Many years ago now, when I served in the armed forces, I think I never had a close non-Mormon companion who didn’t know that I was a member of the Church and who didn’t know I had been a missionary. They treated me with the utmost respect and admired my standards. I don’t believe that I ever gave my companions cause to think less of the Church in all those years that I served with them.
One of those companions joined the Church. I didn’t preach a word to him about the gospel. Somebody else found him and taught him, but I suppose he remembered a young fellow named Bangerter who was a Mormon and remembered the way I had lived. I hope so.
Now let me make our position clear. Although we should treat others with kindness, tolerance, and respect, we must stand firmly for the things that have been revealed to us. We do not apologize that we do not have the same doctrines and principles that other churches have. We can talk about it in a warm and friendly way, but we do not apologize. We didn’t initiate this restoration. God did. If others do not appreciate the Church or its doctrines, we nevertheless know they are true.
Some people don’t want the gospel to have been restored. Some people are offended that there might be living prophets and Apostles. Some people hate the thought that God would actually speak out of heaven again. I don’t know why, but I suppose the traditions of their fathers have promoted those attitudes to the point where the idea of a Restoration is offensive to them.
Nevertheless, we know what God has spoken to us—that in these last days he has brought forth the fulness of his everlasting gospel to prepare mankind to return to his presence and be exalted in his celestial kingdom. Our testimony is that God lives, that Jesus is in reality the Savior and the Redeemer, that Joseph Smith was called as the instrument of God to bring forth the Restoration in the last days. Latter-day Saints understand these truths, and we must be true to that understanding.

I stood next to my father in a hospital room. My mother, his wife of 41 years, lay on the bed. We had watched her for hours. We began to see the lines of pain disappear from her face. The fingers of her hands, which had been clenched into fists, relaxed. Her arms came to rest at her sides.

The pains of decades of cancer were ending. I saw on her face a look of peace. She took a few short breaths, then a gasp, and then lay still. We stood there waiting to see if another breath would come.

Finally, Dad said quietly, “A little girl has gone home.”

He shed no tears. That was because the Holy Ghost had long before given him a clear picture of who she was, where she came from, what she had become, and where she was going. The Spirit had testified to him many times of a loving Heavenly Father, of a Savior who had broken the power of death, and of the reality of the temple sealing he shared with his wife and family.

The Spirit had long before assured him that her goodness and faith had qualified her for the return to a heavenly home where she would be remembered as a wonderful child of promise and be welcomed home with honor.

For my dad, that was more than a hope. The Holy Ghost had made it a reality for him.

Elder Betteridge has a passion for team sports—when it came time for one of his sons to start playing football for their local club, he was disappointed to learn that they only played matches on Sundays. He persuaded the club to allow him to put together a new team and to join a Saturday league. He took on the role as the team’s manager for six years, running training sessions and matchday responsibilities alongside his many other work, Church and family commitments.

For example, Víctor and Norma Soardo and their children, Lilian, age 12, and Marcos, age 15, were baptized in 1997. The Soardos are grateful for both the warm welcome and the lessons they received in how to be good Latter-day Saints. “From the time I came to know the Church, my life has had surprise after surprise,” says Brother Soardo. “Good surprises!” he adds, referring to his amazement at being called to serve in the branch presidency.

Shortly after the family’s baptism, the car Víctor used to make a living was demolished in an accident. It left the family without means of support, and soon Víctor became desperate. He had little money with which to buy a car.

One Monday evening it was his turn to plan family home evening. He gathered his wife and children around him and said: “Instead of our regular lesson, let’s pray tonight. Let’s put this problem before the Lord.” They took turns in petitioning the Lord.

“A few days later I heard about someone with a car for sale,” Víctor recalls. “As I drove down a street looking for the address, I passed an old truck parked by the side of the road, and the idea came to me to stop and ask the owner if he would be interested in selling it.” The owner was interested, and the two bargained unsuccessfully for several minutes before the owner finally asked Víctor how much money he had. The owner agreed to sell his truck to the Soardos for half his original price.

“With this vehicle, I support my family. I pay my tithing. The truck is so much better for my needs,” says a grateful Víctor. “I never thought I could own a truck. The Lord knew better what I needed.” Learning the specifics of how to live as a Latter-day Saint helped the Soardos face this and other challenges.

Partly as a result of continued attention after baptism, both Salta and Jujuy, as well as other areas in Argentina, have enjoyed significant growth in the last few years. This growth has produced a number of new leaders like Víctor Soardo, now serving as president of the Guemes Branch, Salta West stake. “About 80 percent of our leadership here in the north comes from first-generation members,” explains Pedro López, an orthodontist who joined the Church at age 25 and was called as Jujuy stake president at the age of 29. Helping converts adjust to their new Latter-day Saint lifestyle has significantly strengthened the wards and stakes in Salta and Jujuy.

While I was serving as a bishop, a wonderful young man came to my office for an interview. As we visited, he mentioned that his only major problem was swearing. He constantly heard vulgar language around him, and he too had started swearing. He said he had been trying to quit but was unsuccessful, and he wanted some counsel on how he might stop using bad language.
I immediately thought of suggestions similar to what is now found in For the Strength of Youth: “If you have developed the habit of using language that is not in keeping with these standards—such as swearing, mocking, gossiping, or speaking in anger to others—you can change. Pray for help. Ask your family and friends to support you.”1 I wish this counsel had been available in For the Strength of Youth at that time.
Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.”1 It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.