Gospel Story Finder

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.

Among the people of Córdoba, Argentina, lives a remarkable man named Natalio Virazapia. A descendant of Bolivian and Chinese ancestors, he was born in 1922 and now lives alone in humble circumstances, earning his living by working the soil.
Brother Virazapia considers himself an instrument in the hands of the Lord to help his brothers and sisters in need. Wherever there is a small place to plant seeds, there you will find his battered bicycle. He will be in the small field sowing corn or other vegetables—food that will eventually feed needy families. Although he doesn’t have any land of his own, he always seems to find space to plant his seeds, and the Lord blesses him with abundant harvests. He often brings to church special bouquets of his carrots, cabbage, or chard to share with the other members.
“I have little,” he says. “I can give service only with this small body I have that takes me from one place to another. Through the Church and the teachings of the gospel, I have learned to work with my hands in behalf of others.” His rough, work-worn hands do indeed show the humble victories he has won. They reveal an abiding love for his Father in Heaven, for the land, and for his neighbors.
Some people are satisfied simply to know about our Heavenly Father. Brother Virazapia uses his gifts to glorify Him.

“Our Area Presidency has challenged us to read the Book of Mormon before stake conference. Will you try?” my dad asked me. “I’ll try,” I said reluctantly. I was reluctant because I had recently been in a bicycle accident and had received a serious concussion. I remember the exact date of my accident—27 July 1993—because it was my younger brother Brent’s 12th birthday.
The morning of Brent’s birthday, I did not have a present for him, so I decided to ride my bicycle to a store to find something. The store was not far away, but getting there required riding along a busy state highway. Thinking I would be safer, I rode on a seldom-used sidewalk that ran by some condominiums not far from my home. Toward the bottom of a hill, the sidewalk became uneven and was covered with sand, dirt, and plants. The sidewalk was not easily seen from either the highway or the condos. I headed down the hill, picking up speed as I went, but my trip didn’t take me where I had planned to go. I ended up in the hospital instead.
I have no memory of what happened. All I remember is the pain. I later learned that two teenage boys found me. They contacted a neighbor, who called my mom and the paramedics.
Five days later, I was still delirious. I had more than 40 stitches over one eye and on my chin, and bandages covered other cuts and scrapes. While I was in the hospital and at home, many loving people in our ward visited me and brought me gifts—although I can’t remember most of it.
Later, when I was feeling better, my parents had a speech pathologist test me. The tests showed moderate to severe impairment of my ability to retrieve general information, organize thoughts, and speak intelligently. My mental age had dropped. Although I was nearly 15 years old, I was performing at a 12-year-old level.
One of the most frustrating consequences of the accident was not being able to read. I could see the words, but my mind couldn’t process them. It was almost as if I had forgotten how to read. So my dad’s request that I read the Book of Mormon within a two-month period would be an immense challenge.
That night, I knelt by my bed to pray to Heavenly Father. During my prayer, I felt strongly that if Heavenly Father wanted me to read the Book of Mormon, He would help me. After the prayer, I got up, sat in bed, and opened the Book of Mormon to the first page. I slowly looked at the words in front of me and began: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” I was reading! I could actually understand the words! Part of me was totally amazed and excited. Yet part of me wasn’t surprised at all. Somehow I had a complete assurance that I would be able to read the Book of Mormon if it was the Lord’s will and if He was helping me.
After only one month, I finished reading that great book of scripture. The Lord and the Book of Mormon had taught me how to read again. More important, my faith in Heavenly Father increased, as did my testimony of prayer and the scriptures. That faith and testimony sustained me years later as I served as a full-time missionary in the Korea Seoul West Mission.
I’m grateful my dad challenged me to read the Book of Mormon. Because of that challenge, I was able to understand that Heavenly Father can bless us in our trials. I’m also grateful for miracles—not only for the miraculous coming forth of the Book of Mormon and the miraculous Restoration of the gospel, but also for miracles that happen today to people like me.

I learned a great lesson from my father about priesthood authority and power.
I grew up in a home with a faithful mother and a wonderful father. My dad was not a member of our church but still came to Church meetings with our family. He coached our ward softball team and helped with Scout activities.
As a boy I asked my dad many times each week when he was going to be baptized. My father replied each time, “David, I will join the Church when I know it’s the right thing to do.”
One Sunday I asked my dad when he was going to be baptized. He just smiled and asked me a question. “David, your church teaches that the priesthood was taken from the earth anciently and has been restored by heavenly messengers. Why are so many of the men in your church no different about doing their priesthood duty than the men in my church?”
My mind went blank. I had no answer for my dad.
I knew that men who hold the priesthood should act differently than other men. Priesthood holders should not only receive priesthood authority but also be faithful and worthy to exercise God’s power.
I decided I never wanted to be a poor example to my father. I simply wanted to be a good boy. The Lord needs all of us who hold the priesthood to be honorable, virtuous, and good boys at all times and in all places.
A number of years later, my father was baptized. I had the opportunity to confer upon him the Aaronic and the Melchizedek priesthoods. One of the great experiences of my life was seeing my dad receive the authority and the power of the priesthood.

I should like to challenge you to measure your acceptance of counsel from the following experience related by President Marion G. Romney in a general conference:
“I was greatly impressed by the President’s [President Joseph Fielding Smith’s] remarks. I am glad he said what he did. Listening to him, I was taken back in my thoughts a quarter of a century ago to an experience I had with President Heber J. Grant. We were discussing some criticism that had been directed against an action taken by him in his official capacity. Putting his arm across my back and resting his hand on my left shoulder he said, ‘My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church, and if he tells you to do something wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.’
“And then he added, ‘You don’t need to worry, however; the Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead his people astray.’
“I haven’t forgotten his counsel. I think I have been faithful to that charge ever since.” (Conference Report, Apr. 1972, p. 111.)

My companion and I had just ended a long, unsuccessful day of knocking on doors in Buenos Aires, Argentina. As we sat waiting for the bus, I began to sink into a daze of self-pity. I’d served in the area for three months with no success. I felt that I had let the Lord down.
Just then I noticed a man in the distance hurrying toward us on a bicycle. He was yelling and waving. Hoping to avoid the seemingly angry man, we walked quickly toward our approaching bus. It was getting dark, and we were in a dangerous part of our area. We hoped to reach the bus before the frightening man reached us.
“I have a question for you,” yelled the man. The bus arrived just before he did, and we scrambled aboard. Then I heard the man’s question: “What happened to the gold plates after Joseph Smith translated them?” My mouth fell open. I wanted to jump from the bus as it drove away. Instead I yelled, “Where do you live?” and hurriedly scribbled his address.
We stopped by the man’s house the next day. His name was Favio. A month before, he told us, his friend had loaned him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
Weeks after he had found the Book of Mormon, Favio saw us at the bus stop. By then he knew the book was true. Over the next few weeks we taught Favio the basic principles of the gospel and encouraged him to continue reading. Every time we asked him if he would commit to living a new gospel principle, he would answer, “I’m afraid not to.” Shortly thereafter, he entered the waters of baptism.
Now every time I have a difficult day, instead of sinking into self-pity, I remember Favio—his question for two discouraged missionaries and his commitment to the Lord after he received an answer.

And, if you look to the left of the pulpit where Bella bore her testimony of prayer, you’ll see Nicolas, a teacher, putting away the sacrament trays after the meeting.
It might sound strange, but Nicolas’s testimony of the priesthood began with a head injury. “I was Rollerblading down a hill with a mate, and I hit something and cracked the back of my head open.” At 10 inches, the “crack” was more like a canyon, and the doctors said Nicolas would not pull through or he would have severe brain damage. A priesthood blessing from his dad and others in the ward proved the doctors wrong. “That experience gave me quite a shining testimony of the priesthood,” Nicolas says. The Lord preserved his life through the power of the priesthood, and Nicolas plans to honor his priesthood by serving a mission.

After two years of custodial work, another ward was added to our building, making a total of four. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had Relief Society, with the officers arriving as early as 8:30 A.M. The Relief Society room, foyer, kitchen, south steps, nursery, and rest rooms had to be ready. While Relief Society was in session, we cleaned the rest of the classrooms, the chapel and the cultural hall.

Then at 3:00 the Primary officers began to arrive. The relief society room, nurseries, kitchen and rest rooms had to be checked and cleaned if needed. When Primary was over we picked up, swept, straightened chairs, and cleaned backboards to get ready for activity night. This went for about a year; then two wards moved out of the building. It seemed like we were on vacation!

Another young woman decided that one of the stakes in her life was to observe the Sabbath, regardless of her circumstances. One year after she was baptized a member of the Church with her family, her ward was divided. Her family was assigned to the newly formed ward, and she was the only young woman in the new ward. Her parents resisted the change and stopped attending church, but she wanted to follow the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth on “Sabbath Day Observance.” She decided to go to church in the new ward whenever she could, even though it meant attending all of her meetings alone.

On Sundays she read her scriptures and worked on Personal Progress. Her decision to be “steadfast and immovable” in observing the Sabbath encouraged her mother and younger sister to begin attending church again. Her mother testified that her daughter’s steadfast example of living the gospel and her goodness helped them return to activity.

As another example, I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe for homemade soap included rendered animal fat and wood ashes. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that desperately needed a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did as a child, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

In 1994 a horrific genocide occurred in Rwanda. Between 600,000 and 900,000 people were killed in a matter of 60 to 90 days.
Eventually, the Church established a branch in the capital city of Kigali. The branch was doing well—without full-time missionaries. In 2011 we were serving in the Africa Southeast Area when we learned, sadly, that our registration as a church with the country of Rwanda was invalid, which meant that we were functioning illegally as a church. We also learned that our meetinghouse, a converted two-story home, was not appropriately zoned to hold Church meetings. The Area Presidency, in consultation with our first contact in the Quorum of the Twelve, made the agonizing decision to close the branch. Our members were no longer able to meet for Church meetings.
Lawyers in Kigali, Salt Lake City, and Johannesburg, South Africa, began working fervently to resolve the problems. All the while, the Saints kept asking when they could meet together again. Months went by without resolution or progress.
After about 10 months, we flew to Kigali to visit those Saints and try to buoy up their spirits. Before we did, we asked that the matter be placed on the temple prayer roll of the weekly meeting of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve.
The Tuesday before our scheduled trip from Johannesburg to Kigali, we were notified that, in a surprising move, the government had granted the Church provisional registration in Kigali. Then on Thursday of the same week, the zoning commission granted an exemption from the zoning ordinance. The Kigali Saints could once again meet in our building without violating the law.
This was miraculous! Members were quickly notified that the branch would be meeting on Sunday. We arrived on Friday and invited members to come to church. When Sunday came, all the members—all of them—and many of their friends came to church. They arrived early, eager to be together again. As the sacrament was blessed and passed, we all experienced an extraordinary renewing, refreshing, and cleansing spirit.
We remember, in the meeting, wondering why we did not feel this same spirit every week as we partook of the sacrament. We looked around at the Saints and realized that they had come hungering and thirsting for the sacrament. Their faith, diligence, and patience brought all of us blessings. We pledged that whenever we again partook of the sacrament, we would remember this experience with the Kigali Saints. We committed that we too would hunger for the blessings of partaking of the sacrament.

A few years ago as our youngest daughter was preparing to leave for her mission, she asked if I had ever tried to contact the young missionary who had taught me.
“I have thought about him over these many years,” I replied, “but I don’t know how to contact him.”
Within 10 minutes she came back and said, “Here’s his phone number.”
When I got ahold of him, we had a long conversation. He asked for my email address so he could “bring me up-to-date on his life.” In his email the next day, he told me he hadn’t been a member of the Church for more than 40 years and hoped I wasn’t disappointed.
“How could I be disappointed?” I immediately emailed him back. “You changed my life!”
We exchanged more emails and agreed to meet. Soon I drove to his home, where he invited me in and introduced me to his wife. As we talked about our past, I asked him if he had a Book of Mormon. He went upstairs and returned with a copy. I took the book, looked him in the eye, handed the book back to him, and said: “I know this book is true! If you read Moroni 10:4 and pray about it, you can also gain a testimony of its truthfulness.”
Over the next several months, he read, prayed, and repented. Soon his 18-year-old son rebaptized him, and I had the blessing of confirming him.
I know that my daughter was inspired to ask her question, and I know that Heavenly Father prepared the two of us for a 45-year reunion. I have learned the power of the Book of Mormon. I have also learned to never give up on someone who has wandered from the Church.

A little over a year ago a couple came into my office carrying a little boy. The father said to me, “My wife and I have been fasting for two days, and we’ve brought our little boy up for a blessing. You are the one we’ve been sent to.”
I said, “What’s the matter with him?”
They said he was born blind, deaf, and dumb, no coordination of his muscles, couldn’t even crawl at the age of five years.
I said to myself, “This is it. ‘This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer’ [see Matthew 17:21].” I had implicit faith in the fasting and the prayers of those parents. I blessed that child, and a few weeks later I received a letter: “Brother Cowley, we wish you could see our little boy now. He’s crawling. When we throw a ball across the floor he races after it on his hands and knees. He can see. When we clap our hands over his head he jumps. He can hear.”
Medical science had laid the burden down. God had taken over. …

While I was serving as a stake president, a young man came for an interview prior to submitting his missionary application. The interview began something like this. I said:

If there is any serious sin, it is better to resolve that sin now in a private, confidential manner with your bishop and stake president. If you wait and confess serious sin in the mission field, it becomes more complicated. The sin becomes even more serious because of the lie to conceal it. If you delay repentance by not confessing any serious sin, Satan gains more power over you. Satan seeks to keep us bound by sin, and he succeeds when we don’t confess. Confession of serious sin to an ecclesiastical leader is an essential part of spiritual healing.

After I shared this with the young man, he answered the questions I asked, stating that he was fully worthy—but something didn’t feel quite right, so we set up another meeting for the following week to continue our interview. At the beginning of our interview the next week, the young man confessed to a long-standing sinful addiction.

During interviews, do we ever resort to sharing incomplete truths, misleading statements, or even blatant lies? At times we may not want to confront the truth of our sins because of embarrassment or the fear of appearing imperfect. We may be tempted to give evasive responses that can mislead—or we may even outright lie.

Dear brothers and sisters, if we lie and enter the mission field unworthily or lie and obtain a BYU endorsement unworthily or lie and enter the temple unworthily, we compound our sins. We act contrary to the Light of Christ in us. We push away the Holy Ghost. When we hide or cover up our sins, we open ourselves to be under the power of Satan, and that is a path of darkness, not light. We are not “thinking celestial.”

Studies have shown that each time we lie or mislead others, each consecutive lie makes us feel less and less bad. In short, we become “past feeling,” and we become prey to the adversary of our souls, who “leadeth them by the neck with a flaxen cord, until he bindeth them with his strong cords forever.”

Elder Andersen stated:
When we desire to repent, honesty becomes crucially important. . . .
. . . Any type of deceit delays the repentance process. . . .
When we seek out the Savior’s forgiveness, only total and complete honesty will open that important door. Remember, God knows the thoughts and intentions of our heart.

If we have made mistakes, Christ stands ready to forgive us now—as soon and as often as we truly repent. When we repent, our guilt is swept away, and we feel “peace of conscience.”
What a great feeling that is.

The young man preparing for his mission fully confessed. We delayed the submission of his mission papers for a time. The full confession helped him to seek help; he fully repented of his sins and entered the mission field worthily, free of the addiction that had been binding him.

Stephen rolled his cookie dough carefully, trying for just the right thickness for his angel cookies. His mother, with flour on her hands and a smudge of it on her nose, helped his little sister, Carolyn, roll hers out nice and even. Pale, wintry sunlight sifted through the kitchen curtains onto the table.
“What did you say your cousin’s name is?” Stephen asked, remembering the conversation that they’d had last night at family home evening.
“Everene, and she’s really my grandmother’s cousin.”
“That’s a funny name,” Stephen said.
“It’s just old-fashioned,” his mother explained.
“She must be awfully old. Your grandmother is already dead.”
“She is old, almost ninety, but she can still talk and laugh just like you. I’m glad that she’s been moved to a rest home near us. Now you children can get to know her.”
Stephen placed his cookie cutter on the dough and pressed firmly. “Some old people act very strange,” he said, “like Mrs. Anderson down the street. She talks to herself when she works in her roses, and her head always bobs up and down. Will Cousin Everene be like that?”
Mother looked at him and smiled. “When we get old, Stephen, our bodies don’t work as well; they don’t always do what we want them to. But inside we’re still the same person we always were. You’ll be old someday too.”
Stephen looked up at his mother. “I don’t think so,” he said firmly.
His mother laughed. “It doesn’t seem possible to you now, when you’re eight, does it? But unless you die because of an accident or disease, you will be old one day. And,” his mother added, “it seems to me that I’ve heard you talking to yourself when you’re playing alone.”
Stephen smiled sheepishly.
“I like Mrs. Anderson,” Carolyn said. “She gave me a flower once.”
“Will Cousin Everene be deaf like Mrs. Simmons?” Stephen asked. “Will we have to shout?”
“No,” Mother replied. “Her hearing’s not bad. Just don’t mumble or look away when you talk.”
Stephen sat for a minute with his chin in his hands. “We’ve always had just our family on Christmas Eve. It’s kind of special with only the four of us when we read the Christmas story.”
“Don’t you want Cousin Everene to come, Stephen?” his mother asked.
“I’m glad she’s coming,” Carolyn piped up. “I’m going to give her some of these cookies that I’m making.”
“Well, I’m glad too,” Stephen said. “It’s just that sometimes I don’t know what to say to old people.”
“Why not ask her a question?” Mother suggested.
“What kind of a question?”
“Oh, like where she lived as a child or what Christmas was like then. People like to tell things about their lives.”
On Christmas Eve, Stephen and Carolyn knelt on the couch and watched out the window for Dad to bring their special guest.
“They’re here!” Carolyn shouted as the station wagon pulled into the driveway. Dad helped Cousin Everene out of the car. When she stood up, Stephen couldn’t believe how tiny she was. And she was so stooped that her face was toward the ground.
“Is she a dwarf?” Carolyn asked.
“I don’t think so, just small. Mom says that old people sometimes shrink a little.”
“From too much washing?” Carolyn asked.
“Of course not. It’s from … well, just from getting old—like apples that shrivel up after a while.”
“Oh.” Carolyn jumped off the couch and ran to open the door.
Cousin Everene came in leaning on Dad’s arm. She stood for a moment, looking around the brightly decorated room. Stephen ran and plugged in the tree lights, and they glowed softly in the dim afternoon.
“How lovely!” she said. “Let me sit down and enjoy all this.”
Dad took her coat and hung it up while she eased herself onto a straightbacked chair. “I like a chair that I can get out of,” she said. “Now, let me look at you two.”
Stephen and Carolyn went and stood in front of her. Stephen saw that her skin was deeply wrinkled. The skin of her neck hung like a turtle’s, and stiff gray hairs stuck out from her chin. But when Stephen looked into her eyes, they were a soft gray like pussy willows and made her look very kind.
“Stephen and Carolyn …” she said thoughtfully. “Carolyn, you look a lot like my little cousin, Emily, your great-grandmother, did at your age.”
“My great-grandmother was your little cousin?” Carolyn asked.
“That’s right.”
Stephen blurted out, “If you were older, why did Great-Grandma die before you?”
Cousin Everene laughed and put her hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “That’s one of life’s little surprises,” she answered. “We never know how long we’ll live. That’s why it’s important to live every day the best that we can—and enjoy it.”
When dinner was over and the dishes were washed and put away, everyone gathered in the living room around the tree. Mom let the children put on their pajamas and slippers, and they sat on big cushions on the floor. Stephen felt warm and cozy. The fire in the fireplace crackled and hissed behind the glass, and the room glowed with soft light from the lights and the candles and the fire.
When they knelt for family prayer, Cousin Everene stayed on her chair. She said that her knees didn’t obey her anymore but that her heart was kneeling. Then, while Dad read the story of Jesus’ birth, Cousin Everene learned forward in her chair, listening intently, her eyes shining in the firelight. Somehow the story seemed more wonderful to Stephen than he had remembered it.
Afterward, Stephen asked, “What were Christmases like when you were little?”
Cousin Everene learned forward again, smiled, and said, “Well, I’ll tell you about my favorite one. …”
Stephen moved his cushion closer to her chair. He had a feeling that this would be one of the special Christmases that he would tell about when he was old.

My usual spot in ninth-grade seminary was in the back row, where I could talk and joke around with my friend. I had only signed up for seminary because there was an open space in my schedule. Seminary was offered during the school day where I lived, and a school counselor suggested I take it since I’m a Latter-day Saint. I knew the teacher’s name, but that was about all I had learned from class.
Then my friend was gone one day, so I ran into a problem: I had no one to joke with. How would I pass the time? In a panic, I went with the only other option—I listened. It was the first time I paid any attention to the teacher.
As I look back, I don’t remember a word he said that day, but I do remember being captivated. My friend was back the next day, but instead of joking around, I listened and was again pulled in.
I eventually moved from the back of the room and sat on the front row, where I could pay better attention. Not a class went by in which I didn’t feel a strong interest in the lesson or in the students who were sharing their testimonies.
I enjoyed seminary so much that I signed up for it again the next year. I had been baptized at eight years old but had never really gone to church. But something changed one day in December right before the Christmas break. The teacher invited us to come to the front of the room and say what gift we would give Christ that year.
“No one will do this,” I thought. But, to my surprise, one by one the students walked to the front of the class. Some shed tears, others shared goals they had set, and some told stories. I couldn’t believe it.
Time was ticking. I was the only one who hadn’t gone. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. I had no idea what I was going to say. Then, with a shaky voice, I said, “This year for Christ’s birthday, I’m going to start going to church.”
From that day forward, I started going to church as my gift to the Savior. The ironic part was that I was the one who received the gift. Going back to church changed my life, and it all started the day I stopped talking long enough to listen and allow the Spirit to touch my heart.
The Spirit still speaks to me. All I have to do is stop to listen—and then follow.

People come to make that crucial choice for many reasons. At first one man we taught could not see the need to be baptized. After all, he had tried to be good all his life. He had committed no serious sin. He had been baptized as a child in another church. But then two things came to his mind. One was that the Savior was baptized out of obedience, having never sinned. The other is that he wanted to make the commitment to the Savior through the authority of the true priesthood, just as the Savior went to John to be baptized.
Another young man we taught chose to be baptized out of a heart broken by the sorrow he felt for his sins. As he came up out of the waters of baptism, he threw his arms around my neck, tears streaming down his cheeks, and said in my ear, “I’m clean. I’m clean.”
Their choices to make the covenant of baptism sprang from a common faith. They knew that if they would keep a covenant to obey the Savior’s commandments, He would keep His covenant with them to lead them toward eternal life. They were ready to come unto Him that they might be changed and led by Him and, in time, become like Him.

It sometimes happens that the happiness we seek in many ways and in many places is to be found where we least expect it. So it was with me. I had happiness within my grasp all the time, but for years I did not recognize it.
I was 24 years old in 1981 when I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband was baptized with me. At the time, our daughter, Juliana, was two years old. Our branch in Tucuruvi, Brazil, was so small that we met in a home on Avenida Nova Cantareira. For some reason, after attending meetings for less than a year, we left the Church.
By the time we moved to Guarulhos in 1983, we had no desire to return to the Church and had lost complete contact with Church members. This was a time of great difficulty for us. One day while I was sweeping the house, my husband and I decided to throw all of our old Church books in the garbage. Among the books was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
In all the time I had owned the book, I had never opened it. I considered the book of no value. But as I went to place it in the trash, Juliana, who was four years old at the time caught sight of the figure of the angel Moroni on the cover and said, “No, Mama, don’t throw that book away!” I thought of throwing it away anyway, but I looked at my husband and he looked at me. We decided to honor our daughter’s request.
And so the book remained in our home.
In 1987 I gave birth to our third child and experienced some difficult health problems. I began seeking the truth, trying to find some answers to why I was so unhappy. In despair, I began to believe there was no salvation for me.
One day in 1989, the Lord prompted me to pick up the Book of Mormon. I started to read it—and found I could hardly stop. Each day I waited eagerly for the dawn so I could continue reading. The Spirit was so strong within me that I cried. I finally understood how much I had lost by leaving the path of the Lord I had once been on.
I resolved to find the Church. Searching our telephone book, I found the Church’s name and called the number listed. We started attending meetings again and have remained active ever since. My husband and I have now been to the temple, and we are sealed as a family for eternity.
I know that the Book of Mormon is true and that if we study it constantly, we will find the strength to overcome any obstacle. I thank Heavenly Father both for my blessings and for my trials—and for prompting our daughter to keep us from throwing the Book of Mormon away. I know that had I thrown the book away, with it I would have thrown away my happiness.

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.
I know that preparing ourselves and leaving everything in the hands of God and giving the best of ourselves to enter the temple is what is expected of us. Then God blesses us abundantly.

President Hinckley’s words inspired one teen to stop using illegal drugs.
“Not too long ago I was deeply entrenched in the underground rave scene. With my involvement in this not-so-wholesome activity came abuse of a drug known as ecstasy. My life got to the point where I was rolling every weekend and spending all my money on illegal drugs. It wasn’t until the prophet spoke out against illicit drug use to the youth of the Church that I realized I was in big trouble. Listening to his counsel to be clean, however, helped motivate me and give me courage to stop using drugs.”