Gospel Story Finder

Michael slung his backpack over his shoulder. It was the first day of school, and he couldn’t wait! He and his family lived in India. Many children in his city couldn’t go to school. Michael was grateful he had the opportunity to learn.
He liked learning—especially mathematics. He also loved reading magazines. He turned the colorful pages. He read about different animals and places around the world.
One day Michael read a different kind of magazine. It was from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Michael loved reading it. He wanted to learn more.
Michael had gone to other churches before. He liked learning about Jesus. But sometimes he felt confused. Which church was the true church?
Later, he read a booklet about the prophet Joseph Smith. He felt something special as he read it. Joseph Smith had also gone to different churches too searching for the truth. Maybe I’m like Joseph, Michael thought.
Michael wanted to go to this new church to see what it was like. But there were no Latter-day Saint churches in India. Michael was disappointed. He kept learning all he could. He read the Book of Mormon and prayed. He knew it was true! He wanted to be baptized. But he would have to wait.
Years passed. When Michael was 21, a senior missionary couple came to India. Finally, Michael was baptized! Soon he was able to serve a mission of his own in Utah, USA.
More years passed. One day a friend called him. The Church was looking for people to help translate general conference for people in India. Michael was nervous at first. But he was happy to help.
One October afternoon Michael was translating a talk by President Nelson in general conference. He heard the prophet announce that a temple would be built in India! Michael wanted to shout for joy. He cried happy tears.
Michael was grateful for all he had learned at school. But most of all, he was grateful he had learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ. He was happy more people in his country could learn about Him too!
Today, Michael helps translate general conference for people in India.

When you become 12 years of age, attend the temple to do baptisms for the dead whenever you can. We live in a blessed day when 124 temples dot the earth. Many of you can attend the temple as youth groups and as families. But even if you do not have a temple near you, you can enjoy the blessings of the temple by learning more about the temple and always being worthy to hold a temple recommend. When I was a mission president, our mission did not have a temple, so our missionaries were not able to attend the temple during their missions. At first I did not think to encourage them to keep a current temple recommend. Then in late 1994 President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) counseled adult members of the Church to have a current temple recommend—even if they did not live near a temple.5 During the next interviews with our missionaries, I taught this principle and conducted a temple recommend interview for each of our missionaries. What a blessing that was for our mission and our missionaries!

Many years ago, while working as a street vendor in a little town in Poland, I met a man named Nikolai Shaveko. We discovered that we both came from Chernigov, Ukraine, and quickly became friends.
Eventually I learned that Nikolai had no place to stay, so my wife and I invited him to stay with us. Our apartment wasn’t very warm or comfortable, but we had an extra room. He gratefully agreed and stayed with us for a time. He began to see how we lived.
Like most vendors selling household goods, we needed to work long and hard to have enough money to live. But unlike most people, my wife and I didn’t work Sundays. One day, Nikolai asked why. Why would we skip working and making money for an entire day?
“Sundays do not exist for working or making money,” I told him. “They were made for a different purpose.”
“But how can you afford to pay for food and rent if you don’t work seven days a week?” he asked.
To answer his question, we invited him to come worship with us. That was his first experience hearing about the Church, and he didn’t take to it right away. He still thought we were incredibly odd for choosing going to meetings over making money. But from that moment on, we frequently talked to him about our beliefs, and little by little, he became more and more interested.
Nikolai saw us living what we knew to be true. He saw the blessings that came into our lives. Yes, it was hard to earn enough money to live, but we knew that it was right to keep the Sabbath day holy. And the Lord blessed us. We always had enough money for the things we needed. That strengthened our testimony of the principle and helped us be better witnesses to Nikolai. We had the conviction to invite him, “Try it, and you will see!”
One week, he did.
Instead of going to work, he came to church with us. He didn’t think it was possible to work only six days a week, but because of the hope and blessings he saw in our lives, he tried it.
That week, when he counted his money, he was surprised. He had made more money that week than he normally made by working seven days a week!
The same thing happened when we talked about tithing. At first, Nikolai couldn’t understand how we could give up 10 percent of our income.
“I will never have enough to do that!” he insisted.
We just shrugged. “If you try it, you will see.”
He was incredulous, but then slowly smiled. “So it’s like not working on Sundays,” he said. “If you pay your tithing, you will have enough money for yourself and what you need.”
That was a big revelation for Nikolai. He learned for himself that if we follow God’s commandments, God will bless us and things will work out for our benefit.
When Nikolai returned home to Chernigov, he invited the missionaries to teach him and his family. Soon he and his family joined the Church. Later, Nikolai served as a branch president, and his daughter served a mission in Russia.
We loved talking to Nikolai about the Church, but in the end, inviting him to live the principles of the gospel was more powerful than simply telling him about them. He and his family gained testimonies and changed their lives because they chose to live gospel truths.

I do not think we’re less grateful than other people—but we have so much more to be grateful for. This was driven home to me as a young man when my grandfather, who had been the bishop of a little country ward in Whitney, Idaho, told me about a visit made to his house by Elder Joseph F. Smith, who would later become President of the Church.
Grandfather said that they were seated in the living room/dining room combination of the farmhouse. The table was laden with good things to eat. The family was gathered around. Just before they were ready to start the meal, Elder Smith stretched his long arms over the table and turned to my grandfather and said, “Brother Benson, all this and the gospel too!” What did he mean? All this and the gospel too! The food represented the material blessings of life—food, clothing, and all the rest. This family of children—home, family, loved ones—all that the world has and the gospel too. I think that’s what the President had in mind.

For a time he lived in the home of Joseph Smith and relates this incident: “During the winter that I boarded with Brother Joseph … we had a number of prayer meetings, in the Prophet’s chamber. … In one of those meetings the Prophet told us, ‘If we would humble ourselves before God, and exercise strong faith, we should see the face of the Lord.’ And about midday the visions of my mind were opened, and the eyes of my understanding were enlightened, and I saw the form of a man, most lovely, the visage of his face was sound and fair as the sun. His hair a bright silver grey, curled in a most majestic form; His eyes a keen penetrating blue, and the skin of his neck a most beautiful white and he was covered from the neck to the feet with a loose garment, pure white: Whiter than any garment I have ever before seen. His countenance was most penetrating, and yet most lovely. And while I was endeavoring to comprehend the whole personage from head to feet it slipped from me, and the vision was closed up. But it left on my mind the impression of love, for months, that I never before felt to that degree.” (John Murdock, An Abridged Record of the Life of John Murdock, p. 26.)

No long ago, after 42 years as members of the Church, we finally tracked down one of those tenacious missionaries who brought us the gospel. Reed Harris was then serving as a mission president in Chile. We shared a very emotional phone call. We wept as we talked of our families and our lives in the gospel. We thanked him for what the gospel has given us—a healthy lifestyle, love from our Heavenly Father, and a life full of blessings.

I knew a wonderful gentleman not too many years ago who helps to illustrate this universal principle of cultural myopia. I first met him in Singapore when I was assigned to be his family’s home teacher. A distinguished professor of Sanskrit and Tamil, he hailed from the south of India. His wonderful wife and two sons were members of the Church, but he had never joined nor listened much to the teachings of the gospel. He was happy with the way his wife and sons were developing and supported them fully in their undertakings and Church responsibilities.
When I offered to teach him the principles of the gospel and share our beliefs with him, he initially balked. It took me a while to figure out why: he felt that by so doing, he would become a traitor to his past, his people, and his history! To his way of thinking, he would be denying everything he was, everything his family had taught him to be, his very Indian heritage. Over the next few months, we were able to talk about these issues. I was awed (though not surprised!) by how the gospel of Jesus Christ was able to open his eyes to a different viewpoint.
So what happened to my friend? Well, he was taught the lessons and joined the Church. His family has since been sealed for time and all eternity in the Sydney Australia Temple. He has given up little—and gained the potential for everything. He discovered that he can still celebrate his history, still be proud of his ancestry, his music and dance and literature, his food, his land and its people. He has found that there is no problem incorporating the best of his local culture into the greatest of all cultures. He discovered that bringing that which is consistent with truth and righteousness from his old life into his new one serves only to enhance his fellowship with the Saints and to assist in uniting all as one in the society of heaven.

I was born in Rigby, Idaho, a farming community of about 2,000 people. About four miles outside of town was a small junkyard. Rigby had a junkyard man, a little old Danish immigrant who couldn’t speak English. He didn’t have a name that I can remember; we just called him the “junkyard man.”
He not only ran the junkyard; he lived there. His home was made of plywood scraps and other junk he had gathered from the yard. He didn’t have any electricity and he lived all alone, except for some dogs to keep him company.
A few times each year he walked four miles into town for groceries. Most people respected him because he worked hard and did a good job. My dad’s mother was a Danish immigrant, so Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for the old man. Whenever we went to the dump, Dad would take him groceries, cookies, or other goodies.
Well, I remember one day when I acted like a real chicken toward the junkyard man; it was a Sunday in 1965. Somehow Dad, who was the bishop, got the junkyard man to come to church that day. I was about 13 years old. I felt real cool sitting there in church in my turtleneck shirt and 100 percent polyester suit, but then it happened. Dad brought the junkyard man to the bench where my family was and sat him down right next to me! I could hear my friends laughing. I was so embarrassed I didn’t even look at the man during sacrament meeting.
After the meeting, I left as fast as I could. Outside, my friends and I really started pecking at the junkyard man, and I was the worst. I told the boys that as the old man sat there I saw “cooties” crawling out of his clothes. I told them he smelled like trash, that his weird wool pants had moth holes in them, and all sorts of other insulting things. The more my friends laughed, the bigger I felt, and the more I “pecked” at him in our conversation.
Of course, he didn’t hear any of this. But about three weeks later, on a particularly cold Idaho night, the pipe of the old man’s coal-burning stove in his house broke. The house filled with thick, sooty smoke and he died in his sleep.
I don’t tell you this story to make you feel sorry for the old man, because his life was not really sad. He was a good man who contributed something to his community and made his own way. The sad part is that I remembered the mean things I said, and it was too late to apologize. I had picked on the old man only because he was different.

“I always take the Book of Mormon with me on business trips,” says Pedro, who presides over the Praia Second Branch. Both well educated, he and his wife work at a state-run food-supply and construction company. Once, while on a business trip to the northern island of Santo Antão, Pedro went two and a half hours out of his way to introduce the Book of Mormon to someone who had accidentally dialed the Semedos’ phone number a week earlier.

In a country where the vast majority of the population is under 25 years old, youth and young adults make up a large proportion of Church membership. Evening classes in seminary and institute in each of the major cities help build momentum for the gospel and entourage many youths to prepare for missions. Under the leadership of energetic teachers like Milena Sa Nogueira, more than 400 students have participated in the gospel-study programs since those programs began in January 1993.

“I used to teach my children the gospel,” says Milena, a widow and mother of five who was baptized in May 1992. “Now, my children teach me.” Milena has held family home evening every week since her baptism, and today she serves as District Young Women president in Praia. Early in 1995 she helped organize shipments of food and clothing when a volcano exploded on the island of Fogo and displaced more than 1,000 people.

Because marriage has never been a strong religious or social tradition in Cape Verde, many mothers and fathers who want to join the Church must first get married. For example, Claudimire and Margarida Cardosa, merchants at Praia’s open-air market, lived together for 26 years before their oldest of eight children, 19-year-old KaiuKa, joined the Church. Three other siblings accepted the gospel before Claudimire and Margarida decided to join the Church in June 1993. Before they were baptized, they were joined as a couple in a marriage ceremony at Praia’s civil registry.

In July 1994 President Aníbal Moreira, who is a bank administrator and president of the Praia District, and his wife, Maria do Rosario (Zézá), traveled to the Washington Temple in Washington, D.C., and became the first Cape Verdean couple to be sealed in a temple. Other marriages, too, reflect a strong commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Citing more than 80 marriages and baptisms similar to the Cardosas’, President Antonio Mascarenhas, president of the Republic of Cape Verde, recently honored the Church for helping strengthen family life. Other government leaders have publicly admired Church members’ emphasis on self-reliance and caring for neighbors. As President Moreira puts it, “In the pages of the history of Cape Verde, historians will speak highly about the Latter-day Saints.”

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 thirty-eight 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!

Gil Ja had learned service by example. Her mother always lived by that principle, serving Church members even before she became one herself.
Her mother had come to love the members of the Church and the sister missionaries who wanted to teach her. But it was difficult to give up her traditional religion. In her closet she had a small statue of Buddha to which she prayed each day. The turning point in her conversion came after she dreamed that she was praying to her Buddha when it began to cry tears from its painted eyes and slowly turned its back on her. She understood that the dream meant it was time for her to follow a new religious path.
Three years after her baptism and confirmation, her husband—by then the lone member of the family who was still outside the Church—finally consented to listen to the gospel and was converted. After he joined the Church, he became a changed man, his children say—sweeter, kinder, more tolerant.
Some 26 years after Cho Joong Hyun’s baptism, all of his family were at last members of the Church. It was a high point for the family when their mother and father were sealed in the Seoul Korea Temple. A touching moment for the entire family came at a later gathering when the Cho children sang to their father the lullaby he had sung to them when they were small.
Their mother served faithfully in the Church until the end of her life. Even in the hospital, suffering from stomach cancer, she was a missionary to the young woman in the next bed, introducing her to the gospel.
Her sons and daughters carry on the tradition of service. There are two President Chos in the family. Yong Hyun, the CES coordinator, has served in a variety of priesthood leadership callings through the years and is currently president of the stake in Gwangju. Cho Joong Hyun, who led the way into the Church for his family, has also served in a variety of leadership roles in Suncheon, including district president. He is currently president of the Suncheon Branch. Cho Gil Ja has served for more than 16 years as president of the Relief Society in the ward and stake. Other brothers and sisters in the family are active in their own areas as well, and all are married to active members.
Seven of the Cho children and grandchildren have served as missionaries so far, and still others are preparing to serve. Several of the children and grandchildren have married returned missionaries. Now the fourth generation of Chos is beginning to be reared in the Church. Their days have not been free of life’s difficulties, but blessings have come through their obedience.
The missionary who handed that pamphlet to a young postal worker nearly four decades ago could not have known what would grow from the small seed he planted. But the harvest has been plentiful—and it may be only beginning.

Taking a stand wasn’t easy for Sarah Koyle, a Laurel who lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, but she knew it was the right thing to do. When a teacher at her school showed a movie that Sarah felt was inappropriate, she made her opinion known.
After Sarah’s bold move, there was little room for doubt by her peers as to what Sarah believed was right. Then a local newspaper interviewed Sarah about her stand on R-rated movies. Again, Sarah was able to voice her opinions without reservation.
Was all the attention worth it, especially when Sarah seemed to be the only one who felt that the movies were wrong?
“If I were given the chance, I would definitely do this again,” says Sarah. “Standing for the prophet’s words is something I can’t do enough of. It wasn’t easy, but it was right.”

Throughout his life, Heber J. Grant recognized the Lord as the source of his strength. Called to be an Apostle when he was only twenty-five years old, he was plagued for four agonizing months with doubts about his worthiness and preparation for the calling. But during a missionary journey on the Navajo Indian reservation in Arizona, the young Apostle had an unforgettable experience that silenced his doubts forever.
He later recounted that as he was riding alone on horseback, “I seemed to see, and I seemed to hear, what to me is one of the most real things in all my life. I seemed to see a Council in Heaven. I seemed to hear the words that were spoken. I listened to the discussion with a great deal of interest. … In this Council the Savior was present, my father was there, and the Prophet Joseph Smith was there.” Young Heber listened as the council discussed the vacancies that needed to be filled in the Quorum of the Twelve. “It was given to me,” he said, “that the Prophet Joseph Smith and my father mentioned me and requested that I be called to that position. I sat there and wept for joy. It was given to me that I had done nothing to entitle me to that exalted position, except that I had lived a clean, sweet life. It was given to me that … the Prophet Joseph and my father desired me to have that position, and it was because of their faithful labors that I was called, and not because of anything I had done of myself or any great thing that I had accomplished. It was also given to me that that was all these men, the Prophet and my father, could do for me; from that day it depended upon me and upon me alone as to whether I made a success of my life or a failure. …
“From that day I have never been bothered, night or day, with the idea that I was not worthy to stand as an Apostle, and I have not been worried since the last words uttered by Joseph F. Smith to me [Elder Grant succeeded Joseph F. Smith as President of the Church]: ‘The Lord bless you, my boy, the Lord bless you; you have got a great responsibility. Always remember this is the Lord’s work and not man’s. The Lord is greater than any man. He knows whom He wants to lead His Church, and never makes any mistakes. The Lord bless you.’” (In Conference Report, April 1941, pages 4–5.)

Twenty-four years ago, our tiny newborn son struggled for his life in the intensive care unit of a hospital. His lungs were not fully developed because of his premature birth, and he desperately fought for each breath of air. He was so small but with so much will to live. As young and inexperienced parents, my courageous and ever faithful wife, Jan, and I prayed that the Lord’s hand would reach out and somehow help our baby boy continue to breathe. As I put my trembling hand through the small opening into the isolette, I felt so inadequate and powerless. I took hold of the tiny but perfect hand of our newborn son, and there was a powerful spiritual connection never to be forgotten. Two fingers from each of my hands covered his tiny head as I administered to him.

Our desire for him was pure, but we knew that his earthly experience rested in the Lord’s hands and not in ours or in the medical team who cared for him. I then humbly realized that my quivering hands held power and authority well beyond my own. My fingers on his head symbolized the placing of God’s hands and power upon our son. Following that blessing, in a moment of emotional peace, my eternal companion and I looked at each other across the isolette, feeling the spirit of renewed hope and comfort born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the personal effect of His Atonement. It was a powerful witness of His love for an infant son who had just left His presence. We were then better prepared to accept His will for our son. We truly felt we had placed our hands in the hands of the Savior. It was as if the Savior’s own hands provided the critical respiratory aid, allowing our son to breathe and gain sustenance. With each breath and with each incremental bit of progress, we expressed prayerful thanks. Today, our healthy son and his indebted parents continue to be so grateful for the Savior’s willing hands.

Little brother on the soccer team? Big sister learning cello? When you support your siblings by going to their games, recitals, or other activities, you show them you care about them. Linley B. from Canada has a family that’s really into soccer. “We’ve always attended each other’s games as much as we can. I once had a soccer tournament in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA, and my sister drove from Utah to come and watch me play. My mom always says that when we support each other—show that we’re proud of each other, pray for each other, etc.—that’s when she knows she did something right as a parent.”

I recall flying from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. I noted a young man in a nearby seat reading the book Joseph Smith, an American Prophet. When opportunity presented itself, I spoke to him. I told him that I had read the book, that I had known the author, and asked him what his interest was. He said, among other things, that he had an interest in prophets and that this matter of a possible modern prophet had intrigued him. He had picked up the book at the library. We had a lengthy conversation in which I bore my witness that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet. Not only did he speak of things to come, but more important, he was a revealer of eternal truth and a testifier of the divine mission of the Lord Jesus Christ.

“Can’t we go any faster?” I asked anxiously as we rode along the graveled highway in our newly purchased secondhand pickup.
Mama smiled. “Why the big hurry?” she teased as if she didn’t know.
“I can hardly wait to buy the shoes,” I answered. I was so excited, for it had been nearly a year since I was 11 1/4 and had been taken to the store to buy new shoes. I had thought lately that they would never wear out, and I knew they wouldn’t be replaced until they did. But at last Mama had spoken the long-awaited words.
“I think it’s time to buy you another pair of shoes,” she said. “There is certainly no more wear in those.”
The town with the big country store was four long miles away, and it seemed like forever before we finally arrived.
As soon as we were parked, I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the building. I hurried past the canned goods, down through the hardwares, and wasn’t quite to the shoe department when suddenly I saw them. There on a middle shelf that was tilted up a little was a pair of bright red shoes sitting on a silver stand. I stopped short and caught my breath in awe at the beauty of their color and the daintiness of their sandal-type straps. Printed on a cardboard in the background were the words, “Newest 1940 Fashion in Footwear.” For a long time I stood and looked.
Mama came up behind me, and I led her directly to the shelf.
“May I have these?” I asked hopefully. Mama studied the shoes for a long moment.
“They aren’t very practical,” she said finally, “and you know they will have to last a long time. I think we should buy something more sturdy.”
“I’ll be ever so careful with them,” I coaxed. “Please.”
The clerk came up and measured my foot.
“The red shoes are a half size too small,” she said, “and it is the only pair we have left. However,” she added when she saw the disappointed look on my face, “sometimes sandal-type slippers run a little larger than the average shoe. Would you like to try them on and see?”
Mama reasoned with me, telling me my feet needed room to grow even if the shoes did fit now.
“But maybe there is a little extra room,” I said. “May I at least try them on and see?” I put my whole being into the pleading expression of my eyes.
“Well,” Mama puckered her forehead into a sort of deep-thought furrow for a moment before she answered, “all right.” I had the feeling that she sensed how important this was to me.
The shoes, with a built-in toe and heel, felt tight, but nevertheless I succeeded without too much effort in getting them both on, and I stood and looked down in admiration.
“May I have them?” I asked, feeling, without doubt, that I could stretch the tiny straps in a short period of time to fit comfortably.
The shoes didn’t look too small, but Mama seemed certain that there wasn’t enough room for my feet to grow.
“They will be getting more of this style in next summer,” she said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and buy a pair then.”
My hopes declined. I was sure there would never be another pair of shoes as beautiful as these, but I said nothing. Mama focused her forehead into another deep-thought wrinkle as she walked over and picked up a pair of brown oxfords in the size I needed.
“Why don’t you try these on,” she said, “then you can make the decision yourself.”
I was elated. Even though I had made decisions before, I had never made one as important as this. I felt that Mama considered me sort of an adult, and I knew that she understood about 12-year-olds and growing up.
As I slipped one of the brown shoes on and tied the lace, it felt good in comparison to the red one on my other foot. I pondered silently as I tried to decide fairly, considering the good and bad points of each pair of shoes. The oxfords would last longer, and they were more comfortable, but they were so brown and plain, sort of ordinary looking really, and besides, they were the kind I had always worn. The red shoes were beautiful, and I wanted something different. If I was careful, they could last a long time. Admittedly, they did squeeze, but I could suffer for a day or two if need be, for I was very sure that I could stretch them in that length of time. Yes, I would take the red ones.
Mama didn’t say anything as she paid the clerk. After all, she had told me the decision was mine.
I strutted toward the door and was so preoccupied with how much older the shoes made me look that I knocked over a small display of cooking utensils and bumped into the candy counter on my way out. I was so happy over my purchase that I didn’t ask Mama what she had in the other package she was carrying when she got in the pickup.
The next two days I wore the pretty shoes in misery. Then a blister appeared on each of my big toes, and the misery turned to agony. Furthermore, I was becoming discouraged, for the tiny straps weren’t stretching at all as I had felt so sure they would.
If Mama saw me wrap small white strips of cloth around my toes to protect the blisters, she made no mention of it. I went outdoors as often as I could and slipped the shoes off. The cool air felt good on my hot feet, and each time I stayed out as long as I dared.
Slowly, out of desperation and pain, I became more brave, and the shoes lay forgotten on the floor of my closet as I went barefoot both inside the house and out. Mama, I am very sure, was aware of my bare feet, but as she didn’t question me, I hoped she supposed that I was trying to be careful of the shoes and make them last as long as the brown ones would have.
With Sunday came the sudden realization that I couldn’t possibly go barefoot to church. I put off the dreaded task of wearing the shoes until the last minute, and it wasn’t until everyone was ready to go that I carefully started the insertion of my foot into one of the slippers. As it entered the enclosure at the end of the shoe, my big toe rebelled hotly, and I pulled it quickly out. Several times I tried to put on the shoe, but each time my foot resented the tight squeeze and throbbed the resentment painfully.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. With tears close to my eyes and the red shoes held firmly in my hands, I went to Mama. My lip quivered, but I was determined not to cry. After all, I was 13 years old, in ten months, that is. I stood for a minute trying to gain my composure and to think of something sort of, well, mature to say.
“They pinch and they hurt,” I blurted out honestly.
Her answer came as such a surprise that all I could do was stand with my mouth open saying nothing.
“We do not always make the right decisions,” Mama said as she went to a drawer and took out a package containing the brown shoes. As she handed them to me she added softly, “And sometimes it takes a pinch of hurt to help us be more wise the next time we have something important to decide.”

Feeling the Christmas Spirit after a Hurricane
Photograph by Raul Sandoval
After Hurricane Maria, there was no light, no water, no phone service, and no Wi-Fi across much of Puerto Rico. Many power lines had been knocked down, and parts of the island were flooded. Recovery was slow and took months. Two brothers, Diego, 14, and Isaac, 12, share how they kept the Christmas spirit while living through the aftereffects of the hurricane.
Isaac says, “I felt the Spirit by praying that the light would come back on, that water and phone service would come back—everything.”
Diego adds, “We also sang to feel the Spirit. We sang Church hymns and Christmas songs. And we prayed that everything would turn out OK.”
At Diego and Isaac’s house, floodwaters skirted the family’s windows, but water didn’t go inside. That was a blessing. But a tree had fallen and blocked the only road to and from their home. This meant the family couldn’t drive to get supplies. They had to either walk to the tree and find someone to give them a ride or rely on others to bring them supplies. Fortunately, the family was prepared with food storage, including water. The tree was moved a few weeks later, but there was still a lot of work to do and there were still a lot of people in need.
As Elder Martinez pointed out, Hurricane Maria brought out the best in many people. Diego and Isaac’s family spread the Christmas spirit by helping others. Isaac says, “We passed out food that was donated to people who really needed it. We also passed out clothes, games, and school supplies.”
“Christmas was different,” Diego says. “Before Hurricane Maria there was more money to buy presents, but after there was little money to buy essential items like water, food, and gasoline.”
Even though Diego and Isaac couldn’t celebrate Christmas the way they were used to, they noticed something positive: “We spent more time together as a family. We were more united than before. This is a blessing we appreciate because we love our family.”
Diego says, “We didn’t feel upset that there weren’t as many gifts or that we couldn’t celebrate Christmas like we normally do. We knew that gifts aren’t Christmas. Christmas is the birth of Christ. That’s what’s important.”

One day I saw my oldest son, Wilford, preparing a tithing envelope. He was probably around five years old at the time. Wilford didn’t earn any money, so I wondered why he was paying tithing. When I asked him, he told me he was actually paying a fast offering.
Wilford didn’t have much money of his own. But he was still excited to pay a fast offering.
I was impressed by this act of kindness. I asked him why he had decided to do this.
Wilford answered, “I don’t need anything. But I know others do.” He knew his money would help people. He was very happy about that.
This simple experience taught me a good lesson: children are really in tune with the Spirit and have a natural Christlike love. Wilford had something he didn’t need and knew it would be helpful to other people. He was willing to make the sacrifice.
Saving money is good. But my young son taught me another lesson through his example. By listening to the Spirit, we can bless the lives of others when we share what we have.

Because paying my tithing was so important to me, I set up a bank account and put my tithing in it each month. I needed the Lord to know that even though He couldn’t take my tithing now, I still wanted to pay it. I was single at the time and raising my three teenage daughters, and I felt that I needed those blessings of showing the Lord my willingness to pay tithing, even though I couldn’t. I have no doubt we were extremely blessed because of it.
I was rebaptized a little over a year after my excommunication. What a relief it was to come up out of the water knowing that Jesus was now my advocate, my partner. He had paid for my sins, and I was again in a covenant relationship with Him. I was filled with gratitude!
I received the gift of the Holy Ghost again. I felt once again a tangible presence: my dear friend was back to stay! I wanted to try so hard not to offend Him again so that He wouldn’t have to leave me.
I closed out the account with my tithing in it, wrote the check, and excitedly gave it to my bishop.
Five years later I was able to have my temple blessings restored. I felt so relieved and grateful. Once again I was covered in love and protected with the power of the covenants I had made in the temple.
I am now sealed to a man who adores me, and I him, and together we are actively working to establish our sealing as a covenant relationship that will last through the eternities.
In the 20 years since, I have sometimes felt a sense of deep guilt wash over me and cause me great unhappiness and worry. I wondered if I had done enough to repent and whether I was truly forgiven. As recently as just a few years ago, my feelings matched those of Alma the Younger, described in Alma 36:12–13:
“I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God, and that I had not kept his holy commandments.”
One day I knelt down in prayer and asked, “Father, have I done enough? I will do whatever I need to, to have this taken from me.” Then I waited and listened with my heart.
The answer came very clearly: “You have done enough.” I was overcome with pure joy. I couldn’t stop smiling, and happy tears flowed. All that day I found myself giddy with joy. All the shame and guilt was gone for good.
Again I reflected on the experience of Alma the Younger:
“I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:19–20).
My journey to regain my membership in the Church and my covenant relationship with the Savior was heart-wrenching and tender. I came out of this trial knowing that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is most precious. It has taken me almost all of these 20 years to get past the shame and guilt of my excommunication and to find the strength to share my experiences with others. I hope my experience inspires others to find courage to change and to reach out to those who want to change. I can stand and testify without a doubt that the Atonement of Christ is real. His power can change your life not only for the better but for the very best.
I love my membership in the Church dearly. It is a priceless gift and an incredible blessing in my life. I never want to be without it again.