Gospel Story Finder

Sister Babata Sonnenberg was discouraged. As a young mother of five girls age eight and younger, she was surprised to be called to teach the 16- to 17-year-old Sunday School class in her ward. Months into her calling, she found class attendance sporadic and usually sparse. One Sunday a single boy showed up for class. Rather than teach just one student, she combined her class with another. She was ready to give up. But as she pondered and prayed about her bleak situation, inspiration came, and she had a change of heart.
Her husband, Ken, was the ward mission leader. The two of them felt prompted to combine their efforts to reach out to the youth of the ward. She would make chocolate cake, and he would invite the young people in the ward to come to their home each Sunday evening to eat the cake and discuss mission preparation. While the teens ate her cake, Sister Sonnenberg would invite them to her Sunday School class.
As a result of this “sweet” invitation, attendance climbed in the Sunday School class. But one young man, Nate, was not swayed by persistent invitations. Sister Sonnenberg felt she was losing one of her sheep. Her response to that feeling was to “go after that which [was] lost, until [she found] it” (Luke 15:4).” So rather than give up on Nate, Sister Sonnenberg came up with a plan.
One Sunday evening she went to Nate’s house. She found him home with another member of her class, who also hadn’t attended that day. She told both of them she had missed them in class and proceeded to teach them the lesson right then and there. Nate’s father, who had been recently released as bishop of the ward, was touched by this teacher’s persistence. He sent a text message to her husband that read: “Ken, please tell your wife thank you for me. Coming here and teaching Nate and McKay was inspired.”
Nevertheless, the next Sunday Nate again chose not to attend Sunday School. So Sister Sonnenberg went again to his home to have a gospel discussion with him. Nate figured that might happen, and he had gone to a friend’s house to hide. Sister Sonnenberg discovered him a few doors down from his home and shared the lesson there.
Finally, Nate decided to return to his Sunday School class.
Why did Nate come back?
Was it the chocolate cake Sister Sonnenberg served in her home?
Was it the visits she made to Nate’s home (and the neighbor’s home) to find him?
Was it encouragement from friends and family to attend church?
Or was it the love he felt from Sister Sonnenberg, his Sunday School teacher?
The answer is probably all of the above. For all these reasons and more, Nate began to attend Sunday School consistently, along with his friends.
So let me add the rest of the story. Because of how Nate came to feel about his Sunday School teacher, he didn’t pass up the opportunity to buy her chocolates when he later saw her at the mall. Sister Sonnenberg, who had shown him so much love, became a recipient of his love.
Soon thereafter, in September 2015, Nate completed his mission application and is now serving in the Mississippi Jackson Mission.
Other class members who struggled to attend Sunday School also decided to serve missions. Five young men and three young women who attended Sister Sonnenberg’s 16- to 17-year-old Sunday School class during her time as the teacher have served, or are serving, missions, and several others may yet serve.

Eli tried to be a good friend. But Will wouldn’t play with him.
“If you play with Eli, you can’t play with me,” Will told Jake and Danny.
Eli asked Will nicely, but Will said, “No. Go away.”
Eli tried to join in when the other boys played chase. But no one would chase Eli.
One day Eli brought some toys to school. A new girl named Emma watched him playing.
“Do you want to play with me?” Eli asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “That looks like fun.”
Jake and Danny asked, “Can we play too?”
“Yes,” Eli said.
Will looked lonely.
“Come on, Will,” Eli said. “You can play too.”

I think Primary also played a big part in helping me develop a testimony of the gospel. Many of my teachers encouraged me and helped me understand what I needed to do to gain a testimony. It was a gradual process. I finally realized that I could not live off Mother’s or Dad’s testimony forever. I took the advice that my Primary teachers had given me and read the Book of Mormon, prayed about it, and found out for myself that it is true.

Eve loved Christmastime. Her class at school had spent the morning coloring cards and listening to fun music.
“Now it’s reading time,” Mrs. Grunig said. “And if you finish all your reading today and tomorrow, you won’t have any homework during the holiday break.”
All the kids in Eve’s class cheered. But Eve didn’t feel much like cheering. She shivered a little as she pulled out her book to read. She felt very cold and her throat hurt. Her eyes felt hot as she stared at the words on the page. By the end of school, Eve’s stomach felt sick too.
Finally it was time to walk home with her brother and sister, Tim and Wilma. Usually they had fun on the way home. They would play tag or make a snowman. But today all Eve wanted to do was get home and lie down.
When Eve got home, Mama felt her forehead.
“You have a fever,” she said. “You need to drink plenty of water and get lots of rest.”
Eve climbed into bed and fell asleep right away. The next morning, everyone else in her family was busy getting ready for the day. But Mama said Eve was too sick to go to school.
Then Eve remembered something that made her sad. Today was the school Christmas party! They were supposed to finish their art projects and sing songs and have treats. She just had to go!
But Mama didn’t change her mind.
“I’m sorry you’ll miss the party, sweetie,” she said. “But your health is more important.”
Eve started to cry. Mama tried to help her feel better with yummy soup. But all Eve could think about was all of the fun her friends were having without her.
In the afternoon, Tim and Wilma got home from school. Their cheeks were red from playing in the snow.
“The school party was lots of fun,” Wilma said. “We made red paper birds to hang up at home.”
Tim pulled something out of his pocket.
“And look—Mrs. Grunig sent us home with a special present for you. It’s so you can make a red paper bird too!”
Eve smiled. “Can you show me how?”
Tim and Wilma showed Eve how to cut on the dotted line and fold it just right. They helped her tie the string in a loop.
“Mama, look what I made!” Eve said, showing off her new favorite Christmas ornament.
Eve thought of how nice Mrs. Grunig was to remember her when she was sick, and how Tim and Wilma had helped her too. Now whenever Eve looked at her red paper bird, she would feel lots of love.

In April 2021, while serving as a stake president, a call was extended to me to serve as an Area Seventy. This call coincided with a significant event in our family’s life. Our second son, William, was diagnosed with a medical condition that doctors said was incurable, a disease known as ocular myasthenia which is an autoimmune disease that can only be managed by carefully administered steroids.
We were devastated as a family and experienced many traumatic moments in our lives because of his health condition. In the midst of this challenging situation, I focused on counsel from President Russell M. Nelson: “To do anything well requires effort. Becoming a true disciple of Jesus Christ is no exception. Increasing your faith and trust in Him takes effort. …
“Become an engaged learner. Immerse yourself in the scriptures to understand better Christ’s mission and ministry. Know the doctrine of Christ so that you understand its power for your life.”
This inspired me to learn more about our son’s condition and to study the gospel for comfort during those challenging times. As a result of my study, I discovered many valuable truths about being a true disciple of Jesus Christ.
First, the power of faith in the Saviour Jesus Christ and His plan of salvation.
I have come to understand that challenges are part of our mortal lives. In fact, before our coming to this mortality, we fully understood that trials would be part of our lives and would be for our good and would help us to recognize the blessings that are so abundantly available to everyone. These trials reassure us that all will be well despite the magnitude of what our challenges might be.
President Nelson declared: “Faith in Jesus Christ is the foundation of all belief and the conduit of divine power. …
“Everything good in life—every potential blessing of eternal significance—begins with faith. Allowing God to prevail in our lives begins with faith that He is willing to guide us. True repentance begins with faith that Jesus Christ has the power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us.”
Second, a better understanding of who God is and our relationship to Him and His priesthood. I have come to understand that we literally come from God, and we are eternally tied to Him, never to be separated. Within us is the potential of godhood. Even though it may look impossible to compare us to God at present moment, we have all the makings of God. He has put within us, in every cell, every membrane, the power to bless and to heal. The scriptures teach us that we are gods, children of the most High. After Adam and Eve had partaken of the fruits, in fulfillment of the plan of happiness, the scriptures declared, “Behold, the man is become as one of us.”
This relationship to God and His love qualifies us to receive the priesthood and power of God. For bearers of the holy priesthood this knowledge and privilege is even more significant. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught: “We all know that the priesthood is much more than just a name or title. The Prophet Joseph taught that ‘the Priesthood is an everlasting principle, and existed with God from eternity … to eternity, without beginning of days or end of years.’ It holds ‘even the key of the knowledge of God.’ In fact, through the priesthood the very ‘power of godliness is manifest.’
Third, adversities can lead to experiencing charity, the pure love of Christ. During that challenging time in our family life, the love we had for our son, the rest of our children, for each other and for every one of Heavenly Father’s children grew exponentially. We learned to see each of Heavenly Father’s children as He would see them — eternal beings with limitless potential. Our desire to forgive all was enhanced, and an eye of faith and eternal perspective was developed. Love for God and all His children is perhaps, the most potent of all the forces in the universe.
Elder Gene R. Cook of the Seventy tells the story of his friend Betty who suffered many tribulations. He narrates: “Betty … encountered many … difficulties … , but because she felt God’s love, she suffered tribulation in the Savior’s name, partook of His divine nature, and thus gained a deeper faith in and a love for God, along with the strength to handle whatever might come.
“Her love for others increased. She seemed to even forgive others in advance.”
To me to forgive in advance is to understand that all Heavenly Father’s children are free to choose. When the consequences of their choices bring us unwanted effects, it’s no longer about them. It’s about us, and how we will respond. Will we love or otherwise? When we give people the benefit of the doubt, we are the ones who receive the benefit.
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–1994) beautifully observed: “Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt. … Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped.”
Fourth, act by inspiration. Another important truth, I have come to learn is that, yes, the Lord expects us to act and to work for many things in our lives. However, when our actions are based on inspiration, what we achieve is exponentially greater than what we can achieve on our own.
President Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) taught “Each of us must stay in condition to respond to inspiration and the promptings of the Holy Ghost. The Lord has a way of pouring pure intelligence into our minds to prompt us, to guide us, to teach us, and to warn us. Each son or daughter of God can know the things they need to know instantly. Learn to receive and act on inspiration and revelation.”
Fifth, live in joy. Lehi teaches that we came into this world that we might experience joy. The Prophet Joseph Smith once said, “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it.” It became very apparent to me that challenges will be a regular feature in our lives and if one is waiting to die to experience joy or happiness, life will not be joyful. We have come to learn to identify and celebrate small moments of joy. Loving and appreciating small moments of joy adds up to long periods of joy. President Nelson describes, “Clearly, Lehi knew opposition, anxiety, heartache, pain, disappointment, and sorrow. Yet he declared boldly and without reservation a principle as revealed by the Lord: ‘Men are, that they might have joy.’”
We have come to learn that there are more good things happening around us than bad. If we pay attention, we will find many reasons to glory in it. One hymn states, “Count your many blessings; name them one by one, and it will surprise you what the Lord has done.”
I know that this life was created for the purpose of helping us become more by what we experience. We have learned never to regret any moments. They are all designed for our growth, learning, and becoming.

I don’t ever want to forget him. You see, Hans got really sick last month—Mother said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died.
We all cried when Hans died. Mother and Father hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. My grandparents and all my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too. Mother and Father played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Hans and Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Father says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mother and Father were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.

The children were excited for sharing time. A returned missionary was visiting to tell about his mission in Japan. When he had arrived in Japan, everything seemed so different. The Japanese people used chopsticks instead of forks, wrote sentences using characters instead of letters, and spoke a language that was hard for him to understand. Children took their lunches to school in “bento boxes” and read books from back to front. The missionary quickly learned to love the Japanese people and the way they lived.

The Lord wants all of us to be missionaries. One way you can do that is by being a friend to those who have moved into your neighborhood or come from another country and to those who look, speak, or dress differently. As you learn to love those who are different from you, you are preparing for the day when you are called to serve a mission. It could be anywhere in the world!

There were times I thought that pursuing my education wouldn’t be worth it.
I’d moved away from my family to attend university. I wasn’t living in a very safe part of town. And with all the anxiety I was experiencing about my safety and my finances, I didn’t feel like I was learning very much.
But here’s what I realized: I wasn’t doing this just for myself. My education was about more than me and my experiences.
I’m from Camotes, a small island in the Philippines. When I decided to attend college to become a teacher, I moved to Cebu, a larger island that was a two-hour boat ride away.
And for a while, I really worried about my safety. There was a lot of drug use and crime in the area I was living in, so getting from my house to campus every day sometimes forced me to be in stressful and dangerous situations, and I didn’t have the protection of my family.
During this time, there was a quote from President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) that changed how I thought about my situation: “Decisions determine destiny.”
I’d been thinking about all of the hard things happening to me, all the things outside of my control. But over time, the thought occurred to me that I’d made this choice—I’d chosen to travel away from my family and get an education.
This realization caused me to consider why I’d made this choice. And the answer came to me quickly: I wanted to be a leader in my branch. I wanted to return to my community with greater knowledge. I wanted to teach the kids on Camotes and encourage them to seek learning opportunities that could help them bless their future communities too. This was the destiny I was working toward.
President Russell M. Nelson once taught: “Don’t be afraid to pursue your goals—even your dreams! There is no shortcut to excellence and competence. Education is the difference between wishing you could help other people and being able to help them.”
Now I’ve finished my degree, and I’m back living on Camotes. I teach children in grades one and two, and I’m also the first counselor in my branch’s Primary presidency, so I get to use my education even more than I was expecting. I know how to be patient with these kids and teach them gospel principles in a way they will understand. Every day I’m grateful that I decided to get educated, despite how difficult it was at times.

The sign says, “Caution: Icy Bridge Deck.” It stands next to the big concrete bridge over the Athabasca River in the center of Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada, where I live. Our city is in northern Canada, where the roads are covered with ice and snow for six months of the year and driving can be dangerous.
One day, just as we passed the warning sign, our truck started sliding out of control. My mom prayed out loud, “Heavenly Father, please help us!” Our truck spun around on the bridge until its nose banged hard into one of the gray walls. We stopped with a jerk, and I accidentally bit my tongue.
“We’re OK,” Mom said as she patted my leg. “Heavenly Father protected us. Look—it didn’t even wake Nathan (my little brother).” Although the truck had crashed, and my tongue was sore, I knew that Mom was right. Even though the bridge was slippery, the cars behind us were able to stop without bumping into us. The wall of the bridge stayed strong and kept us from falling into the frozen river. The truck’s shiny metal bumper was crumpled, but the truck still worked fine. We got home safely, just like we’d prayed that morning before we left the house.Samuel Quist, age 5, with help from his mom, Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada

Illustration by John Kachik
School was out for Thanksgiving break, but I was not looking forward to it. I was struggling at school, and I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being surrounded by family members who were in the mood for holiday cheer. It seemed to me that I didn’t have a whole lot to be thankful for.
“Who is it?” my dad called from the kitchen as I came in the front door after school.
“It’s me,” I called back.
He came to give me a hug and invited me to help him make pies. I’d been hoping he would just tell me to relax, but all he said was, “I really could use your help.”
At first the task was tedious—one cup of this, two teaspoons of that. I’d never talked a lot with my father. I could ask him to help me with my homework, or he could tell me to do the dishes. But it seemed that deeper conversations just didn’t happen between us. So we went on working side by side until he asked a simple question: “How’s school going?”
I started talking about how school was really going—my frustrations, my worries, the things I liked, and the things I didn’t like. I talked and he listened. After I was done, it was his turn. He told me stories of his high school days and how he had experienced some of the same frustrations and delights. He gave me advice that I actually needed to hear.
We discovered that we didn’t have any bananas for the banana cream pie. “I guess I’ll have to run to the store,” my dad said.
“Can I come with you?” I asked. He agreed. Off we went, singing to the radio at the top of our lungs the whole way. I don’t remember ever having such a fun time on a trip to the grocery store.
The pies were all gone after a few days, but I will never forget talking with my dad while making them. It was the first time that I realized that my dad was just a person like me, the first time I saw that in addition to being my father, he could also be a friend. I learned to appreciate my whole family more and the small memories we create each day. I went back to school with a newfound motivation. For some reason, I felt like I had so much to be thankful for.

A story in Church history brought me some comfort. On February 24, 1834, Joseph Smith received a revelation (Doctrine and Covenants 103) to organize over 100 men to travel to Jackson County, Missouri, USA, to help the Saints regain the land they had lost when they were expelled from there the previous year. Around 230 men, women, and children joined the expedition, which became known as Zion’s Camp. After preparing, the group left home in May and marched as much as 40 miles a day.1
Not only did Zion’s Camp face the physical aspects of the journey, but a few members of the group also exhibited backbiting, disobedience, and rebellion. Yet many others remained faithful and counted the expedition and the opportunity to be with Joseph as a privilege. With circumstances changing around them, the Prophet sought direction from the Lord and received another revelation in June (Doctrine and Covenants 105) saying that they no longer needed to continue their efforts. Members of the camp returned home without seeming to fulfill their purpose to redeem Zion, though many recognized that it was not a failure because the journey allowed them to grow closer to God and see His hand in their lives.2
Struggle at Zion’s Camp, by Clark Kelley Price
When the Saints in Zion’s Camp faced the news that they would be returning home without their expected blessing, they may have wondered why Heavenly Father had asked them to take the journey in the first place. I, too, wondered why I’d been led in a direction that didn’t turn out as I had planned.
After several weeks of feeling more sadness than I’d ever felt before, I realized I didn’t want to continue living with such a negative attitude. I knew I was not sent to earth to live a life consumed with discouragement and pessimism. After all, we are that we “might have joy”! (2 Nephi 2:25). I decided to shift my focus from the “whys” of the past to finding purpose in the midst of affliction.
I reached out to other people, became involved in new hobbies, and went back to school. I also started a daily gratitude journal. What started out as one-line entries turned into full pages as I began to recognize the Lord’s hand in my life more effortlessly. My prayers changed from wish lists to gratitude lists.
Even though my hard days didn’t disappear—they still haven’t—I now know what a difference it makes to focus my perspective on the good in life. Instead of seeing my trials as a bad thing, I decided to view them as an opportunity for growth.
Looking back on how things have turned out since I came home from Paraguay, I can see how Heavenly Father was guiding me and giving me opportunities through my experiences. I met some of my closest friends in those months following my mission, and I was able to immediately start studying at a local university, even though the deadline for enrollment had passed. That program led me to a study abroad in Switzerland, where I got to share the gospel with my host family.
Those years of consciously choosing gratitude have instilled in me a habit of thanking Heavenly Father for all things, which increases my faith in Him.
These words in a priesthood blessing I received during a low week have also helped me understand faith: “I bless you with understanding and knowledge that God … will give you those things that will not only be for your good but … help you become all that He wants you to be. Those will not always be easy blessings, for our struggles and adversity are the things that make us grow.”
I know that Heavenly Father consecrates our efforts, and as President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “The Lord loves effort.”3 God truly does seek our happiness and will forever be by our side.

Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokohama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.
It was a very chilly night. The railroad station, what there was left of it, was very cold. Starving children were sleeping in the corners. That was a common sight in Japan in those days. The fortunate ones had a newspaper or a few old rags to fend off the cold.
On that train, I slept restlessly. The berths were too short anyway. In the bleak, chilly hours of the dawn, the train stopped at a station along the way. I heard a tapping on the window and raised the blind. There on the platform stood a little boy tapping on the window with a tin can. I knew he was an orphan and a beggar; the tin can was the symbol of their suffering. Sometimes they carried a spoon as well, as if to say, “I am hungry; feed me.”
He might have been six or seven years old. His little body was thin with starvation. He had on a thin, ragged shirt-like kimono, nothing else. His head was shingled with scabs. His one jaw was swollen—perhaps from an abscessed tooth. Around his head he had tied a filthy rag with a knot on top of his head—a pathetic gesture of treatment.
When I saw him and he saw that I was awake, he waved his can. He was begging. In pity, I thought, “How can I help him?” Then I remembered. I had money, Japanese money. I quickly groped for my clothing and found some yen notes in my pocket. I tried to open the window. But it was stuck. I slipped on my trousers and hurried to the end of the car. He stood outside expectantly. As I pushed at the resistant door, the train pulled away from the station. Through the dirty windows I could see him, holding that rusty tin can, with the dirty rag around his swollen jaw.
There I stood, an officer from a conquering army, heading home to a family and a future. There I stood, half-dressed, clutching some money which he had seen but which I could not get to him. I wanted to help him, but couldn’t. The only comfort I draw is that I did want to help him.
That was years ago, but I can see him as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Perhaps I was scarred by that experience. If so, it is a battle scar, a worthy one, for which I bear no shame. It reminds me of my duty!

Grandmother Folger’s house buzzed with excitement. Matt Davis, one of her grandchildren, had just returned home from a mission in New Zealand, and everyone had gathered at Grandmother’s that Sunday afternoon for a family dinner. Eight-year-old Jonathan Pratt had just finished a piece of Grandmother’s chocolate cake and was talking with his cousins. Candace was telling a story.
“And then it broke …”
“Candace! Sometimes you are so stupid!” Jonathan exclaimed. “That’s not how it happened at all!” Candace’s face fell, and she looked down at her hands.
“Jonathan,” a voice warned.
He turned around to see his older sister, Christi. “What? What did I do?”
Christi motioned for Jonathan to come and sit by her. “Jonathan, what did you just say?”
Jonathan sighed. “Well, Candace was telling it wrong.”
“Still, Jonathan, it makes Heavenly Father feel bad when you talk about anyone being stupid or dumb. Not only is Candace your cousin, she is a child of God! Do you think Jesus Christ is happy when you call people ‘stupid’?”
Jonathan knew the answer. “No.”
“Then try not to, OK?”
“OK.”
A few days later Christi was driving through the green hills of Maryland. Jonathan was buckled into the seat beside her. The sun was low in the western sky, and the road was crowded with cars going home from work.
“Hurry, Christi! We’re going to be late for the game. Drive faster!”
“I am doing the best I can, Jonathan. We’re almost there.”
Jonathan craned his neck to see how close to the ballpark they were. Then he looked in the outside mirror and made a funny face at himself.
A red sports car cut in front of them, and Christi had to slam on the brakes. “Whoa!” she exclaimed.
The car buzzed on through a yellow light, leaving Jonathan and Christi stuck at the intersection with a red light.
“Ugh!” Jonathan cried. “Now we’ll be late for sure! That lady is so—”
Christi turned her head to see why Jonathan stopped. “What’s the matter?”
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I remembered that Jesus Christ doesn’t like it when I talk that way.”

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
As we watched the boys with mild interest, Sarah proceeded to tell me about her best friend in high school. At least Sarah said this girl was her “best friend.” I didn’t know how that was decided. As the story went, this girl had been spending the weekend at Sarah’s, and one night they were up late talking. She told Sarah that although Sarah was fun for the first day or so, her charm soon wore off. Sarah, who was overweight and insecure, didn’t have many friends, and she had believed what this girl had told her.
I thought about this “best friend” and what her motives could possibly have been. Maybe she was annoyed with Sarah and just wanted to be mean. Maybe she was merely entertaining herself and didn’t realize that five years later, Sarah still believed that her charm quickly wore off like Cinderella’s gown.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallel between those boys and Sarah’s “best friend.” One remark had scarred Sarah enough, that years later she still expected to be rejected after people really got to know her.
Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.

Henry and Mom were driving home. Gray clouds filled the sky. They even touched the ground. “This is a heavy fog,” Mom said.
Mom drove slowly. The lines on the road were getting harder to see.
“Are we going to get home OK?” Henry asked.
“I hope so,” Mom said. “It might take longer than usual. But I’m being careful.”
Henry could barely see the trees. He could barely see the buildings. He trusted Mom. But he felt lost.
Then Henry thought of something. “Can I say a prayer?” he asked.
“That’s a great idea,” Mom said.
Henry prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to make the fog go away so they would be safe. Then Henry opened his eyes. But the fog was still there. And now snow was falling!
Just then, lights along the highway came on. As they passed one light, they could see the next light up ahead. Mom followed the lights.
Henry and Mom finally found their way home. They pulled into the driveway. Mom looked at Henry. She smiled.
“Heavenly Father answered your prayer,” Mom said. “The fog didn’t go away. But the lights came on. And the lights helped us find our way.”
Henry smiled. He knew Mom was right. Henry bowed his head and said another prayer. This time the prayer was to tell Heavenly Father thank you.

Guillermo Javier Leiva remembers the pain of his divorce in 2007. He had to find his own apartment and was no longer able to return home every evening to his young son, Julian. He felt empty and alone.
“I was very unhappy,” he says, “and in moments of anguish, I looked for God.”
Guillermo began praying for answers and help. “I said, ‘Father, I’m not worthy for Thee to enter my house, but a word from Thee will be enough to heal me.’”
The answer to that prayer came a short while later when two young men in white shirts and ties stopped to talk with him while he was playing with his son outside his new apartment.
“One of them greeted me and asked if I had faith,” he recalls. “I told him yes but that I wasn’t the best Christian. He then asked if I would read a book if he left it with me. I told him yes.”
As Guillermo began reading the verses in Alma 32 that the missionaries had marked for him, he says, “I immediately felt a great joy in my soul that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The book touched my heart. I couldn’t stop reading.”
Guillermo no longer attended his previous church, but he told the missionaries that he had no intention of being baptized again. Nevertheless, he welcomed their visits and their reading assignments in the Book of Mormon.
As he read, his soul grieved with Nephi when he learned how that prophet had sorrowed “because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18). “I knew that I too had sinned,” Guillermo says, “and I felt bad about it.”
As he read, he felt that he was being rescued from darkness and despair and brought into “the light of the glory of God” (Alma 19:6).
And as he read of the baptismal covenant set forth at the Waters of Mormon, he realized the importance of baptism by proper priesthood authority. “If I recognized that the seed was good, what did I ‘have … against being baptized in the name of the Lord’?” (Mosiah 18:10), he asked himself.
“Every time I read, I felt peace and I found answers,” Guillermo says. “I realized that the Book of Mormon was the word of God I had asked for in my prayers.”
When he was baptized in March 2009, he experienced a spiritual rebirth and a renewed hope for the future. “Baptism was a chance to start over,” Guillermo says. “I have changed my life. I am very happy now. I know that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that God answers prayers because He answered the most important prayer I ever said.”

A few years ago, as Sister Condie and I exited the Tabernacle, a lovely sister approached us and said with a very cheerful voice, “Good morning, President Hinckley.” I replied, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I’m Elder Condie of the Seventy.” Her cheerful countenance was crestfallen. Not more than a minute later, we met another sister who greeted us with the same salutation: “Good morning, President Hinckley.” Not wishing to cause her the same disappointment I caused the previous sister, I shook her hand and said, “Bless you, my dear. Have a nice day.”
Several months later I confessed my sin to President Gordon B. Hinckley during a regional conference in Portugal, and in his typically loving way he said, “Well, Spencer, if you’re going to impersonate me, I hope you behave yourself.”

This story began in 1987 with the Bennion First Ward’s youth conference trip to the Manti Utah Temple and the time capsule that the youth buried afterward.
Hold on—1987? Isn’t this article 16 years late for publication? Well, yes, if you’re writing a story about burying a time capsule. But this one’s about digging it up.
After three days of service and activities near the temple grounds, the teens and leaders from Taylorsville, Utah, drove home to wrap up the conference. Then in a corner of leader Brenda Jeppson’s yard, they stood quietly in the warm July twilight and watched as a long, black time capsule was buried about three feet deep in the crumbly soil.
Sixteen-year-old Stacie Hankins wrote in her journal that night, “After we buried the time capsule, we promised we would return with our spouses and children in 15 years.” Then she vowed, “I will return.” Along with most of the youth and leaders at the conference, Stacie kept her promise.
The crowd that gathered in the same corner of that yard 15 years later not only looks very different, it is three or four times bigger than the original gathering. Children run around on the soft grass in the Jeppsons’ backyard while their parents—the grown-up Bennion Ward teens—chat about what they included in the capsule.
The capsule is sealed so tightly they have to saw the ends off. Inside is quite a collection of 1980s memorabilia. Banana hair clips, tape recordings of popular music, newspaper articles, postage stamps, clothing ads, microwave popcorn, letters to themselves with their testimonies, and a New Era are all packed into the smooth black tube.
Sorting through the mementos gives a sense of how much time has passed. But a lot more than wardrobes, world news, and waistlines has changed.
Imagine your life in 15 years. What will change? Where do you want to be?
Fifteen-year-old Jennifer Openshaw then, now 30-year-old Jennifer Bowden, thought about where she wanted to be in 15 years when the time capsule was buried.
“I was hoping I’d be married and be a mom,” she says.
Check. Her husband sends her a smile from a nearby table as her children, Samuel and Emma, giggle on the Jeppsons’ swing set.
“I also knew I wanted an education,” she continues.
Double check. Jennifer has a master’s degree in dietetics from Utah State University.
What has stayed the same is her strong testimony of the gospel. She pauses thoughtfully to consider where the last 15 years have taken her. “If my younger self could see me, I think she’d be pleased,” she says.
But Jennifer isn’t the only one smiling. Nathan Cantonwine, now 29, whose 100-watt grin hasn’t dimmed at all in 15 years, is happy with where he ended up too. More than serving a mission, going to college, and starting his own family, Nathan wanted to have a stronger testimony by the time the capsule was opened.
“Growing up, I had a tendency to rely on other people’s testimonies,” he says. “I knew the gospel was true because I could feel it when I was with my leaders and friends. But now, I have experienced things, in particular with prayer, tithing, and fasting, that have borne a strong witness to me that I cannot deny.”
Fifteen years scattered the teens of the 1987 Bennion ward across 12 states, from Florida to Washington. They served missions in places as close as California and as far away as Italy. The more time goes by, the more they realize what’s truly important. They say they don’t worry about superficial things like popularity and fashion anymore.
Heidi Tuttle, now Heidi Kim, says her perspective has changed tremendously in 15 years.
“When I was 17, I didn’t see the whole picture,” she says as her toddler son, Kennan, dashes by in red overalls. She scoops him up and kisses the top of his head as he squirms away.
“After my mission to Korea and getting married, I realized the gospel and my family are what’s most important,” Heidi says, as she looks proudly at her husband who is singing Kennan a special song in Korean.
Stacie Hankins says the most important thing in her life is the scriptures. She remembers burying a letter in the time capsule that contains her feelings about the Book of Mormon. She says if she were to include something in a time capsule today, it would be a list of scriptures that have changed her life. She wants to use the scriptures to strengthen her future family.
It’s fun to see the crazy things they buried all those years ago. But the real treasure of the 1987 Bennion youth conference wasn’t buried in the corner of the Jeppsons’ yard. It’s testimonies, families, friendships, and dreams—all things you can’t bury in a time capsule. The ones in the group who seem the happiest now are those who envisioned what they wanted to be when they were young and then worked toward those goals, rather than simply going wherever life took them.
When the warm summer evening slips into night, the group of reunited friends is still talking under the light of a few bright lamps. They each read the testimonies they wrote and put in the time capsule—their testimonies are the only things that outlasted the constantly changing popular culture. “Today I recommit myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Brenda Jeppson reads from her tattered piece of paper. Tonight, through her tears, she repeats her commitment to Christ as she looks forward to a future with the people she loves.

I grew up in my mother’s home, but I eventually moved in with my father and stepmother, who were both members of the Church. They always lovingly invited me to go to church with them, but I always kindly said, “No, thanks.”
After a year, I finally decided to start going to church with them. I found out that it wasn’t as bad as I thought that it would be. The chapel was very close to the house, and I could enjoy the company of my parents and friends there. I kept going to church, but only because it was convenient.
One day, just before sacrament meeting, Trent, a friend of mine, came up and asked me, “Hey, Alex, do you want to help pass the sacrament?”
I was shocked at what he’d asked. “No, I’m not even a member,” I told him.
He seemed confused. “So, you’re not baptized?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “I’m not baptized.”
There was an awkward pause while he tried to think of something to say. Then the words finally came out, “So … do you want to be baptized?”
“No,” I answered simply. “No, I don’t want to be baptized.”
“Oh, I see,” he said. There was another awkward pause. Then he said, “Well, see you at Sunday School.”
I can just imagine how embarrassed and uncomfortable Trent must have felt as he returned to his seat, but what neither of us knew was that he’d planted a seed somewhere deep within me. When I sat down, I couldn’t get his question out of my head. I thought to myself, “How ridiculous! Of course I don’t want to be baptized! There’s no way I … well …”
Then, for the first time in my life, I realized that I’d never found out for myself if the Church was true. Then I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Do I want to be baptized?”
One night I was off by myself and still thinking about Trent’s question. I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the truth. As I thought about it, I felt strongly that I should investigate the Church. When I got home that night, I asked my stepmother if she could set up visits with the missionaries for me.
The elders came and explained the Restoration of the gospel. They cleared up much of the misunderstanding I’d had about the Church and answered all my tough questions. They also gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I fell in love with reading it. For weeks I carried it around in my pocket and read it every chance I had.
Deciding one night to act on Moroni’s challenge and promise, I prayed and asked my Heavenly Father if what I’d read was true (see Moroni 10:4–5). I felt a peaceful assurance come over me, and I knew in my heart that the Book of Mormon was true!
I ran upstairs, excited, and told my parents the answer to Trent’s question: “I do want to be baptized!”
On December 25th I had a very “white” Christmas. Not only was there snow on the ground, but I was also dressed in my white baptism clothes. A few weeks later, after receiving the Aaronic Priesthood, I went up to my good friend Trent and asked: “Can I help pass the sacrament?”

“Elder Perry, if you could say something to the children of the world, what would you tell them?” I asked.
“I would like to tell them to learn as much as they could about the life of the Savior and to live as close to Him as they possibly can. Living the Lord’s way is the only way to find joy and happiness. If they turn from his course, there’s always a penalty involved, and they’ll find that sorrow and heartache will result from their decision.
“Children ought to start early in their lives to develop a method for retaining that which they study—a kind of filing system. Mine is simple enough for an eight-year-old to use. When I read scriptures and find one especially important, I underline it and try to pick out the main thought. If the scripture is on faith, I write faith in the margin.
“I think we spend too much time just reading the scriptures without remembering them. It is said that we retain about 10 percent of whatever we read, but we can retain 50–60 percent if we do something specific about it. If a child began at eight years of age, think of the vast amount of information he or she would have from that early study of the scriptures!”
The conversation then turned to recollections of Elder Perry’s parents and his own childhood: “I grew up very close to the Church,” he said. “My father was made bishop of our ward when I was only six months old. By the time I was six years of age, our ward was building a chapel. Father would take us all over to work on it. I remember that my first job was pulling nails out of boards and straightening them so they could be used again.
“My father came from a large family. They were homesteading in Idaho and had little money. When he reached high school age, he asked my grandfather to allow him to go to high school. His father gave him five dollars and a one-way ticket to Salt Lake, where he had to make it on his own. He found a job caring for President Joseph F. Smith’s cows and lived in the Beehive House like a member of the family for three and a half years. Father attended LDS High School and then went on to the University of Utah, where he was valedictorian of his graduating class. He accepted a position as principal of a school in Rexburg, Idaho. There he met my mother who was a teacher in the same school.
They were married and Dad left teaching and went to law school and became an attorney.
“Dad was a very intense man, but he knew how to relax. Saturday afternoon was spent with the family—fishing, hiking, or playing ball up Logan Canyon. He and I enjoyed pitching horseshoes together even when I was very young.
“My mother was a tremendous woman. She had more energy than anyone I’ve ever been around. She was the first one up in the morning and the last one to bed at night—just perpetual motion all day long. Her family came first and she was a tremendous support to my father, who was a bishop for eighteen years and then in the stake presidency for another twenty years.
“I had some great teachers when I was a boy. I remember a Sister Johnson, who was president of the Primary for years and years. How tender she was!
“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”
We concluded the interview with some conversation about Elder Perry’s own family: “I have two grandchildren who live here in Salt Lake City and two who live in the eastern part of the U.S. We try to have family home evening together once a month with those who live here. One of our greatest family activities has been a garden that we planted in a vacant lot. We call it the Perry Family Welfare Farm. Both grandchildren have assignments. We plant, water, irrigate, harvest, and have a great time together! I hope I’m teaching them something about the Lord’s cycle of replenishment—that if we’re diligent, He will reward us abundantly. Each little seed brings forth a hundredfold.”
“Do you have a last word about children?”
“Children are receptive and attentive and able to follow the leader. They have freshness and are eager to learn. Children are wonderful!”