Gospel Story Finder

Jud Vorwaller, 19, was in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat the summer before. In his senior year he sang in his high school choir. “I didn’t know I could sing,” Jud says. “A friend prompted me to try out. I didn’t want to because I was shy. Last year I had one solo and I was scared to death to do it. Opening night was nerve-racking. This year [when he had a lead role] I wasn’t nervous. I knew I had a lot to do, and if I got nervous, I was really in trouble.”

What has this experience done for Jud? “I’m not nearly as shy as before. I have more confidence in myself.” For someone headed for the mission field, that’s not a bad accomplishment.

Ailsa Marshall was in her second year at the famous Birmingham Conservatoire in England, and nothing seemed to be going right. She couldn’t sleep or eat properly, and her memory consistently failed during complex piano pieces.
She considered giving up, but her tutor persuaded her to enter the second-year piano competition—the David Brook Prize—an annual event sponsored by the former student’s parents after he was killed in a car crash.
“I didn’t expect to get through the preliminaries,” Ailsa explains. But the judges recognised a special quality to Ailsa’s music, and she was given a place in the finals.
The finals were to take place in the famous Adrian Boult Hall in Birmingham, but finding a time to practise in the hall was difficult. Ailsa’s teacher was finally able to find a vacant space, but it was on a Sunday.
“I’d rather not practise on that day,” Ailsa told her.
“Is it because of your church?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you compromise just this once?” she persisted.
“I’d really rather not, thank you.” Ailsa was equally persistent.
To Ailsa’s relief, a Saturday slot became available just in time. “I didn’t feel I could ask for the Lord’s help and not keep his Sabbath holy,” she says.
As the big day approached Ailsa became increasingly nervous, and her eating problems returned. The family was very worried. Because of urgent commitments, Ailsa’s dad could not get down to Birmingham, so they did the next best thing.
“I drove down from Cleveland to stay with family friends and asked the head of their house, Brother David Cook, to give her a blessing,” Sister Marshall recalls.
David’s wife Jean remembers, “It was a most unusual blessing. Every bit of Ailsa that needed to perform well was mentioned—her fingers, her foot, her mind and intellect, and her nerves.”
“It left me with a feeling of complete composure,” adds Ailsa. The feeling stayed with her throughout the performance.
“Ailsa’s music was breathtaking,” comments Jean. “Her rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude was incredible.”
When the results were summed up, Ailsa was awarded joint first prize. But perhaps even more special to Ailsa was the compliment David Brook’s father gave her. “I’m thrilled you chose those particular pieces of music. They were my son’s favourites, and you played them as he would have done.”

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, like she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.” She wanted to help others too.
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race and for her wonderful teammates. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

The spirit of Family Past in our doctrine also includes our appreciation for Adam and Eve, our first mortal parents. Our understanding of Family Past reaches even further back, prior to Eden, prior to the earth's creation--to our family relationship with God himself. Through the Restoration, we know that each of us lived in a pre-earth life with God, the literal father of our individual spirits. I recently met a bright and vivacious new Church member from Illinois whose discovery of the doctrine of our pre-mortal life was the turning point in her conversion. These ideas rang so true and meant so much to her that she just kept telling everybody, "We lived before! We lived before!"

A few years ago our teenage son traveled a long way from home. Distance made communication so difficult that we could send him only a brief written message with this postscript: “Read Alma 37:35–37.” Here Alma says, “O, remember, my son, and learn wisdom in thy youth. … Cry unto God for all thy support; yea, … let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever. … And he will direct thee for good.”
In his equally brief reply, our boy concluded: “Read D&C 2.” There we found Moroni’s words to Joseph Smith, promising that prior to the Lord’s coming, the priesthood will be revealed by the hand of Elijah, who “shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers.
“If it were not so, the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming” (D&C 2:2–3).
I was moved by his response. I wondered if he realized what deep nerves of meaning he was touching. He reflected his acceptance of the fifth commandment, to “honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee” (Ex. 20:12).
Moroni’s adaptation of Malachi’s prophecy (see Mal. 4:5–6) extends the spirit and promise of the fifth commandment far beyond simply showing respect for parents, as important as that is. Moroni promised that the spirit of Elijah—the priesthood power that seals families together—would plant in the hearts of the children a desire to realize the same promises the Lord gave to Abraham. For many Latter-day Saint children, those are the promises made to their own earthly parents in the temple. And the realization of these promised blessings will save not only them but the “whole earth” from being “wasted.”
How miraculous, literally, that a thirst, even a yearning, for these marvelous blessings can take root in the hearts of our children! I suspect that many parents in the Church pray every night, as we do, that this hunger will be planted in the hearts of their children.
To explain why I was so stirred by our son’s response, I must share a story about his older brother, born shortly after my father’s death. We gave this older son his grandfather’s name as a middle name. He felt awkward about that old-fashioned name in his early years and didn’t use it. But when he took up debate in high school and learned that his grandfather had been a champion debater in the 1920s, he began feeling a tie to his namesake. My father had kept a personal journal during much of his adult life, and one day I showed my son an entry describing his grandfather’s big debate. I left that journal with him, hoping he would read it.
He was a good boy, but he wasn’t easy to rear. We prayed for patience. We prayed that the seeds of faith would take root in his heart, but we knew we couldn’t force that process. I thought during those days about my own older brother, who died in an accident during his turbulent adolescence. How my parents had prayed and grieved for him! Then one night my son left me a simple note: “I never want to do anything that would hurt you and Mom the way your brother’s problems hurt your parents.” I wondered how he could have known of something so personal from a generation ago. Then I remembered the journal, but I chose not to ask more.
A few weeks later, our son worked his way through a particularly trying experience and came to us late at night to tell us what had happened: “Dad, I never knew Grandpa Hafen, but I felt he was there, helping me.” I held him close that night, and I told him more about his grandfather.
Not long afterward, he was deciding how he should respond to a mission call. We were in southern Utah for a family reunion. One afternoon, with no explanation, he drove alone to the isolated little canyon where his grandfather had loved to ride his horse—the place, in fact, where he had passed away. Our son had read of this canyon in the journal and had seen it from a distance but had never been in it. In a secluded spot there, he knelt and asked the Lord’s help in sorting through his questions about his faith, his mission, and his life. At his missionary farewell, he alluded to the sacredness of that day and described the deep assurance and sense of direction he had carried from his grandfather’s canyon. Now, some years later, with children of his own, he reflects in his life that same assurance and direction, and I know the joy my father must feel.
I have no doubt that God’s promises to my father were planted in the heart of our child, just as they were in my own heart. There really can be a bond and a sense of belonging that ties together generations on both sides of the veil. This bond gives us a sense of identity and purpose. Our ties with the eternal world suddenly become very real, sharpening our life’s focus and lifting our expectations.
As we honor father and mother by turning our hearts to them, the Lord promises that our “days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with [us], in the land which the Lord [our] God giveth” us (Deut. 5:16). How is this promise to be fulfilled? We may hope not only that our “days may be prolonged,” but also that our days and lives may be blessed with personal security, happiness, and meaning. We can expect not only that “it may go well” with us individually, but also that our society will enjoy peace and liberty. The key to social as well as individual survival depends on children turning their hearts to their fathers and learning from the wisdom they have accumulated.
Today, those basic human relationships we call kinship and marriage are disintegrating. Many children, parents, and spouses are turning their hearts not toward one another but toward their own self-focused needs. “They seek not the Lord … , but every man walketh in his own way, and after the image of his own god, whose image is in the likeness of the world” (D&C 1:16).
Perhaps we are witnessing the negative aspects of the promise associated with the fifth commandment, namely, that the earth could be “utterly wasted” at the Lord’s coming. For “the earth will be smitten with a curse unless there is a welding link … between the fathers and the children” (D&C 128:18). The curse, like the blessing, was part of Malachi’s prophecy. Other prophecies also foretold the curse of an earth wasted by the loss of family bonds: “In the last days … men shall be lovers of their own selves, … disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, Without natural affection” (2 Tim. 3:1–3). “And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold” (Matt. 24:12).
Statistics reflect some results of this problem—rising rates of adolescent crime, births to unwed parents, divorce, and family violence. But the attitudes that produce these statistics are in some ways more revealing than the statistics themselves. As one anonymous writer said, we are seeing today a “general … transformation of our society from one that strengthens the bonds between people to one that is, at best, indifferent to them; a sense of an inevitable fraying of the net of connections between people at many critical intersections, of which the marital knot is only one.” This disintegration has at least one common cause: “The overriding value placed on the idea of individual emancipation and fulfillment, in the light of which, more and more, the old bonds are seen not as enriching but as confining. We are coming to look upon life as a lone adventure.”1
In addition to individual isolation, this trend leads us to forget our “group memory”—the essential knowledge each succeeding generation must possess to ensure social continuity, even survival of the culture. The loss of human connections is keeping knowledge and understanding from being passed from one generation to the next. “Our society requires, as a minimum for its survival, that its members share a common set of beliefs, abide by a common set of rules, and … recognize their mutual dependence.”2 In this sense, the connection between honoring parents and living long in the land seems especially strong.
The fifth commandment’s focus on child-parent relations calls attention to a modern trend—a “children’s rights” movement. In some ways, this movement has helped raise society’s awareness about the seriousness of child abuse, and it has made government agencies and schools feel more accountable for what they do. But rather than planting the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, this movement has too often sought to release children from any sense of dependence upon, or even connection to, parents and other adults.
This movement to give children their “rights” can actually leave them feeling abandoned. In fact, children’s highest “right” is to be loved, taught, and nurtured by parents and communities who honor and protect them. Only in this way do we teach them to honor their parents and to honor the interests of their communities. Only this reciprocal honoring—and belonging—will deliver the promise of the fifth commandment.
Ironically, adults face some confusing conflicts of interest when thinking about the “rights” of children. Child rearing makes great demands on the time, energy, and financial resources of parents and communities. Giving “rights” to our children is a beguiling invitation, for it offers an escape from those demands—a liberation from the responsibility of long-term nurturing. The notion that we should “respect our children’s freedom” enough to “leave them alone” can too easily justify the attitudes of adults whose personal convenience is also best served by leaving their children alone. Such parents might decide it is not worth the patience and frustration required to provide children with meaningful discipline.
Those who give in to that temptation miss a wonderful opportunity for personal growth. Unqualified commitments to our children, spouses, parents, and brothers and sisters allow us to learn and grow in ways not possible in less-demanding relationships.
I once saw how this kind of learning can take place. One of our children was in great difficulty in his fourth-grade class. He needed to complete a certain project by the next day, or he would face disaster. After dinner, my wife, Marie, told me that she had thought of a way she could help him. I ushered our other children out of the kitchen, and the handicraft project began.
I periodically heard outbursts from our fourth-grader, who kept insisting that he wouldn’t do another thing on the project. At one point, I offered to send him to his room and tell him to forget it, but Marie calmly urged me to let her proceed with the plan.
After about three hours, as I was tucking the other children into bed, our son and his mother entered the bedroom. Carrying his project as proudly as if it were a birthday cake, he invited the other children to see it.
He had made every part of it himself. He placed it on a counter and started for his bed. Then he looked back at his mother with a broad, boyish grin. He ran across the room, threw his arms around her waist, and hugged her close. The two of them exchanged glances that carried great meaning. He went to bed, and we left the room.
“What happened?” I asked my wife. “How did you do it?”
Marie replied that she had made up her mind that no matter what he said or did, she wouldn’t raise her voice or lose her patience. She had also decided that leaving him was not an alternative, even if the project took all night. Then she made this significant observation: “I didn’t know I had it in me to do it.”
She had discovered within herself a reservoir of patience and endurance she never would have found without the deep commitment that grew from a sense of real belonging. Belonging is for thick and thin, and this was one of the thin times! Exerting such immovable loyalty to another person teaches us how to love—indeed, how to be more like the Savior.

I was 13 when I found myself faced with what I felt was a no-win scenario. I had been friends with this girl for a few months. She was not a member of the Church, nor did she share all of our values of always striving to be Christlike. She preferred to settle her disagreements with her fists.

During lunch that day, I had been sitting quietly, listening to the conversation around me. Then my friend suddenly started bad-mouthing another friend of mine. This other friend I knew to be a nice, polite girl, who always tried to treat everyone kindly. My heart started to pound, sounding in my ears. I knew it wasn’t right for me to sit there and say nothing; so I spoke.

“Please don’t talk about her like that.”

My friend glared at me. “I can talk about her if I want,” she responded.

“I’m asking you not to,” I said a little louder.

That’s when she stood—face flushed and eyes wide. “You want to take this outside?” she snarled.

There I sat, unsure of how to keep one friend while defending another, who I knew didn’t deserve to have her reputation slandered.

I stood up to meet my friend’s eyes, praying that Heavenly Father would help me be a peacemaker.

I spoke calmly but sincerely. “You’re my friend,” I told her, “and it hurts me to hear you talk badly about another friend I care about.”

That was all it took. The wrinkles between her brows disappeared and her eyes softened. She shrugged, “Fine.” Then, she sat back down.

That may not have been our last disagreement, but that was the last time she ever wanted to fight me. I learned then that treating others as friends and fellow sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father is the right thing to do, no matter the situation. And I’m grateful for the example that our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the Prophet Joseph Smith set for me so that I could learn this for myself.

But Brian’s quickness isn’t what really impressed his baseball coach the first year Brian played. What most impressed coach Marcus Cloud from Hempstead, Texas, was the kind of example Brian set for his teammates: he never swore, he didn’t talk back, and he went out of his way to befriend his teammates.
“Brian carried himself in a way that was real positive, outgoing, and it always seemed like there was something a little bit different about him,” says Coach Cloud. The coach couldn’t figure out what the difference was, but he was so intrigued by it that he started following Brian’s example. When Coach Cloud found out that Brian didn’t drink tea, he decided not to drink it either.
And when Coach found out that Brian was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he made up his mind to look into that too. Coach Cloud first met the missionaries at Thanksgiving dinner at the Blacks’ home. That night, he told the missionaries he wanted to know about the religion Brian practiced. Soon the coach was meeting with the missionaries regularly and talking to Brian. “Brian filled in a lot of blanks for me. I would go and talk with him about the things that I had read in the Book of Mormon, and he was actually able to answer a lot of questions for me,” says Coach Cloud.
But the most important question Brian’s coach asked him came on the bus ride back from a baseball game in the nearby town of Columbus. He asked simply, “Brian, do you think I have what it takes to be a member of the Church?” Brian smiled and answered, “I would say you do.” But despite Brian’s reassurances, Coach Cloud still wasn’t sure if he was ready for baptism.
A week later, Brian’s baseball team suffered a huge loss to a rival high school. After the game, the players sat in silence waiting for the bus to take them home. Everyone was depressed, especially Coach Cloud.
Brian walked over to the coach to cheer him up. Intending to comment on the game, Coach Cloud looked up at Brian. But instead of replaying the day’s gory defeat, he said, “Brian, I am going to be baptized.” If Brian was shocked by the announcement, so was his coach. But Coach Cloud says he knew he needed to join the Church.
Brian was thrilled. “It was neat that it was my baseball coach getting baptized,” says Brian, who as a priest in the Waller Branch was able to perform the ordinance. Brian says the experience strengthened his friendship with Coach Cloud. In fact, last summer the two took a trip to Utah to visit temples in the area and see Brian’s grandparents.
Unable to resist his coaching instincts for even a second, Coach Cloud made Brian work out every day but Sunday during the trip, no matter what. While they were on the road from Texas to Utah, they would often stop at rest stations and lay out orange cones so Brian could run sprints.
Far more important than the athletic training, however, was the spiritual conditioning Brian received from the trip. He and Coach Cloud were able to do baptisms for the dead at the Provo Utah Temple and visit several Church history sites. And Brian and his coach had plenty of time to talk about Brian’s plans to serve a full-time mission. “I’m looking forward to the spiritual experiences you get from a mission,” says Brian.
It’s Sunday, and the Waller Branch’s sacrament meeting is about to start. Brian sits with his family, his arm around his younger brother Brent, 8, who is dressed in clothes identical to the big brother he looks up to. Coach Cloud walks in and quietly sits down beside them.
Although his friendship with Brian has been sealed by both victory and loss on the baseball field, it’s here, enjoying the gospel, that the two feel their greatest bond. It’s a bond formed because of Brian’s example—on and off the field.
“If youth were to learn something from Brian, it’s that it is important that you set the right example,” says Coach Cloud. “There are people like me who would love to know about the gospel, but they don’t know where to look.”
Until a shortstop with quick feet and a strong testimony comes along, that is.

When I think of accumulating things and the difference it makes, I think of the experience I had in Bacolod, on the Negros Island in the Philippines.

We were being driven to stake conference by President Ruiz. He had borrowed a car so we would have transportation. When we drove up to the little chapel there in Bacolod, there was no one around. I said, “President, maybe the conference is at another time.” He replied, “No, they’re all inside.” We drove into the parking lot—ours was the only car there. We got out of the car and walked into the chapel. It was packed to capacity and people were standing on the sides. The meeting commenced and the great stake president, President Villerette, stood. He looked at his people and tears began to stream down his face. He said, “I’m hungry. My wife and my children are hungry. All we have to eat is a little bowl of rice each day.” Then he said, “But you, my brothers and sisters, are hungry, too. And I promise you that if you will live and keep the commandments of the Lord that this will pass, and one day again we will have our stomachs full and be able to enjoy the blessings of our country.”

A number of years ago I attended a branch conference that taught me a lesson I will never forget. The branch president and the first counselor had spoken. Now it was the second counselor’s turn. I glanced at him as he moved, with obvious self-consciousness, to the pulpit.
As he looked down at the congregation I let my eyes follow his. Two or three of the brethren had their eyes closed, apparently in sleep, and several mothers were unsuccessfully trying to quiet their restless children. Only the mission president, who had chosen to sit with the congregation, was looking directly and attentively at the speaker, with an expression of interest and anticipation.
“My brethren and sisters,” confessed the second counselor, blushing, “speaking in Church is very difficult for me.” He paused awkwardly. “I’m doing it today because the president has asked me to say something. I think this is the second talk I have ever given in my life, and since I don’t feel too strong in explaining gospel doctrine, I have copied down a talk from a book we have at home.”
His powerful, calloused hands fumbled in his suit coat pocket. Heavy drops of perspiration suddenly began to bead his brow; the talk was not there. Nor was it in any of the other pockets. I felt sorry for him.
“Bear your testimony.” I thought, hoping he would somehow get my message, but for him it was apparently either the copied talk or nothing. Not finding it in his pockets, he stepped from the pulpit and walked down the aisle toward the coats that were hanging at the rear of the hall.
For one moment I thought he was simply going to put on his coat and leave, but it was his talk he was after. It was there in a pocket of his overcoat. Slowly he retraced his steps up the aisle, carefully unfolding the handwritten pages as he came. Standing once more at the pulpit, he began to read nervously and with obvious embarrassment, sometimes correcting his mistakes, sometimes not.
I was uncomfortable with him, and I was uncomfortable for him. But mostly I was aware of his inadequacy. And yet, the Spirit was about to teach me a great truth.
It began with a kind of pricking inside myself that seemed to translate itself into a small voice, and for the next few minutes I carried on a dialogue with myself.
“You could certainly do a lot better,” I heard my “other self” say.
I squirmed uncomfortably but conceded that I probably could.
“If you had a chance you could certainly teach this man something,” persisted the voice. “You have a doctor’s degree from the university, you are a seventy, the district mission president …”
This voice was too frank. I looked at the audience. Most, out of politeness and embarrassment, weren’t looking at the speaker. Only the mission president was still looking intently and respectfully at him.
“It’s ironic!” the “other” continued. “The good speaker is sitting here and the poor one is up there at the pulpit.”
The discussion was becoming unbearable. I tried shutting the voice out by desperately trying to follow the talk, but the awkwardness and mistakes made it difficult.
“What are you going to learn from him?” asked the little voice, determined to keep needling me.
“I don’t know,” I answered impatiently, “but chances are I can learn something if I listen.”
“You mean you haven’t been listening?”
“No, I’ve been involved in this silly discussion, for one thing!”
“So you’ve learned nothing from him so far?”
“No.”
“And since he started to speak you haven’t contributed anything to the spirit of this meeting?”
“No …”
“Do you think this speaker needs help?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to help him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then do it,” said the voice. “Listen, and contribute …”
At that point I stopped the dialogue. Considerably disturbed by this silent discussion with myself, I closed my eyes and prayed earnestly to my Father in Heaven, acknowledging that I was the one who needed help, and pleading with him to let me contribute to the spirit of the meeting. “Help me,” I asked, “to listen as I ought to listen.”
Then I raised my head, looked at the speaker, and concentrated every effort to do as much as I could to see that my prayer was answered.
In the remaining few minutes of the man’s talk an unusual thing happened. For ten years one problem had bothered me, a question of doctrine. I ought to have known the answer: my experience in the Church and my study of the scriptures should have given it to me. It wasn’t anything to shake my faith or undermine my testimony, but it had eluded me for ten years. I heard my answer that day. I had often sat in conferences within the sound of a prophet’s voice, but perhaps I had never really listened until that day when the answer came to me from the second counselor. He read it falteringly, unsure of himself, but the message burned itself into my soul as if it had been etched there with fire.
I am now convinced that he taught me by the Spirit. But I am equally convinced that I would not have benefited from his talk had I not made an effort to listen by the Spirit. Above and beyond receiving the answer to the question that had bothered me for ten years, I learned that the call to listen is every bit as important as the call to speak or teach. Jesus himself taught in his native Nazareth; but hearing they heard not, and it profited them nothing.

I have been putting off this letter for almost a year now, and I feel it is time for me to finally write and tell you the feelings I have for the Church and the New Era. I first met a member of the Church a year ago. Before then I had never heard of the Church. In his own silent way, mostly through his example, this brother brought me to a better understanding of myself. It was all too soon (about two weeks after we met) that I left him and Cape Town to go on a holiday.
I asked my friend to give me something to read on my two-day train ride. He arrived at the station with a whole folder of New Eras, pamphlets, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. For two days on the train I read the New Era. I read every one (there were about 12) from cover to cover, and then read the pamphlets. Something very exciting was being opened up to me, and I could feel it. I spent that whole three-week holiday in constant prayer and reading. Let’s not forget the crying and laughing either. Before the holiday was over, I knew without a doubt that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true church of God.
Unfortunately, my parents aren’t as enthusiastic as I am, so I still have to wait six months to be baptized. But I couldn’t be happier than I am, just having the knowledge that I do. It is so refreshing and filling.
I think the New Era is the greatest magazine ever published. I find it the most comforting and most spiritually moving work of art in the world today. Thank you, New Era, for giving me the beginning of the most precious eternal gift of truth, and also for filling my life with such precious, beautiful words I could ask for nothing more. I am studying at a university where I am the only Latter-day Saint, and I can truly say, New Era, you are my best friend.
Annie GroblerCape TownRepublic of South Africa

At Christmastime in 1996, I was serving a mission in southern Spain. My companion, Sister Noel,* was filled with enthusiasm and had a gift for loving everyone. Many times I saw the love of Christ reflected in her countenance.
Sister Noel and I were working with all our hearts in a little Andalusian town where the members loved us and seemed happy to have missionaries in their midst. It was a special time, and we could feel the spirit of Christmas in the streets and from the people of the ward. Sister Noel and I had both received little Christmas gifts from our families, friends, and home wards, so we had lots of goodies.
Almost everyone we knew seemed happy, except the Fernández family. The father was out of work and had no money to buy gifts for the children. When my companion learned about their situation, she felt we needed to help them in some way. Together we started talking about how we could help.
With the assistance of a member of the ward, we gathered together the goodies our families had sent. With the money we had received, we bought toys for the children.
The Fernández family was thrilled and astonished. But the little miracle did not end there. Thanks to this small act of service, my companion and I were also blessed with greater feelings of love for all the members.
Because of my companion, I learned that it is better to give than to receive. It gave me great joy to give something to a family who needed it more than I did. I’ll always be thankful for Sister Noel, who taught me that every day can be Christmas when we share the love of the Savior with others.

A few years ago, right before Christmas, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, I decided to take a short nap. My seat was C, near the aisle. Just before the cabin door closed, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s stood beside me and said, “May I have my seat?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” That was the end of my nap. She loved to talk.
She said, “I don’t know why I should have to fly to a cold place like Utah at Christmastime to visit my grandchildren. I hate to leave sunny California.”
She went on to say, “Besides, there are strange and weird people in Utah. They call themselves ‘Mormons.’ My daughter married one of them.”
I said, “I am sorry, but before you go any further, I should tell you that I am one of them.”
Then she said, “I am sorry—I didn’t mean that.”
I said, “Oh, you really meant that, didn’t you?”
Our conversation went on until we were above Provo. We knew we would soon be landing in Salt Lake.
“Patti”—that’s her name—“you have been talking for most of the flight. I feel like I have known you from the pre-earth life. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, your deceased husband—do you know you can see him again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
“Do you know your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby—you will see him also in the future?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. I sensed she had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
“Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?”
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply. And the Lord promises us, “For mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.”
He also said: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep. … My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”
Nephi desired to see father Lehi’s dream—the tree of life—and he did. Then Nephi also saw the beautiful baby Jesus. And the angel asked, “Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?”
Nephi replied, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.”
Before we came to this earth, our Heavenly Father gently and peacefully placed in our bosoms “the love of God.” In Heavenly Father’s eyes, you are a very special child. My friend Patti has the spark of divinity in her soul. When Patti heard the word of Heavenly Father, she was touched deeply and she responded to His voice.
We were total strangers, but the Lord placed one of His precious daughters quietly next to me. I was praying earnestly, that the Spirit of the Lord would touch her and speak to her.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and living daughter who had become a member of the Church. She now knows her family is forever in the Lord. My friend Patti Louise Donaldson found the Lord Jesus Christ. Now she lives in Utah.

We sing, “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, number 27). This is a true principle. Let me illustrate with a personal experience.
I was named bishop of a suburban Salt Lake City ward in 1958, in the days when local members paid 50 percent of the cost of constructing a building. One of the most important leadership experiences in my life came several weeks before the dedication of our building. Our ward of young families, struggling to make ends meet, still needed to raise U.S. $30,000. I fasted and prayed to know what I should say to them regarding this obligation. We already had pressed them very hard.
As the brethren gathered for priesthood meeting, I was impressed to read to them the testimony that Elder Melvin J. Ballard, my grandfather, bore when he was ordained to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on 7 January 1919. I quote a small portion recounting his experience in 1917 when he had sought the Lord pleadingly in a situation where there were no precedents for guidance:
“That night I received a wonderful manifestation and impression which has never left me. I was carried to this place—into this room. I saw myself here with you. I was told there was another privilege that was to be mine; and I was led into a room where I was informed I was to meet someone. As I entered the room I saw, seated on a raised platform, the most glorious being I have ever conceived of, and was taken forward to be introduced to Him. As I approached He smiled, called my name, and stretched out His hands toward me. … He put His arms around me and kissed me, as He took me into His bosom, and He blessed me until my whole being was thrilled. As He finished I fell at His feet, and there saw the marks of the nails; and as I kissed them, with deep joy swelling through my whole being, I felt that I was in heaven indeed. The feeling that came to my heart then was: Oh! If I could live worthy … so that in the end when I have finished I could go into His presence and receive the feeling that I then had in His presence, I would give everything that I am and ever hope to be!” (Melvin R. Ballard, Melvin J. Ballard: Crusader for Righteousness [1966], 66).
The Spirit of the Lord touched the hearts of the faithful brethren in my ward’s priesthood meeting that day. We all knew that with greater faith in Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, we could reach our goal. During that same day, family after family came to my office with money, making personal sacrifices that were far beyond what I, the bishop, would ever have asked of them. By eight o’clock Sunday evening, the ward clerk had written receipts for a little more than $30,000.
Sacrifice truly brought forth the blessings of heaven to the members of our ward. Never have I lived among a people who were more united, more caring, more concerned for one another than those members. In our greatest sacrifice, we became bonded together in the true spirit of the gospel of love and service.

Photograph posed by model
When I crossed the finish line of the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska, I felt extremely grateful to be a finisher because I had been fighting the battle of living with a chronic illness. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I hurried to call my mother. She was thousands of miles away serving a mission with my father in Samoa. With heartfelt emotion and tender tears, my first celebratory words to her were “I’m free! I’m free!”
Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

“How I will ever have a normal date with a family like mine around is one of life’s greatest mysteries.” That’s what I told my friend Becky.
First of all my mom sings. I don’t mean in church and stuff. I’ll be in my room with Becky and we’ll be concentrating on Ivanhoe because of a test the next day and we’ll hear my mom walking through the hallway singing something like, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” really loud.
It’s not so bad when Becky is here; she’s used to it. But what if a guy were to come to my front door and hear some crazy lady screeching “Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy,” another of my mom’s special numbers?
Fortunately, my brother George has been in France on a mission. He’s four years older than me and he still calls me “Mushbottom,” which is what he made up when I was a baby with soggy diapers. Really embarrassing! I can just imagine what a date would think with George greeting him and then calling up the stairs, “Hey, Mushbottom! Your date is here!” I’d rather shave my head.
Actually it doesn’t make that much difference that George is out of the country. My dad is here. He would make my date sit in the living room, and then he’d put on some opera. Then my dad would probably start directing the opera—vigorously. It’s embarrassing enough without witnesses.
And my younger brother would come in and stare at my date and then comment on the size or shape of his nose. I know he will; he does it to strangers at the supermarket. And my sister, the one I have to share a room with, she’d walk right up to my date and say, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?” The two of us used to do that to George and then run back to our room and giggle, after we blocked the door with a chair.
My name is Jenna. I was named after my two grandmas. Jenny, my dad’s mom, works as a clown volunteer at the hospital and drives there in full-clown dress. Another blotch on my reputation. And Anna. She has so many cats that they call her the “cat woman.” Fortunately, she lives in another neighborhood. Unfortunately, our city shrank the day they put a story about her in the local paper. She takes in homeless cats and names them after us. A cat named Jenna posed for the largest picture on the page.
When I met Shane at the stake dance and he asked if he could take me to the next one, I told him I had to help decorate but I could meet him there, for reasons that ought to be clear by now. It would be better if he could get to know the real me first.
And because the real me tries to be as honest as possible I had to volunteer myself with Becky and Katelyn to help with the decorations. When the dance committee said they hadn’t planned on decorating, we had to spend our baby-sitting money on some stupid crepe paper bells.
The dance was great in spite of the decorations, and there were no embarrassing moments to speak of. At least not until Shane took me home. I tried to get him to drop me off at the corner, but he wouldn’t do it. “No, I need to be sure you get home safely,” he said. What a guy.
When he pulled into my driveway I got really worried. Grandma Jenny’s car was there. Sometimes she stopped off, in her clown getup, and stretched out on the sofa to listen to opera. She could come out the door any moment.
“Uh …” I stammered. “I better go!” I jumped out of the car and ran inside, locked the front door, and turned off the porch light.
In spite of the fiasco he asked me out again. When I told him I’d meet him, again, he asked about my family. I told him only the appropriate things: that my brother was in France but that he’d be home soon; my dad teaches English at the college; my mom is stake music chairman; and that there were two younger siblings. “Your family sounds nice,” he said.
I said, “You have no idea.”
“I know,” he said. “You never let me near them.”
“Uh … well, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet them one of these days,” I said, sounding pleasant but feeling dread. I was sure he would meet them one day soon since my brother would be home in just a few days. Then it would be good-bye Shane.
On the Saturday we’d planned George’s welcome-home celebration I was in the front yard because I had just come back from helping my little brother find his tortoise, Houdini. George was on his way out the door to play basketball.
George motioned for me to sit on the porch. He was so nice to me that I couldn’t stop talking. Funny, he hadn’t ever listened to me like that before his mission. I told him all about Shane and about how I was afraid he’d lose interest if he met the family. I thought he’d tell me I was wrong to think that. But he didn’t. He agreed that it was a crazy family. “But,” he said, “crazy in a good way.” I couldn’t think of how being related to a clown, a cat woman, an opera fanatic, and a nightclub diva could be “a good way.” And George? He had the power to wipe me off the face of the earth with one nickname.
“What’s with the frown,” George asked. I told him that I was afraid he’d call me that awful nickname in front of Shane and life, as I knew it, would come to a devastating halt.
“Listen,” he said, “if this Shane guy were to split just because of a nickname, or because your grandmother wears a clown outfit …”
“A clown outfit with a bushy purple wig and huge pink nose.”
“Yeah, with purple hair and that awesome nose, and it’s all for cheering up sick kids! If that turns him off then what kind of a person would Shane be? I know he wouldn’t be good enough for you.”
Good enough for me? I’d never thought of it that way.
“Either he likes you or he doesn’t. If he likes you, he’ll like your family. And if he’s just sticking around because you’re beautiful, then better to get rid of him now instead of later when it would hurt more.”
Beautiful? My brother had never talked to me like this before.
“Gotta go.” George got up and gave me a wink before he jogged down the street.
Later, while I made my bed I talked to Katelyn on the phone. “Am I like my family?” I hoped she’d say, “No, not at all.” But she didn’t say anything at first. Then she said, “In some ways you are, and in some ways you aren’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Katelyn took a deep breath. “It’s like this. If you had a different family you’d be completely different too. I mean, I think you’re so funny, and it’s because you have funny family stories to tell. And, well, you’re a good baby-sitter because you’ve taken care of your little brother and, like you say yourself, ‘If I can take care of him I can take care of any kid!’ It’s hard to figure out how to say what I mean. But sometimes it seems like you might do something great or unusual someday because you see a grandma everyday, going to the hospital.”
That was a revelation.
I looked at my clock radio, only two more hours until the party for George. The phone rang.
“Hello?” It was Shane. “I’m coming over for the celebration.”
“You’re what?”
“George invited me. Hey, he’s a good basketball player. Your ward beat us because of him.”
“Uh …” my normally extensive vocabulary seemed to have short-circuited. When I hung up I felt a renewed surge of verbal ability, “George!” What made me think he’d changed? I’d trusted him! “George!”
“George isn’t here!” my grandmother-the-clown answered. “He’s gone to the humane shelter to pick up Grandma Anna.”
I went back to my room to fume alone. That George!
A car pulled into the driveway. George and Grandma Anna got out. The cat woman was carrying a tiny kitten. I saw George glance toward my window. It never occurred to me that he’d worry about making me mad. He actually looked concerned. I sat on the bed. I wanted to think about what George said about Shane liking me—and my family.
I heard my mom singing in the kitchen. I wrapped my quilt around my shoulders and leaned toward the open window. Grandma Anna had made the quilt; it has cats on it. I wondered who’d arrive first, my dad or Shane. I felt a chill of anticipation. It was the same feeling I’d get when I was about to give a talk or act in a play. I’d always tell myself that I’d done all I could already and if people didn’t like me, then tough toenails. I looked out at the stars, humming along with my mother’s song.
George yelled from the driveway below, “Mushbottom!” I looked down at him. He was cradling the kitten. “I thought we could name the kitten Mushbottom. Then I could promise never to call you that again.”
I thought it must be his way of apologizing for inviting Shane to the celebration. I had to admit he was right about one thing. How could I ever have a real date if I kept hiding such an important part of the real me? George smiled and climbed the steps to the front porch. I saw headlights coming up the street so I put the quilt back and combed my hair, which happens to be curly just like Grandma Jenny’s.
Shane came up the walk and George met him at the door. “Hi,” George said. “I’m Jenna’s brother.”
Shane grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Have you heard about Mushbottom?” George asked.
I groaned, but Shane laughed. He came inside and looked around. Mom was singing in the kitchen, Dad was conducting a record, my little brother was examining Shane’s nose, and my sister said, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?”
Shane laughed again. “Your family is great,” he said.
I looked at George. He winked at me. For the first time, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt proud.

When my class was studying architecture this year in school, each student was assigned to prepare both a report and a three-dimensional model of a famous building or other structure. Since my parents were married in the Salt Lake Temple, it is very special to my family. My dad had the great idea of using sugar cubes to make my model of it. We thought that sugar cubes were perfect because their white color symbolized the purity of the temple. I realized that the shape of the cubes was also appropriate because the Salt Lake Temple was built using huge granite boulders that were cut by hand into blocks.
My five-year-old brother, Rollins, decided to make a temple, too. We thought his turned out to look a lot like the Manti Utah Temple.
Presenting the report let me tell my class a little about the Church and the importance of temples. My model was even put on display in the school media center for a few weeks! Everyone who saw it could read the label we made for it: The Salt Lake Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I look forward to my next chance to tell others about the Church.
Niles Wimber, age 8McDonough, Georgia

Jonathon Morales, 14, leans over the front seat of his older brother’s car and guides him through the streets of Mexico City, population 20 million. Israel Morales has just returned from a mission to New York City. He has forgotten some of Mexico City’s streets. The two brothers talk softly, trying to figure out the best way to their destination. There are questions and confusion, but no impatience or sharpness. There’s a peaceful feeling in the car.
Finally the two brothers find the right street, and a few minutes later arrive at their destination. Their influence on each other is warm and genuine. While Jonathon has been looking up to his older brother for many years, the reverse is also true. Israel is motivated to do what is right because his younger brother is doing what is right. And Israel knows that Jonathon is watching him.

In the faraway islands of the Pacific, hundreds who were near-blind now see because a missionary said to his physician brother-in-law, “Leave your wealthy clientele and the comforts of your palatial home and come to these special children of God who need your skills and need them now.” The ophthalmologist responded without a backward glance. He has commented quietly that this visit was the best service he ever rendered and the peace which came to his heart the greatest blessing of his life.

It’s been almost eight years since I have put up Christmas lights at my parents’ house. Due to a variety of circumstances, my family has not been able to be together for a long time. I did not like decorating my house, because I resented not being with my family. However, I could not hide what my heart was feeling: I had the urge to put up Christmas lights.
I convinced my brother to help me hang them. Between work, school, and different responsibilities, we took several days to finish hanging the lights. When we finished, two lessons stood out to me.
The first is that life doesn’t always follow a straight path. We began to hang the lights in orderly rows, but when we got to the back of the house, we noticed we had more lights than anticipated. We decided to dangle the leftover lights on the lower part of the house, far more crooked than the rest of the lights. It was then I realized my life has been like these lights. I try to go straight, without straying from the path of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But sometimes, I make mistakes and don’t know what to do. The Lord said, “He who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more” (Doctrine and Covenants 58:42). Although the Christmas lights were tangled, they continued to serve their purpose: to give light and to illuminate my house. Like the lights, I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes but can still find the light and follow God’s plan for me, thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The second thing I learned is that the Light of Christ is always present. Above, below, to the right, to the left—it is there, ready to give us guidance and correction. In Moroni 7:19, we read that we should search diligently in the Light of Christ so we can distinguish between good and evil. I feel it was the Holy Ghost that spoke to my heart so I could hang those lights and remember that Jesus Christ is there, calling me and giving me guidance. The Light of Christ illuminates the whole year, not just special times like Christmas.
The lights on my home may not be the best in the neighborhood, but they remind me that my efforts to follow the Savior bring blessings into my life.

Shortly before I graduated from high school, a seemingly small miracle happened, an event that would turn my life in another direction. Despite the distance between my actions and gospel standards, one Sunday morning I followed a strong prompting to go to church and pay tithing. When I arrived at the chapel, I asked for people I knew. One of the names I gave was the Young Men president I had when I was a deacon, the last time I had attended church. He was now serving as bishop of the ward.
That good bishop helped bring me back into the Church. I confessed my sins, and he worked with me to set up a progress plan. Over several months I repented. I advanced in the priesthood. I held a calling. I was doing so well, in fact, that I was called to serve a mission, and I had a period of several years when my addiction was under control.
When I returned home from my mission, I did not struggle with pornography; I simply did not have access to it. That changed in the late 1990s, when the Internet became increasingly pervasive. I accidentally stumbled across some pornographic images online, and I returned to pornographic sites over and over again during the following months. The web had ensnared me.
I wanted to reach out to someone for help, but I wasn’t sure whom—or how. How could I talk to my parents about this? How could I admit to my bishop that even though I had made so much progress, I couldn’t stop engaging in this immoral behavior? I desperately wanted to stop, but I was too embarrassed by my weakness to confide in anyone, so I kept my addiction to myself.
I didn’t even tell my wife, whom I married in 2000. I wanted to tell her about my struggle when we were dating, but I was terrified that she would look down on me or, worse yet, refuse to marry me. So I lied. And I continued to do so in our marriage. I found myself being sneaky to prevent being caught. I hid pictures on my computer. When my wife asked me about particular Internet links, I denied knowing what she was talking about. Addictions are like that; they create great liars. I knew it was creating a wedge in our marriage and causing her great pain, but I would not acknowledge that I had a problem. What mattered most to me was not my behavior but how people perceived me.
My double life—and the resulting loss of the Spirit—made me vulnerable to increasingly serious sins, including infidelity. My wife had strong impressions that something was wrong and told me about them. With great remorse, I admitted to what I had done.
That was my lowest point, the point at which I realized that I had to change. Sitting across from me was the woman I loved. She loved me. I had betrayed her. I determined then to do whatever it took to save our relationship and our family.
I began meeting with my bishop regularly in working through the repentance process and Church discipline. He recommended I attend meetings of the addiction recovery program, offered through LDS Family Services. I had never heard of the program. I learned that the group held free, confidential meetings based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, adapted into a framework of the doctrines and principles of the Church.
I admit that during the first few meetings, I thought, “I don’t need to be here. I don’t really have a problem with pornography. I can quit any time.” That, of course, wasn’t true.
With my bishop’s encouragement, I continued to attend. My pride began to melt away, and I began to work the steps of the program: honesty, hope, trust in God, truth, confession, change of heart, humility, seeking forgiveness, restitution and reconciliation, daily accountability, personal revelation, and service. For the first time in a long time, I was living a “sober” life, a life free of pornography. Recovery isn’t ever really “over,” but I had been introduced to a new level of freedom. It came because as I participated in the 12 steps, I came to understand what was behind my addiction.
I learned that most people battling addictions have turned to some kind of “self-medication” to fill the voids they feel in their lives. Pain, sorrow, loneliness, fear, or other kinds of discomfort can act as triggers that can entice people to use this self-medication to make them feel better. Some people use prescription drugs. Others use illicit drugs. Others use alcohol. For me, pornography offered the short-term, artificial “quick fix” I thought I needed.
Knowing what triggered my addiction was one thing. Avoiding environments that aided my addiction was another. This stance requires being vigilant 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the rest of my life. I cannot get online “just to browse.” In fact, if I am by myself, I don’t go online at all. I can’t look at an ad and entertain thoughts in my mind. We don’t have cable TV in our home. When I commute to work, I avoid taking certain roads because I know there are billboards along those roads that could trigger inappropriate thoughts. If I start to slip and my mind begins to wander, I turn to my wife, to my bishop, and to prayer for strength.
My addiction affects the most minute parts of my life, but taking these precautions is worth it. I cannot neglect these defenses because I know what my addiction can do to me and to those I love.
It’s not just a matter of avoiding the bad, though. I also must make constant, conscious efforts to turn to the good. Several of the 12 steps have helped me do this by bringing me closer to God.
Every day when I wake up, I get on my knees and thank Heavenly Father for giving me the opportunity to repent of my sins and to come to Him through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ. I ask Him to let me know His will so that I can do it. I ask Him to lead me away from temptation. I pray as though I rely on Heavenly Father every minute of the day—because I do—and I keep that prayer in my heart throughout the day. I pray again each night. I also spend some time in the scriptures daily so that I can focus my thoughts on virtuous things. If I don’t make these a habit, I don’t have the Spirit in my life. And left on my own, I am not strong enough to resist temptation.
For a long time I believed I could overcome my behavior anytime I wanted to by my own willpower. But I failed miserably. After a while I got tired of doing it on my own, especially when “on my own” wasn’t working. I realized that I could not do what I needed to do without the Lord’s help. Ether 12:27 helped me understand this better. The Lord told Moroni, “My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
Once I went to Him, still doing all I could do (see 2 Nephi 25:23), I realized that I could do much better and become much more with His help than I ever could dream of by relying on my own merits (see Alma 7:14).
My wife and I now serve as facilitators at the addiction recovery program meetings. She has learned—and is helping others understand—that the Atonement is for not only those who are working to overcome an addiction but also those who have been affected by the addiction through no choice of their own. If we turn to the Savior, His grace can work in all of our lives.
To those who are battling addiction and to the people they love, I can attest that there is hope. There is always hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am deeply grateful to Jesus Christ because He literally saved me from the chains of sin. Addiction is like being held by chains that “bind the children of men, that they are carried away captive down to the eternal gulf of misery and woe” (2 Nephi 1:13). When I realized I was in trouble, I didn’t know where to turn. I was desperate because I could not free myself from my predicament. But the Lord could free me. When I turned to Him, He was there to help.
I can relate with Ammon: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12). I know that God can help us do all things, including overcoming the chains of addiction.