Gospel Story Finder

Travis Arrington awoke to the screams of his mother and three younger sisters in one of the adjoining rooms of their small cabin. It was still dark when he piled out of bed in his rumpled nightshirt and stumbled toward the bedroom door. But before he had taken two steps, the room was lit by a torch that burst through his window, shattering the glass and setting his bed afire.
The frightened lad backed against the wall, numb with dread as a face with a crooked nose, contorted by drink and blind hate, filled the broken window. Travis recognized the face as that of a farmer from a neighboring valley. He had seen him two days before, waving his fist at Pa and telling him that Mormons weren’t welcome in Missouri. As a final warning he told his father that he had better pack up and get out if he knew what was good for him.
Pa had just smiled kindly with a stalwart, quiet courage and told the man that he was homesteading on God’s land and that He didn’t seem to mind. He added that the Almighty was the only one he answered to.
Then the farmer with the crooked nose gave Travis’s father the same kind of nightmare look that he was giving Travis right now!
The boy fumbled for the doorknob, bolted into the next room, then stopped dead on the other side of the door. Fire was lapping up the walls of the main room like a deadly tapestry. His sisters were huddled together under a table, screaming and sobbing. And he could see his mother through the rising smoke, struggling with a man who was holding a half-empty bottle in one hand and a club in the other. Where, Travis wondered frantically, is Pa? At the same time he instinctively threw his twelve-year-old frame at the drunken man who was lifting his club to strike his mother.
The force of the boy’s lunge unbalanced the man and knocked him against the wall. Striking his head on the rough fireplace stones, he fell to the floor. Quickly Mama gathered up two of the little girls in her arms, while the third clutched her leg. She shouted for Travis to follow her down into the root cellar before the man on the floor regained his senses.
“But where’s Pa?” Travis wildly petitioned.
Mama, already halfway through the hole in the floor, glanced at Travis with tears streaming down her cheeks. “With God,” she choked, her voice breaking. Then, forcing herself to switch her attention from her agony to the terrible urgency of the moment, she tearfully commanded Travis to hurry, and then disappeared beneath the floor.
But Travis couldn’t move. He saw something through the smoke and the open front door that held him fast. In the yard outside he spied his father, facedown in the light of a dropped torch with a little pool of blood under his head and a third man standing near him waving a gun in shameful triumph. A ravaging anguish, hate, and fear riveted through the devastated boy like a molten iron rod and buried itself deep into his heart.
Suddenly something else was holding him fast. A hand locked about his leg with a viselike grip. The man on the floor shook the dizziness from his head and glowered up at Travis with a spiteful grin, then he pulled a knife from his coat pocket.
Travis blanched. Suddenly a roof timber wrapped with fire crashed to the floor. The man glanced about the small room, now an inferno, then looked back at Travis and widened his grin. The next moment he was up and gone. The sound of a closing door told Travis that the man had decided to let the fire seal the boy’s fate.
Sooty, strangling clouds of smoke were now so thick that Travis couldn’t see the door to the root cellar, and the fire was so intense it stung his eyes. He stumbled over a chair and fell to the floor. Unbidden tears ran down his face as he extended his hand and blindly felt his way through the ashen mist. His fingers were instantly blistered on the fiery wood as they desperately searched for the opening to the root cellar.
Suddenly, someone was grabbing at him! He cried out and pulled back his hand.
“Travis! It’s me!” came Mama’s anxious voice from out of the fiery tempest. He gave himself over to her saving tugs and let himself be dragged beneath the floor.
A little wind trembled the aspens surrounding the clearing and fanned the embers of still-hot coals where Travis’s family cabin had stood a few hours before. Travis peered out of the root cellar, scanning the black rubble. His reddened eyes stopped on the sight of his lifeless father in the smoke-hazed yard. Morning’s first frosted rays of light were splintering down through the dark trees and resting on Pa’s body. But the advancing light only resurrected the terrible memory the boy had tried to pretend was no more than a bad dream.
Travis wanted to stay in the hole—forever. But Mama told him, “Get a shovel and dig a place for your pa.” Then more gently she said, “Do it where the sun shows prettily by the willows.”
The boy wondered how the sun could feel so warm, as though nothing tragic had happened. And why does that bright red bird in the aspen tree a little way off sing so joyously, just like it did when Pa was alive?
Travis’s mother had concluded that these things “were for the best,” to help them to keep on going. It was as though his father were saying “All is well,” and telling them to look forward to the good in life that could still be theirs. That eased a portion of the agony some, but it didn’t change the hate that festered inside him for the three men who had taken away his greatest joy—his father.
Travis and his father had been very close, closer than a prayer to an amen. He tried to be strong like Mama wanted him to, but once again tears blurred and burned his eyes and fed the roots of his growing bitterness.
Travis watched his sisters pick little yellow wild flowers and place them atop the grave. Then he listened as his mother read a scripture from the Book of Mormon … something about the blessings due the righteous dead. She stopped once and shook with grief, then quickly lifted her head and turned her face toward the sun.
A twig snapped somewhere in the windy shadows of the nearby thickets and Mama said it was time they hurried on. There was nothing much to pack. Most everything had been lost in the fire, except a parcel of dried food in the root cellar that Travis lugged to the wagon along with his secret hate.
An hour later the hot blackened wood hissed as rain drifted down from a leaden sky, and wagon wheels slushed along a remote, rarely traveled road. Travis sat in the back of the wagon with his sisters, his eye set on the rainy landscape where a happier memory unfolded when he and Pa were in these lovely woods only a week ago. “Your ma loves blackberries, doesn’t she, boy!” Pa had said. “Well, we’ll just fill our hats with enough to make the biggest berry cobbler this side of anywhere a body can rightly think of!” And they did.
Suddenly the wagon stopped. Travis turned to see his mother climbing down and hurrying to the side of the trail, where a man lay facedown in a little gulley filled with rainwater. There was blood on the side of his head, and he looked to be unconscious.
Mama bent beside him and turned him over. Travis paled. It was the farmer with the crooked nose! “He’s one of the men who burned down our place!” Travis shouted.
His mother studied the man, who groaned with pain and fever. “Yes,” she quietly said, “but he needs help badly. He may die without it.”
Travis interrupted with fiery disbelief. “Then let him die! If it wasn’t for him and those other men, Pa would still be alive!”
“Fetch me a hand,” Mama firmly commanded. “We’ve got to get him out of the rain and into the wagon. He’s toting a killing fever.” She glanced about quickly, squinting through the falling rain. “He must’ve ridden past here last night and hit his head on one of these low-hanging limbs.” Her stare returned to Travis who stood back protestingly. This time Mama’s voice was stern. “Don’t just stand there, Travis Arrington, I said—!”
“But, Mama.” Travis countered. Then he paused, the man’s eyes were starting to open slowly. After a moment he stared wide-eyed at Travis, then at his mother. His lips tried to speak, but couldn’t. However, the expression on his blood-spattered face was one of stunned disbelief. Why are these people helping me? it seemed to ask.
Mama tried to lift the man by herself, and as she struggled in the dripping rain, Travis felt moved to help her.
A few minutes later the farmer was laid out in the back of the wagon. Mama removed her shawl and placed it over him. When she looked up she found Travis looking at her in a way he had never done before. Touched by his expression, her eyes filled with tears. Then she looked back at the man. “Can you point?” she asked.
The man looked puzzled, but nodded. Mama continued, “We’re going to take you home. There’s not much I can do for you here. We’ll sit you up so that when we get close to wherever it is you live, you can point in the direction we must go. Do you understand?”
The man nodded again. Is it just rain in the man’s eyes, Travis wondered, or is it tears? Surely not tears! he determined. But that look on his face … Must be out of his head with fever, he concluded.
The man slowly raised his hand. Travis stiffened, then picked up a shovel from the wagon bed. But the man’s hand only tapped Mama’s arm and motioned for her to draw near. The man mustered enough strength to whisper, “Why?”
“It is our way,” she replied simply.
Travis lowered the shovel slowly as he watched the man close his eyes and begin to sob. Then he looked at Mama. She took his hand in hers. Nothing was said, but suddenly Travis could almost hear the words that Pa had used one day … last Easter it was. Something he said Jesus had said of those who had mocked and scorned and whipped Him, and hung Him on the cross to die: “Father, forgive them. …”
Travis’s bitterness would not pass from him as easily as tired leaves dropped from autumn’s windy branches. But from that time on he would hear more and more each day the joyous singing of the birds in the aspens—all the way to Nauvoo and beyond.

Answer: I struggled as a child. I had a wonderful family and didn’t go through any obvious tragedies, but I always seemed to feel angry at myself and those around me. I would take these feelings out on my siblings. The more I mistreated them, the worse I felt. And yet I couldn’t seem to stop. This behavior drove a wedge between me and my family members. When I was 12 years old, I thought I was an evil, rotten, worthless person. I thought everyone would be better off without me.
Answer: I remember one time at the doctor’s office, the pediatrician asked Mom if she had ever heard her children say, “I wish I’d never been born.” And Mom answered, “No, all of the kids are fine.” I was surprised that Mom didn’t know I had thought about killing myself. So I tried to tell her what I was going through. But she acted so shocked that it made me never want to talk about it again. I pretended that I hadn’t really meant it.
Answer: Yes, but I didn’t really understand what a testimony was. I always knew deep down that there was a God, but Satan was working hard to convince me to doubt everything else. So I started wondering if the entire Church was wrong. Fortunately, I had some great Young Women leaders who were inspired to help me and show me a lot of love. One of them in particular helped me start feeling better about myself.
Answer: A bright spot was my Young Women class. I had a teacher who taught right at my level. She’s since moved away, and I wish I could tell her what she meant to me. I don’t remember what she taught exactly, but I remember feeling like I belonged there.
Another thing that really helped were temple trips. Even though I often felt worthless and didn’t think anyone cared about me, I enjoyed the spark of light and goodness of the temple. I often felt the Spirit there. One trip in particular made a difference. It started out bad because one of the older girls said something hurtful to me. But later that day, she apologized and gave me a hug. And I learned that I really liked hugs! After that, I asked her for a hug every Sunday. One Sunday I sat down in sacrament meeting without getting a hug from her. And she came up to me and said, “Where’s my hug?” with a smile. I felt so surprised and special that she sought me out and showed me love. She and I became closer and closer friends. I know hugs don’t help everyone, but they helped me.
Answer: Sure! She was the craziest, most energetic person I have ever known. She seemed to have never-ending amounts of happiness to share. She greeted me with so much enthusiasm and love every Sunday and gave me a hug. Her dose of goodness seemed to be just what I needed. I would carry it with me during the week. Over time, I began to accept that what she said was true. The Spirit was working on me. This is when my behavior finally started to improve in a lasting way. And my suicidal thoughts, which I’d had about a year, went away, though I still had to work on how I felt about myself.
Answer: Another turning point was when I began to volunteer at a nonprofit organization each week with my older brother and my mom. I was sometimes the only volunteer on my team who showed up regularly, so my supervisor counted on me. I found I really liked that. For example, one time we were cleaning up together, and she got called away to do something else. I kept sweeping and working hard. When she came back, she said that I had really good initiative and gave me so many compliments. And it felt so good. I realized that working hard and doing a good job was fun. Helping was fun! So I began to try my hardest to be the best volunteer that I could be. I gained enough experience to train other volunteers. I developed a passion for this organization and made friends.
Photograph from Getty Images
During this time, my behavior continued to change in positive ways as I felt the Spirit increase in my life. Over the next couple of years, I made friends again with my family members. I started feeling like a good person instead of a bad person. I became a happier person. People even commented on how much I smiled. And my happiness no longer depended on having a leader saying good things at church. My testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was growing, and I could feel Their love for me.
Answer: My testimony keeps growing stronger. I know now that Heavenly Father loves every one of us—including me. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I know that no matter what mistakes we have made, we can come back to goodness. We can repent through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Anyone can return to Him again.
Answer: Please, if you are experiencing low self-worth, or depression, or want to die, or any other feelings like that, reach out for help. Go to a parent, a youth leader, a former Primary teacher, a bishop, even a friend—anyone you feel you can trust. I promise you that Heavenly Father does not want you to die. He wants you to live and feel joy. He wants you to feel His love. Turn to Jesus Christ. He can help you throughout your trials. He knows everything you are going through. Meanwhile, Satan is the one who tells you lies about yourself. Ignore him. He wants you to fail. Heavenly Father wants you to succeed.
Answer: Honestly, I still have a hard time accepting compliments or believing good things about myself sometimes. And I think insults hurt me more than they hurt most people, even if they’re just a joke. I still sometimes have a hard time believing that people love me until I feel convinced. But overall, I like myself and who I am becoming. It is a glorious feeling!

Early in our marriage, we lived in Oklahoma where I was called to be the Elder's Quorum president. It was a ward spread over a large area and included many of the Lord’s sheep that needed rescued.

My counselor and I went out one evening to find the Davis family, a family unknown to anyone in the ward. We drove to the address listed in the Church records and knocked on the door. The man who answered the door said he had lived in that house for many years and that he did not know Lamar Davis. As we drove away from the house and rounded the bend on the street, the thought came to me that it was possible that some of the numbers in the address had been reversed. I mentioned this to my counselor. There were four numbers in the address, and we switched the middle two. When we looked up, the house we were sitting in front of was that house number. We looked at each other and knew we had to knock on that door. We did so, and this time, Lamar Davis answered the door. He invited us in, and over the next few months, the Davis family was taught the gospel, and Brother Davis was able to baptize his two children. The Lord's hand had reached out to one of His lost sheep.

But the story doesn't end there. The Davises became good friends and often would babysit our young son Skyler. Linda was nearing the delivery date of our second son, and it was our wedding anniversary. Our anniversary dinner was cut short when we had to rush to the hospital for our second son’s birth. The Davises lived close by, so on our way to the hospital, we dropped Skyler off at their home. They kept Skyler through the night, and we never worried about him for a minute. Now their hands had become the Lord's hands in our time of need, and they had reached out and served us.

My mother, who turned 93 last week, always emphasized that the public and private persons needed to be the same. When I was a little girl, I went to a store for my mother. In my purse, I had money and a list of things I was to get. The storekeeper took the list, and once I received the items, I handed her the money. I was then given some change and a receipt. I returned home where my mother checked everything. One time, I had received too much money back. Mother took me to the store with the extra money. When the storekeeper laughed, Mother informed her that my integrity was not for sale for a few coins then or for millions when I grew up. Once I tried to get away with something by saying, “But everyone else does it.” That didn’t work. This tiny woman said that I was not just everybody; I was a member of Hannonen family and a citizen of Finland. Once we were converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, she added “Mormon” to the list. “Remember who you are” has played in my mind before there were iPads or iPods, MP3 players, and truthfully, before there were computers, electric typewriters, or color TV.

I had temptations similar to the ones you face today, but I made choices based on moral and ethical values taught to me in my childhood. Later in life, it did not matter to my mother what place I had in an organizational chart, how many people I was responsible for, or how much money moved through my hands. What mattered was that I had clean hands and a pure heart and that I was working towards eternal goals in the kingdom of God. I cannot give a resume of my accomplishments to the Lord, only myself and who I have become during my time in mortality.

Far off in the middle of the Pacific, near the Equator, you’ll find a group of 33 small islands known as the Republic of Kiribati. Of the 78,000 residents who live there, 400 are students of Church-sponsored Moroni High School on the island of Tarawa.

“The Young Warriors” are the school’s pride and joy. That’s the school’s championship basketball team, made up of sophomores and juniors. They started practicing in March for the national tournament in July. When the time came, not only did they beat all the teams in their own division, but they were challenged by the teams in the upper division, and beat all of them, too. That cinched the national title.

In Kiribati, people seldom use surnames, so here is a list of the winners as you would know them. Back row: (l–r) Tauati, David, Jonathan Shute (an American teacher), Birate, and John. In the front row are (l–r) Maraeru, Pakaa, Temaati, Eddie, and Been. They’re all winners, both on and off the court.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination, to cast off the old person and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Göteborg, Sweden. John is 26 years of age and is handicapped, in that it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.

At a youth conference in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in an 800-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the opportunity to be humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.

What a race it was! Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolted far beyond John. There was wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants on their second lap of this two-lap race passed John while he was but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounted as the runners pressed toward the tape. Who would win? Who would place second? Then came the final burst of speed; the tape was broken. The crowd cheered; the winner was proclaimed.

The race was over—or was it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t the foolish lad know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life.

As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. Officials are human beings, too. The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, that Great Scorekeeper—even the Lord—can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Subject: Lisa (Elizabeth)
Age: 13 years
Event: Discussion in the girl’s locker room of junior high school
“Lisa,” her friend Kara burst out excitedly, “I’ve talked to Ralph!”
“What did he say?” Lisa answered quickly, but then catching herself, she added cooly, “Not that I care.”
“He said that you said that he said that he didn’t like you, but he said that he didn’t say that.”
“He did so,” Lisa accused. “He told Mike who told Janice who told Shelley who told me.”
“He said that even if he did say it, which he didn’t, he was joking. He said that he does like you.”
“If he likes me,” Lisa asked, putting a fresh stick of gum in her mouth, “then why did he throw an eraser at me yesterday?”
“Silly,” Kara said knowingly, “that’s how boys show they like a girl.”
“It is?” Lisa asked.
“Sure. Larry Hill threw a water balloon at me last week, and I know he likes me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because his face gets red when he talks to me.”
“Oh,” Lisa considered. “I wonder if Ralph’s face would get red if I talked with him.”__________

Growing up with divorced parents was difficult. My dad remarried, and I enjoyed spending time with my stepmom and her kids. But even in the best of times, I carried the weight of my family’s situation.
I worried about my future family. I was afraid my marriage would fail and cause me so much pain. This fear made me extra careful when I started dating in high school. I didn’t want my heart broken, which made it impossible to open myself up to people, even to my good friends. When I went to college, I guarded my heart. I was extremely cautious and most of the time never made it past a first date because I was terrified. I thought I would never get married.
My fears about commitment took another bad turn when my dad got divorced a second time.
I was heartbroken by the news. I had suppressed my feelings about my parents’ divorce for most of my life out of love for my dad, but this news made all my anger, sadness, resentment, abandonment, and pain come out.
As I prepared to leave on my mission soon after, I counseled with Heavenly Father to help me let go of the hurt and have hope for a future marriage. I learned that healing takes time and continually seeking the Savior.
I carried that hope of healing with me throughout my mission, and I was blessed to meet people from all walks of life who could empathize with my struggles. These people helped strengthen my faith to trust in what the Savior could do for me.
But then I had a companion I struggled to get along with. After a hard day of disagreements, I wondered if the contention I had with my companion was a sneak peek at my future marriage.
“If she got tired of me in just a few short months, will my future husband dislike me too after marriage?” I thought.
Shortly after coming home from my mission, I remembered what I learned from the wonderful people on my mission. I was hesitant at first, but I relied on the Savior to help me overcome my fears and start dating again. It took some time, but I eventually got engaged to my best friend from high school. He knew everything about me, including my fears and my experiences, and I was overjoyed to be with him.
But I was terrified. He was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I knew, but I still worried that my marriage would fail as my parents’ did. My faith in an eternal marriage was faltering.
With these thoughts swirling around in my head, I turned to prayer and was prompted to talk to my mom about her experiences. I asked her why it was worth getting married when I could avoid the potential pain by not getting married.
That’s when my mom bore her powerful testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She reminded me that no matter how we struggle in life, the Savior is always there to buoy us up. If we trust in Him, then we have no reason to fear for the future.
My mom’s advice brought Doctrine and Covenants 6:36 into my mind, which says, “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”
If we live in fear of what could happen, we will never get to experience anything, good or bad. The whole point of being here on earth is to have a body and to be tested, but the Lord also wants us to experience the great joys that He has in store for us.
A few months later as I focused on Christ and pressed forward with faith, my husband and I were sealed in the temple. Even though we have our challenges, we focus on Christ. Keeping Him at the center of my life and my marriage has made all the difference, and I have experienced more joy than I thought possible. My life has gotten better every time that I’ve put my trust in the Lord over my fears.

In my patriarchal blessing I was told to counsel with my mother and receive guidance from her. I found throughout my life that when I did so, I was blessed with wisdom beyond my own abilities. Likewise, when I was struggling with a health issue several years ago, I received a blessing in which I was told in clear language, “Listen to your wife.” I apparently didn’t do so very well, because six months later, in a similar blessing under the hands of someone else, I was told again, “Listen to your wife.” Being willing to receive her counsel was an important part of the healing process. On that second occasion I was prompted also to finally receive the counsel of my doctor. My stubbornness in thinking I could diagnose myself was not serving me well.

Life has many such occasions in which we need the intervention of others who have a clearer vision of things than we do. Our challenge is to be humble enough to receive what they have to offer.

“Oh no, not again,” I thought, as I saw the familiar face walking toward me in the hallway of my college dorm. “What this time?”
Angela [names have been changed] had accosted me in the hallway before, and each time I talked to her she left my stomach tied up in knots. I had been investigating The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for a month, and Angela had taken it upon herself to prove that I was making a big mistake.
Angela invited me to her dorm room for a talk, and I accepted warily, knowing from past experience that she would not leave me alone until I’d heard what she had to say.
“How are you feeling about the Mormons at this point?” she asked me, as I sat on her bed, folding my arms defensively.
“Fine. Actually I think what they believe is quite beautiful. I haven’t decided if I believe it yet …”
“Beautiful?” Angela choked on the word, her face turning red. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go on. Not after what I’ve found out about the Mormon religion.”
She handed me a pamphlet filled with lies and twisted truths about the Church. “Read this,” she confided, “and you’ll never want to talk to those missionaries again.”
I read it and the other things well-meaning people gave me to try to show me “the truth” about the Church. I always ended up feeling confused and sick to my stomach. How could I ever know what was right? The missionaries seemed so peaceful about what they believed. Yet Angela was convinced they were wrong. How could I find my own testimony of what was true? And why did there seem to be silence from the heavens when I prayed about my questions?
Ten years later, I sat in an LDS chapel looking at a young woman in my ward. She sat next to me, her hands folded in her lap and tears streaming down her face, asking me the same questions I had asked 10 years before. How could she know for sure if the things she had been taught were true? Why hadn’t she received any spiritual confirmations or found answers to her many questions about the Church?
This young woman had a boyfriend who had been trying to convince her the Church wasn’t true. He had been telling her the same things about the Church that had confused me so long ago.
I decided to write her a letter, telling her about a prophet who faced a similar situation. During the time of Alma the Younger, Korihor, an anti-Christ, came among the Nephites telling them Christ would not come and that their beliefs were false. Eventually, Korihor was brought before Alma, and he told Alma he would believe in God only if Alma showed him a sign. In answer to his request, Korihor was struck dumb, and he finally admitted that he had been deceived and had always known there was a God. (See Alma 30.)
Both Alma and Korihor knew the words of the prophets, but Alma acted on those words and obeyed the commandments. Alma knew that blessings come from following the ways of the Lord. (See Alma 32:21–43.)
Korihor refused to act on the word of the Lord and wanted to see a sign before he would believe and act. Alma believed first, acted upon that belief, and then received a confirmation of the truth.
We can have an unshakable testimony like Alma’s by following his example. Then we can stand before people and testify of the truths of God, and no clever words or temptations will convince us to deny what we know is true.
I believed the missionaries instead of the clever words of those who opposed the Church. Then I acted upon that belief. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I rose up out of the waters of baptism, a warm feeling of peace enveloped me. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me that what I was doing was good. I had found the truth. Even though I faced much opposition from my parents and friends, I was able to stand strong because of the testimony I had received from obeying the commandments of God.
When we ask in faith, we will receive answers from the Lord as we experiment upon His words. Testimonies do not come from seeing signs, as Korihor believed. They come from doing and obeying.
Pray regularly and sincerely about your questions.
It may help to write your questions in a journal. When you receive answers, write them down so you can remember and read them often. You will begin to see the hand of God in all things, just as Alma did (see Alma 30:44).
Live the gospel and keep the commandments. Attend your meetings, activities, seminary classes, and service projects. Stay away from things that take away the Spirit.
Regularly study the scriptures and the teachings of latter-day prophets, because you can’t have a testimony of something you don’t know anything about.

The first few years of our marriage seemed nearly perfect. After my husband and I were sealed in the México City México Temple, we both graduated from the university and our first daughter was born. My husband had a good job and was called as bishop in our ward. Then we were able to move to Jalisco, a part of México where my grandparents had lived. We had always dreamed of rearing our children in a peaceful place, and Jalisco met the desires of our hearts. Our way of life, however, would soon change dramatically.
In Jalisco, our second daughter was born. Unfortunately, I suffered severe complications after her birth. We were able to meet the expenses from our savings, but then, two weeks later, my husband lost his job. With no income, we had to move from our house. Credit card bills, car payments, and rent were strangling us.
Eventually, my husband began to work nights as a taxi driver. Frequently his expenses exceeded his income, but his work did bring a little food to the table. Then the car broke down, and even that little source of income ended. We sold or pawned many of our possessions. At the same time, México underwent a serious currency devaluation, which added greatly to our financial distress.
My husband was emotionally and physically exhausted, so I got a job as a teacher in a bilingual elementary school. The work was hard, the salary small, and I had to leave my little ones in the care of a Church member. To save money, we moved to a cheaper place in a poorer section of town.
As I struggled to go to work, care for the family, keep up the house, and participate at church, I became very depressed. One terrible night I was so distressed I had to be hospitalized. After giving me a sedative, the doctor said, “You’re drowning yourself in your problems. That’s for cowards, and I don’t think that is what you are. Think about it.”
Her words resounded in my mind, and I closed my eyes, searching for something to give me courage. I reviewed my life. Yes, all our material possessions are gone, I told myself, but I am still alive, and I have a wonderful husband and two precious daughters. I remembered I had not been born to accumulate goods or to live in tranquillity. I had come to serve my family and others and to build the kingdom of God.
When I returned home, I prayed as never before. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father to strengthen me. I spoke with my bishop, and he told me, “The Lord will remove from your path that which is hurting you.” The following day I learned that I had been fired from my job without any explanation. That same day I learned I had been granted a scholarship to further my education. Being able to spend time teaching my little ones did a great deal to heal my spirit.
One morning the telephone, which had not worked for months, rang to bring the news that my husband had received a job as a teacher. The phone immediately stopped working again, but it didn’t matter. My husband had work!
As never before, welfare and self-reliance principles took hold in our home. I learned to process wheat and soybeans for storage. I planted corn near the sidewalk, then received permission to plant a garden on property belonging to friends. God blessed our little garden. It produced an abundance of food, including squash and alfalfa.
The hard work—and the food I was able to store—tamed my fear and filled me with hope. As my attitude changed, I was able to see the hand of the Lord in our lives. We were blessed with good health; none of us even had a cold. Never, even in the most difficult times, did we stop feeding the missionaries. The children always had food, and we had plenty of invitations to eat with friends. One day I was finally able to buy a second cylinder of propane for our stove. Immediately the contents of the previous one ran out. Typically, a cylinder lasts six weeks, but this one had lasted for months.
Out of our trials we learned some important lessons. We learned to value the counsel of our leaders. We learned to receive; it is good to serve, but it is also important to let others serve you. Both my husband and I were able to get additional job training without paying for it. My beloved in-laws were always conscious of our needs, and I found in my mother-in-law a great friend.
And our marriage grew and was strengthened. One night my husband took me in his arms and said, “I don’t care if they put us out on the street. If you are by my side, I will have the courage to start all over again.”
Perhaps most importantly, we came to see things from an eternal point of view. We came to understand that both in good times and bad, God shelters us in the palm of His hand.

I could hardly keep my voice steady as I said good night to Ben. Tears were already streaming down my face as I shut the door and flopped down on the living room floor.
I was glad everyone had gone to bed; that way I wouldn’t have to tell them about the prom or why I was crying.
I should have known it would be horrible, since I hadn’t even been my date’s first choice. He had wanted to take Amy, my best friend, but she was already going with Chad. So Ben had done the next best thing—he’d asked me and suggested we double.
It was an awkward situation from the moment we all climbed into Ben’s old station wagon. I don’t think he said anything to me as we drove to the restaurant; he was too busy staring at Amy in the rearview mirror. She didn’t notice. She was too entranced by Chad—star basketball player, student body vice-president, and the most popular guy in school—to notice anything. It was driving Ben crazy.
That’s why he forgot to help me with my chair at the restaurant. He tried to pull out Amy’s chair and bumped into Chad. In the confusion, he must have forgotten about me because he just turned and sat down.
All through dinner Ben played “Name That Tune” with the background music, and I tried to hide my anger. I knew he was feeling as miserable as I was, but why did he have to take it out on me? I didn’t want him to fall in love with me; I just wanted him to treat me like a human being.
I don’t know how we made it through the rest of the evening. At the school neither of us was very anxious to dance, so we had our pictures taken first. Even that didn’t go smoothly. Ben was too tall to stand next to the wicker chair where I was to sit, so we had to trade places. I think we both wanted to die.
Since neither of us wanted to dance the slow dances, we used his height and my shortness as an excuse to sit them out. “Just one more hour,” I thought as I watched his eyes follow Amy around the room. For the first time in my life I was grateful for my curfew.
An hour later, I walked into my living room and dropped onto the floor. All I could think, over and over, was, “What’s wrong with me?” I hardly ever dated and when I did, it always seemed to go like this.
Suddenly the living room light blinked on and I sat up. I must have looked pretty pathetic, lying there in my taffeta dress with mascara smeared all over my face. Dad suppressed a smile.
“So it wasn’t the best date you’ve ever been on, huh?” he said.
“Not even close. But some things never change,” I mumbled, straightening my dress.
He kind of chuckled as he sat down beside me. I couldn’t stand it any more—I had to ask.
“What’s wrong with me, anyway?”
He looked up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, why?”
“Then what’s wrong with the guys?”
He shook his head. “Heck, I’m a guy and I don’t even know.”
I had expected something a little more profound. Why doesn’t he at least say, “Sorry you’re such a social misfit,” and get it over with? I thought. But he just sat there. I gave up.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said weakly as I stood up and headed towards my bedroom. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He couldn’t possibly understand how I felt.
“Christie,” he called after me, “don’t make yourself miserable over something you can’t control. You know, sometimes you just have to be patient and things get better.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. More than anything, I wanted to believe that if I said the right thing or looked a certain way, the guys would beg for a date with me. I just had to figure out what I was doing wrong.
Then one night I read a scripture that reminded me of my dad’s words: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Eccl. 3:1). It said there was a time to cry, a time to laugh—and even a time to love.
Maybe I’ve been rushing things a little, I thought. One thing was certain: more than I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted to be happy and feel good about myself again.
I only had two dates the rest of the year, and one of them was a girls’ choice. But when I started to feel depressed, I reminded myself that it wouldn’t last forever. I filled up my time with school, Church, and my family and tried to be patient.
Nothing changed—until after graduation. I don’t know how it happened—maybe it was because I met hundreds of new people at college. All I know is that I had dates. Not tons, but enough. I dated regularly for three years, served a mission—and then I met Sam.
On my wedding day, as I knelt at the altar and looked into Sam’s eyes, I knew that everything was right—the right person, the right time, and the right place.
Like my dad had said, there was never anything “wrong” with me in the first place. I didn’t need to change; what I really needed was time.

During my high school years I worked summers in the golf pro shop. It was obvious to me that with just a little more tournament experience and more hard work that I would be ready to make application to attend the Professional Golf Association tour qualifying school in Florida. Fame and fortune loomed just around the corner. At this time my good friends were all talking about preparing for their missions.
By the time I finished my Aaronic Priesthood ministry, my dad had completed his distinguished service as bishop. My goals included golf and college. My life was destined to be professional golf, or so I thought.
Our new bishop invited me to his office one Sunday. After the usual pleasantries, he recounted several incidents where bishops felt inspired to visit with individuals to help them correct the course of their lives. I wondered where the interview was going. My mind raced over the many practical jokes and a few of the dumb things I had done. Although I wasn’t an example of perfection, neither was I a rogue of immense proportions. With great humility the bishop explained that he felt inspired to tell me what the Lord wanted me to do with my life. At first I didn’t want to know what he felt the Lord wanted me to do, but the bishop’s sincerity made me feel he was really speaking for the Lord.
“David,” the bishop began, “it is far more important for you to serve the Lord in the mission field than it is for you to seek a career in golf.” He further said that he had prayed for direction in the matter and that he was certain that missionary service was what I needed to be about. In a very direct way, the Spirit readily confirmed to me that the bishop was, indeed, conveying to me the will of the Lord. How could I respond except in a positive fashion.
After two years of missionary service, I was surprised to find that golf was really not very important. It took an inspired bishop to help me understand the eternal implications of following the Lord’s plan, the great plan of happiness.

Recently I heard of a good man who, after being married in the temple and having four children, fell away from the Church. His physical appearance became shabby and his demeanor sad as he became a drug addict, an alcoholic, and then a chain-smoker. He continued in this destructive lifestyle for many years. However, in time, with the help of a good wife, home teachers, a caring bishop, and our loving Heavenly Father, he eventually started on the long road back. One of the proudest days in his life came when he once again qualified for a temple recommend. Looking back on those bad years, he later admitted, “All I ever wanted was to belong.” Seeking acceptance from the wrong source brought untold misery and pain.

A new bishop of a young single adult ward in Canada organized his own search-and-rescue program. Eighteen months later the ward had taken on a new feeling of spiritual enthusiasm. Of those who returned, 61 were invited into disciplinary councils. Old issues were discussed and handled, and 58 of the 61 became active. Marriages blossomed in the ward, with 99 percent of them being sealed in the temple.

A friend took us to Sunday School. During the meeting he stood up and introduced us to the class. As the meeting came to a close, a brother approached me and shook my hand, leaving a 20-dollar bill in it. Soon after, another brother reached out to me as well, and to my surprise, he also left a bill in my hand. I quickly looked for my wife, who was across the room, and shouted, “Blanquy, shake hands with everyone!”
Soon we had gathered enough money to return to Guatemala.

I know of a young widow who invested part of the proceeds of her husband’s life-insurance settlement with a close friend with the promise of a guaranteed high interest rate. Though the investment paid out for several years, one day the checks stopped coming. Soon thereafter, the company filed for bankruptcy, and the widow lost many tens of thousands of dollars. She felt betrayed that the sacred funds her late husband had provided were lost in this way.

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

Last year I attended the Winter 2012 BYU–Hawaii Career Fair. At that time I was working in the Alumni office on campus and had to work at a booth at the career fair. I took a break from sitting and decided that I was going to walk around the event looking for an opportunity to network or potentially seek a job interview. After circling the event I failed to find many opportunities relating to my major or career path. Soon after returning to my booth a career service representative started talking to me. She said that it is unfortunate that many students are not fully taking advantage of all the opportunities that are available at this fair, and then specifically mentioned a few companies that were looking to recruit at the fair but had not had many students approach them. After learning that one of these companies attending was the Pacific Heritage Academy, a new public charter school in Utah, I instantly received a prompting to call my friend, Irene.

She was a good friend of mine who graduated from BYU–Hawaii the previous year with a Bachelors of Science in Elementary Education. She had been unsuccessful at finding a full time teaching position and was only subbing at a local Elementary school. At first I thought, “the career fair is ending in 20 minutes there probably isn’t enough time for Irene to make it.” However again a voice in my head told me that I should call her. I quickly called Irene and asked her what she was doing and told her to come to the CAC right away. I said don’t worry about changing clothes, just come. Irene showed up a few minutes before the fair was finished and was able to connect with a representative from the academy. After talking for 30 minutes she was able to set up a skype interview appointment.

A few months later Irene was offered and she accepted a full time teaching position at Pacific Heritage Academy in Salt Lake City, Utah, as a Third Grade Teacher. I recently messaged Irene on facebook asking her if it was okay that I share this story in devotional. In response she said:

“Whenever anyone asks how I came across this job, I never forget to mention you! I have to tell you that my life was leading up to this point and if you hadn't called me, I'm not sure how I would have found this job that I love, serving Heavenly Father's children. Maybe Heavenly Father would have found another way for me to hear about it but it was you that made the choice to follow the prompting to call me. Totally a perfect example of how we can be instruments in answering other people's prayers.”

I know that I never would have been able to help Irene if I had not listened to the prompting of the Holy Ghost. Without me even telling her, she shared the exact lesson that I learned from this experience that is; God uses us to answer the prayers of others.

One spring day I discovered that death can be closer than I ever expected. Until then, death seemed to be for people, old and ready, or for reckless people who knew death could come suddenly. That was what I thought before my day on Mount Timpanogos, near Provo, Utah.
There it was! Timpanogos peak in all its splendor towering above us. The streaked brown and gray of its steep cliffs drew dizzying contrast to the rolling snowfield of the basin below it. My friend and I had hiked a good portion of the day to conquer the peak, but we could see there was far too much snow to proceed to the summit. Nevertheless, the view was wonderful enough to make us feel the hike was worthwhile.
After savoring the moment, we started our descent, and it was a mutual decision that we should take a different, somewhat harder, route down. Then we saw a perfect place to do some sliding on the snow. We traversed the steep downhill slopes easily as we angled toward a large snowfield in the deep saddle between two rocky outcroppings.
As we came closer to the snowfield, we discovered we were not as close as we expected. We were 25 feet above it. We stood at the top of a sheer drop. At the base of the small cliff stretched acres of snow. The perfect ski run!
I looked at my friend. He smiled, sensing what I was thinking, and at that moment I knew what I was going to do. I sprinted from where I stood and jumped into space, straightening my body and spreading my arms. After endless seconds, I plunged into the snow, shoulder deep much to my surprise.
But my depth was only part of the problem. I discovered water was flowing underneath the snow, melting from above. Much to my dismay, I was being sucked underneath the crust of snow.
My friend, standing on top of the cliff, saw what was happening. He scurried down the hill to a much lower spot and hurled himself off the cliff. I watched him fall, praying he could avoid breaking through the snow’s crust.
He hit with a thud and immediately ran in my direction. My friend grasped my hand and began to haul me out. After he pulled me free, I lay on the snow breathing heavily.
He said to me, “Jon, that was stupid.” I knew he was right.
As I hiked the rest of the way down the mountain, wet from my knees down and a bit stunned by my close call, I was grateful my friend had saved me from the results of my stupidity. Because he was there, I did not have to pay the ultimate price for my unwise choice.
I know that in my life, I have another friend who has hiked alongside for as long as I can remember and is there to pull me out and rescue me from many pitfalls. Jesus Christ, my friend and Savior, is always willing to help when I reach out to him. Because his atonement made repentance possible, there is, through him, always a way out.