Gospel Story Finder

Heber J. Grant was not a good singer. His mother made him take singing lessons.
The teacher tried and tried to teach Heber to sing. Finally the teacher said, “Heber, you’ll never be able to sing!”
Years later, Heber told a friend how much he wanted to be able to sing a few Church hymns.
“It will take time and effort,” said his friend. “But, you can do it.”
Heber prayed for help. He practiced and practiced. He learned to sing the Church hymns.

“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, turn around.
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, touch the ground.
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, show your shoe,
“Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, better skiddoo.”
A warm breeze blew gently as the red and blue jump rope made a friendly slapping noise each time it hit the sidewalk.
“Your turn, Jill,” Kerry said, hopping away from the swishing rope.
“No, thanks,” Jill said. “I don’t feel like jumping today. You take my turn, Tina. I’ll keep turning.”
“OK,” Tina agreed, handing her end of the rope to Kerry.
“What do you want to do?” Shelly asked.
“Oh, Down in the Meadow, I guess,” Tina said. “But not too fast. I’m wearing my good shoes, and I don’t want to scuff them.”
“Down in the meadow where the green grass grows,
There sat Tina as pretty as a rose …
One, two …”
“I’m getting tired,” Tina puffed as she counted, “Sixty-four, sixty-five …”
“Come on, Tina!” Jill cheered. “You can do eighty easily.” She turned her end of the rope carefully, making sure it hit the sidewalk each time.
“Seventy-nine, eighty!”
Tina smiled and jumped out. “Whew! I did it. Want to jump now, Jill?”
“No, thanks. Go ahead, Shelly. I’ll still turn.”
“Jumping rope again?” Tommy asked with a sneer. “Don’t girls know how to do anything else?” He laughed mockingly and turned to the boys with him. “Come on. Let’s play softball.”
“You just play softball because you can’t jump rope,” Kerry retorted. Tina jumped eighty times doing Down in the Meadow. Can any of you do better than that?”
“I bet I can,” Jim said.
“OK, let’s see you do it.” Shelly and Jill got the rope going again.
“Down in the mead—” The girls giggled as Jim missed.
“Come on,” Tommy said. “This is sissy stuff. Everybody knows that all girls can jump rope. They’re born knowing how.”
Jill frowned as Tommy and the other boys ran off and chose sides for a softball game.
That evening at dinner, Jill asked her mother, “Can you jump rope?”
“Well, I haven’t for some time, but I used to when I was in grade school. Why?”
“Did you always know how? I mean, did you have to learn?”
“I don’t really remember,” Mother replied.
“Tommy says that all girls are born knowing how to jump rope. Is that true?”
“I don’t think so, Jill.”
“What’s the matter—can’t you jump?” Jill’s brother, Michael, asked.
“No,” Jill said, staring at the peas on her plate.
“You can’t?” Michael laughed. “I’ll bet you’re the only girl in third grade who can’t. Boy, that’s funny. Wait till I tell Bobby and Pete!”
“Oh, please don’t tell them!” Jill pleaded. “Not even my best friends know. I give up my turn each time, and pretty soon the bell rings and nobody knows.”
Seeing the tears in his little sister’s eyes, Michael said, “I won’t tell, I promise.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
When Jill came home from school the next afternoon, she found a box wrapped in red polka-dot paper on the kitchen table. The tag read, “To Jill.”
Jill removed the puffy white bow and red paper. She lifted one corner of the lid cautiously, in case it was a joke from Michael. In the box was a brand-new jump rope. On the end of each wooden hand grip were Jill’s initials, J.M. “This is fantastic!” Jill exclaimed. She read the neatly printed card in the box: ‘To Jill from Michael. Sorry I hurt your feelings.’
“Sometimes big brothers are all right,” Jill told Mother. “I’ll be outside learning how to jump rope.”
Jill adjusted the rope to the right length. She swung it behind her back, took a deep breath, and turned the rope over her head. One foot jumped neatly as the rope came around, but the other foot got caught.
“Oops!” Jill started over.
The next time neither foot cleared the rope.
“Rats!” She tried again and again, but each time the rope failed to make a full circle.
When Mother called her for dinner, Jill said disconsolately, “I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t do it. I’ll never learn.”
“But you’ve only tried once,” Michael argued. “You have to practice.”
“Tina and Kerry can jump,” Jill said. “So can Shelly. They don’t practice. Kerry can even do lots of hot peppers.”
“Some things come easier to some people than to others,” Mother said consolingly. “You can draw better than they can, for instance. Just keep practicing and be patient.”
The next day after school, Jill managed to jump the rope a few times. After dinner she practiced until it was dark.
“It’s no use,” Jill said angrily. “I’m going to be awful at field day next week. Tina and I are partners for the jump-rope contest, and I’ll embarrass us both!”
“You have to keep practicing,” Michael advised her wisely.
“You’re doing better. A few days ago you couldn’t jump at all.”
The next day when Jill started to practice, she jumped several times before she missed. By the end of the evening she had jumped twenty-eight jumps in a row! But by the end of the week, the best she had done was fifty-two jumps.
On the morning of field day Jill thought about pretending to be sick so that she wouldn’t have to go to school. This is the day that everyone will find out that I can’t jump rope very well, she thought. Tommy is really going to tease me. Jill purposely went to the back of the line while the judge explained the rules. Each contestant would jump alone as many times as he could. His score would be counted and added to his partner’s score.
Tina’s going to hate me, Jill thought. By the time their turn came, the score to beat was 191, jumped by Kerry and Shelly.
“You go first,” Jill said to Tina.
Tina swung her rope behind her back expertly.
“One, two …” the judge counted.
She doesn’t even watch the rope, Jill noticed.
“Seventy-four, seventy-five—” The rope caught on Tina’s heel.
“Seventy-four,” the judge said, marking the score on his clipboard. “Next.”
“Sorry,” Tina said. “Come on, Jill. I’m counting on you.”
“But I’ll have to jump almost a hundred twenty times for us to beat Kerry and Shelly’s record!”
“You can do it!” Tina said.
“I’ve never even jumped half that many times!” Jill faltered.
“Well, do your best,” Tina said.
Jill slowly swung her rope back.
“One, two …” the judge counted. And before Jill could really think about it, the judge was counting, “fifty-four, fifty-five …”
Jill kept turning the rope and jumping.
“Ninety-four, ninety-five …” Jill’s heart was thumping hard. Maybe I can do it, she thought. I’m still jumping.
Half the school were crowded around Jill now, and her classmates were counting excitedly with the judge.
“Go, Jill” Tina screamed.
“A hundred nine, a hundred ten …”
The crowd surrounding Jill screamed and clapped when, gasping heavily, she reached 118.
“First prize goes to Tina and Jill,” said the judge, pinning a blue ribbon to Jill’s sweater and another one to Tina’s blouse.
“You were fantastic! You’re a jump-rope genius,” Tina said, hugging her friend.
“Mike told me the secret,” Jill said, glancing proudly at her beaming brother. “You just have to keep on practicing.”

It was the third day that Kiwal’s tribe had fanned out through the swampland in search of two missing white men who had ignored warnings and entered the marshy land in pursuit of rare specimens of moths and butterflies. Privately, the Indians considered the search a waste of time. Too many white men, some of them criminals fleeing the law, vanished forever once they had poled a boat into the gloomy maze of winding waterways.
Kiwal’s boat moved through the murky swampwater as silently as a moth on the wing. He stood upright at the back of the boat and pushed against the mud with a long pole. Most of the water was too shallow to use a paddle.
The youth’s dark eyes darted from the walls of bright green foliage to search overhanging boughs, ever alert to the dangers of this forbidding but wildly beautiful place. His passageway was a narrow tunnel through lush vegetation too dense for sunlight to penetrate. The steamy air seemed eerily green. Streamers of gray moss dripped from giant cypress trees. Delicate orchids of many colors bloomed freely, where few human eyes would ever see them. Tiny wild canaries flashed yellow and filled the air with beautiful music. Stately long-legged birds waded and used their bills to search the mud for crayfish and minnows.
As much as Kiwal loved his swampland home, it was not a place where one could relax or loll back in a boat to soak up the beauty of nature. Poisonous snakes lurked in the trees overhead or swam silently through the water that was almost black from rotting vegetation. What seemed like a floating log might instead be a dozing and hungry alligator. Kiwal shuddered as he remembered the time his pole had struck a giant hornet’s nest, and he had been forced to dive overboard to escape their vicious, stinging retaliation. He had almost landed on the snout of a surfacing bull alligator! Striking out blindly with his knife, he had desperately scrambled back into his drifting boat. The powerful, gaping jaws had missed his legs by inches!
Kiwal also felt pessimistic about the fate of the lost men, who worked for what was called a museum. He had been told that it was a place where people could go to see and study wildlife that had been collected from all over the world. Do the visitors there appreciate the courage of those who risk their lives so that they might stand safely in front of such exhibits and learn about the wonders of wild and foreign lands? he wondered.
The bronzed youth reached an open area, where the water was clear and deeper. Patches of water hyacinths floated light green bulbous leaves and spikes of lavender flowers. The clearing was encircled by narrow channels, like fingers, that led off in every direction. Storms, like the one two nights ago, often pushed together floating islands and closed them, thus slicing open new pathways through the dense growth. This made it impossible to map the constantly changing network of waterways. What seemed to be solid ground was often a slowly moving water-borne mass that only looked like an island. A man could step out into lush grass and trees and suddenly plunge through the tightly matted growth that held no soil.
Kiwal rested the long pole used to propel his craft and wondered which waterway to choose for searching next. Have the men already been saved by one of our tribesmen? Will they ever be found? he puzzled. Kiwal had been out since before dawn and his stomach gnawed with hunger. An old abandoned chikee caught his eye. It was an Indian home on stilts with open sides and a thatched roof of palm leaves.
The hut would be a good place to eat his noon meal of smoked fish, hard-boiled eggs, and round, flat bread cakes. He could rest for a time before resuming the almost hopeless search that would most likely be stopped after today if no trace of the men were found.
Kiwal slowly poled his craft toward the chikee. He would have to be cautious about tying his boat to the log stilts and leaving it there. Wasps and other stinging insects might live among the dry thatch. Snakes often sunned on such rotting floors of the many old stilt homes scattered throughout the swamp. Decay caused by the damp and steamy climate made it necessary to build often. Old ones were left standing to shelter hunters until the posts rotted through and the hut toppled into the brackish water and broke apart.
The youth was puzzled by what appeared to be a pile of rags on one corner of the wooden platform. But then the pile moved! He caught his breath and poled faster when he saw that it was a man trying to sit up. Then the man sagged and fell back again. There were two of them—white men! And at least one was still alive!
Muscles rippled as Kiwal poled harder, his light craft skimming over the still water. The young Indian leaped onto the sagging floor and threw a rope around one of the upright posts supporting the tilted roof, but his heart sank as he approached the men. Both were exhausted, their clothing tattered, and they bore little resemblance to the clean and nattily dressed men who had entered the swamp more than ten days ago.
He felt better when he found that one was breathing though still unconscious. The other man’s eyes were open and he struggled to speak. “I’m Professor Atwood,” he finally croaked. “My assistant, Mr. Carter, and I were lost and found this hut. Our boat tore loose and sank in the storm. We ran out of safe drinking water yesterday morning. Carter twisted his leg. It’s terribly swollen,” he finished in a whisper.
Kiwal shared his waterbag, then raised up the other man and let cold water trickle into his mouth. He choked, then sucked greedily until the youth had to snatch it away. Too much at once would make the man even sicker.
Hordes of hungry mosquitoes had left both men covered with ugly, splotchy welts. They had suffered cuts from the razor-sharp sawgrass through which they had forced their boat, and the slashes were swollen with infection. Any cut or bite festered quickly in the swamp and could poison the blood and even kill if not treated properly.
“Don’t leave us!” the professor begged, as Kiwal handed him his cloth-wrapped bundle of food and stepped back into the boat.
“Eat, and save some for your friend,” Kiwal said. “I must get something for your wounds. It won’t take long.”
The men were more alert by the time the Indian boy returned, but Mr. Carter was still too weak to sit up. They watched curiously as Kiwal piled stinking black mud and freshly cut foliage onto the platform and climbed out of his boat.
The youth removed a knife from his belt and pounded and slashed the leaves into a mushy green pulp. The strong-smelling herb gave off a sharp, medicinal odor, as Kiwal kneaded the pulp into handfuls of oozy mud. Then he added water to thin it into a salve.
“It stinks, and you will look like boats patched with pitch, but it cools an soothes instantly. It will also repel the swarming insects,” he explained, applying the mixture to the feverish men. They sighed with relief as their torment eased. Next, he dipped large green fronds into the water and used tough vines to bind the cool leaves to Mr. Carter’s purple and swollen leg. Color began to seep back into the pallid face that had been twisted with pain.
From the slanting rays of the sun, Kiwal knew they would have to spend the night here. Alone he could easily have made it back to his village before dark but not with the white men and the specimen cases Professor Atwood was so concerned about. The overloaded boat would ride low in the water and it would be harder to pole. It would be safer to wait until dawn.
Kiwal unwound a fishing line, pried up a piece of the rotting floor, and found a family of white worms to use for bait. Fish were plentiful and their supper was soon cooking over a fire he built on top of a round bed of stones nearby, blackened by many cooking fires over the years. The white men were grateful for the company of the capable youth, who knew well how to survive in the hostile environment of the swamp.
As night closed in, they sat by the fire and the men talked about a previous trip they had made to a land where other Indian tribes lived. Kiwal’s face reflected wonder as Professor Atwood described a land of ice and snow where birds walked but could not fly. Bears there were not small black or brown ones, but seven-foot-tall white giants. People lived in houses made of ice blocks and were clad in furs from head to toe. They had to saw holes through thick ice to catch fish. He could hardly wait to see the picturebook the professor had promised to show him.
The naturalists were scheduled to return to the land of ice soon, and, as the professor gazed into the fire, he said, “Just think. Next year we may be rescued from an ice floe by a boy in furs, driving a sled of dogs. Will he believe we were saved from death in this swamp by a tribal cousin of his who lives in an open-thatched house on stilts, where the whole world is green and the air like hot steam?”
“Perhaps you had better take along a picturebook about the Everglades—just in case,” Kiwal suggested tactfully. The professor and Mr. Carter roared with laughter.

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson’s great-grandmother was named Isabelle. When Isabelle was 12 years old, she was hired as a servant by a rich family. Not only did she get paid for her work, she also received dance lessons, beautiful clothing, and trips to the theater with the family.
When the family decided to move away four years later, they asked if they could adopt Isabelle. This would mean Isabelle could have nicer things and her family would have more money. However, it would also mean that Isabelle would not be raised in the Church. Isabelle’s mother decided that Isabelle should stay with her family, even though they were poor, so that she could be raised in the Church.
Sister Oscarson said she was grateful for this decision because now Isabelle’s descendants are members of the Church. (See “Be Ye Converted” from the Sunday morning session.)

Making and keeping covenants not only binds us to God and His Son but also connects us with one another. Some years ago, I was visiting Costa Rica with family and attended sacrament meeting at a local Church unit. When we entered, we were welcomed warmly by several of the members. During the meeting, we sang the sacrament hymn with the small congregation. We watched the priests prepare the sacrament and then listened as they recited the sacramental prayers. As the bread and water were passed to us, I was overwhelmed with God’s love for each one of these fellow covenant-keepers. I had not met any of them before that meeting but felt unity and kinship with them because we had all made and were striving to keep the same promises to God.

Late one Monday night when my husband and I were busily working in our home, our seven-year-old son, Sergio, appeared. “Well, nobody remembered family home evening,” he said. “I guess you’re not interested.”
My husband had come home late, and he tiredly explained that we had been too busy and still had much to do before we could turn in for the night. At that we continued with our work.
After a few moments we realized Sergio was reading his illustrated Book of Mormon Stories reader all by himself. My husband and I looked at each other and silently agreed that, even if it was late, we shouldn’t deny ourselves the chance to hold family home evening.
When we went into the living room, Sergio told us in all seriousness that we didn’t need to be concerned because he had already started his “individual home evening” and had sung a hymn, said a prayer, and now he was giving the lesson. We stayed and listened as our boy talked about the First Vision.
That night our son was a powerful missionary to us, testifying of the importance of family home evening. My husband and I realized that often we try to teach principles that we are not completely willing to obey. What a wonderful experience we would have missed if we had not participated in that individual home evening.
Cecila Lozada, Maranga Ward, Lima Perú Maranga Stake

Cayo Sopi and Anthony Linat have been friends since childhood. Cayo, a member of the Church, always hoped Anthony would join.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
Cayo:
I met Anthony a long time ago. We had just moved into the area. I went to this new school and started to make friends. Anthony was one of them. We were maybe six or seven years old. It’s funny to think about that, now that I am 26.
We were playing a game called Pog. It’s a game we play in France—I don’t know if it’s played elsewhere. While we were playing, Anthony tried to swipe one or two of my game pieces. Suddenly, we started to fight. Our teacher had to pull us apart. After that, I think we appreciated each other more. We started doing things together—playing video games, skateboarding, and cycling. Little by little, we began to spend more and more time together.
My mother always wanted our family to pray. It was part of our practice at home. Same thing with reading scriptures too. These things were ingrained in us. One night I slept over at Anthony’s place. As I prayed before bed, Anthony saw me and asked what I was doing. I don’t remember what I said exactly; I just remember we were in his room and we talked about prayer.
Anthony came a few times to my house, and he saw us read the scriptures, ask a blessing before eating, and pray as a family. He saw us sing hymns together too. I asked him once or twice to come to church. I must have seen from his reaction that he wasn’t too excited about the idea of coming to church. I told myself, “Well that’s it, I guess, and it’s too bad, but we’ll just continue to be buddies.”
Anthony:
At first I was a little distant about the Church. I didn’t understand much, and I was a bit afraid to speak with Cayo about how his family gathered together for prayer. So in the beginning I didn’t respond to invitations. But little by little, I felt good. I felt in my heart that Cayo’s family was different from other families.
Cayo:
Eventually we both moved on to other things. We lost track of each other several times over the years, but we would always bump into each other again. When we were teenagers, we became close friends again.
Anthony:
I could see that Cayo was different from my other friends. We all do dumb things as we’re growing up, but Cayo helped me choose a good path.
Cayo:
Anthony started to come to church with my family. Then things evolved naturally, the missionaries spent a lot of time with us, and Anthony became quite familiar with the Church. He knew what prayer was, he knew the hymns, he knew all that—he was just not a member.
Anthony:
From age 8 to age 18, I reflected a lot about getting baptized. But it took me a long time because I had a lot of things I needed to change in my life, even though I tried to live good principles.
At the age of 18, I met the missionaries in Cayo’s home. The missionaries taught me the lessons to prepare me for baptism. They helped me, and their message touched my heart. During this time, my mother and my little sister were introduced to the missionaries. They were baptized a few months before I was. I was baptized on March 10, 2007.
Cayo:
It took the time that it took, more than 10 years, but finally he was baptized.
It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things. After that, I went on a mission in France and we wrote to each other. Now we’re going to be separated because Anthony just became a gendarme [policeman], and he will leave to work for two to five years in Guyana, but I’m sure we’re going to stay in touch.
Anthony:
Since I joined the Church, I do what is required to stay on the strait path and to share the gospel with those around me. It’s something that’s very simple, but the gospel can be difficult for others to accept and to live. As members of the Church, we are truly different from others.
Other members of my family had trouble seeing why my mother, my sister, and I get ready for church every Sunday. I get dressed in my suit and leave at 8:30 to be to church by 9:00, and I often stay until 3:00 in the afternoon because of my calling. I enjoy visiting with other members and finding out what’s going on in their lives. I like being able to participate with the members; it’s exceptional. It’s important to have people around us who are members, to have unity, and to feel like we’re strengthening each other.
Cayo:
I believe the Lord does everything He can so we can truly, honestly, and deeply change. Becoming a Latter-day Saint and a disciple of Christ is not just a question of deciding to adopt certain attitudes; it is to witness a profound change in ourselves. I saw that change in Anthony.
Anthony:
Knowing I have a Heavenly Father comforts me. It also comforts me to know that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for us—for me.
But, in any case, I know it’s true. I also know the scriptures are true. The Book of Mormon is true. I’m convinced of it. The Church is true. We have a true prophet, Thomas S. Monson. The Twelve Apostles are truly called of God.
That’s something I didn’t understand before, and I think that, even today, I don’t understand it completely. It’s very powerful and it’s unique as an emotion.
Cayo Sopi (left) and Anthony Linat (right) walk through their neighborhood in the suburbs of Paris, France. They have been friends since childhood.
“As we got to be closer friends, I could see that Cayo was different from my other friends,” Anthony remembers. Over time, Cayo’s example helped Anthony to become more interested in the restored gospel.
Cayo and Anthony plan on staying in touch after Anthony moves to Guyana.
“Since I joined the Church,” Anthony says, “I do what is required to stay on the strait path and to share the gospel with those around me.” Sharing the gospel is “something that’s very simple,” he says.
Cayo remains grateful for the opportunity he had to share the gospel with his friend. “I believe the Lord does everything He can so we can truly, honestly, and deeply change,” Cayo says. “I saw that change in Anthony.”
Anthony says finding the gospel has been a blessing in his life. “Knowing I have a Heavenly Father comforts me,” he says. “It also comforts me to know that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ.”
“It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things,” Cayo says. It took more than 10 years for Anthony to be baptized, but in that time, Anthony gained a strong testimony.

Lisa glanced at the talent show sign-ups as she walked down the hall to math class. She paused for a second and then kept walking. No way! No more talent shows. Not after what happened last year.
Onstage—in front of everybody—she’d forgotten the words to her song!
It was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.
So why was she even thinking about putting herself through that again? What was the point? So that’s that, she decided. Not gonna happen.
At home that night, Lisa got out her violin to practice. She loved playing the new fiddle song Mom had been teaching her.
Her fingers pressed down on the strings. The square-dance song made her feet start tapping.
This would be a perfect song for the talent show, Lisa thought. But playing her violin in front of everyone sounded even scarier than singing! There were too many notes she could forget.
“That’s sounding good,” Mom said when Lisa finished the song. “Now try it faster.” Mom adjusted the metronome. The tick-tick-ticks that told Lisa how fast to play started to speed up.
Lisa concentrated on her fingering and the notes came out fast and bright. Now she really wanted to dance! Mom played some backup notes on her own violin that helped Lisa keep her place.
Suddenly Lisa had an idea. A few other kids had music teachers playing backup music for their songs. If anything could help Lisa not feel so nervous, it would be Mom playing with her.
“Mom?”
Lisa set down her violin. Mom turned off the metronome. It sounded really quiet all of a sudden.
“Yes?”
Lisa hesitated. Then she blurted out, “Would you play this with me in the talent show? You know, like how we played it just now?”
Mom grinned. “If we can both wear cowgirl hats, you’ve got a deal.”
“Yes! This will be awesome!”
Before Lisa knew it, the night of the talent show had come. She peeked from behind the curtain as her turn got closer. There was such a big crowd that people had to stand up in the back. She was frightened and excited. Fright-icited, she thought. A little of both.
“Our turn,” Mom said as she gave Lisa a quick hug.
Lisa said a quick prayer that things would go OK.
The hug and prayer helped chase away the jitters. They carefully adjusted their cowgirl hats, then walked to the center of the stage.
Mom started playing the introduction. Lisa put her bow to her violin … and messed up! She came in too soon! Was this happening again?
But Mom kept on playing, and Lisa was determined to continue. Besides, after the intro came Lisa’s favorite part. The fun section.
Listening to Mom’s steady playing, Lisa launched into the melody and started hitting the notes with more confidence.
The crowd clapped and cheered. Lisa even began tapping her feet while she played. The rest of the song flew by. It was so fun!
By the time the music ended and they took their bows, Lisa could hardly remember those few goofy notes she’d hit early in the song. Mom grabbed Lisa’s hand, and they smiled at each other. Lisa felt terrific.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, Lisa prayed silently. Thank you for giving me such a great mom.

An account of an unnamed Scandinavian Latter-day Saint father whose young son died on the journey from New York to Utah in 1866:
“With the help of a friend the little grave was dug and the remains placed therein. The child dying from a contagious disease, there were no assembled mourners, no formal ceremony, no floral emblems, no spiritual song, no word of eulogy. But ere the bereaved father departed he uttered a brief dedicatory prayer in his native language (Danish) as follows: …
“‘Heavenly Father: Thou gavest me this little treasure—this darling boy, and now thou hast called him away. Wilt thou grant that his remains may lie here undisturbed until the resurrection morn. Thy will be done. Amen.’
“And rising from the ground his parting words were:
“‘Farewell, my dear little Hans—my beautiful boy.’ Then with drooping head and aching heart he stoutly bent his way to his camping ground.”1

I have a very good friend who sends me a new tie to wear during the session I speak at each general conference. He has excellent taste, don’t you think?
My young friend has some difficult challenges. They limit him in some ways, but in other ways he is extraordinary. For example, his boldness as a missionary rivals the sons of Mosiah. The simplicity of his beliefs makes his convictions incredibly firm and steady. I believe that in Scott’s mind it’s unimaginable that everyone isn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that everyone hasn’t read the Book of Mormon and doesn’t have a testimony of its truthfulness.
Let me tell you of an event in Scott’s life when he was making his first airplane flight alone to visit his brother. A neighbor who was seated nearby overheard Scott’s conversation with the person next to him:
“Hello, my name is Scott. What is yours?”
His seatmate shared his name.
“What do you do?”
“I am an engineer.”
“That’s nice. Where do you live?”
“In Las Vegas.”
“We have a temple there. Do you know where the Mormon temple is?”
“Yes. It is a beautiful building.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should be. It is a great religion. Have you read the Book of Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. It’s a great book.”
I agree wholeheartedly with Scott—the Book of Mormon is a great book. The words of the Prophet Joseph Smith cited on the introduction page of the Book of Mormon have always resonated with me: “I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”
This year in our Sunday School classes, we are studying the Book of Mormon. As we prepare and participate, may we be motivated to follow Scott’s bold example to share our love of this special scripture with others not of our faith.
A dominant theme of the Book of Mormon is expressed in the final verse of the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Nephi writes, “But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance” (1 Nephi 1:20).
I wish to speak about how the Book of Mormon, which is a tender mercy of the Lord preserved for these latter days, delivers us by teaching us in a pure and “most correct” way the doctrine of Christ.
Many of the stories of the Book of Mormon are stories of deliverance. Lehi’s departure into the wilderness with his family was about deliverance from the destruction of Jerusalem. The story of the Jaredites is a story of deliverance, as is the story of the Mulekites. Alma the Younger was delivered from sin. Helaman’s stripling warriors were delivered in battle. Nephi and Lehi were delivered from prison. The theme of deliverance is evident throughout the entire Book of Mormon.
There are two stories in the Book of Mormon which are very similar and teach an important lesson. The first is from the book of Mosiah, starting with the 19th chapter. Here we learn of King Limhi living in the land of Nephi. The Lamanites had waged war against the people of Limhi. The result of the war was that the Lamanites would allow King Limhi to rule over his own people, but they would be in bondage to them. It was a very uneasy peace. (See Mosiah 19–20.)
When Limhi’s people had their fill of Lamanite abuses, they convinced their king to go against the Lamanites in battle. Three times Limhi’s people were defeated. Heavy burdens were laid upon them. Finally they humbled themselves and cried mightily unto the Lord that He would deliver them. (See Mosiah 21:1–14.) Verse 15 of chapter 21 tells us of the Lord’s response: “And now the Lord was slow to hear their cry because of their iniquities; nevertheless the Lord did hear their cries, and began to soften the hearts of the Lamanites that they began to ease their burdens; yet the Lord did not see fit to deliver them out of bondage.”
Soon after, Ammon and a small band of men from Zarahemla arrived, and with Gideon—one of the leaders of Limhi’s people—they worked out a plan which was successful, and they escaped from the Lamanite abuses. The Lord was slow to hear their cries. Why? Because of their iniquities.
The second story is similar in many respects but also different. The account is recorded in Mosiah 24.
Alma and his people had settled in the land of Helam, when an army of the Lamanites came into the borders of the land. They met and worked out a peaceful solution. (See Mosiah 23:25–29.) Soon the leaders of the Lamanites began to impose their will on the people of Alma and placed heavy burdens on them to bear (see Mosiah 24:8). In verse 13 we read, “And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.”
The people of Alma were delivered from the hands of the Lamanites and safely made their way back to be united with the people of Zarahemla.
What was the difference between the people of Alma and the people of King Limhi? Obviously, there were several differences: the people of Alma were peaceful and more righteous; they had already been baptized and entered into a covenant with the Lord; they humbled themselves before the Lord even before their tribulations started. All these differences made it appropriate and fair that the Lord would deliver them quickly in a miraculous way from the hand which kept them in bondage. These scriptures teach us of the Lord’s power of deliverance.
Prophecies foretelling the life and mission of Jesus Christ promise us the deliverance that He will provide. His Atonement and Resurrection provide all of us an escape from physical death and, if we repent, an escape from spiritual death, bringing with it the blessings of eternal life. The promises of the Atonement and Resurrection, the promises of deliverance from physical and spiritual death, were declared by God to Moses when He said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39).
In contrast to the beautifully designed beliefs for us in the holy scriptures, we find the opposing forces of secularism engaged in challenging the long-standing beliefs in the holy writings—writings which have given us guidance through these many centuries in defining the eternal values and standards for our conduct through life. They declare that the teachings in the Bible are false and the teachings of the Master out of date. Their voices cry that each person must have the freedom to set his or her own standards; they attempt to alter the rights of the believers, contrary to that which is taught in the scriptures and in the words of the prophets.
What a blessing it is to have the account of the mission of our Lord and Savior declared in the Book of Mormon to add a second witness to the doctrine declared in the Bible. Why is it important for the world to have both the Bible and the Book of Mormon? I believe the answer is found in the 13th chapter of 1 Nephi. Nephi records: “And the angel spake unto me, saying: These last records, which thou hast seen among the Gentiles [the Book of Mormon], shall establish the truth of the first [the Bible], which are of the twelve apostles of the Lamb, and shall make known the plain and precious things which have been taken away from them; and shall make known to all kindreds, tongues, and people, that the Lamb of God is the Son of the Eternal Father, and the Savior of the world; and that all men must come unto him, or they cannot be saved” (verse 40).
Neither the Bible nor the Book of Mormon in and of itself is sufficient. Both are necessary for us to teach and learn about the full and complete doctrine of Christ. The need for the other does not diminish either one of them. Both the Bible and the Book of Mormon are necessary for our salvation and exaltation. As President Ezra Taft Benson so powerfully taught, “When used together, the Bible and the Book of Mormon confound false doctrines” (“A New Witness for Christ,” Ensign, Nov. 1984, 8).
I want to close by noting two stories—one from the Old Testament, the other from the Book of Mormon—to show how the books work harmoniously together.
The story of Abraham begins with his deliverance from the idol-worshipping Chaldeans (see Genesis 11:27–31; Abraham 2:1–4). He and his wife Sarah were later delivered from their sorrow and promised that through their posterity all the nations of the earth would be blessed (see Genesis 18:18).
The Old Testament contains the account of Abraham taking Lot, his nephew, with him out of Egypt. Given a choice of land, Lot chose the plain of Jordan, and he pitched his tent facing Sodom, a city of great wickedness. (See Genesis 13:1–12.) Most of the problems that Lot later encountered in his life, and there were several, can be traced back to his early decision to position the door of his tent to look upon Sodom.
Abraham, the father of the faithful, experienced life differently. Certainly there were many challenges, but it was to be a blessed life. We do not know which way Abraham’s tent door faced, but there’s a strong hint in the last verse of the 13th chapter of Genesis. It reports, “Then Abram [or Abraham] removed his tent, and came and dwelt in the plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the Lord” (Genesis 13:18).
While I do not know, I personally believe the door of Abraham’s tent faced the altar he built unto the Lord. How do I draw this conclusion? It is because I know the Book of Mormon story about King Benjamin’s instructions to his people when they gathered to hear his final address. King Benjamin instructed them to position the doors of their tents facing the temple (see Mosiah 2:1–6).
We can be delivered from the ways of evil and wickedness by turning to the teachings of the holy scriptures. The Savior is the Great Deliverer, for He delivers us from death and from sin (see Romans 11:26; 2 Nephi 9:12).
I declare that Jesus is the Christ and that we can draw close to Him by reading the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. The first testaments of our Savior are the Old and New Testaments—or the Bible.
Again, let’s remember my friend Scott’s description of the Book of Mormon: “It’s a great book.” I testify to you that much of the Book of Mormon’s greatness stems from its harmony with the Holy Bible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Watch out for Apii’s feet!
With one well-placed kick, she could knock you over.

But Apii’s feet are only dangerous when she’s competing. In everyday life, Tereapii Rota, 16, of Tokorua, New Zealand, is a bright girl who serves her school as the representative to the board of trustees. But in her free time, she and her brother are trained by their father in the fine art of defense. She is so good at it that she won the junior women’s national championship in Tae Kwon Do. She was surprised by her success since it was the first time she had seriously competed.

Apii is the oldest of six children, and she and her ten-year-old brother are the most serious about training with their father. They belong to a sports club, but Apii often trains with the boys because there aren’t many women good enough to challenge her.
Although Apii is good at a rather unusual sport, her best friends are the other Laurels in her ward. “The four of us Laurels are very close. We do everything together. It’s good to have great friends,” says Apii. “We have heaps of laughs. We don’t see everything as real serious.”
Laughing a little at life has made it easier for Apii and her friends to resist the temptations that come to 16-year-olds. “I suppose the hardest thing about being 16,” says Apii, “is saying no to other people. Someone asks you to a birthday party or on a trip. Mom and Dad know what’s likely to happen. So you just have to say no. Then these people try to talk you into it. You still have to say no.” But Apii and her friends have so much fun without doing anything against the standards of the Church that it is easier for them to resist being talked into going to parties they know they shouldn’t go to.
The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”
Apii has plans to go to university and study business.
In the meantime, watch out for Apii’s flying feet.

The main reason I went to church my junior year of high school was because my parents never gave me any other option. But I had an experience that changed my life. One Sunday a new girl was in our Sunday school class. I felt prompted to slide over a few chairs and introduce myself. As we talked, I realized that Kristeen was very shy, so I took it upon myself to introduce her to our class. I assumed she had just moved into the ward, and she and I became fast friends.
A month and a half after she joined our class, I received a phone call from our ward mission leader. He told me that Kristeen and her mother were getting baptized and that Kristeen wanted me to speak at her baptism. I was floored; I thought Kristeen was a member all along. I also felt like I was the wrong person to speak on baptism, but I accepted the invitation.
To prepare for the talk, I used some scriptures on baptism, the fourth article of faith, and a good-sized chunk out of True to the Faith and called it good.
The day of Kristeen’s baptism was beautiful. She looked so confident and cheerful. I could tell she was excited and ready for baptism. Then it came time for me to speak. I’ve always felt comfortable speaking in front of large groups, so the talk seemed cohesive. Things were going well until I read Romans 6:4: “Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”
I could feel the Spirit, and I knew that I had not been keeping my baptismal covenants fully. I started crying and did my best to finish my talk. I was jealous of Kristeen, that she was going to be baptized and have the slate of her life wiped clean and renewed. But I was even more overcome by feelings of happiness for her and for her strength. She wanted to follow Christ.
How wonderful it is to know that we can be made pure by baptism and that if we fall even a little short, we can repent and be made whole again through the atoning sacrifice of Christ. I am so thankful for my Heavenly Father’s plan and for Jesus Christ and His eternal sacrifice for me. I know that if I keep trying my best and continue to repent, I can also “walk in newness of life.”

Long ago, I sought to learn physics and mathematics in my college years. I felt overwhelmed. … I began to think of quitting, of doing something easier.
I felt weak. As I prayed, I felt the quiet assurance of the Lord. I felt Him say to my mind, “I am proving you, but I am also with you.” …
I learned that my struggle with physics was actually a gift from the Lord. He was teaching me that with His help, I could do things that seemed impossible if I had the faith that He would be there to help me. Through this gift, the Lord was working to prove and strengthen me.

Archibald Stewart and his wife, Esther Lyle, are my great-great-grandparents. Archibald’s ancestors had been forced to flee from Scotland to Northern Ireland, where they had been promised protection. Instead, they again became victims of persecution.
Their love and devotion and deep religious faith made them receptive to the gospel. When the Mormon missionaries went to their house, Elizabeth, their third child, immediately felt the truthfulness of the gospel message. She began to study and search for more assurance for the things she felt within. She spent many hours telling Granny about the new prophet of God, Joseph Smith, who had brought back to earth the simple, direct message that Christ was alive and had appeared to man. Her feelings and study stirred a response in her old granny, who was the head of the Stewart household.
Elizabeth asked permission to be baptized, but because of the persecution, her parents objected. Then Granny came to her rescue: “Let the child alone. I have read all her books, and I do believe the child is right.”
As Elizabeth went to her baptism, Granny was at her side. They walked to the river, where the elders had broken a hole in the ice that wintry March day. When the elders came toward Elizabeth to baptize her, Granny stepped up and said, “Watch your manners, child; never step in front of your elders.”
The elders baptized Granny in her street clothes. She had brought no extra things to wear, so she had to walk home in her wet, frozen clothes. She said nothing about her baptism to the family but went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. After the others had gone to bed, she hung her clothing around the fireplace.
In the morning, when Archibald saw the clothes drying, he joked with the others about Granny having been “dipped” in the river along with Elizabeth. Granny listened to their fun, then said, “Archibald, if you don’t want people to hear, stop shouting so loudly. You can’t talk about Granny now, for she can hear better than any of you.”
Granny had been virtually deaf for twenty years, but not only had she not caught a cold in the icy river but her hearing had been miraculously restored. From that day until her death, she could hear distinctly.
Most of the other family members were soon baptized too.

On July 27, 2013, after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease, my life partner of 25 years passed away. Jay Eldredge was a world-renowned cardiologist. We had both served missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when we were younger but then distanced ourselves from the Church because of same-sex attraction.
Jay’s death, although not unexpected, was devastating. I felt heartbroken and lost and alone.
While driving home after making the funeral arrangements, I felt the influence of the Spirit overwhelm me so strongly that I had to pull over to the side of the road. I knew that God was speaking to me, calling me back to Him, but I was resistant. “Can’t you see that I’m suffering?” I said aloud. “I can’t face going back to church right now.”
But the more I protested, the more the Spirit pulled at me, inviting me back to church.
I was deeply worried about returning to church. I hadn’t been to a sacrament meeting in 25 years. Would they even accept me? Would I accept them? What would the bishop say? I felt anxious and unsettled and still heavy with grief.
But my testimony of the gospel had never wavered in all those years. Jay and I loved the Church and its guiding principles—namely, charity, mercy, and forgiveness. I knew that Christ was my Savior and that His Church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had known that since my conversion and baptism at the age of 14. I wasn’t about to deny that now.
Finally, after mustering the necessary courage, I called the Linwood Ward in New Jersey, USA, to find out what time sacrament meeting started.
As Sunday approached, the adversary put many obstacles in my path that could have easily prevented me from attending. How grateful I am that the Holy Ghost persisted.
I felt nervous as I entered the building, but the opening hymn in sacrament meeting reassured me that I was home again. The hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30) invited the Spirit so powerfully that tears flowed down my face. I knew in that instant that Heavenly Father was aware of me and the deep sadness I was feeling.
That hymn has become an unofficial anthem of sorts for the Church, but it has become my personal anthem as well.
“Come,” the hymn invites me. “Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day.”
My journey was hard. But grace did attend me as promised.
Bishop Darren Bird and the rest of the congregation were wonderful and welcoming. They accepted me as their brother in Christ.
The words of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” took on greater meaning to me, however, as I felt Heavenly Father directing me on how I should proceed.
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
I went west and bought a home in Fountain Hills, Arizona, USA, where I met Bishop Jerry Olson. When I requested to meet with him and shook his hand, the Spirit impressed upon me that this man would help bring me back into full activity in the Church.
As I began visiting with the bishop and embarking on this reconciliation with Heavenly Father, I witnessed many spiritual miracles. I was open with the bishop, for which he was grateful. He said that helped him better understand where I had been and where I was now in my relationship with God. He also lovingly informed me that this was the first time that he had had an opportunity to minister to someone with same-sex attraction, and he asked for my patience and forgiveness if he said or did anything to offend me throughout the process.
I thanked him for his honesty and said, “Well, this is my first time as well. We’ll learn together.”
Thus began a wonderful journey and friendship!
Soon I had an action plan on how to become a member again. I accepted the loving and prayerful counsel with a grateful heart and began the process.
Illustration by Jenna Palacios
Later, as I followed that counsel and worked hard to draw closer to Christ, I received the restoration of my priesthood and temple blessings and accepted a call to serve in the elders quorum. In the holy temple, as I communed with Heavenly Father, He showed me how much He loves all His children. I felt solace and a deep desire to please Him.
Months later, a new bishop was called, with whom I have also developed a loving friendship. Bishop Larry Radford knew of my circumstance and appreciated my service in the elders quorum, where he said I had served with love and devotion not only for the quorum but also—and more importantly—for God. His kind words and encouragement helped me feel that the Lord and my fellow Saints were pleased with my service.
I now faithfully serve as the ward clerk.
Having same-sex attraction and being an active member of the Church is not always easy. But as I put all my faith and trust in God, I can feel Him strengthening me. Critics will no doubt say that I’m not being true to who I am or that I’m disappointing the LGBT+ community.
I understand their frustration, and I obviously don’t have all the answers. I can only speak of my own experience. And that experience has taught me this: I am Heavenly Father’s son, a child of God. That’s the one and only label that matters to me. As a result, I try not to allow the world’s labels to define me. I fear that will limit my potential and eternal progression.
Satan is very clever. He knows that by using labels, he can divide us as a community and as a church.
With that perspective in mind, the choices I make are not based on my same-sex attraction but on how to be a true disciple of Christ with same-sex attraction. As Nephi said:
“O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh. …
“… I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God” (2 Nephi 4:34–35).
Throughout my return, I felt the loving companionship of my leaders and fellow Saints, including active and less-active LGBT+ members. I found a place where I could thrive. I found among them the attributes of Christ that I had always associated with my faith: mercy, compassion, understanding, and, above all, love.
As I struggled along the path with my Savior, I felt comfort and peace as I turned to Him, knowing that I wasn’t walking that path alone. Several bishops were there beside me. Members of my quorum. Sisters in the ward. I even had a young man in the ward ask me if I would ordain him a priest. His kind invitation deeply moved me. He saw me as a man who holds the priesthood of God and who can exercise that priesthood in service to others.
These opportunities to serve and worship with my fellow Saints have lifted me and—along with the many blessings I’ve received from the Lord—helped me experience the love, understanding, and acceptance that I needed.
The Savior said, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you” (John 14:18). Those words are true. I needed comforting, and He came to me, more abundantly than I could have imagined.

One Sunday, my Primary friends Rebecca and Crystal were going to another ward.
That would make me the oldest child in my Primary class. I was pleased, but two of the boys sometimes don’t respect me—maybe because I play with them too much. So I try to be a better person.
One of the two boys, Sammy,* doesn’t always pay attention in class. Sometimes he makes fun of me and makes me angry. But I decided to not get so angry. That’s how you become a better leader. Jesus Christ would not get angry if He was here. I know that Jesus is true and is our Savior. It’s hard to be a good leader, but it is good to be a leader like Jesus Christ.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.” And this young woman was teachable.

After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.

With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.

During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.

She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.

Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.

“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”

In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”

About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”

Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”

My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

As she reflected back, she said, “My testimony had become like a pile of ashes. It had all burned down. All that remained was Jesus Christ.” She continued, “But He does not leave you when you have questions. When anyone tries to keep the commandments, the door is wide open. Prayer and scripture study became incredibly important.”

Her first step to rebuild her faith was to start with basic gospel truths. She bought a Primary songbook and began reading the words of the songs. They were treasures to her. She prayed for faith to lift the heaviness she felt.

She learned that when she came up against a statement that caused her to doubt, she “could stop, look at the whole picture, and make the gospel personal.” She said, “I would ask, ‘Is this the right path for me and my family?’ Sometimes I would ask myself, ‘What do I want for my children?’ I realized I want them to have temple marriages. That’s when belief came back to my heart.”

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has said, “Humility, faith, and the influence of the Holy Spirit [will] always be elements of every quest for truth.”

Though she had questions about how the Book of Mormon came to be, she could not deny the truths she knew in the Book of Mormon. She had focused on studying the New Testament to better understand the Savior. “But eventually,” she said, “I found myself back in the Book of Mormon because I loved what I felt when reading about Jesus Christ and His Atonement.”

She concluded, “You have to have your own spiritual experiences with the truths in that book,” and she was having them. She explained, “I read in Mosiah and felt completely directed: ‘Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.’”

About this time a call came to serve as Primary pianist. “It was safe,” she said. “I wanted to have my children in Primary, and now I could be with them. And I wasn’t ready to teach yet.” As she served, she continued to feel from those around her the invitation “Come; we want you, whatever stage you are at, and we will meet you there. Give us whatever you have to offer.”

Playing the Primary songs, she often thought to herself, “Here are truths I love. I can still bear testimony. I will just say those things that I know and trust. It may not be a perfect offering of knowledge, but it will be my offering. What I focus on expands inside of me. It is beautiful to get back to the essence of the gospel and feel clarity.”

On that Sunday morning, as I listened to this young sister share the story of her journey, I was reminded that “it is upon the rock of our Redeemer” that we all must build our foundation. I was also reminded of the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: “Hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.”

Even Angel’s father, Liu Chuen Hsin, isn’t completely convinced the time his daughter spends learning the gospel is all that productive. He often questions if Angel’s time wouldn’t be better spent studying or going to the library. When Angel’s mother, Catherine, joined the Church in 1984, Angel was only seven. Although Liu Chuen Hsin didn’t object to his wife’s baptism, he had no interest in joining the Church with her. However, he did allow Angel to be baptized when she turned eight.

“My father is interesting,” Angel adds. “Sometimes he will say, ‘Since you have an exam coming up, maybe you shouldn’t go to church.’ But there are other times when he’ll tell me to hurry up because he doesn’t want me to be late for church.

“My parents have high expectations of me. My father thinks I can have a great impact on our family by continuing my education and doing well,” Angel adds. Angel is quick to point out she can also have a great impact on her family by staying active in the Church.

“In Taiwan, parents who are members of the Church set examples for their children,” says Kent Liang, a former regional representative and stake president. “They go to church and perform their callings, and the children are able to see this. But some kids whose parents aren’t members are often tempted to rest and not go to church on Sundays. And the school competition is so high that school is sometimes all they see. They think, Should I go to church or go to the library? Sometimes they don’t worry that much about church things because they don’t see that far into the future. Right now, many of the kids in Taiwan are worried only about school.”

And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”

Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles (80 km) to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

It’s a typically humid day in Jogjakarta, Indonesia, and sweat drips from Agung’s brow as he awaits his opponent’s serve. The badminton match is close, and the 15-year-old feels driven to win.
After a furious exchange, his opponent puts the shuttlecock hopelessly out of Agung’s reach. Unwilling to give up the point in such a close match, Agung dives for the shuttlecock but comes up short—and bleeding from sliding across the cement court.
It’s easy to see that he loves competitive badminton. But Agung doesn’t dream of becoming a professional badminton player. He’s not going to have to choose between serving the shuttlecock in the Olympics and serving a mission. By his own admission, he’s not particularly good at the sport.
So why does this small teen with the big smile try so hard? Hope.
“I believe I can get better,” he says.
Hope is the reason we do a lot of things. We exercise because we hope we can become stronger and healthier. We practice a musical instrument because we hope we can learn to play well. Agung practices badminton because he hopes he can improve.
“If I had no hope of getting any better and ever winning, it would be very easy to give up,” Agung says.
Hope is an essential element of the plan of salvation. Hope that we can be forgiven leads us to repent and try again after we fail to keep a commandment.
Two of Satan’s best weapons against us are doubt and discouragement. He wasn’t able to foil Heavenly Father’s plan by stopping the Atonement. But he can still try to foil the cleansing effects of the Atonement in our lives if he can steal our hope that we can be forgiven.
“Satan wants us to lose hope,” Agung says, “because when we give up, it leaves us far from Heavenly Father.”
However, when Satan succeeds in discouraging us, there are ways to find hope again.
When we need hope for the future, we can look to the past. Agung uses an example from school that has taught him this lesson. “I’ve seen that if I study hard, I can be successful on my exams,” he says. “Because of that experience, I have hope that if I practice hard, I can improve at badminton,” he says. “My experience gives me hope.”
When we need hope in Jesus Christ, we can find it in both our past experiences with the power of the Atonement (see Romans 5:4) and the experiences of others, including the experiences you might hear in sacrament meeting, a Sunday School lesson, the New Era, or the scriptures (see Jacob 4:4–6).
As we study the hopeful words of the prophets, pray for the spiritual gift of hope, and learn to recognize the Savior’s power in our lives, our faith in Him increases, as does our hope that He will help us in the future.1
Agung knows he will probably never be a professional athlete, but he knows that as long as he keeps trying, there is hope he can improve.
He has learned that the great power of hope is this: “As long as you never give up, there is hope,” he says.
In life, the Atonement of Jesus Christ is the ultimate source of hope. Because of the Atonement we can repent when we make a mistake. That also means that because of the Atonement, we have not failed our life’s test when we make a mistake unless we give up trying to repent and obey.
That’s why Agung continues to invite his father to church every Sunday. That’s why he tries to stand up for what’s right, even when his friends don’t. That’s why he makes the hour-long round-trip bike ride to the meetinghouse so often for seminary, Mutual, Sunday meetings, missionary preparation classes, and to help clean the building.
“It’s not easy to try to be like Jesus,” Agung says. “Sometimes I get discouraged, but I don’t give up. Because of His sacrifice for me, I have hope I can be better.”
Because of the Atonement there is hope. And because of hope, the Atonement can change our lives.