Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in the USA.
Aisea ran and kicked the ball to his teammate, Timothy. He watched as Timothy swung his foot back and kicked the ball into the goal.
“Score!” Timothy shouted as the ball hit the net.
Aisea cheered. They had won the game!
As he walked off the field, he felt great! But then one of the kids on the other team, Josh, called him a mean name.
Aisea felt surprised and hurt. He didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the ground and walked slowly to his teammates.
“We did it!” Timothy said. “Great pass, Aisea.”
But Aisea didn’t feel great. Not after what Josh said to him! He felt sad and angry.
The rest of the day, Aisea felt like a heavy weight was pulling him down. He did not like Josh anymore.
That night, Aisea sat with his family during scripture time. He tried to listen to his sister read. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Josh said.
Aisea looked through the pages of his Book of Mormon. He stopped at a scripture in 1 Nephi. It was about a time when Nephi’s brothers were unkind to him.
“And it came to pass that I did frankly forgive them,” the scripture said.*
Nephi forgave his brothers? Aisea thought. Even after they were so mean?
Aisea thought about Josh. He didn’t want to hold onto his bad feelings for Josh forever. He was only 10!
Aisea wanted to be like Nephi. He could forgive Josh, just like Nephi forgave his brothers. And if Josh said something mean again, he would just ask him not to.
He felt warm and peaceful inside. It was like the Holy Ghost was saying, “You’re doing the right thing.”
“Aisea, what did you learn from these scriptures?” Mom asked.
Aisea looked up. “Sorry, I was reading a different scripture,” he said. He told his family what happened at soccer.
Mom and Dad pulled Aisea into a hug. “I’m sorry Josh was mean to you,” Dad said. “What he said was not true. But it’s OK to feel hurt by it.”
Aisea smiled. “Thanks. For a while I was really angry. But now that I’ve read the scriptures, I don’t want to be mad at him. I want to forgive him. And I already feel better!”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom smiled too. “Forgiving isn’t always easy. But you’re right. It is worth it.”
Aisea looked down at his scriptures. They had helped him! The heavy weight from before was gone. His heart felt warm and full of peace instead.

I remember the New Era so well during my high school years. I had some important decisions to make back then and needed all the spiritual guidance I could grasp hold of. I remember well when I was struggling with one decision and thought I had done everything there was to do as far as faith and prayer were concerned. One night as I was reading the New Era, I came across some quotes from our latter-day prophets, and one stood out on the page. It said, “Maybe you should try fasting.” I fasted and things became clear. Thanks, New Era, for being there through many of my growing pains. Life here is not over with yet, and I know there will be more growing pains. Sure hope the New Era will be there to help relieve some of the hurt.
Connie MedlockLubbock, Texas

If you routinely traveled through Weber Canyon in northern Utah between the hours of 8:00 A.M. and 10:00 A.M., you probably saw him. He rode an old rickety bicycle with a box of aluminum cans on each side of the back tires. At age sixty-five, he had ridden this same bike from his home in Tennessee to Utah. Then, for reasons known only to him, he had made a canyon cave his home.*
Everyone in Morgan County knew of him. They had either seen him riding his bike through the canyon or had noticed the bike parked at a local convenience store early in the morning. He had become a part of the community. People would visit him from time to time in his cave, but he told them very little about himself. He was a sad sort of man.
Many people were afraid of him, including four-year-old Amy Creager. She had seen the man on many occasions and wondered about him. One day, about six weeks before Christmas, as she, her baby sister, Sydney, and her mother left the convenience store, Amy saw him. As they waited to turn onto the road, she said, “Mama, tell me about that man. Where does he live? And why does he have all those cans on his bike?”
Amy’s mother told her that the man lived in a cave in the canyon and that each morning he went around to dumpsters in the town to sort out the cans, load them onto his bike, and take them through the canyon into Ogden to turn them in for money.
As her mother told her what she knew about the man, a worried look came over Amy’s face. Her mother told her of the different names people used to refer to him, such as “the can man” and “the hermit.” But from that day forward, Amy and her mother began to call him simply “the man on the bike.”
With her voice trembling, Amy said, “It’s too cold to sleep outside. Why does he want to live in a cave?”
Trying to explain it simply, her mother said, “He probably doesn’t have enough money to live anywhere else.”
Amy and her family had just built a home the year before, so the solution seemed simple: “Why can’t Daddy build him a new home?”
“Well, we don’t have enough money, and Daddy doesn’t really know how.”
“The men who built our home can do it!”
“Well, it’s not that simple, Amy.” Mother tried to explain why that could not happen.
With tears welling up in her eyes, Amy sat silent for a few seconds, then said, “He can come and live with us! I am afraid of him, but he can have my room! I just won’t look at him.”
Tears came into her mother’s eyes as well. She could tell that Amy was determined to help the man somehow.
They finally reached Grandmother’s house, where Amy and Sydney would stay while their mother went to help their father at his shop. Reaching the shop, Amy’s mother told her husband about the events of the morning. The story touched him.
“We need to figure out a way for her to help him,” Amy’s father said. He thought for a while. “Since we can’t build him a home, let’s get him a new bike! I know a guy who owns a bike shop. I’ll call him, and he can tell us which would be the best bicycle for the man’s needs.”
Amy’s parents were both so excited about the idea that they stopped working and made the call. Her father told the bicycle shop owner the story. They decided that the man needed a sturdy mountain bike. After working out a few other details, they felt that Amy needed to decide the rest.
When Amy’s mother went to pick up her and her sister, she told Amy about their idea.
Amy’s face lit up. “Let’s get him a horn so that he can honk back at the cars! And let’s make sure the bike has two big baskets on the back for his cans! And, Mama, it has to be purple! Purple is everyone’s favorite color!”
As the days went by and Christmas drew nearer, Amy’s excitement about the bike grew. She could hardly wait to go and pick it out. She did many chores around the house to earn money to help pay for it. Whenever she saw the man riding his old bike in the canyon, she’d say, “He is going to love his Christmas present! How many more days, Mom?”
One night her mother went to Relief Society Homemaking meeting. Each sister was invited to tell of her most memorable Christmas. When it was time for Amy’s mother to tell of hers, tears filled her eyes. She said that she thought this Christmas was going to be one of her most memorable. She told them of Amy’s love for a stranger of whom she was afraid. She told the sisters of their plans to purchase the bike, and they were touched. After the meeting, many of the sisters asked Amy’s mother if they could be part of this Christmas memory. One sister wanted to make the man a quilt and a pillow. Another thought it would be nice for him to have some new, warm shirts. And the offers for contributions kept coming.
The next morning, Amy’s mother had a phone call from a sister in the ward who worked at a local business. The company employed many in the community. She had mentioned Amy’s desire to help the “can man” to some of the employees. They had all seen him because their place of work was his first stop every morning. He’d pick up the cans that they had gathered in a garbage bag for him. She wanted to know, on behalf of the employees she had spoken to, if it would be all right with Amy if they took up a donation to help with the cost of the bike. It was.
As the days went by, the word began to spread. More things were donated, including food and more clothing. It was exciting to watch the community rally together to help a four-year-old girl serve a sixty-five-year-old man.
About two weeks before Christmas, the “man on the bike” was invited to have dinner with a family who lived in the area. He told them it was time for him to move on. He was beginning to feel that he was an embarrassment to the people there. The family tried to tell him differently, but he had made up his mind. Amy heard of his plans and worried that she wouldn’t get the bike to him on time.
The day to buy the bike finally arrived. When she and her father reached the store and walked in, Amy looked around. Her eyes fixed on one bike.
“This is it, Dad! I want this one!”
“It is a mountain bike,” the store owner said.
It wasn’t purple, but it was the brightest blue you could imagine, with even brighter splashes of pink paint all over it! Amy loved it, and that was all that mattered. With the money that had been donated and what Amy had earned, she was able to pay for the bike and buy the largest baskets and the very best horn.
That night as Amy was tying a bow onto the bike, she said to her father once again, “Daddy, I really don’t want the man on the bike to see me.”
Her parents talked it over and asked the sheriff for his help in delivering the collected items and the bike to the “‘man on the bike.’ We understand he goes into the convenience store every morning. Do you think you could try to catch up with him there tomorrow?” Amy’s father asked.
The sheriff agreed, so Amy and her parents took everything over to his house and loaded it into his truck.
“I’m proud of you, Amy,” the sheriff said. “This is a very kind thing you are doing for a stranger.”
The next morning, the sheriff drove to the convenience store, and the man was there. The sheriff went in, walked right up to the man, and said, “You need to come with me.” The “man on the bike” thought that he was in trouble. They walked together out the door. Then the sheriff began to unload his truck, and the man stood there in silence, looking very bewildered.
“This is all for you!” the sheriff told him.
When the sheriff lifted the bike out, the man just stared at it. Then the tears began to fall. “Whose idea was this?”
“A four-year-old girl who is worried about you,” the sheriff said, his own eyes filling with tears. He explained to the man how it had all come about and how the whole community had wanted to help Amy help him.
The man was overwhelmed by this act of love. He said, “I don’t deserve all of this! You need to give these things to someone who really needs them!”
“I think you are plenty deserving. I’ll help you take them over to your cave.”
“Will you tell her thank you for me?”
The sheriff quietly nodded.
The man ended up staying in the area until May of the following year. Every time the people of Morgan County saw “the man on the bike,” they were reminded of the Christlike love of a child.

Nikki and Breck Fullmer quarreled constantly. Most of their fights were about Nikki borrowing Breck’s T-shirts, and Nikki enduring Breck’s music. Nikki and Breck were both looking for a way out of their conflicts when they decided to participate in their stake’s “Time Alone” experiment.

Nikki knew her brother gulped gallons of soda pop every week, so she invited him to go get a drink with her. He thought it was a fine arrangement, since she was buying. After the soda they talked and drove around for an hour. After just one rendezvous Nikki said, “He’s at a stage where he’ll do just about anything to be cool. And now he thinks it’s cool to be with me.”

Mark, Ben, and Corey were kneeling in the sandpile, building tunnels and roads for their cars and men. The boys were so busy that they didn’t see Patrick ride up on his bike.
He stood watching for a while. Finally he asked, “Can I play?”
“No. Go away, Patrick,” Ben said without even looking up.
“There’s no room in my sandpile for you,” Mark added.
The three boys continued playing and ignored Patrick.
“Anyone want lemonade?” Mark’s mom called from the open kitchen window.
“Yes!” Mark yelled enthusiastically. The other boys shouted yes too.
When Mark’s mom brought out four glasses of lemonade on a tray, Mark said, “He’s not playing,” pointing at Patrick. Patrick stood back and hung his head.
Mom gave Patrick a glass of lemonade. “He can still be thirsty, can’t he?” she said to Mark. When they had finished drinking, Mom asked Mark to help her carry the glasses back inside.
“Why won’t you let Patrick play?” Mom asked Mark when they were in the kitchen.
“He’s a thief, Mom,” Mark explained. “Everyone knows it. He stole one of my men.”
“Oh?” Mom raised an eyebrow. “When?”
“Last summer.” Mark hesitated. “He gave it back, but the guys are worried that he’ll take some more.”
Mom looked hard at Mark. “Haven’t you ever done something wrong and been sorry later?” she asked.
Mark squirmed. “Yes, I guess so,” he admitted. “But you always say it’s wrong to steal.”
“Yes, stealing is wrong. But it’s important to forgive too.”
“Maybe,” Mark said, unconvinced. He scuffed his foot impatiently on the floor. “Can I go now? The guys are waiting for me.”
Mom nodded, and Mark ran back outside.
That evening Mark hurried to clear away the supper dishes so that he could go out and play. In his haste, he bumped into the counter and dropped his plate. The plate shattered when it hit the floor.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as he swept up the pieces.
Mom smiled understandingly. “I forgive you,” she said.
As he put away the broom and finished clearing the table, Mark thought about what his mom had said. She didn’t have to forgive him, he knew. He wondered how he would feel if she had stayed mad at him. Mark started thinking about other times when he’d had an accident or had done something wrong. Dad still lets me use his hammer, even after I cracked the handle. And I can still go camping with him, even though I lost his best flashlight the last time we went. Mark was suddenly very glad that his parents gave him a second chance when he made a mistake.
The next day, Mark and his friends were setting up some toy men on the front porch. Patrick came along and watched them longingly, but he didn’t ask to play. Mark looked at Ben and Corey, then at Patrick. He hesitated, then beckoned. “Come on over, Patrick. You can be on my side.”
“You’re letting that thief play?” Corey protested.
“He’s not a thief,” Mark said firmly. “He just made a mistake once. He can use some of my men.”
“Well, OK,” Corey grumbled. “But keep your eyes on him.”
“Thanks,” Patrick said, smiling. “I won’t take anything. I promise.”
Ben moved over to make room for him.
Later, as Mark helped his mom set the supper table, she said, “I’m glad you let Patrick play this afternoon.”
“I am, too,” Mark said. “Tomorrow he’s going to bring over some of his cars and men for us to play with. I think he’s learned his lesson about taking things.”
“Yes,” Mom said. “And you’ve learned a lesson about forgiving.” She gave him a big hug, and Mark grinned.

I have become a product of that, because when my mother’s family arrived here in Salt Lake City, they were sent out to Tooele to settle. Then later they were sent up into Idaho, where a sawmill and a gristmill were needing to be built. My father’s family had settled in Farmington, Utah, part of this colonization that I’m referring to—the colonization that made people stronger and gave them opportunities. Rather than being lost in a big city, they were asked to move to a smaller community where they could develop their ability and where there would be more schools and a need for more schoolteachers and where people with talent would develop their ability. Out of all of this, my family were asked to leave Farmington and Tooele, to sell their green acres, and go out into southern Idaho, where there was nothing at that time but sagebrush.
In a little settlement of that kind, my mother and father fell in love. By the time they were 20 years old and ready to be married, where would they be married? In the Logan Utah Temple. How would they get there? By buggy. How long would it take? Well, five or six or seven days. Highways and good roads? Of course not. They went by roads made by wagons going over the sagebrush and through the bushes and over the rocks. Where would they be married? Where would they be sealed? Only one place—the temple. They went by buggy.

“This was my grandmother’s mirror,” Mom said. “When I polish this mirror, I try to imagine what Grandma Beatrice saw when she looked into it. Maybe at first she saw a young girl, like you, dreaming of her future.
“I can imagine the light of happiness she saw in her eyes when she looked at her long braids in the mirror before her baptism. Did you know she wasn’t able to be baptized until she was 18 years old?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“And then after her marriage to Grandpa, she had a baby daughter who lived only two days. I imagine the eyes she saw in this mirror then were swollen with tears.
“Many years after that, she would have seen her joyful reflection as she prepared to go to the temple to be sealed to her husband and three children.
“As an older woman, she may have used this mirror to place a hat on her head before going to her Relief Society meetings.
“And finally, as a gray-haired widow, she may have seen the brave determination in her eyes as she lived for many years alone but faithful to the end.”

As a young Primary girl, I worked diligently to cross-stitch a simple saying which read, “I will bring the light of the gospel into my home.” One weekday afternoon as we girls pulled our needles up and down through the fabric, our teacher told us the story of a girl who lived on a hill on one side of a valley. Each late afternoon she noticed on the hill on the opposite side of the valley a house that had shining, golden windows. Her own home was small and somewhat shabby, and the girl dreamed of living in that beautiful house with windows of gold.

One day the girl was given permission to ride her bike across the valley. She eagerly rode until she reached the house with the golden windows that she had admired for so long. But when she dismounted from her bike, she saw that the house was abandoned and dilapidated, with tall weeds in the yard and windows that were plain and dirty. Sadly, the girl turned her face toward home. To her surprise, she saw a house with shining, golden windows on the hill across the valley and soon realized it was her very own home!8

Soon after my husband was called to preside over the Paraguay Asunción Mission in 1992, we attended a branch conference in an isolated community in the Paraguayan Chaco. We traveled four hours on a paved road and then seven more hours on a primitive road. The perils and discomfort of the long trip were soon forgotten when we greeted the happy and welcoming members of Mistolar.
Julio Yegros was the young branch president, and he and his wife, Margarita, were one of the few families who had been sealed in the temple. I asked them to share their experience of their trip to the temple.
At the time, the closest temple was the Buenos Aires Temple in Argentina. The trip from Mistolar required 27 hours one way to reach the temple, and they had gone with their two small children. It was in the middle of a very cold winter, but with much sacrifice they made it to the temple and were sealed together as an eternal family. On the way back, the two babies got very sick and died. They buried them along the way and returned home empty-handed. They were sad and lonely but amazingly felt comforted and peaceful. They said of the experience: “Our children were sealed to us in the house of the Lord. We know we will have them back with us for all eternity. This knowledge has given us peace and comfort. We have to remain worthy and faithful to the covenants we made in the temple, and then we will be reunited with them.”

Many of the most important lessons Robert learned as a child came from the example of his parents and from his experiences in the Queens Ward. As deacons quorum president, Robert learned to respect his priesthood leaders after an experience with the bishop. At that time, the ward met in the Citizen’s League Hall. The sacrament table was on the main floor in front of the stage. The deacons used to take the sacrament trays, climb up onto the stage, put the trays away, and then run and jump off the stage, grab another tray, and repeat the process until all the trays were put away. “I came sailing off of that stage,” says Elder Hales, “and our new bishop was standing there. He caught me in flight. I said, ‘Well, everyone else is doing it,’ and he said, ‘Yes, but you are the president of the deacons quorum.’ The bishop said he wanted the sacrament taken care of properly, with reverence. That was when I began to learn an important lesson. I’ve appreciated priesthood leaders who have taken the time to teach me.”

One of the important lessons my mother taught me by her example was about praying with a plan. She said it was important to pray that Heavenly Father would guide me. But I should also do my part by having a plan to help my prayer be answered.
One day when I was about six years old, I learned what that meant. I had earned a nickel, so I decided to buy some candy. On my way to the store, I started flipping my shiny nickel in the air. On its way down, I missed catching it, and it fell into some tall grass. My nickel completely disappeared.
I felt very bad, and I decided to pray. I knew Heavenly Father would help me find the nickel. As I finished my prayer, I thought about what my mother had taught me. What plan could I make to help with my prayer?
Suddenly I had a great idea. I would go home and get another nickel. Then I would come back to the exact spot where I had lost my nickel. If I flipped the second nickel in the same way, I thought Heavenly Father could help me find my lost nickel.
I ran home and borrowed another nickel. Then I went back to the spot where I had been before. I flipped the second nickel, this time watching carefully to see where it landed. When I looked down, I saw both nickels lying side by side. I knew that Heavenly Father had helped me.

We had just finished dinner at my grandparents’ cabin, and I was outside playing with my five little brothers when my dad walked out and called to me.
Of course when your dad calls you like that, you’re afraid you may be in trouble. So I trudged over and mumbled, “Yeah, Dad?”
Surprisingly, he said, “How would you like to go on a motorcycle ride with me?” I’m sure my eyes must have widened to the size of golf balls as I quickly responded, “Yes, of course I want to go.”
Soon my dad was leading the way as we each drove a motorcycle down a path that winds through the majestic forest surrounding our cabin and then climbs to the top of a hill. As we rode, I was so excited that I could barely keep the throttle on low. Once or twice my dad had to tell me to slow down.
My mind wandered as we rode. I was curious why I had been given this special treat and my brothers hadn’t. When we reached the top of the mountain, Dad said, “This looks like a nice place to stop and rest.” So we parked our motorcycles and sat down on some rocks overlooking the forest. We were both quiet for a moment, enjoying the beauty around us. As I glanced over at my dad, I noticed his thoughtful stare and knew something was coming.
He and I had never really talked a lot. I guess it was just too hard for him to express himself to anyone but my mom. Then he interrupted my thoughts and said, “Kjersten, your mother and I have been talking, and we have decided you are now mature enough to know some of the details concerning our marriage and family.” I could tell by the words he used and by the way he said them that he had been planning this talk for a while.
His voice was soft as he began. “Your mother and I first met at the fire station where I was a student firefighter, and she worked in the office. We began dating, and I realized she was different from the other young women I had dated before. I was a carefree young man who had been brought up in another church. But I hadn’t really paid too much attention to religion.
“I had very few values or goals at that time,” he continued, “and I really didn’t care.” He leaned forward and intently confided in me. “Kjersten, your mother set the most shining example of righteous living I had ever seen.” As he said this, a warm feeling swept over me.
My dad told me details concerning their marriage, my birth, and our family that I had never before heard. He told me the story of his conversion to the Church and how because they were first married civilly, they had to wait a year before they could be sealed in the temple. He also shared with me some of the adventures he and Mom went through in that first year of marriage. For the first time, pieces to a few little puzzles fell into place. I finally understood why my parents’ marriage and sealing dates are different and why they say that the first year of their marriage was the hardest they ever had.
As he related these things to me, his eyes would sometimes flicker with sadness and other times crinkle with laughter. I don’t remember exactly how much I understood back then, but I distinctly remember the feelings of surprise, confusion, and love that alternately came over me.
This experience really made an impact on me. I realized what a miracle families are, and it gave me a greater understanding of God’s plan. I also gained a greater faith in the gospel and an appreciation for the effects it can have on people’s lives. We discussed many things on that mountain, but there is one thing I will not forget. I have never felt so much gratitude and thankfulness in my heart as I did when my father told me of his strong love for God, the gospel, my mother, and our family. I realized the numerous ways the gospel had touched his life, as well as mine.
My father and I became very close that day. For the first time, I saw him as a real person with feelings and emotions and not just some ruling body who had to give me permission to have fun. I also think my dad learned more about me too. I will never forget that special talk with my dad and the feelings of love and understanding we shared.

Lacey was busy making things for her miniature dollhouse. She’d already made button plates, a yogurt-lid table, and a popcorn bowl out of a bottle cap and Styrofoam. She was just starting on the paper-clip hangers when her little brother, Zach, burst through the door with a bath towel around his neck like a cape.
“Zach!” Lacey cried as he bumped into her desk, sending the button plates flying.
“I’m not Zach. I’m Awesome Boy!” Zach shouted. He stomped around her room and knocked into the walls, pretending to fly. “And you’re a giant mutant monster that’s attacking the city!”
“I am not a mutant monster!” Lacey shouted back. As she looked at the buttons scattered all over the floor, she felt a hot, angry feeling rising in her stomach. She felt like yelling.
Instead she stomped out of the room. “Mom!” she called. “Zach’s bugging me again!”
Mom was on the phone in the kitchen and held up her hand. “One minute,” she mouthed. Mom walked into the other room to finish her phone call.
Lacey sighed and flopped into a kitchen chair. Why is Zach so annoying? Lacey fumed. She was ten, and Zach was only seven. He thought it was funny to see her mad. Worse, it seemed like Zach looked for ways to bother her. He grabbed her dolls, copied everything she said in a silly voice, and searched through her drawers. Each thing made her madder and madder. She didn’t like feeling that way.
Lacey looked down at the paper-clip hanger she was still holding. Kylee, Lacey’s older sister, had showed her how to make miniature things. Kylee was away at college now, and Lacey missed her. Why couldn’t Kylee still be around instead of Zach?
Lacey looked down at her arm where the mosquito bite had been, and suddenly she understood something. She could control her own actions. She couldn’t stop Zach from doing what he wanted, but she could choose not to be bothered by it anymore! And Heavenly Father could help her.
Heavenly Father, she prayed silently, please help me not to get mad when Zach teases me. Please help me to just love him.
As she prayed, she felt the hot anger in her stomach start to go away. A warm feeling filled its place.
“Never mind,” she mouthed to Mom as she walked back to find Zach. Maybe her miniature dollhouse would make the perfect city to defend from a giant mutant monster. And maybe Awesome Boy could use a superhero friend—Awesome Girl!

The young adult center in Oslo, Norway, is just one of many centers where young adults are learning how to build the kingdom. Take Mathilde Guillaumet, from France. Missionaries began teaching her at a center in Paris in 2009 after Sister Guillaumet’s friend invited her to learn more about the gospel.
Sister Guillaumet was baptized in 2010 and then moved to Norway for a year, where the local center for young adults continued to play a role in her growing testimony.
“The center really was a home away from home. It was definitely more welcoming than my dorm room,” said Sister Guillaumet. “The center’s missionary couple became like parents—wonderful people to come to for comfort and advice. Both in Paris and in Oslo, I have been able to go to the missionary couple to talk about the gospel, which I couldn’t do at home, considering I am the only member in my family.”

I went to the swimming pool with my mom and little brother. A boy I didn’t know started bugging me and my brother by pulling on us. My mom told him to leave us alone. Later, I was practicing swimming, and the boy came up to me and asked if I could teach him to swim. I taught him what I had learned in my swimming class. He was glad for the help and was nice to me after that. I felt good for helping him.
Seth Root, age 8St. George, Utah

Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted to have that feeling always in my life.

I recall that when I was called to be the president of the Northwestern States Mission, it came at a very difficult time for me to leave my business. Many of my friends, members and nonmembers, said to me, “The Church is asking you to make a great sacrifice.” I replied to each, “I feel it is a real opportunity.”

As President McKay set me apart, he promised me that it would be the happiest period of my life. It wasn’t the easiest experience of my life, but it was the happiest—another experience in my life where sacrifice brought forth the blessings of heaven to me and my wife.

During my first year of high school, my seminary teacher invited my class to give copies of the Book of Mormon to nonmember friends. Even though I was incredibly timid, I accepted the invitation.
It took me a couple of days to build up the courage, but I eventually gave my friend Britny the book during lunch hour and bore a brief testimony. Britny thanked me for the book.
At the end of that school year, Britny moved, but we kept in touch. She told me about her new school and how almost all her friends were members of the Church, but she never talked about anything spiritual with me.
That changed before I left for my mission. I got a message from Britny saying she had big news for me: she was going to be baptized, and she wanted to thank me for being her friend and setting a good example.
God took a shy 15-year-old boy with no missionary experience and directed him to share the gospel with someone He knew would accept it. I know that by listening to the Spirit, we can all find people around us who are waiting to learn about the restored gospel. I know that if we help bring even one person to the Lord, “how great shall be [our] joy with him [or her] in the kingdom of [our] Father!” (D&C 18:15).

In 2012 I had completed seminary and high school, and a new world was opening in my life. The beginning of the year was great, especially the multistake youth camp. I felt blessed and protected by my Heavenly Father.
Years before, I had decided I would serve a full-time mission, so in 2012 I planned to dedicate myself to saving all the money I could. Thanks to my older sister, Sofía, I was able to quickly find a job at the company where she worked. On February 22, Sofía and I took the train to work. It was a beautiful day, but when we arrived at the destination, I heard a loud noise, and then everything went dark.
When I awoke, I was hurting and confused. Was my journey on earth coming to an end? I really wanted to be around to experience certain things, like going on a mission and having a family. So I prayed, asking Heavenly Father to give me the opportunity to live and serve a mission.
Lying in the tangled wreckage of the train, I looked around for my sister, but I couldn’t see her. Finally I heard firefighters asking everyone to stay calm, and I could feel hope in my heart. I prayed for my sister’s well-being because I didn’t know where she was. As I prayed, I felt great peace. I had to fight to endure the pain I felt, but Heavenly Father gave me the necessary strength.
After an hour I was rescued. I felt the Lord with me during that time. As I was taken to the hospital to have an operation on my leg, I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and wondering how she was. But every time I thought about her, I felt peace.
The next day my parents informed me that Sofía had not survived the accident. That news brought the greatest pain I have ever felt. But at the same time, I felt comfort and gratitude for the sacred covenants made by my parents in the temple in sealing our family together for eternity.
When I returned home from the hospital, the Lord blessed my family through our friends and relatives, who were our angels, giving us comfort. We will always be grateful for that. Thanks to the power of the priesthood, I learned how to walk again much quicker than expected. I was able to walk normally after just a few months.
The gospel is beautiful every way you look at it. I am so grateful for temples and temple ordinances. I know that the Lord has something sacred prepared for my sister. Life without her is not easy, and it never will be, but the assurance and the peace we have is stronger than the pain we feel at her absence. We miss Sofía with all our hearts and remember her every day. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said that heaven without your family just wouldn’t be heaven (see Between Heaven and Earth [DVD, 2005]), and I testify that is true.
God loves us, and He never leaves us alone. Isaiah 54:10 says, “My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.”

Peter felt much better about Grandpa’s condition after that lesson. But then he began to wonder if it would hurt Grandpa to have his spirit leave his sick body. Grandpa was already suffering so much that Peter couldn’t stand that thought. Mom suggested that he talk to Grandpa about it. She said that Grandpa lived close to Heavenly Father already and that he would explain his feelings to Peter.
Sure enough, when Peter told Grandpa his concern, Grandpa explained, “Petey, do you remember that day I took you to the zoo last year?”
“Yes. We stayed so long and had such fun that I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know that when we got home, I lovingly picked you up and carefully tucked you in your bed. The next morning you were surprised to see where you were. You knew that you were in a different place from where you fell asleep. You didn’t know how you got there, but you knew that someone who loved you took you there. Well, that’s how I believe it will be. Perhaps I will fall asleep, and when I awake, my spirit will be somewhere else. I won’t hurt anymore or be uncomfortable, and I’ll know that Someone who loves me took me there.”
Feeling Grandpa’s arm about him while they talked helped Peter realize that Grandpa wasn’t frightened. And as he closed Grandpa’s door behind him, Peter felt a sense of reverent excitement for the eternal things that Grandpa would experience.