Gospel Story Finder

1. Let thy love be for them as for thyself. Bill had always been an avid sports fan and sportsman. Fishing, golfing, bowling, hunting, going to ball games, and watching sports on television had been a regular feature of his life. To the extent she could, Susan also enjoyed many of his hobbies. But as the children began to arrive, it became more and more difficult to spend much time with him in such activities. This became a sustained source of irritation with her as she felt his lack of support with the children.

As Bill was reading the Doctrine and Covenants one day, a scripture struck him with thunderbolt force: “Let thy love for them be as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name.” (D&C 112:11.) He cross-referenced this scripture with one even more familiar to him: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:39.) He was ashamed with his own past behavior as he recalled King Benjamin’s observation that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)

Bill had a few mental pains of regret as he gradually disengaged from many of the activities with his friends and began to spend more time in family-centered activities. Often he would take the children for a walk in the countryside or a drive in the car and leave Susan some needed time alone to go shopping or just to relax at home without the demands of the children pressing upon her. He also resolved to go out alone each week with Susan, and to take frequent walks with her after the children had gone to bed. He was determined to lose his life in making his wife and children happy. And then an amazing thing happened: he began to enjoy the association with his family more than with his friends.

—The desk clerk at the hotel had been studying with the missionaries for months, but few of those at the conference knew it. He thought he would watch and find out if Saints really practice the principles of the gospel.
“What I’ve seen here with these kids has really made me think,” he said, noting that he was particularly impressed when a young lady turned in a $20 bill she found in the hall.” A lot of people would have just kept it,” he said. “It’s nice to see honesty for a change.”

I had my eyes opened to “looking beyond what I could see” while serving as a mission president. A young elder arrived with apprehension in his eyes. As we met in an interview, he said dejectedly, “I want to go home.” I thought to myself, “Well, we can fix this.” I counseled him to work hard and to pray about it for a week and then call me. A week later, almost to the minute, he called. He still wanted to go home. I again counseled him to pray, to work hard, and to call me in a week. In our next interview, things had not changed. He insisted on going home.
I just wasn’t going to let that happen. I began teaching him about the sacred nature of his call. I encouraged him to “forget [himself] and go to work.” But no matter what formula I offered, his mind did not change. It finally occurred to me that I might not have the whole picture. It was then that I felt a prompting to ask him the question: “Elder, what is hard for you?” What he said pierced my heart: “President, I can’t read.”
The wise counsel which I thought was so important for him to hear was not at all relevant to his needs. What he needed most was for me to look beyond my hasty assessment and allow the Spirit to help me understand what was really on this elder’s mind. He needed me to see him correctly and offer a reason to hope. Instead, I acted like a giant demolition wrecking ball. This valiant elder did learn to read and became a very pure disciple of Jesus Christ. He opened my eyes to the Lord’s words: “For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

It was Gerald Brown who gave the challenge to his son to chop what seemed like way too much wood on that clear fall morning in Cardston, Alberta, Canada. Young Vic Brown would rather have been out on the Alberta prairies, running his horse through the crisp morning air, but he respected his father. He knew that he had been asked to chop more wood than a young man of his age should really be capable of chopping. But it was that special kind of father-to-son challenge—and challenge was something that Victor Lee Brown liked, something he faced head on. The wood was needed for cooking and heating in the Brown family home, and Vic knew that cutting the wood was not just a challenge, but one of those necessities for which he could share the burden of responsibility. With the smooth handle of the axe in his young hands, he began to chop. As he swung the axe, Vic could feel the warmth build inside as he worked. The thunk of the axe and the sweet smell of the newly split logs were partial payment, but the best came nearly five hours later as he split the last log and stacked it away. It was a warm and weary feeling, knowing that his task was well done. The appreciation from his father was just as warm and sincere, and it was tinged with just a bit of surprise because his young son had been able to accomplish a man-size task.
Victor L. Brown was serving as first counselor in his deacons quorum presidency at the time of the wood chopping incident, and he was a young man who accepted responsibility and loved the challenge of an unfinished task. The future would prove to hold many great challenges for the young deacon from Cardston.

Knowing I was not alone when I got a tractor stuck was always comforting. There were a few other lessons I learned while getting stuck that I would like to share. As I think back to the first time I was driving a tractor and got stuck, I was overly confident in the tractor’s power, unaware of the warning signs that are apparent if you know what to look for, and I truly didn’t
understand the consequences of being stuck. Unfortunately, even though I had learned from the first experience, I still got stuck more than once in my life. Even though I had learned what to watch for, if I wasn’t steadfast in my duties, I would find myself at a point where I was stuck. Once you are stuck, I have learned a few different ways to aid in the process of getting out. The first thing that needs to be done is to unhook from what is holding you there. In the example of the tractor, I would need to unhook from the implement or machine I was dragging behind me. Once that weight had been removed and the tractor was no longer attached to that burden it would very often be able to get unstuck under its own power.

This would be even easier if I were paying attention to the warning signs and was able to turn away from or stop before going further into a situation where I would become stuck. In our mortal journey, if we are paying attention to the warnings or promptings we may receive along the way, we should be able to know when to turn away, unhook the implement, or just stop moving in that direction. If I did not stop or turn away from the problem area soon enough, there were times that the tractor was unable to get unstuck under its own power, even if the implement was no longer attached and holding it back. At these times, I would need someone or something else to help me get unstuck. In similar situations in our spiritual life, these are times we should turn to our friends, family, and especially our ecclesiastical leaders for the extra help to escape what is bogging us down and keeping us from progressing.

And I have seen this underdog, come-from-behind victory story in my own life. Having emigrated from Mexico to Utah as a nine-year-old girl, I once could barely form a sentence in English, let alone speak in front of an audience this size. Reading was difficult. And writing? Even harder.

The very fact that I’m standing here today is a miracle. The very fact that I chose a career in which the bulk of what I do is reading and writing is an act of faith. And so it is with each of you.

All of us, no matter where we come from or who we are, have an underdog story. We’ve taken leaps of faith. And after many times of praying relentlessly outside the Testing Center, after watching the clock tick closer and closer to our midnight deadlines, and after staying up well past that time just to have fun with our friends and roommates, we have made it here.

We have made it to this moment with the proof that God works through the unlikely—the underdogs—to accomplish the impossible.

Atticus P., 12, Utah, USA
I love playing soccer and making stop-motion videos. Last summer, I turned 11 and was so excited that I could be ordained to the priesthood in a year.
I decided to prepare myself for these ordinances. I became more sensitive to the Spirit and repented of my sins. Soon after, President Nelson announced new changes in the Church that meant I could get ordained before I turned 12! I was grateful I had prepared to receive the priesthood so that I could be worthily ordained at the beginning of this year.

I figured that I had my Mother’s Day present all taken care of, thanks to Mr. Lee. In his fifth grade class, we had all made a special flower arrangement for our mothers—a small wishing well made of Popsicle sticks and filled with tiny artificial flowers.
We worked for hours on it in Mr. Lee’s class, and he insisted that we do a good job. All the little spots of glue had to be wiped clean. The flowers had to be arranged perfectly. Mr. Lee told us that he wanted our mothers to be really impressed with this gift.
At first, I didn’t believe that my wishing well would ever turn out as beautiful as the one Mr. Lee made as a model. But the longer I worked on it and the fussier I was with it and the more Mr. Lee gave me suggestions and help, the more my wishing well began to look even better than the model.
I finished it the Friday before Mother’s Day. As I admired the thatched roof and the well bulging with tiny red, yellow, and orange flowers, I knew that this was going to be my very best Mother’s Day present ever.
I already knew the perfect spot for my gift—in the kitchen window above the sink. Then, every day, whether it was spring or winter, when Mom looked out that window, she would see flowers.
Saturday was a gorgeous spring day. School was almost over for the summer. The trees all had new leaves, the grass was green, the sun was shining. It was the kind of day that you wanted to go on forever so you could stay outside and play. That’s what I did with my younger brothers, Daniel and Justin. We were building a clubhouse in the huge sycamore tree in our backyard.
Mom was at a special Relief Society workday. She had fixed us breakfast that morning, then put our lunch in the fridge and told us to take care of things while she was gone. Dad worked on his truck in the garage. Our little sister, Leah, stayed near the clubhouse.
Usually we were busy with chores on Saturday, but since Mom wasn’t there to remind us, and Dad was busy in the garage, we didn’t worry about them.
At lunchtime, we ate the things Mom had left for us. Justin mixed up a pitcher of punch. He spilled sugar on the kitchen counter and slopped punch on the floor, but we didn’t worry about it too much—Mom would take care of it when she came home.
As Justin, Daniel, and I charged outside to finish our clubhouse, I noticed that the house looked a little like a tornado had blown through it. The family room still had the blankets, pillows, cushions, and toys left from Saturday cartoons. The kitchen was a royal mess. Our bedrooms were worse. The bathroom was horrible! Most of our clubhouse dirt had ended up streaked in the sink or smeared on the bathroom cabinet. Leah had tried to clean her watercolor brushes by herself, so mixed in with our dirt was red, blue, and green paint.
The house was such a disaster that I was happy to get out of there. I hoped that Mom would hurry home and get it cleaned up before we had to go back inside.
A little after three o’clock, Mom pulled up in the van, and we all helped her carry Relief Society things into the house. As soon as she walked inside, her mouth dropped open. “What happened here?”
“Most of this mess must be Leah’s,” Daniel explained. “We’ve been working on the clubhouse.”
Just then Leah came into the living room with her watercolor painting and handed it to Mom. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she chirped.
Mom was still looking at the mess everywhere, but she took the picture, smiled, and gave Leah a big hug. “Thank you, Leah,” she said warmly. “It is beautiful. I had forgotten that Mother’s Day is tomorrow.”
I slipped out of the house with Justin and Daniel. A few minutes later, Mom called to us. Sister Reynolds, who had had a baby a few days ago, needed some help cleaning up her house, and Mom was going to lend a hand.
Justin watched Mom’s van drive off. “You know,” he said sadly, “it doesn’t seem fair that Mom has to clean two houses. Somebody else ought to clean Sister Reynolds’s house. Mom didn’t make that mess.”
“She didn’t make the mess in our house, either,” Daniel said.
“She wouldn’t have to clean it if we did it for her.” Justin’s face brightened into a smile. “We could do it for our Mother’s Day present.”
I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “I already have a Mother’s Day present for her—probably the best one I’ve ever given to her.”
“I forgot about Mother’s Day,” Daniel muttered sadly. “I don’t have anything for Mom.”
“Neither do I,” Justin joined in, frowning. “What did you get Mom that’s so great?” he asked me.
I took Justin and Daniel into the house and secretly and carefully took out the package that I had hidden in the back of my closet. I peeled back the tape and folded back the tissue paper. Justin’s and Daniel’s eyes bulged.
“She’ll love it, for sure,” Justin proclaimed.
“I’ve already picked the perfect spot for it,” I said proudly.
I took the flower arrangement into the kitchen and placed it on the windowsill. It didn’t look as wonderful there as I’d thought it would. You didn’t see it because of the dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters, knives and forks and dried pieces of sandwiches on the table, and crumbs and spilled punch on the unswept floor.
“I don’t think Mom will even notice the flowers,” Daniel pointed out.
“Let’s clean up the mess so Mom can see your flowers better,” Daniel suggested again. “It can be our Mother’s Day present.”
“I already have my Mother’s Day present,” I repeated stubbornly, snatching my flowers from the window. I stomped back to my room, determined to keep my gift until the house was clean so that Mom could appreciate it.
We went back outside to the clubhouse, but I had a hard time concentrating—I kept picturing my beautiful flowers sitting right in the middle of our dirty, messy house.
“All right,” I suddenly flared, turning on Daniel and Justin, “we’ll clean the kitchen for my flowers. But that’s all!”
Justin started on the dishes in the sink. Daniel cleared and cleaned the table. I grabbed a broom and started to sweep. There were still sticky spots on the floor after I swept, so I got the mop and wiped them up. Then I helped Justin and Daniel finish the dishes. We straightened the chairs, put things neatly in the cupboards and the fridge.
I rushed down the hall to my bedroom, got the flower arrangement, and put it in the kitchen window. “Perfect,” I announced with a huge grin. “Now she’ll notice my flowers because they’re not right in the middle of a big mess.”
“But what about the living room and the family room?” Daniel questioned. “She’ll see both of those before she ever sees the kitchen. She’ll be thinking of that huge mess when she sees your flowers.”
He was right. “Then we’ll clean the family room,” I declared.
We started on the family room. But we couldn’t stop there. Once we finished the family room, the living room didn’t look right. We straightened and dusted and vacuumed. Soon Justin was cleaning our room. Daniel joined him. I decided to do Leah’s room.
Once we got started, it became kind of fun to watch our dirty, messy house change into a clean, comfortable one, a house that Mom wouldn’t be sorry to come home to. And the more we worked, the more work we discovered that needed to be done.
I returned to the kitchen and saw that we really needed to scrub and polish the sink. Then I did the same to the stove while Daniel and Justin worked on the sink and tub in the bathroom. We gathered the dirty laundry and filled up the washer.
I don’t ever remember working so hard. When we finally finished, all of us had sweat dripping down our faces, but the house was perfect. Even the cushions on the sofa were arranged exactly the way Mom liked them.
We saw the van pull into the driveway and ducked into a closet to hide. When the front door opened and Mom stepped inside, we pushed the door open a crack. She stood in the doorway, looking about her. Her eyes were wide, and she was smiling. Slowly she began moving about the house, examining first the family room and living room. She stuck her head inside the bathroom. She crept down the hall and looked into our bedrooms. She kept muttering to herself, “I just can’t believe it’s the same house!”
She went to the kitchen last, and we slipped in behind her. “Happy Mother’s Day!” we burst out.
Mom whipped around and exclaimed happily, “So you’re the ones who have worked magic here! I dreaded coming home,” she confided. I kept wishing that somehow all the mess would just disappear. And when I got here, my wish had come true!”
“How do you like Stephen’s flowers?” Justin asked, pointing at the kitchen window.
Mom turned and her eyes went to the miniature wishing well in the window. “Oh, how beautiful!” She walked slowly to the window, admiring my flowers. “The house was so neat and beautiful,” she laughed, “that I didn’t notice these.” Then she turned back to me and said, “Thank you, Stephen. And do you know what makes them so special to me?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “The clean house around them. Thank you, boys! I don’t remember a Mother’s Day gift that I have loved and appreciated as much as this one.”
As Mom hugged us, I glanced at the flowers in the window, thankful that they were displayed in a very clean house.

The missionaries held up a photo. “What do you see?” they asked.
“A happy family,” I answered.
“Are all families happy?”
I shook my head no. “You’ve seen my family,” I explained.
I was a 16-year-old living in Brazil, where I had lived all my life. The missionaries had been teaching me for several weeks, but nobody else in my family wanted to listen. During that time, the missionaries had often seen my family fight and argue. My family and the grinning family in the photo had nothing in common.
One of the elders said, “Well, maybe your current family isn’t this way. But you can build your future family differently.”
When we ended the visit, they asked me again to pray about what we’d been studying. As always, I didn’t exactly promise to do so. I enjoyed how I felt when the missionaries visited, and the gospel made sense to me. But I was afraid of the answer I might receive. If the gospel was true, I would have to make a lot of changes.
After the elders left, I couldn’t stop thinking about happy families. Ours wasn’t even close. My dad wasn’t in my life. My relationship with my mom wasn’t great. Grandma was the one who took care of us, but none of us behaved like a family the way the missionaries taught. None of us expressed love to each other or even spent much time together.
All my life I promised myself I would be a good dad someday. I would be the parent I never had. Yet as the missionaries taught me, I started realizing that I was doing the same things my parents did at my age. I stayed out late, did whatever I wanted, and lived like a rebel. Without meaning to, I was repeating the same story.
It was time to ask God.
When I finally prayed, I received
the answer I had expected all along. The Church is true! Now it was time to make a choice.
My grandmother had to give permission before I could be baptized. She was against it, but I persisted.
“Grandma, which Leonardo do you prefer?” I asked. “The one who was out drinking and smoking and coming home late? Or do you prefer who I am now? These changes are because of the gospel.”
Grandma finally agreed, and I was baptized and confirmed. From that moment, something interesting began to happen in my family—something I didn’t realize fully until a few years later.
Right before I left for my mission to southern Brazil, Grandma attended stake conference with me. Afterward we held a small testimony meeting with family and friends. To my surprise, Grandma wanted to say something.
“Ever since Leonardo joined your church, my family started becoming a real family,” she said. She then listed ways our entire family had grown closer: We now spent time together. We started saying “I love you” to each other, when we never had before. The fighting and arguing stopped. Real friendships developed among all of us. We had more to eat and were blessed with abundance in other areas.
I had noticed these changes too, but I hadn’t realized the timing could be linked back to when I was baptized.
“I may not be a member of your church,” she said, “but I am a friend of your church. And I know our family has been blessed because of Leonardo’s choice.”
I could hardly believe it! And yet, as Grandma spoke of how our family had grown closer, I suddenly remembered the photo the missionaries had shown me years before. Back then, I thought my only way to have a happy family was with my future family.
But I was wrong. My current family was happy! We had grown to love each other.
Maybe none of my family members will join the Church in this lifetime. But even if they don’t, I know that God has already blessed us in so many ways. The gospel of Jesus Christ shows us how to improve our families, no matter what our family situation looks like.

I remember well the afternoon a few years ago when I went up in an airplane with an instructor for a lesson on flying using the control panel instruments only with no reference to the surrounding countryside.
It was a crystal clear day, though a few gusty winds were blowing. We left the field, flying due north into a chilly wind blowing directly against us. When we reached the right altitude, the instructor put a special hood over my head so that all I could see was the instrument panel. After an hour’s lesson we stopped in an airport about a hundred miles north to eat and make another check on the weather.
It was early evening when we climbed into the airplane for our return flight. Both of us were a little nervous because a small storm was moving into our flight path, and as we climbed toward the clouds we could feel the increased power of the winds. Now we would have an opportunity for some real instrument flying.
I wasn’t really worried until the instructor told me to put on the hood because I was going to fly us home. As we flew into the storm, the weather started tossing us around. But the instructor assured me that things were well under control: all I had to do was fly by the instruments just as I had done in practice, and follow his directions.
As the minutes went by and we flew deeper into the turbulence, a terrible fear began to grip me and I began to feel a dizziness as if the airplane were in a turn, slightly diving. Panicking, I started making what I perceived as corrections to our flight. My instructor had to tell me four times that the instruments were correct and that I should trust them, not my own judgment.
After several more minutes of agony and constant reassurances from my instructor that the instruments were indeed telling the truth, I couldn’t take the suspense any longer and tore off the hood to see for myself. When I looked through the window, all I could see was the rain streaking out of a pitch-black sky at us. My face went pale, and a terrified expression swept over me.
My instructor said, “Norman, you’ve been sitting here for twenty-five minutes with a clear signal and true instruments to follow, but you’ve steered off course thirty-two times and have dropped the airplane nine hundred feet in elevation. Now you really don’t know where you are. Let me show you something.”
He took the controls and with little effort started climbing up through the clouds. Eight hundred feet later we were above the tops of the clouds that were glistening under the light of a beautiful full moon. In the near distance on the side of a hill we saw two large red lights on top of a broadcasting tower. On the other side of that hill through an opening in the clouds we could see a faint green and white airport light flashing out a signal that to us meant home.
After a safe landing, I felt that I had been taught one of those great lessons we are sent here to earth to learn: that the Lord gives us fine instruments, a good strong signal, and many clear markers, and still we sometimes stray from their indications and fall into a sea of confusion. Yet if we will trust those signals and follow them, whether we fully understand them or not, we will be able to fly above the clouds, safe and secure, knowing our course and our destination.

It had been an especially happy day for Milo. When his father and mother came in to say good-night to him, Milo tried to tell them about all the understandings he had gathered in the different countries they had visited.
“But now,” he said wistfully, “I guess all that will end when we go back home.”
“Oh no, Milo,” Father assured him. “As long as you have a sense of discovery and a desire to know more about other people, there will always be something to learn.”
Mother agreed. And then she added, “No matter where we live we can collect bits of knowledge and add to our understanding.”
Milo lay in bed thinking about the many things he had learned in the different Scandinavian countries. He would never forget his wonderful friends there.

Superior Branch of the Missoula Montana Stake put on its very first road show. With only five active members in the Mutual, the youth recruited members of the branch presidency and a couple of Primary children to participate with them. With the help and confidence building of their leaders, they wrote their own script, made their costumes, and found help with providing live music. Those participating were Vince Price; Shaleen, Lane, and Deana Morgan; Rick, Buffy, and Grant Seemann.

But Rigmor does not see her willingness to speak up as especially courageous. “I don’t really need courage,” says Sister Heistø. “I just think, ‘Oh, here is something I can do.’” One day, for example, she picked up the newspaper and read an interesting article in which Georg Fredrik Rieber-Mohn, the attorney general of Norway, lamented the state of family life and cultural values in Norway. He warned that the pursuit of materialism could destroy the country and called for the state church to teach values with authority.
Sister Heistø thought the attorney general needed to know that a church is already doing the very things he advocated and that its name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So she wrote a letter to him.
A week later, the attorney general himself called, asking Sister Heistø to meet with him. As a result, she spent several hours explaining the Church to Mr. Rieber-Mohn. “I think the Lord knows two things about me,” says Sister Heistø. “He knows I am not afraid of other people. Why should I be? … And,” she adds, smiling, “he knows I can talk.”

Ten years after Uncle Joe passed away, I was reading through my great-grandmother’s journal. The journal told of her husband leaving her with no money, $30 due in rent, and nine mouths to feed.
Then she wrote: “In Bisbee [Arizona] the people were so good to us. Even when we lived out of town south of Bisbee, they brought us home [from church]. Brother Joseph Kleinman, who lived in Mexico, brought us home many times, and not only that, but [his family] took us all to eat dinner with them. They served fried rabbit with all the trimmings, which we enjoyed very much. They were transferred to Nogales … and they let us have their rabbits, pretty white ones, and we sure had all we could eat then.”

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked.
“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.
Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.
The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.
“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.
“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”
Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.
The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s, too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”
For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.
Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”
After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.
The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”
Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”
Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”
“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”
Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.
After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.
“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.
“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.
The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”
“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.
Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”
Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”
“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.
“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”
Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.
“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”
Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”
Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

My husband and I recently moved, and while unpacking, I came upon a box of my old writings. This is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote when I was 16 years old. It was about a year after my mother died from cancer and before I was introduced to the gospel.
Do you believe in God, in a power, in a Creator? I don’t know what I believe, but I love the idea of God. I love that there is someone who loves me, cares about me, protects me, and wants me to do His work. I look back on the sentence and realized I typed “I love that” instead of “I love the idea that.” It’s funny what you mean to type and what you actually end up typing. I can’t help but wonder about the depths of my subconscious. Sometimes I think God is just another thing humans made up in order to make themselves feel better, because who doesn’t want to be loved? Who doesn’t want the safety of a divine force? Who doesn’t want to believe that when in times of hopelessness, they can count on God? But if I say I believe in God, I want to be able to say it from the depths of my soul. I want it to be a true belief.
Faith is what all religion is founded on. I don’t believe there is any true way to prove God exists. I don’t need anyone else to believe it or validate it. The only person I’m struggling with is myself.
Now I’m crying. At this point in my life, I want to believe. Something is driving me to think about this so much it’s hard for me to get to sleep at night.
After reading this, my eyes wandered to the top of the page where I had written the date, August 2005. I remembered that it was in September of 2005 that I became friends with some returned missionaries who introduced me to the Church. After going to church for several months and asking lots of questions, I decided I wanted to meet with the missionaries. I was baptized about two weeks later; it was the happiest day of my life.
Many people thought my conversion happened quickly—two weeks did not seem long enough. In truth, my conversion started long before I met the missionaries or was even introduced to the Church. As my journal entry testified to me, for a long time Heavenly Father had been softening my heart and helping me prepare to receive the gospel. I now realize more fully the truth in the words spoken by Alma on faith: “And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21).

Poor communication can ruin good relationships in a hurry. Let’s say Susan, a Laurel, is just coming home past her curfew. Her dad is waiting up for her.
Dad: Where have you been, Susan?
Susan: Don’t you trust me?
Dad: Your mom and I were worried.
Susan: I’m old enough to go out without you checking up on me all the time.
Dad: I don’t know if you should go to any more parties for a while if you can’t get home on time.
Susan: But Dad, I’m only a little late. You’re so unfair!
Susan then storms up to her room and slams the door. Obviously, not much family unity is being built in this situation.

When Brigham Reneer (6) of Provo, Utah, sings with the Primary, “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission,”* he already knows, because of his special circumstances, what being called to serve is like. On February 4, 2001, he was called to be a stake youth missionary in the Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake. Even though most young men are called to serve full-time missions when they are nineteen years old, Brigham is already serving as a stake missionary.
His family lives near the Missionary Training Center in Provo, and every time they drive past it, he is fascinated by the groups of missionaries gathered outside. “I want to go on a mission,” he repeatedly told his parents, Julie and Randy Reneer. But they knew that his health would never allow him to serve a full-time mission.
The opportunity for him to serve came when Brother Wayne Arballo, the Reneers’ home teacher, was called to be a stake missionary. Brother Arballo said, “I was passing Brigham in the hall at church. I knelt down by him, and he tried to take my missionary tag. I let him take it, but it made me wonder if there was something more I could do for him.” Brother Arballo wanted to help Brigham fulfill his dreams of becoming a missionary. He talked to the stake mission presidency, and they spoke with the stake president. The result was that Brigham was called as a stake youth missionary.
Brigham received his call in a letter, much like the letters full-time missionaries receive. His grandfather bought him a black suit, his aunts and uncles gave him a set of scriptures, and the stake mission presidency ordered a missionary tag with his name on it. His missionary plaque hangs in the display case at the Oak Hills Second Ward. It includes his favorite scripture, Isaiah 11:6—“And a little child shall lead them”—and his favorite Primary song, “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”† He could not be set apart because he is not yet baptized, but he received a blessing from the first counselor in the stake presidency, Stephen Clark, to help him in his calling.
Being a stake missionary is a dream come true for Brigham. He and Brother Arballo, now his companion, visit Primaries and other organizations in the stake to share a message about Jesus Christ. After Brother Arballo bears his testimony, Brigham tells the story of the Savior’s life while his companion displays pictures. Brigham loves to bear his testimony that Jesus died on the cross and was resurrected. Even though Jesus’ crucifixion makes Brigham sad, he knows that the Savior lives and will return to earth. “Jesus helps people get better,” Brigham testifies. He knows that because of Jesus, we have nothing to fear.

This summer I had the opportunity of attending a high priest group meeting in a small community in southern Wyoming. The lesson that week was on justification and sanctification. It was evident as the lesson was beginning that the teacher was well prepared to instruct his brethren. Then a question prompted a response which changed the whole course of the lesson. In response to the question, the comment of one of the brethren was, “I have listened with great interest to the lesson material. The thought has crossed my mind that the information presented will soon be lost if we do not find application to put the material presented into practice in our daily lives.”

Then he went on to propose a course of action for the quorum. The night before, a citizen of the community had passed away. His wife was a member of the Church, but he had not been. This high priest had visited the widow and offered his sympathy. Leaving the home after the visit, his eyes wandered over the beautiful farm of the deceased brother. He had put so much of his life and labor into building it up. The alfalfa was ready to cut; the grain would soon be ready to harvest. How would this poor sister cope with the sudden problems now falling on her? She would need time to get herself organized for her new responsibilities.

Then he proposed to the group that they make an application of the principle that was being taught—by working with the widow to keep her farm operational until such time as a more permanent solution could be found by the widow and her family. The balance of the meeting was spent in organizing the project to assist her. The principles of the lesson found immediate application.

As we left the classroom, there was a good feeling among the brethren. I heard one of them remark as he passed through the doorway, “This project is just what we needed to get this quorum working together again.” A lesson had been taught, a brotherhood had been strengthened, a service project had been organized to assist someone in need.

Kristy Monson enjoyed being in the second grade. Every afternoon she rushed home to tell Mom about her day. On Monday, she bounced through the door, waving an invitation to the birthday party of her best friend, Debbie. On Tuesday, she brought home a new T-shirt she had received as a reward for reaching her goal in the school’s reading program. On Wednesday, she proudly modeled a construction-paper princess hat that she had made. On Thursday, she ran home as fast as she could and exclaimed that her class had traveled to the fish hatchery for a field trip.
Friday was different. A dark cloud hovered over Kristy as she trudged home from school and through the kitchen door. Her normal ear-to-ear smile was replaced by large tears that streamed down her round, freckled face.
Mom immediately set down the pan she was drying and wiped away Kristy’s tears.
“Oh, Mom,” Kristy sobbed, “today was the worst day of my life!”
After offering a few words of comfort, Mom led Kristy to the family room, where they sat together on the sofa. “Sweetheart, please tell me what has upset you.”
Choking back tears, Kristy explained, “Debbie was mad at me for playing hopscotch with Cindy during recess, so she told some of the other girls that I’m adopted and that I’m not really a Monson.”
Mom smiled and replied, “Of course you’re a Monson. The very first time I held you in my arms, I knew that you belonged with us. I’m sure that each member of our family will always remember the wonderful morning when we took you to the St. George Temple to have you sealed to us forever.”
Mom wiped a few tears from her own eyes as she continued, “Dad and I love you just as much as we do your brothers and sisters, and we feel that Heavenly Father helped us find you because He knew that we needed you in our family.”
“I do know that you and Dad love me,” Kristy said as her smile slowly returned. “And I’m very thankful to have such a wonderful family. Thanks, Mom! I always feel better after talking to you.” Giving her mother a hug and a kiss, Kristy skipped off to her bedroom to change her clothes so she could play.
Later that evening, Dad found Kristy sitting at her desk with a serious look on her face. “Mom told me what happened at school today. Do you want to talk about it?”
After collecting her thoughts, Kristy said, “I’m glad to be a member of this family. I love you and Mom very much, and I’m thankful for my brothers and sisters. I even forget that I’m adopted until someone reminds me. But, Dad”—tears welled up in Kristy’s eyes—“why am I the only one who was adopted?”
Dad smiled and hugged Kristy. “First let me remind you of how very thankful I am to have you as my daughter. I love you very much, Kristy.” His voice took on a reverent tone as he continued, “And you aren’t the only one who is adopted. In a very special way, your mother and I, and Jared, Josh, Kari, and Kelli have been adopted, too.”
A look of confusion spread across Kristy’s face.
Dad laughed softly. “Let me see—how can I explain what I’m talking about? I know—in family home evening we’ve been helping you to prepare for your upcoming baptism.”
“I know that baptism is so important that even Jesus was baptized,” Kristy put in with enthusiasm. “I can follow His example and be baptized by immersion. That means I’ll be completely covered by water.”
“That’s correct, honey. Do you remember the covenants you will make with your Heavenly Father?”
“I think so, Dad. I will promise to always remember Jesus and keep His commandments. And Heavenly Father will promise me that I can always have His Spirit to be with me.”
“You’ve done a great job remembering many of the things we’ve talked about, Kristy, and I know that you’ll continue to learn and understand even more. Do you remember whose name you will take upon you when you are baptized?”
“Yes,” Kristy quickly answered. “Jesus Christ’s.”
“That’s right. When you were adopted, you took upon yourself the Monson name. When you are baptized and take Jesus Christ’s name upon you—”
“Then I will be adopted into His family?” Kristy interrupted.
Dad smiled as he picked up Kristy’s scriptures. He opened the Book of Mormon and turned to Mosiah 5:7. “Maybe this scripture will help you to understand.”
Kristy read, “‘And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.’”
“Wow!” Kristy exclaimed. “The more I learn about baptism, the more I see how special and important it is. I can’t wait until my baptism on Saturday!”
Saturday afternoon arrived, and the friends and family members of the children who were going to be baptized filled the chapel. Debbie sat down next to Kristy. Both girls looked beautiful in their white dresses.
“Kristy,” Debbie whispered. “I met with the bishop last night for my baptism interview. We talked about the importance of repentance and about baptism for the remission of sins. Before I’m baptized, I want to tell you how sorry I am for being mean to you the other day at school. Will you please forgive me so we can be best friends again?”
“Of course I forgive you,” Kristy quickly answered. “I’m glad that we’re best friends and that we’re both being baptized today.”
When the Bishop stood at the pulpit to conduct the meeting, Kristy was so excited that her stomach felt like it had butterflies fluttering around in it. She enjoyed the talk that Debbie’s brother gave about having faith in Jesus Christ, and the one her own sister, Kari, gave about the Holy Ghost. Kari shared personal experiences of how the Holy Ghost had helped her since her baptism. Kristy knew that after her baptism and confirmation, she could have the Holy Ghost as her constant companion if she always tried to obey the commandments and choose the right.
After Kristy and Debbie’s Primary class sang a song about baptism, the two girls quietly walked to the stairs by the font. When it was their turn, Kristy and her dad went down the stairs into the water. Then Kristy’s dad said the special prayer and gently lowered her under the water until she was completely immersed.
As Kristy came up out of the water, she felt warm and happy. Her bright, glowing smile matched the faces of her family and friends. This was a special day she would remember forever.
After the services, Kristy and Debbie talked together. “I feel really happy inside,” Debbie said. “I’m glad I chose to follow Jesus and be baptized. I really do feel clean and pure.”
Kristy nodded. “I feel exactly the same way.”
“And I’m glad you forgave me for saying those mean things about you,” Debbie said softly.
“That’s OK,” Kristy replied, putting her arm around her friend. “One of these days I want to tell you something special I’ve learned about being adopted.”