Gospel Story Finder

I recently saw a video showing a day in the life of a 14-year-old young man in India named Amar. He gets up early and works two jobs, before and after school, six and a half days a week. His income provides a substantial part of his family’s livelihood. He hurries home on his worn bicycle from his second job after dark and somehow squeezes in a few hours of homework before dropping onto his bed on the floor between sleeping siblings around eleven o’clock at night. Although I’ve never met him, I feel proud of him for his diligence and courage. He is doing the very best he can with his limited resources and opportunities, and he is a blessing to his family.

When I was 17, I went to live with my aunt and uncle, who were sponsoring my education. When I arrived at their home in Sekondi, Ghana, I immediately noticed unusual things about their family. They had morning and evening prayers together and held family meetings on Monday evenings that seemed to make each family member feel loved and appreciated. Even though I was an active member of another faith, I became interested in finding out about their beliefs.
When I asked Uncle Sarfo about the Church, he explained many of the Church’s teachings. Some I believed, and others I did not understand.
My uncle then asked the missionaries to teach me the discussions, and I received all six of the lessons. But when the missionaries invited me to be baptized, I refused because I did not have a testimony of the Book of Mormon. I found it difficult to read and understand.
To please Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Sarfo, I had already been attending sacrament meeting. Now they encouraged me to enroll in the early-morning seminary course that was to begin in two weeks.
Getting out of bed at 4:30 A.M. was no small matter for me, but the seminary teacher, Solomon Agbo, visited me, encouraged me to attend, and seemed already to care about me. I decided to go to seminary, and once I made that decision, I resolved not to be absent even for a single day. The course of study was the Book of Mormon, and I wanted to see if I might gain a testimony of the book.
As I began studying the Book of Mormon for seminary, I experienced the feelings Elder Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described when he first found the Book of Mormon. “I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page,” he wrote. “I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt [1985], 18).
As I read, the Spirit of the Lord bore witness that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of Jesus Christ. Through seminary the Book of Mormon became much easier to read. Whenever it was hard to follow, my teacher helped me understand. I received a testimony that the Book of Mormon is “the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man [will] get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (Joseph Smith, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith [1976], 194).
I was baptized on 5 March 1995. By the time I was 21 I was a seminary teacher myself, helping others know of the divinity and truthfulness of the book that changed my life.

Then came the time when we wondered what we should do in a strange land and a strange language. We heard them talk but did not know what they were saying. Finally someone came and told us in Danish to follow him. He took us to the old tithing yard. There were our boxes with our things in, both bedding and a little food. And there we stayed the next night.
During the day I thought I would go out and see the sights of Salt Lake City. It being summer time, the June apples were getting ripe, and I saw some apples which looked good to me. I could not ask for them; and if I should take an apple without asking for it, then it would be stealing as much as if I should take a dollar in money. But I saw a nice red apple lying under the fence, so I stooped down and took it and started off down the sidewalk. I had only taken a few steps when a man said, “Here, stop?” I thought he was speaking Norwegian for “stop” means the same in Norwegian. So, of course, I stopped.
But he went behind the house. I started off again, but I guess he saw me start. He looked round the housed and shouted “stop” again. I was frightened for I knew I had taken an apple without asking for it. I imagined he went to get a whip to beat me and I thought about what I would have gotten if I had been in Norway. But lo and behold, instead of that he had filled his hat with good, nice, red apples. I came back to the gate, and he handed me another apple and then another till I had my hands full. He told me something in English which I couldn’t understand. But he made signs to show me what he meant—to put them in my pockets, for I had large pockets in my coat. And he gave the whole hat full of apples to me.
It made such an impression on me that I never have forgotten. I had taken one, and instead of a beating he gave me a whole hatful. I have told you before I was rather bitter, but I am frank to say with this and the welcome to the festival the night before, the bitter feeling had all left me. It preached a better sermon than anything I could think of. A good act speaks louder than words.
I went back to the old tithing yard where I met my parents and brother and sisters. Of course I was so happy that I had some apples to give them. They wondered how I had got them. They knew I had no money to buy them with, and so they said, “You have been out stealing.” I said, “A man out in the city gave them to me.” They said there must be better people here in Utah than there were in Norway. I began to think so too.

I met Merle Christensen for the first time in an assisted living center in Brigham City, Utah. The grandmother of a friend of our family, she was about to celebrate her 101st birthday. In her room, Merle sat surrounded by souvenir books and photographs. Two photos she shared particularly impressed me.
The first, taken many years ago, was of a group of seminary students, including Merle’s daughters. “They’re on the front row with their teacher, Boyd K. Packer,” Merle says. “He looks really young, but he was a good teacher.” Today he’s the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
When Merle was young, she was stricken with polio. “It wasn’t easy to deal with that as a teenage girl,” she says. “My faith had to grow to keep up. But the Lord helped me then, and He is helping me now.” Those who suffered polio in their youth often struggle with post-polio syndrome as they advance in years, dealing with symptoms like muscle weakness and overall fatigue. Such is the case for Merle.
When she feels tired, she remembers the scripture in Alma 7:11–12 that tells how the Savior “will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people … that he may know … how to succor his people according to their infirmities.” Then, she says, “you trust that the Lord knows what you’re going through. Take it day by day, pray, go to church, and be kind to others. It’s the little things that help you to get through.”
The second photo Merle showed me is in a scrapbook—a picture of three of her five daughters. All of her children were girls, and three were born as triplets in 1936, the first triplets born in Brigham City. “Having triplets was rare back then,” Merle says. Medicine wasn’t as advanced, and two of the girls were born with heart problems. Sharon died in 1958 and Diane in 1972. Janice, who had no heart condition, passed away from cancer in 1992.
“I love all of my children, their husbands, my grandchildren, and great-grandchildren,” Merle says. But she misses her husband, DeVere, who’s been gone for 26 years, and she misses her triplets, who would be turning 79 this April.
Again she reads in Alma: “And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people” (Alma 7:12).
“I know that the Savior overcame death,” Merle says. “Because of that, I know that I will see my husband and my triplets and all of my family again.” That conviction, she says, grows stronger every day.
Sister Christensen passed away in September 2014, after this article was written.

Fawn Burrell found still another option. She sent a subscription to an inactive girl but did it in the name of her whole Mutual class. In the meantime somebody sent an anonymous gift subscription to her little brother who is a nonmember. He became an immediate fan and now reads every word as soon as a new issue comes, even if it means reading all night. He no sooner had the June issue open than he made Fawn sit down and play the leadership game with him. He is currently taking the missionary discussions.

I grew up in Russia in a close and loving family. My parents worked hard, and I stayed with my father’s mother, Anastasiya Vasilyevna Ustavshchikova. She was always bustling about the kitchen, making wonderful flowers to put on hats, and reading. She read all kinds of books, but I especially remember that she read the Bible. She would tell me about God and how she loved Him and awaited her meeting with Him. She said that if we would live God’s commandments, we would return to Him and inherit one of His kingdoms. That memory has warmed me all my life.
My life before joining the Church is a story with many trials and experiences. But I always loved hearing my grandma’s simple, sincere prayers. She would start with the words “Heavenly Father,” and I would get goose bumps.
In June 1993 I arrived at my mother’s home in St. Petersburg, where a friend invited me to study English with her. We called a number we found in the newspaper, and a young woman answered. She told us to come at noon the next day. Her name was Tat’yana. After the lesson we invited her out for tea or coffee. We were quite surprised when we heard, “I don’t drink tea or coffee.”
“Why?”
“I’m a Mormon.”
“What’s a Mormon?” I asked.
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you’re interested, come see us Sunday morning at 11:00.”
She wrote down the address. I was very interested to find out what kind of church this was.
The week passed slowly, but Sunday finally came. The meetings were held in a music school. Some young men were at the entrance, and they were smiling. When they found out that I had come for the first time, they took me into the chapel. A lot of people were there, but I felt out of place. I very much liked the opening hymn though, and then a miracle happened. A man walked to the front, and the first words of his prayer were “Heavenly Father.” That is what I had been searching for. Suddenly I felt at home. I was at peace.
After the meeting two young ladies approached me.
“Are you already meeting with the missionaries?” they asked.
“No.”
“Could we teach you about the gospel?”
“Of course,” I said. “That would make me very happy.”
At one of our discussions they began telling me about three kingdoms. I stopped them and said, “May I tell you what my grandmother told me when I was little?” Now it was their turn to be surprised. The more we talked, the more I wanted to learn. On August 15, my missionaries asked if I would like to be baptized.
“Yes.” That was already my desire.
My baptism was to take place in a lake the following Sunday, August 22. The weather had been hot and dry. But on Monday, August 16, a steady rain began, and the temperature dropped sharply. Friday morning I awoke with terrible tonsillitis. My whole throat was congested, and I was running a fever. I thought it would pass before Sunday.
The missionaries came on Saturday to interview me. Elder Parker, a young and very tall missionary, asked me the questions. He also agreed to baptize me. I said nothing about my illness.
The day of my baptism arrived. When I woke up I found that my throat was still the same. It was then I realized for the first time in my life what the Lord wanted from me. I said to myself, “I’ll do whatever I have to for Him. I will be baptized. Everything will be fine. The water will be warm, and my sickness will disappear after I am baptized.”
On the way to the lake I told the sisters what had been going on with me. They both looked in my mouth and said, all bundled up in their raincoats, “This is no joke. Should we move everything to a pool?”
“No, no.” I had firmly made up my mind to go ahead with our plans.
It was beautiful when we got there. The lake was like a mirror, without even a ripple. It was about a hundred meters from the changing room to the water. It had rained all week and was muddy. When I came out of the changing room, I saw Elder Parker in his white clothes walking confidently through the mud toward the lake. That was a stunning sight.
We stood in a circle and sang a hymn. We could see our breath, but we were not paying attention to the weather anymore. As I took my first step into the water, I knew I was doing the right thing. It felt warm. And when I came up out of the water, I was happy and healthy. Everyone laughed and cried. I had taken my first step on the path home. Our Heavenly Father loves us and gives us trials, expecting us to make the right decisions, to not doubt what is good.
I will remember that miraculous day for the rest of my life. It will live in my heart with the memories of my grandmother, who sowed the seed that sprouted so many years after her death

Illustration by Bryan Beach
I glanced out the car window. The sign was still there. Right outside our neighborhood, there was a store with a giant picture of someone without many clothes on. I didn’t want to see it.
Mom looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Just don’t look at it, Gary.”
I turned my head. “I try not to, but it’s hard when we have to drive by it almost every day.”
“I know,” Mom said. “We can’t choose what pictures other people put up, but we can choose not to look at them.”
“I wish it wasn’t there at all.”
“Me too.”
I didn’t like seeing bad pictures in my town. To make things worse, there was another bad picture in a store window right by our church building! I hated seeing that right before going into church. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I also didn’t like thinking about my three younger brothers seeing things like that.
Maybe there was something I could do about it.
“Hey, Mom, do you think if I wrote them a letter they would take it down?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I think it’s a great idea to try.”
I nodded. “Will you help me look up that store’s address when we get home?”
“Of course.”
That night, I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook. My plan was to write two letters, one to each of the stores that had the bad pictures in their windows.
I stared at the blank paper. What could I say? For a minute, I thought about one of my favorite scripture stories, David and Goliath. I felt like David. I was just a kid. Would they even listen to me?
But David had something going for him that Goliath didn’t. He had help from Heavenly Father! That’s what I needed. I bowed my head and said a prayer to know what to write.
Then I started writing.
I tried to be polite and respectful. I wanted to make sure they knew how I felt every time I saw those pictures. I told them how much I didn’t want my little brothers to see them either. I said that I wished they could find something else to put in their window. When I finished writing the letters, I had a good feeling inside.
“What do you think, Dad?” I asked. Dad read through my letters and nodded.
“These are great! I wouldn’t change a thing.”
So I put them in envelopes and dropped them in the mailbox.
“I guess now we wait,” I said. My family and I prayed that Heavenly Father would take things from there. We trusted that if it was His will, something would happen.
For a while, nothing happened. Then one day, Mom and Dad said they had something to show us. We all piled into the car and drove to the first store. The picture was gone!
“You were so brave to write those letters, and look what happened!” Mom said.
“They took it down!” I shouted.
I said another prayer right then in the car, thanking Heavenly Father for His help. And then we got even more good news.
When we drove to church that Sunday, we saw that the other store had taken their bad picture down too. I couldn’t believe it. I was so grateful Heavenly Father had answered our prayers. When we do our best to keep our minds pure, God will help us. ?
Thanks to Gary P. for your great example!And for sharing your story!

All too well do I know how difficult it is being in a home where everyone is going in different directions at once. I also remember running from that environment. All of that changed when our family started to separate. The oldest went to college, and even though she was only an hour away, we learned how much she meant to us. We started to communicate with each other. We started to say, “I love you.” With those simple realizations and with a little effort, we ended up with a quiet, relaxing home that my friends loved to come to.
Elder Christiansen, 20Missouri Independence Mission

Elder Merrill C. Oaks, formerly of the Seventy, tells of an experience he had while serving as a bishop. A young woman in his ward was praying to know if she should marry the young man she was dating, but she didn’t feel she had received an answer.

Elder Oaks urged her to continue praying, but he also counseled her to decide for herself. “I told her she was expecting the Lord to make the decision for her,” he said, “but He won’t do that. Even a decision as important as marriage requires us to exercise our own agency. …

“I told her she must exercise her own agency by studying it out in her mind, making a tentative decision, and then asking the Lord for a confirmation of her decision.”

She eventually got her answer, explaining, “I just began to feel [more and more positive], and I knew that my prayers were being answered” (“How to Get an Answer,” New Era, Aug. 2001, 47).

Many years ago, when our children were small, we attended a local fair as a family. We had great fun on the rides and enjoyed the food and music. When it was time to return home, I noticed that I had lost the car and house keys. The place was large and full of people. How were we going to find those keys? Our strategy was to go to a secluded spot in the fairgrounds and have a family prayer. Then we went out to search for the keys.

The first thing we saw was a policeman on duty. We approached him, told him of our predicament, and then asked if a bundle of keys had been handed to him. He immediately asked us one question: “Are you members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” After the initial shock caused by his question, I answered “Yes.”

He then handed me the keys and explained to us how he knew that we indeed were members of His Church. He told us that his father had been a branch president who also carried among his keys a small vial of consecrated oil, like the one I had on my keyring.

A few weeks later, our two youngest children got lost in a large department store where we had gone to get new eyeglasses for the older children. After waiting a while, they got bored and decided to go off on their own, looking for the toy section. The consequence was that they got separated from us.

What did they do when they realized that they were lost? They went to a secluded spot in the store and offered a faithful prayer that they would be reunited with us. Then they stepped out of that spot, with great faith that they would be found. At that same time, their older brother saw them as he was looking for them in that area.

Consider all that is learned from these two interrelated stories of faith. It is in the daily practice of the gospel that we mostly teach, and that children learn the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It happens as we seek to diligently keep His commandments and covenants.

Hup, Twop, Threp, Four! I was in the army, alright. Hurry up and wait, a G.I. haircut, oversized fatigues, and only three days out. I was lonely already—demoralized to boot.
Imagine my joy when, while reading my newly issued, olive-drab, miniature Book of Mormon, I was approached by a nice looking fellow soldier.
“Hi! You a Mormon?”
“Yes! You too?”
“No, but I have always wanted to talk to a Mormon. You mind if we talk?”
My heart skipped two beats at the prospect. I was a new, green convert to the Church myself and could hardly wait for the opportunity to share.
“What do you want to know?”
But after a few minutes I wished we had never begun to discuss the Church. This guy turned out to have a master’s degree in philosophy from Columbia University. Since I was no match for him, he proceeded to take me apart, morsel by morsel.
“You can’t possibly prove that the God you believe in really exists, can you?”
“Well … no, but …”
“If God is really as good, if he is really as concerned with all people as you tell me he is, how can he allow all the suffering, wars, hunger, etc., that exist in the world?”
“Well, it … doesn’t have …”
My answer drowned in the laughs of my fellow barracks mates who had cautiously gathered around us. It was probably just as well since my answer was inadequate anyway. In less than half an hour, after I had been picked clean, I returned to my bunk to lick my wounds, stunned, bitterly resolving that this wasn’t going to happen to me again.

Susan flopped onto her bed. She lay back and looked at the poster on the ceiling of Meggen and her. Her mother had taken the picture of the two of them on their horses last summer and had surprised them with poster-size prints for Christmas.
Meggen had long, strawberry-blond hair that flowed over her shoulders. Susan’s own hair was black, curly, and cropped just below her ears. Meggen was thin and graceful. Susan was a little on the short side with round cheeks. Meggen had helped Susan’s family move into their new home. She had been riding her horse by their home when she saw the moving van and offered her help.
Meggen first introduced Susan to Pal, her palomino. Then she introduced her to the other children in the neighborhood. Sometimes Susan felt self-conscious around Meggen, who was exceptionally pretty. Today she had discovered that they differed in more than looks.
Closing her eyes, Susan relived every detail of their conversation as they walked home from school. Meggen wore her hair in a French braid down her back. Faded summer freckles framed her slender nose and brown eyes. …
“Are you entering the horse show in Middleton?” Meggen asked.
“No, I can’t this time—it’s on Sunday.”
“You go to church every Sunday,” Meggen complained. “It wouldn’t hurt to miss once. This is the biggest horse show of the year.”
“I know,” Susan replied wistfully, “but I want to be at church on Sunday.”
“What’s so exciting about church?”
“I don’t go to church because it’s exciting,” Susan tried to explain. “I go because … well, because I have a testimony.”
“What’s a testimony?”
Susan opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. “I don’t know how to explain it,” she admitted. …
Susan rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. “How do you explain what a testimony is?” she asked herself.
She knew that she had a testimony. Just last fast Sunday she had followed Sister Hawkins to the stand. As she waited her turn, she looked over the congregation. I hope Marianne or Jill comes up and sits with me, she thought.
Sister Hawkins’s voice broke as she spoke of the Atonement. Why does she always cry when she bears her testimony? Susan wondered.
“I know Jesus Christ is the Savior of us all,” Sister Hawkins testified. “When I miss my husband and others who have passed on, I pray to Heavenly Father for comfort, and through the Holy Ghost my heart is filled with the Savior’s love. Then I don’t feel lonely anymore.”
Susan felt peace filling her heart as she listened. Tears moistened her eyes. The words to a Primary song came into her mind. “I feel my Savior’s love In all the world around me.”*
She closed her eyes and thought of the mountains. Red and yellow patches covered their sides. She loved autumn. She especially liked the smell of the air. She often saddled Lightning and galloped up the mountain road, breathing deeply.
She imagined the Savior creating the mountains, filling the streams with crystal water, and planting the trees for her. The feeling inside her kept growing until a tear trickled down her right cheek. She wiped it away with her index finger as the chorus came to her: “He knows I will follow him, Give all my life to him. I feel my Savior’s love, The love he freely gives me.”
When she walked to the pulpit, for the first time she didn’t think about her friends or about how proud her parents would be. She offered a silent prayer before she spoke. Please, Heavenly Father, help me to feel my Savior’s love like Sister Hawkins does. She felt a sweet peace flow over her. Her prayer had been answered. Tears streamed down her face. All she could say was “I feel my Savior’s love too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Those feelings returned as she lay on her bed, remembering. She knew how a testimony felt, but how could she explain it to Meggen?
On the way to school Friday, Meggen’s eyes flashed with excitement. “You’ll never believe what Dad gave me at breakfast, Susan—a new saddle! You just have to stop by after school and see it.”
Even though Susan felt good about her decision not to enter the Middleton horse show, it was hard to hear Meggen talking about it. They had gone to every horse show together since Uncle Gordon had given her Lightning for her eighth birthday. They’d taken a 4-H horsemanship class together and had learned about grooming and riding. Both girls had collected a wallful of ribbons and a few trophies in the years that followed.
“I hope Pal wins the trophy again this year!” Susan exclaimed, and she meant it. But she wished even more that she could answer Meggen’s question. Please help me to explain to Meggen about testimonies, she pleaded silently. She had offered this prayer many times this past week—sometimes aloud on her knees in her bedroom, and always in her heart when she and Meggen were together.
A new idea slipped into Susan’s mind. “Do you remember when Pal won the trophy last year?”
Meggen nodded. “It was the most exciting day of my life!”
“And when you remember, do you still feel the excitement?”
“Sometimes I lie on my bed, holding the trophy and reliving every moment,” Meggen admitted. “I brushed Pal’s hair carefully and braided it with blue and yellow ribbons. I was so nervous, my hands shook when the judges came by. And I screamed when they announced I had won.”
Susan winced. “I remember that part. You screamed into my ear.” They laughed together. “Remembering is wonderful, isn’t it?”
Meggen nodded again. “I’ll always remember that day, no matter how long I live. I’ll probably tell the story over and over to my grandchildren.”
“And you’ll always have special feelings each time you do,” Susan assured her. “That’s what a testimony is like, Meggen—remembering, and having wonderful feelings when you do.”
“Remembering what?”
“Remembering that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me.”
“Have you ever seen Heavenly Father and Jesus?” Meggen questioned seriously.
This is going to be the hard part, Susan thought. Heavenly Father, please help me, she prayed in her heart. “I haven’t seen Them with my eyes.”
“What other way is there to see someone?”
“Before we were born on earth, we were spirit children of Heavenly Father,” Susan explained. “So was Jesus. My spirit eyes saw Them. I don’t remember what They look like or what They said and did, but my spirit remembers. I don’t remember in pictures and words, but in feelings. I’ve felt Their love for me over and over in my heart. I know that what I’m learning in church is true, because I feel Their love when I’m there.”
They had reached the school grounds. Children were calling and chasing each other on bikes. “Do you really believe you have a spirit and a body?” Meggen asked.
“Yes, I do,” Susan said softly. “I know it’s true because I asked Heavenly Father if it was. And through the Holy Ghost, He answered me. I know that my spirit remembers places and people my body has never known. I’m learning to let my spirit teach my body.”
“Do you believe I was a spirit too?”
“Yes I do.”
“If that’s true,” Meggen reasoned, “then my spirit should be able to remember too.”
Susan nodded. “If you learn to listen, it will.”
“Will you teach me, Susan?”
Susan’s heart again filled with peace. She knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ loved Meggen even more than she did. “I can try,” she assured her friend, “but there are lots of other people to help you too. There are my parents and my Primary teacher. The missionaries can help too. Best of all, the Holy Ghost can help you. He’s a spirit, and He knows just how spirits remember.”
Meggen reached out and clasped Susan’s hand. “Do you feel that love now?” she whispered.
Susan nodded—she was too happy to speak right then. The school bell rang, and the girls broke into a run, still holding hands.

I spoke earlier of the Kirtland period of Church history. The years of 1836 and 1837 were as difficult as that young Church had ever faced—financially, politically, and internally. In the midst of that stress, Joseph Smith had the remarkable prophetic prompting to send some of his ablest men (ultimately the entire Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) abroad on missions. It was a bold, inspired move, one that would in the end save the Church from the perils of the day, but in the near term it imposed great burdens on the Saints—painful for those who went away and perhaps even more painful for those who stayed at home.
I quote from Elder Robert B. Thompson:
“The day appointed for the departure of the Elders to England having arrived, I [stopped at] the house of Brother [Heber C.] Kimball to ascertain when he would start [on his journey], as I expected to accompany him two or three hundred miles, intending to spend my labors in Canada that season.
“The door being partly open, I entered and felt struck with the sight which presented itself to my view. I would have retired, thinking that I was intruding, but I felt riveted to the spot. The father was pouring out his soul to … [God, pleading] that He who ‘careth for sparrows, and feedeth the young ravens when they cry’ would supply the wants of his wife and little ones in his absence. He then, like the patriarchs, and by virtue of his office, laid his hands upon their heads individually, leaving a father’s blessing upon them, … commending them to the care and protection of God, while he should be engaged preaching the Gospel in a foreign land. While thus engaged [in giving those blessings] his voice was almost lost in the sobs of those around [him], who [were trying in their youthful way to be strong but having a very hard time doing so.] … He proceeded, but his heart was too much affected to do so regularly. … He was obliged to stop at intervals, while … big tears rolled down his cheeks, an index to the feelings which reigned in his bosom. My heart was not stout enough to refrain,” said Brother Thompson. “In spite of myself I wept, and mingled my tears with theirs. At the same time I felt thankful that I had the privilege of contemplating such a scene.”

Sadness does not come from nothing, nor does it come suddenly or by chance. A short while ago, I felt sad and could not find a reason. When I prayed, I realized the Holy Ghost was trying to warn me that I was not choosing the right. I decided to change my spiritual state. I began to set goals, pray more, and study the Book of Mormon.
Juliana Lazzarotti dos Neves Oliveira, 17,Santa Clara Branch, Coimbra Portugal District

For about five years I suffered from a condition called hemifacial muscle spasms (HFS) which resulted in severe migraines, pain to my right side of my face, and muscle distortion and spasms. At first the spasms started as a flutter to my right eye but soon progressively moved down my face, cheek, mouth, and then through my neck and shoulder. Movement of my face or mouth and stressful or high-energy situations would trigger my spasms which did not let up for several hours. Sometimes spasms would continue through the night while sleeping. Imagine having your eyelid rapidly open and close all day and night! My face was constantly tired and painful. Simple things like smiling, looking people in the eye, being in front of others, teaching, reading, singing, were challenges for me. As a teacher with an outgoing personality I had to stand up every day for hours with my face, mouth, and shoulder spasming. Every day I’d pray to have courage to teach and look people in the eye. When my spasms would get really bad, I would use my hand to cover that portion of my face as I felt very self-conscious.

One day, I saw my daughter Keilani, who was three years old, staring at herself in the mirror. She was making a funny expression closing her eyelid and drawing her mouth up and down. I tentatively asked what she was doing and will never forget her response, “Mom, I’m just trying to be beautiful like you!” Through the voice of this small and tiny child, I saw myself in a completely different light. I wasn’t someone who was hideous or ugly, but a person my daughter admired and wanted to be like. From the voice and perspective of a child, who the world might view as “small” and “insignificant,” I was taught to change my perspective and to see true beauty through her eyes.

However, my condition continued to worsen. I tried to find ways to make the spasms stop, but nothing helped. Finally, my doctor recommended MVD brain surgery. I learned of one surgeon in Hawaii who performed this surgery. However, I was unable to schedule an appointment because of the surgeon’s busy schedule.

I had run out of options and I didn’t know what to do. Physically there was nothing I could do to stop the spasms and knowing that the spasms, pain, and headaches would only worsen with time made me feel hopeless. I couldn’t even schedule an appointment with the surgeon! It seemed that I had reached the end of my known path. I worried that God might not have a plan for me, and that this condition would eventually take away my ability to see, eat, and talk.

Yet, I continued to persevere in performing small and simple acts of faith, attending church and the temple, and seeking God’s light. In the solace of the temple, I received much needed comfort and perspective that God loved me, was aware of me, and these physical trials were not a punishment from God but part of God’s plan for me. I saw that God had not forgotten or forsaken me. This experience was part of His divine design, and I needed to patiently endure.

Then the miracle happened. I was asked to give a talk in church! The night before, I had the worst HFS attack, I was up till about 3:00 AM, with no relief of my suffering. When I spoke in church, I shared briefly about my experience the previous night, and talked about how grateful I was to attend church and have the opportunity to speak.

A friend in the congregation heard my challenges. Here’s the miracle…this friend also suffered from HFS and had received the same brain surgery I sought from the very doctor I had been trying to contact for months. She understood my pains, worries, and fears. She told me how much her life improved from the surgery and encouraged me to undergo the procedure. She called the doctor’s office, who contacted me to make an appointment. After meeting the surgeon, he immediately scheduled me for surgery and I was able to have this life-changing operation.

HFS is uncommon with less than in one in 10,000 in the US suffering from this condition. What were the chances of someone with the exact same medical condition, treated by the exact same doctor with the exact same surgery? And she also lived in my small town and attended my ward too! God did not forget me! He loved me and had a beautiful plan for me.

Thankfully, this plan included being healed from my debilitating physical condition. I will never take for granted the ability I have to smile and look people in the eye. Today I am incredibly blessed to have my life back, spasm-free, and full of joy. I am grateful for the ability to see unimpaired or restrained. I am grateful for prayer and priesthood blessings. I am grateful for a loving Savior who knows my pains and carries me through my struggles. I am grateful for the power of perspective and to see my life with new eyes.

“Stay here with the baggage,” Father said. “I’ll get the family and return shortly.” Elizabeth nodded and tried to look brave as she watched him hurry off the boat. She turned to look across the muddy waters of the Missouri River. It was wide, but nothing compared to the Atlantic Ocean her family had crossed on the sailing ship Cynosure. She decided that if she could survive the eight-week crossing from England, she could certainly endure a one-day trip down a river.
“Are you going to the Salt Lake Valley?” a woman asked her.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “I can’t wait to get there to fulfill my third promise.”
“Third promise?”
“Yes. When I was very sick, the elders promised me I would get well, join the Church, go to Utah, and be a mother in Israel.”
The woman smiled. “That’s wonderful. Perhaps we’ll be in the same wagon train. I’m Sister Rowley.”
Elizabeth shook her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Beardall, and here comes my family.” Elizabeth pointed to where her parents and brother and sister were hurrying up the road toward the boat.
“Oh dear,” Sister Rowley said as the sailors bustled around the deck. “I hope they make it in time!”
Elizabeth’s family was still a block away when the boat pulled away from the dock. “No!” Elizabeth cried. “Wait!”
Sister Rowley put her arm around Elizabeth. “There is another boat tomorrow. Your family will come then. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the Church leaders that I will take care of you in the meantime.”
When they got off the boat in Florence, Nebraska, Elizabeth waited outside a business office while the Rowley family went inside. When Sister Rowley came out she was smiling. “It’s all settled, my dear,” she said. “You can come with us.”
Elizabeth frowned. “With you? But I need to wait for my family.”
Sister Rowley looked around at the noisy crowds and shook her head. “I can’t leave you here alone. Your parents will be told where to find you. And by leaving now,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “you’ll hasten the fulfillment of your third promise.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. She knew that the trip would be hard, but she had never imagined she might be making it by herself. And what if she never saw her family again? Was any promise worth that?
Sister Rowley seemed to read her thoughts. “It will all be worth it in the end,” she said. “Our sacrifices may seem great, but God has promised us a much greater reward.”
As the wagon train rolled westward, Elizabeth kept busy washing clothes, gathering buffalo chips for fuel, and fetching water. But at night when the company gathered around the blazing campfire to sing and dance, Elizabeth missed her family terribly. She found comfort in the evening star that shone in the western sky. It seemed to whisper, “God is over all. He knows your secret sorrow and will not forsake you.” Elizabeth knew that she was not really alone.
After two weeks of travel, the company stopped for repairs. Elizabeth asked Sister Rowley what she could do to help. “Go out and play, dear,” Sister Rowley told her. “You have been too solemn. You need more laughter and fewer tears.”
Elizabeth nodded and went to join some children who were playing marbles and rolling hoops. The other children were kind, but the games did not cheer Elizabeth. Suddenly a boy called out, “Who is that stranger coming into camp?”
Elizabeth saw a man in the distance, hurrying toward them. She looked more closely, hardly daring to believe her eyes. It was her father! She ran to him, and he clasped her in his arms. Both were crying for joy. “We were only a day behind,” Father said, “but I despaired of ever catching up.”
“I knew we’d be together again someday,” Elizabeth sobbed. Now, with the Lord’s help, they could continue their journey to Utah and to the fulfillment of the third promise.

Let me give you two examples of a fulfillment of this promise. One day while serving as the Executive Director of the Missionary Department, I received a phone call pertaining to a man who had received a call to serve as a mission president accompanied, of course, by his wife. His business partners, who could not understand the willingness of this man and his wife to leave their business, offered the church $100,000 if the call would be rescinded. I knew, of course, the answer but took it, nevertheless, to the member of the Quorum of the Twelve who was serving as the Chairman of the Missionary Executive Committee. His response was predictable. “Tell them we need the brother, his wife, and would appreciate the $100,000 as well.”

How much pressure do you think his partners applied on him before the money was offered to the Church? What risk was he taking after investing so much of his life in the business world? How difficult might it be when they returned to the business after their mission? Would there be anything there? I have watched that couple carefully since that day and can testify to you that the impact of their devotion and sacrifice has righteously influenced a multitude of people. Their sacrifices during and after that mission have “yielded much precious fruit.”

The Navajos were different. Roxie shivered again as she thought back to the early spring days when they first met members of their tribe. Some of the young boys in the settlement had gone out hunting. Seeing what they thought was a wild range steer in the bushes, they shot it. They had no idea that the animal was claimed by the Navajos.

When the truth was learned, fear ran through the camp. And then into their clearing had come riding Comazzy himself. He was the proud head of this Navajo clan. Roxie had been proud of her father. He was one of the men who finally persuaded Comazzy to sit down for a powwow that lasted most of the afternoon. There was much loud talking and gesturing of hands and heads. Roxie’s father knew enough Spanish to act as a sort of interpreter, since this tribe knew quite a few Spanish words. When the Indians left, they took with them sacks of flour and dried fruit.

Since that day the Navajos had treated them with respect, but their trust was guarded. Still, they had traded some calves for the feast to be held today in honor of the settlers’ finishing their large common house with its attached bowery.

I was just nineteen, a relatively new missionary in Japan; but despite my belief in the gospel and my desires for righteousness, I seriously doubted whether I could ever really be good enough to be acceptable to the Lord.
I had seen the temptations to selfishness, pride, unchastity, power, and money that the world knows how to make so alluring; and I felt weak. How could I possibly restrain all these “human” desires? Sometimes I felt as though keeping the commandments was a self-imposed straitjacket, an unnatural posture that the gospel would stuff me into while Satan kept snipping at the seams.
But that was before I made my discovery.
Like many missionary experiences, that discovery was precipitated by a special family. The first time we came to the Uno family, we were shocked by the father’s behavior. He cursed his wife and his beautiful boys shrank from him with fear on their faces. But he listened to us and invited us back. Five weeks later, we shed tears as we shared our testimonies of the gospel and saw Brother Uno scuffling and laughing with his loving and beloved little boys.
As my companion and I left that night, I felt the keenest joy I had ever experienced as I thought of that same loving family united in eternity. And I also felt sharp terror as I thought that I might not be there to rejoice with them. I realized then that my best efforts to restrain myself from sin might not be enough and I knelt that night, imploring the Lord with all my heart, to show me how to be righteous.
I renewed that prayer daily, week after week, through my mission and afterward, and searched the scriptures for an answer. Then one morning it came. Elder James E. Talmage, in Jesus the Christ, explained that the Savior “had the capacity, the ability to sin had He willed so to do … Nevertheless his insurance against [sin] … is not that of external compulsion, but of internal restraint due to his cultivated companionship of the spirit of truth” (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1973, chapter 10, paragraph 2 from the end, p. 134).
It was a moment of real revelation for me; I understood finally that Christ’s ultimate defense was not his supreme will power but simply that, nurtured by the Spirit, he had no desire for Satan’s grimy alternatives. He loves the things his Father loves. Thus, as his desires became deeds, those deeds reflected a spontaneous righteousness that came from the very depths of his being.
That was the key: to love the things God loves, to make his desires my own, and thus to be truly like him. My problem was that I had been trying to act in godly ways while wanting ungodly things. If I could change the desires of my heart, then my actions would spontaneously become godly.
I felt a kind of hope I had not felt before. I went back to the scriptures, seeking hungrily to learn what God loves. Mormon put the explanation into words for me. What I wanted was charity, which was “the pure love of Christ.” And I could receive it if I would “pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.” And Mormon also included the promise I needed: “that ye may become the sons of God … that we may be purified even as he is pure” (Moro. 7:47–48; italics added).
I felt the lists of commandments and precepts suddenly transformed by power—the power to change not only appearances but feelings, loves, and desires.
Cautiously, I chose my first goal. It wasn’t a very great thing, but it was a persistent problem. I didn’t enjoy attending church. So, morning and night, I would pray: “Lord, bless me to feel about our worship services just the way thou do. Help me to find in them the things that you would find. Help me to participate in the ways that you would.” And unbelievable things began to happen. Sunday became a day filled with light; I found myself hungry to greet the other members of the Church, to share my testimony with them, to learn from the teachers, to express in song the feelings I had no words for, and to partake of the emblems of our Savior’s sacrifice with humility and gratitude. Sunday became a Sabbath. Attending Church did not mean that I had suppressed my desire to rest, read, study, ski, or play. Now it was an expression of righteous, loving desires.
That simple experience made another scripture acquire new meaning. The doctrines of the priesthood had indeed begun to distill upon my soul; as I felt the companionship of the Holy Ghost, spontaneously keeping the Sabbath day holy, “without compulsory mean,” its blessings flowed to me (see D&C 121:45–46). As this astonishing experience progressed, my faith grew and I began to have real hope that from now on my challenges could become changes.
Another challenge was an individual I had to work closely with. I felt no particular admiration for him, and he obviously felt contempt for me. As our interchanges grew more quarrelsome, I found him deliberately trying to sabotage my work and needling me to provoke quarrels. I responded in the best tradition of the natural man and soon a bitter feud was underway. In my quieter moments, I realized that I was destroying myself and that the Spirit was leaving me because of this contention.
Again, I turned to the Lord and prayed, night and morning, “Father, I’m having a terrible time with this man. Wilt thou bless me that I may feel about him as you do.” Soon a vision began to open to me of an entirely different person than the one I’d been perceiving. I now saw a sensitive, easily hurt individual who felt alone, vulnerable, and afraid in new situations. I began to see the great strengths he had developed that had brought him to this point. But more than that, I gradually came to feel reverence and even awe for him. Here was a son of God, beloved and cherished of him. And who could resist loving such a person? Not I. It came. The love just came. Another small corner of my heart had been changed, and the Lord’s promise had been fulfilled.
My experience has been that it may take weeks of pleading with the Lord at least twice a day for these changes to come. But they will come, and, if we “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men,” we need not lose those feelings of joy and peace (2 Ne. 31:20).
What miracles would be performed if we felt the same delight in loving others that our Eternal Father feels, or felt his own respect for our children and used the same wisdom in disciplining them? If we loved the things that God loves, how would we feel about money, prayer, honesty, work, or our Church callings?
Few among us will experience the dramatic “mighty change” wrought upon King Benjamin’s hearers so that in an instant, “we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2). Most of us must change slowly, “—For he will give unto the faithful line upon line precept upon precept—” (D&C 98:12), grace upon grace, until it can be said of us that each “suffereth long, and is kind, … envieth not; … vaunteth not [him] self, is not puffed up, … seeketh not [his] own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things” (1 Cor. 13:4–7).
We could speculate that those who will inherit celestial thrones and eternal lives will be those whose love for the good, the true, and the pure is so great and spontaneous that they would choose it day after day even if there were no life after life. Indeed, for such persons, returning to our heavenly home would be as natural as awakening to another day this side of eternity.

The day before Shan Harper of the Telford Ward in England was to participate in the Newcastle-Under-Lyme Stake sports day, she fell from her horse, caught her leg in one of the stirrups, and was dragged several feet. If she had decided not to participate in the sports events the next day, it would have been understandable. But Shan not only participated, she won three events! A Beehive, she beat all others in the 12–14 age group in the high jump and 100-meter race before running in the 800-meter race. To save time, it was decided to have all three age groups (which also included 15–17, and 18 on up) run the 800-meter race together. Shan again took first place, finishing yards ahead of all other competitors.