Gospel Story Finder

All was quiet in the Andrews household one November evening when the chemistry of calamity began to bubble.
It was innocent at first—just a minor commotion in the basement. Mom, who was writing a letter at a desk in the living room, put her pen down and anxiously looked toward the basement door. Lucy, my ninth-grade sister, pulled off her headphones. Tyler, my six-year-old brother, stopped playing with his toy cars and looked worried.
“Mom,” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, “is Dad … is he … well, you know, is he doing what I think he is doing?”
“I think so, Matt.”
“You’ve got to make him stop!” Lucy hissed desperately. “Doesn’t he know how this bothers us? I don’t want to go through all this again.”
“We’ve got to support him. I know it’s hard on all of us, but at times like these, we need to remember that we’re a family and we stick together. Your father is a good man. He just has a quirk or two, like everyone else,” Mom said slowly.
Just then, Dad burst through the doorway from the basement, a triumphant grin curling across his face. Around his neck was a camera. In one hand, he carried a tripod, in the other, his gadget bag filled with photographic filters, lenses, and film.
“I found all the gear! How about this Saturday for the family Christmas card photo?” he boomed. “Trust me. This will be the best one yet. I can feel it. What do you think?”
None of us said a word. We knew from experience that another chapter in the Andrews Family Christmas Card Catastrophe was about to be written.
Why couldn’t we be like other families when it comes to Christmas cards? Why couldn’t we actually go to a store and buy a box of cards with a drawing of a snowy forest and a sleigh filled with happy people swooshing across the countryside toward grandmother’s house, and a nice, simple message such as “Merry Christmas” scrawled on the inside? Why did we all have to huddle together and watch Dad fumble with his tripod, set the timer on the camera, and scramble back to join us before the camera clicked?
“Well, I’m sure that one was terrific, but we’ll take a few more to make sure we get a really great one,” Dad always says after the camera fires. Then we repeat the whole process over and over.
One year we went through almost two boxes of film before Dad was satisfied. Thirty-four times we had to stand up straight, say “cheese,” or “pizza” and then smile. When we got the photos back, someone looked awful in 26 of them, five were out of focus, and in three others, Dad didn’t quite get into the picture in time and all you could see was his back. We went with one of the out-of-focus shots that year, which sort of symbolizes the whole family photo ritual.
We’ve threatened mutiny. “We don’t want to do this, Dad. We’re not going to this year,” we’d say.
“But our friends tell us how much they enjoy our Christmas cards,” Dad says defensively. “They’d miss our family photo if we didn’t send it.”
Can’t argue with that. We’re probably the best Christmas entertainment around. “Has the Andrews family Christmas card come yet?” people around the city probably ask each December. “We could use a laugh.”
Lucy slipped into my room. “Thinking about the Christmas photos?” she asked.
“Yeah. Our annual collision with disaster.”
“Remember the year Dad wanted our photo taken in the mountains? He thought a background of snow and pine trees would be perfect.”
I remembered. The day we headed to the mountains, a full-scale blizzard was blowing in. The temperature was about 12 degrees, and our car slid off the road on the way home. If you look closely at the photo from that year, you can see the blue tinge to our lips, as we shivered in front of the camera.
“The year we almost died for the Christmas photo,” Lucy recalled glumly.
“That wasn’t as bad as the year we wore Santa hats and pajamas,” I said.
“A horror show,” Lucy agreed.
Actually, it was our pressed pajamas and Santa hats. Mom decided to starch and iron all our pajamas and the effect was one of my older brother, Michael, Lucy, and me (Tyler wasn’t born yet) standing stiffly at attention in our cardboard nightwear.
“Cute, Matt. You looked pretty awesome in your fire truck jammies,” teased Nick Flander, who until that moment had been my best friend.
The list of disasters is long. One year we all looked fine, except for Lucy, who had her eyes closed and mouth wide open. Or the Christmas when we used a photo from our vacation at the beach, all of us in our swimming suits.
“I thought it would be different. Kind of cute,” Dad explained.
“Beach shots don’t cut it in December,” groaned Michael that year. At least this year he’s on a mission in Great Britain and mercifully out of reach of even the longest of my Dad’s lenses.
“Is there any way out?” Lucy asked sadly.
“I don’t think so. Pray for a miracle,” I answered. “It’s our only hope.”
It was Tyler who boosted my faith in divine intervention a couple of nights later. I was upstairs, deep into a college hoops game, when he came in.
“Can we talk, Matt?”
“Always. Trouble with homework? Depressed about the ozone layer? Need some advice about girls?”
“No, I was thinking about Christmas cards.”
That got my attention. “What about them?”
Tyler sighed. “Michael.”
The light bulb that occasionally doubles as my brain flickered to life. “Yeah. Michael. He won’t be in the picture this year. Doesn’t seem right, does it, bud?”
“Nope.”
I was sensing a good angle, one that would end our hopeless holiday tradition. “I’ll talk with Dad, as soon as I catch him in a good mood, like right after he eats dessert.”
Tyler looked a little happier. And I was feeling pretty good too. A foolish tradition of my father’s was about to come to a screeching halt. Now all I had to do was convince Dad that without Michael in the picture, we weren’t quite a family.
We have a spare bedroom in our house that through the years has evolved into the music room, the library, the den, and the sewing room. When Dad is doing some serious vegging out, he heads up there, which is what he did an hour after dinner the following night. The timing felt right. I gave Tyler a thumbs up, then trudged up the stairs. Dad was sitting in an old chair, listening to ancient music from the ’70s.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” he greeted me, sounding fairly relaxed for a parent.
“Hi, Dad.” My strategy was simple: link this all up to Tyler. That way if Dad got ticked, I just tell him it’s all his last-born child’s idea, and I skate home free, since parents hardly ever get upset with the baby of the family. “Dad, can we talk about Tyler for a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“He’s worried about the Christmas card. He doesn’t think we should have a family picture this year because Michael is in London.” Then, feeling a surge of nobility, I lowered my voice and quietly said, “I kind of agree with him, Dad.”
Dad sat up in his chair. “You kids don’t really like the idea of a family photo, do you?”
“I think we’d like to try something else, something more contemporary. Like what other families do.”
He looked serious. Very serious. “Could be that I’ve had my blinders on,” he said slowly. “I’m not the best photographer in the world. I know that. I always thought the cards were kind of cute. Maybe it wasn’t the picture itself, just that we always were together in the photo. I suppose things change.”
This was too easy. “Change is good, Dad,” I reminded him, going for the jugular. “I think it says so in the Old Testament. Or Brigham Young said something like that.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his chin. “Still …”
The word still made me nervous. If there is one word that throws fear into the lives of teenagers everywhere, it is still when a parent is on the verge of making a wise and favorable decision. In this case, it signaled that Dad had not been totally swayed by my logic and eloquence. The sweet feeling of victory was slipping through my grasp.
“Still,” he repeated, and I felt doom encircling me, “let’s try one more year, at least. Michael may need it. Next year, we’ll buy boxed cards if you kids don’t want the family photo. Can you live with that, Matt?”
Partial victory, at least. One more year, then the family Christmas photo would be history.
“Okay, Dad. One more year.”
“We’ll take care of it on Saturday then.”
“But not in the mountains.”
“No, not in the mountains. I’ve got somewhere special planned.”
I didn’t even ask where. I wanted to hurry out of the room and give the news to Tyler and Lucy, before he could change his mind.
In our front yard is an old oak tree, and since we’d had a mild autumn, some of the leaves were still hanging from it. When I finally got up on Saturday and made my way downstairs, I was startled to see the tripod set up underneath the oak’s long, graceful branches. Dad’s special place was right at home. An hour later, we stood under the tree while he fiddled with his camera and made all the final adjustments.
“I hope nobody sees us out here,” Lucy whispered.
“Better than being in a blizzard,” I replied.
“Okay, everyone, straighten up. Everything is set. Here I come!” Dad said exuberantly. “Now one, two, three, everyone say, CHEESE!”
What can I say? The photo was great. It was perfect. Against all odds, defying all Andrews family tradition, Dad managed to get us in focus with our eyes open, and all of us looking natural and happy. Set against the oak tree, with our red and green sweaters and Tyler’s stocking cap, we managed to look right in step with the season.
“Guess it was bound to happen some year,” Dad mumbled, looking over the photos in an unconvincing attempt to sound humble.
“Miracles still do happen,” Mom chimed in.
“Can we send this to Michael? I think he’ll like it even if he isn’t in it,” Tyler said.
“Michael will get the very first one,” Mom promised.
We didn’t have long to wait before hearing Michael’s opinion about the Christmas card. Ten days before Christmas, a letter arrived. Mom tore it open as soon as she came in from the mailbox.
Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, Lucy, and Tyler,
I can’t tell you how neat it was to see the Christmas card photo. It looked great, even if I wasn’t part of it. Maybe I’m the reason they never seemed to turn out very well!
We’d had a rough day. It was dark, windy, and cold, and we didn’t have much luck with the work. We had so many doors slammed in our faces that my companion and I joked about needing plastic surgery to straighten out our noses. Anyway, we picked up our mail at the post after lunch, and I jammed your letter into my overcoat pocket.
It was on the bus that I opened the letter. When I saw you standing in front of the tree in our yard, I started to giggle. A woman sitting across the aisle said something about how I must be reading a nice letter. I showed her the card, and she was impressed by the photo. One thing led to another, and we’re going by her home to drop off a Book of Mormon tomorrow. Who knows if anything ever comes of it, but it wouldn’t have happened if a certain photo of a good-looking family hadn’t appeared in the mail.
Mom set down Michael’s letter. “Maybe we should try the photo again next year.”
Nobody disagreed. “But no train jammies,” I said. “I draw the line there.”
“No pajamas, Matt,” Dad nodded. “Same deal though. If the photo isn’t acceptable to everyone, we won’t use it. We’ll work hard to make it a decent picture.”
That evening, I walked into the spare room. Dad was on the floor, leafing through the family Christmas photo album. He flipped to the first page. “Look at this, Matt. See something?”
I squinted at the picture, faded after more than 20 years. “You and Mom. In front of your old car.”
“What else?”
“Well, Mom had long hair, and you had more hair …”
“Anything else?”
I studied the photo. Two people. My parents, soon after they were married. The first Andrews family Christmas card. No children back then. A long way from our family as it was today.
Or was it?
Whether it was two Andrews, six Andrews, or just five Andrews with one on a mission, it was still our family. The Christmas photo was about tradition, togetherness, the season of the year, and the way we celebrate it, and not so much the photo itself. This was a history of our family, a year at a time, right at our fingertips. An occasional brush with frostbite and teasing from our friends seemed a small price to pay for the treasure at hand. We would look through these photos someday and all laugh or cry, watching our family change from year to year. Someone would notice Michael was missing from this year’s photo and certainly say, “Oh, that was the year he was on his mission. Whatever happened to the woman he met on the bus?” What great Christmas memories.
“See anything else?” my father gently asked.
“What I see is a family, no matter how many people are there. I see a lot of what Christmas is about.”
And as I said so, for the first time, I got the distinct feeling that I was not looking at just a photo but seeing the whole picture.

My family and I were not members of the Church. One day while I was in medical school, I checked out a book from the library called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. It was written by an Apostle named Elder LeGrand Richards. The book was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I read the book over and over. I studied and prayed about it. The book prepared me to join the Church a few months later.

On a Saturday in April, Sam stopped at my house with his old wrestling shoes hanging by their laces around his neck. Dad cranked the Ford, and it fired on the second turn and sputtered to life. We all climbed in for the ride to Sparwood.
“Who you boys wrestling tonight?” asked Dad as we drove by the coke ovens on the way out of town. Cold air was rushing through the floorboards and swimming around my feet.
“Ed said he’s bringing a truckload of kids from the coast,” said Sam, turning sideways in the front passenger seat. I noticed then that he had a pack of cigarettes stuffed in his shirt pocket. Dad noticed too.
“Good,” said Dad half-heartedly. “That’ll be … er, a change.”
We nodded, waiting to see if Dad was going to talk religion. He was.
“Sam,” he said, “were you ever baptized in your church?”
“Don’t know that I ever had a church,” Sam replied. “We went to the United once, when my mom’s family was in town, but …”
Dad interrupted, “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just our Church believes in baptism, but a lot of religions do it differently. I was just wondering how you were baptized.”
I rolled my eyes. Dad was so obvious.
“I …” Sam didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure Jed told you all this, but when Mormons are baptized and confirmed they take upon them the name of Jesus Christ. And we believe a person must be completely immersed in water, not just a sprinkling over the head.”
Sam looked back at me. I hadn’t told him anything about baptism. I couldn’t read his face, but I guessed he was wondering where this conversation was going.
“Hmmm, interesting,” was what he picked to say.
We reached the bottom of the border pass, and Dad revved the engine to get the Ford up the facing hill. It was a steep climb, and the old car slowed to a crawl. Dad talked to it all the way up, patting it on the dashboard like a horse, and promising it a sugar cube if it made it up without quitting. We laughed. Dad was usually full of jokes, except when he talked religion.
The mountain pass got steeper just as we reached the snow line. Suddenly, a burst of steam blew from under the hood. The car shook and thumped, and Dad pulled it over to the side only a few hundred yards from the top. He shut it off and pulled the park brake. We all climbed out while Dad found his water jug in the trunk.
“Jed,” Dad said to me as he grabbed a rag and pushed down on the radiator cap, “What does it mean to take upon you the name of Jesus Christ?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Pray. Read the scriptures.” It was the answer we gave in Sunday School every week to every question. It was also the answer I gave Dad every time he asked a religious question in front of Sam.
Sam chuckled.
“Thanks for the effort,” said Dad, and he twisted the cap. We all jumped back to let the steam hiss out of the brass radiator. While we waited for it to cool, Dad asked, “Could you give it a bit more thought?”
I sighed. “It means being good. Doing stuff that you’d do in front of the Savior, if he was here with us.”
“That’s better. It also means we are representatives of the Savior on earth, which is a pretty big responsibility.”
“Why are we talking about this?” I asked, upset that Dad was distracting us from wrestling and fixing the car.
“Because I want to ask Sam something.” He poured water into the radiator slowly and then tossed the water jug back in the trunk. On his way back, he reached into the front seat and pulled a copy of the Book of Mormon from a paper sack.
“You’ve come to church with us a lot, Sam,” said Dad. “And I think it’s time that you found out if what we are doing is true.” He handed the book to Sam.
“This was my first copy,” Dad said. “My dad gave it to me when I was a bit younger than you.”
We all stared at the battered book. I felt an ache of jealousy that Dad was giving my friend something that should have gone to me. I didn’t even have my own copy. I couldn’t help being resentful.
“Would you read it?” asked Dad.
Sam shrugged and stuffed the book into his pocket. Then we stood awkwardly for a few minutes until Dad decided the radiator was cool enough to continue.
“I’m going to try going over alone,” he said. “I’ve seen Sam thrown to the mat enough to know his head is full of rocks. I think the dead weight is slowing us down. I’ll see you at the top.”
He cranked the car, and it fired. He drove back down the hill and up for the far rise. A minute later we turned to see the Ford racing up the hill toward us, revving with an increasingly deafening roar. It passed us but slowly. We ran to catch up and put our shoulders to give a good push.
At the top, Dad stopped the car and let it idle. Then we all stood in front and stared down at the green and white Elk Valley, the far side climbing peak after peak into the golden horizon. Sam and I were anxious to get to the competition, but we stood there with Dad, looking at the view for a minute.
Dad finally broke the silence. “Thanks for the push, rock head,” he said to Sam.
“No problem.”
“Sometimes you need a little help in life.” Dad reached over and patted the book in Sam’s shirt pocket. “There’s help in there. In fact, just about all the answers to life’s questions are in those pages. And I know you’ve got questions.”
Sam nodded but didn’t say anything.
That night Sam won on points over a tough red-haired kid from the coast and then had an easy time pinning a local guy he’d beaten many times. I was almost pinned in my first match by a little kid who was quick as a gunshot. But the second match, I got paired with a Crowsnest kid from our Consolidated High School whom I’d beaten before. He was a good wrestler but had dislocated his shoulder once and couldn’t go left. We were in a clinch late in the second when I shot at his strong leg and was able to lift him off balance and trip him to the mat. His back was exposed, but before I could finish him off, he spun free. Still, the move gave me enough points to win the match.
Dad didn’t say much, but he patted Sam on the shoulder and said something funny as we left the gym.

The subject in the family relations class I taught in my ward Sunday School was how to communicate with teenagers. When I asked the class members—all parents of teenagers—to identify the most important issues or concerns they had in dealing with young people, the question at the top of the list was: “How can I get my son or daughter to talk with me? I know they are facing problems that worry and trouble them, but when I ask them ‘What is the matter?’ they respond with something like ‘Nothing,’ or ‘You wouldn’t understand.’”
These parents also identified a wide range of other issues and concerns, but the consensus was, “If we could just talk over all these things, we might be able to help our teenagers cope better with the problems in their world.”
Is there anything parents can do to improve communication with their teenagers?
First, parents need to remember that children rarely initiate discussions on matters of concern, then ask for parental advice. I asked the parents in my class how many of them, as teenagers, had gone to their parents to talk over problems. Most had never done it. I asked why. The answers: “I was afraid it would embarrass me and my parents,” “I didn’t think they would understand,” and “They would have told me that I worried too much, or that everything was going to turn out just fine.”
One father reported that he had asked his teenage son, “Why don’t you ever come to me to talk over your problems?”
The son had answered, “Did you ever talk things over with your dad?”
“No,” the man replied.
His son said: “Things aren’t so different now.”
If teens don’t come to discuss serious things with parents, what can parents do? A common strategy is to try to get the young people to “open up.” This usually results in questions they interpret as prying. “Why are you so moody?”
“What happened at school today?” “Why did you get such a poor grade on that test?”
A better approach is to find an opportunity to share your own experiences with your son or daughter. The young people may not talk much, but they will usually listen with interest if you talk about how you felt when you failed an exam, or didn’t get a date, or disliked your math teacher, or didn’t get invited to a party. Just talk and share; let them know about you and learn what they will from your experiences.
Two mothers in my class tried this, with somewhat different results. One knew her son was upset because he had not done as well as he wanted on a school project and in a musical program for which he had to play an instrument. She found occasion to talk about how miserable she had been when she got a bad grade, feeling down on herself; but she had finally accepted the fact that she could not always be perfect. She told him she knew that he probably got some of his perfectionism from her, and she hoped he would be able to deal with mistakes better than she had. Her son listened with interest and afterward said, “Thanks, Mom, that was a real help.”
The other mother said she had tried to talk with her son about some of her experiences as a teenager and had told him she had felt that sometimes her parents and teachers didn’t understand what she was going through. When she finished, her son asked, “Is that all?” She said yes, and he left without another word.
She interpreted his response as rejection and felt that what she had said to him had no impact at all. My own feeling is that he may have been impressed more than she knew; at least he listened all the way through and did not become defensive, as often happened when she asked him questions or lectured.

His contribution to the Reader’s Digest, where he casts himself as the sailor, reads in part:
“The Right Time at Home:
“One evening in Albany, New York, I asked a sailor what time it was. He pulled out a huge watch and replied, ‘It’s 7:20.’ I knew it was later. ‘Your watch has stopped, hasn’t it?’ I asked.
“‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m still on Mountain Standard Time. I’m from southern Utah. When I joined the Navy, Pa gave me this watch. He said it’d help me remember home.
“‘When my watch says 5 a.m. I know Dad is rollin’ out to milk the cows. And any night when it says 7:30 I know the whole family’s around a well-spread table, and Dad’s thankin’ God for what’s on it and askin’ Him to watch over me … ,’ he concluded. ‘I can find out what time it is where I am easy enough. What I want to know is what time it is in Utah.’”8

Last October, I was assigned, along with President M. Russell Ballard and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, to visit the United Kingdom, where all three of us served as young missionaries. We had the privilege of teaching and testifying, as well as reliving early Church history in the British Isles, where my great-great-grandfather Heber C. Kimball and his associates were the first missionaries.
President Russell M. Nelson, teasing us about this assignment, noted that it was unusual to assign three Apostles to visit the area where they had served as missionaries in their youth. He acknowledged that all desire to be assigned to visit their original mission. With a big smile on his face, he succinctly explained the precedent that if there is another set of three Apostles who served in the same mission over 60 years ago, then they also may receive a similar assignment.
In preparation for that assignment, I reread the Life of Heber C. Kimball, written by his grandson Orson F. Whitney, who later was called to the apostleship. This volume was given to me by my precious mother when I was almost seven years old. We were preparing to attend the dedication of the This Is the Place Monument on July 24, 1947, by President George Albert Smith. She wanted me to know more about my ancestor Heber C. Kimball.
This book contains a profound statement attributed to President Kimball that has significance for our day. Before sharing the statement, let me provide a little background.
While the Prophet Joseph Smith was incarcerated in Liberty Jail, Apostles Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball had the responsibility, under terribly adverse circumstances, of overseeing the evacuation of the Saints from Missouri. The evacuation was required in large part because of the extermination order issued by Governor Lilburn W. Boggs.
Almost 30 years later Heber C. Kimball, then in the First Presidency, reflecting on this history with a new generation, taught, “Let me say to you, that many of you will see the time when you will have all the trouble, trial and persecution that you can stand, and plenty of opportunities to show that you are true to God and His work.”
Heber continued: “To meet the difficulties that are coming, it will be necessary for you to have a knowledge of the truth of this work for yourselves. The difficulties will be of such a character that the man or woman who does not possess this personal knowledge or witness will fall. If you have not got the testimony, live right and call upon the Lord and cease not [until] you [attain] it. If you do not you will not stand. … The time will come when no man nor woman will be able to endure on borrowed light. Each will have to be guided by the light within himself. … If you don’t have it you will not stand; therefore seek for the testimony of Jesus and cleave to it, that when the trying time comes you may not stumble and fall.”
We each need a personal testimony of God’s work and the seminal role of Jesus Christ. The 76th section of the Doctrine and Covenants refers to the three degrees of glory and compares the celestial glory to the sun. It then compares the terrestrial kingdom to the moon.
It is interesting that the sun has its own light, but the moon is reflected light or “borrowed light.” Speaking of the terrestrial kingdom, verse 79 states, “These are they who are not valiant in the testimony of Jesus.” We cannot obtain the celestial kingdom and live with God the Father on borrowed light; we need our own testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel.
We live in a world where iniquity abounds and hearts turn from God because of the precepts of men. One of the most compelling examples in the scriptures of Heber C. Kimball’s concerns about seeking a testimony of God’s work and Jesus Christ is set forth in Alma’s counsel to his three sons—Helaman, Shiblon, and Corianton. Two of his sons had been true to God and His work. But one son had made some bad decisions. To me the greatest significance of Alma’s counsel is that he was imparting it as a father for the benefit of his own children.
Alma’s first concern, like Heber C. Kimball’s, was that each have a testimony of Jesus Christ and be true to God and His work.
In Alma’s remarkable teaching to his son Helaman, he makes a profound promise that those who “put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.”
While Alma had received a manifestation where he saw an angel, this is rare. Impressions made by the Holy Ghost are more typical. These impressions can be equally as important as angelic manifestations. President Joseph Fielding Smith taught: “Impressions on the soul that come from the Holy Ghost are far more significant than a vision. When Spirit speaks to spirit, the imprint upon the soul is far more difficult to erase.”
This leads us to Alma’s counsel to his second son, Shiblon. Shiblon was righteous, like his brother Helaman. The counsel I want to emphasize is Alma 38:12, which reads in part, “See that ye bridle all your passions, that ye may be filled with love.”
Bridle is an interesting word. When we ride a horse, we use the bridle to guide it. A good synonym might be to direct, control, or restrain. The Old Testament tells us we shouted for joy when we learned we would have physical bodies. The body is not evil—it is beautiful and essential—but some passions, if not used properly and appropriately bridled, can separate us from God and His work and adversely impact our testimony.
Let’s talk about two passions in particular—first, anger, and second, lust. It is interesting that both left unbridled or uncontrolled can cause great heartache, diminish the influence of the Spirit, and separate us from God and His work. The adversary takes every opportunity to fill our lives with images of violence and immorality.
In some families, it is not uncommon for an angry husband or wife to hit a spouse or a child. In July, I participated in a United Kingdom All-Party Parliamentary forum in London. Violence against women and youth was highlighted as a significant worldwide problem. In addition to violence, others have engaged in verbal abuse. The proclamation on the family tells us those “who abuse spouse or offspring … will one day stand accountable before God.”
President Nelson strongly emphasized this yesterday morning. Please make up your mind that regardless of whether your parents did or did not abuse you, you will not physically or verbally or emotionally abuse your spouse or children.
In our day one of the most significant challenges is contention and verbal abuse related to societal issues. In many cases anger and abusive language have replaced reason, discussion, and civility. Many have abandoned the admonition of the Savior’s senior Apostle, Peter, to seek Christlike qualities such as temperance, patience, godliness, brotherly kindness, and charity. They have also abandoned the Christlike quality of humility.
In addition to controlling anger and bridling other passions, we need to lead pure moral lives by controlling our thoughts, language, and actions. We need to avoid pornography, evaluate the appropriateness of what we are streaming in our homes, and avoid every form of sinful conduct.
This brings us to Alma’s counsel to his son Corianton. Unlike his brothers, Helaman and Shiblon, Corianton engaged in moral transgression.
Because Corianton had engaged in immorality, it was necessary for Alma to teach him about repentance. He had to teach him the seriousness of sin and then how to repent.
So Alma’s preventive counsel was to bridle passions, but his counsel for those who have transgressed was to repent. President Nelson gave members profound counsel on repentance at the April 2019 general conference. He made it clear that daily repentance is integral to our lives. “Repentance is not an event; it is a process. It is the key to happiness and peace of mind,” he taught. “Daily repentance is the pathway to purity, and purity brings power.” If Corianton had done what President Nelson counseled, he would have repented as soon as he had begun to entertain impure thoughts. Major transgressions would not have occurred.
The concluding counsel that Alma gave to his sons is some of the most important doctrine in all the scriptures. It relates to the Atonement wrought by Jesus Christ.
Alma testified that Christ would take away sin. Without the Savior’s Atonement, the eternal principle of justice would require punishment. Because of the Savior’s Atonement, mercy can prevail for those who have repented, and it can allow them to return to the presence of God. We would do well to ponder this wonderful doctrine.
None can return to God by his or her own good works alone; we all need the benefit of the Savior’s sacrifice. All have sinned, and it is only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that we can obtain mercy and live with God.
Alma also gave wonderful counsel to Corianton for all of us who have gone through or will go through the repentance process, regardless of whether the sins are small or as severe as those committed by Corianton. Verse 29 of Alma 42 reads, “And now, my son, I desire that ye should let these things trouble you no more, and only let your sins trouble you, with that trouble which shall bring you down unto repentance.”
Corianton heeded Alma’s counsel and both repented and served honorably. Because of the Savior’s Atonement, healing is available to all.
In Alma’s day, in Heber’s day, and certainly in our day, we all need to seek our own testimony of Jesus Christ, bridle our passions, repent of our sins, and find peace through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and be true to God and His work.
In a recent talk and again this morning, President Russell M. Nelson said it this way: “I plead with you to take charge of your testimony of Jesus Christ. Work for it. Own it. Care for it. Nurture it so that it will grow. Then watch for miracles to happen in your life.”
I am grateful that we will now hear from President Nelson. I testify that President Nelson is the Lord’s prophet for our day. I love and treasure the marvelous inspiration and guidance we receive through him.
As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, I bear my sure witness of the Savior’s divinity and the reality of His Atonement in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Dee Dee Floyd of the Camden Branch, Little Rock Arkansas Stake, is an outstanding example of commitment to her principles.
Dee Dee was the only LDS student at her school for three years. Since her branch did not have enough youth to hold seminary, her mother drove her to another branch an hour away in order for her to attend seminary each week. She served as stake seminary secretary her second year.
This year Dee Dee earned her Young Womanhood Recognition and serves as president of her Laurel class, which now has three young women.
In school, Dee Dee is on the tennis team, has been a class officer and cheerleader, and is in madrigal choir. She was the only student selected for all-state choir.
About her Church membership, Dee Dee says, “The gospel has become a source of strength in my life. Without the gospel and its teachings, I would most likely be a different person than I am now.”

Impressed with President Lee’s leadership and faced with economic desperation throughout the Church, the First Presidency asked him one morning in 1935 to lead a new welfare movement to, as he recalled, “help to put the Church in a position where it could take care of its own needy.”
He immediately turned to the Lord for direction. “After that morning I rode in my car … up to the head of City Creek Canyon into what was then called Rotary Park; and there, all by myself, I offered one of the most humble prayers of my life. …
“As I kneeled down, my petition was, ‘What kind of an organization should be set up in order to accomplish what the Presidency has assigned?’ And there came to me on that glorious morning one of the most heavenly realizations of the power of the priesthood of God. It was as though something were saying to me, ‘There is no new organization necessary to take care of the needs of this people. All that is necessary is to put the priesthood of God to work. There is nothing else that you need as a substitute.’”
Soon stake farms were established, factories and storehouses built, and needy Church members put to work under the direction of the priesthood—all a direct result of the understanding communicated through the Spirit to Harold B. Lee.

I would like to tell you a baseball story. The event of which I speak occurred in the World Series of 1912. It was the last game, and the score was tied 1–1. The Boston Red Sox were at bat, the New York Giants in the field. A Boston batter knocked a high-arching fly. Two New York players ran for it. Center fielder Fred Snodgrass signaled that he would take it. He came squarely under the ball, which fell into his glove—then went right through his hands and fell to the ground! The roaring fans couldn’t believe it. He had caught hundreds of fly balls before. But now, at this crucial moment, he had dropped the ball. The Boston Red Sox won the series.
Snodgrass played brilliant ball for nine more years. But after that one slip, when he was introduced to anybody, the expected response was, “Oh, yes, you’re the one who dropped the ball.”

About seven years ago, when I was 29, I moved to Utah from Oregon, USA. After weighing my options, I decided to attend my local family ward, thinking I needed a change from the singles wards I had attended.
My parents raised me to always accept Church callings, so I made an appointment with the bishop to present myself as someone who wanted to be put to work. It wasn’t long before I found myself teaching the five-year-olds in Primary, which I enjoyed. Five months later the bishop called me to be Primary president. I was stunned. “Can I do that?” I asked myself.
Being single and childless made me wonder if I was qualified to serve in that capacity. In my past experience with family wards, Primary presidents were happily married, accomplished, and devoted mothers. Remembering what my parents had taught me, however, I accepted the new assignment. The bishop truly took to heart the mandate that bishops are to “find meaningful callings for all young single adults.”1 The calling may have been a little more meaningful than I was expecting, but I was grateful for it.
As I served in my new calling, I experienced many sweet, funny, and inspiring moments with the children. One year, during Christmastime, we reenacted the Nativity for a special sharing time. We sang songs. We furnished robes and towel headdresses for the shepherds and for Joseph. We had tinsel garlands for the angels’ heads. We made cardboard and foil-covered crowns for the Wise Men.
As we reenacted the Christmas story and sang the sacred songs of the season, I noticed the beautiful young girl who was portraying Mary. Her example of reverence and gentleness as she knelt, quietly holding the doll that represented the baby Jesus, touched my heart. The spirit of that moment made me thankful to a loving Heavenly Father for our Savior and helped strengthen my testimony of His profound and loving mission. It also made me thankful for the tremendous blessing I had received in being called to serve and for an inspired bishop who helped to make that service possible.
In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read, “Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (D&C 4:3). Though this verse is usually associated with missionary work, I like to think that it can refer to any form of gospel-based service.
Regardless of marital or social status, each of us is first and foremost a child of a loving Heavenly Father, who wants us to grow, belong, develop our talents, serve one another, and help one another return to Him.
The acceptance and love I felt in that ward was instantaneous and remains in my heart to this day. My desire to serve was recognized and utilized, many people reached out and welcomed me, and Heavenly Father truly blessed me. Because of kind and attentive leaders, I was blessed to teach and learn from some of His most wonderful children.

When I was two years old, my father died, leaving my mother and six children. My oldest brother, Lincoln, was seventeen at the time and was still in high school.
When he graduated, Lincoln began working full time to support us. He never complained about having to work so hard at such a young age or about not being able to go to college or serve a mission, both of which he wanted so much. Lincoln was always dependable and faithful, and later in life he managed a business and served as a wonderful stake president and mission president. Many people loved him because of his character and his cheerful, gracious personality.
It was Lincoln who taught me how important it is to feel needed.

Have you ever had a heart-wrenching question for God? Maybe a time when the gospel answers other people offered weren’t enough, or when usual sources of spiritual clarity—like scriptures and conference talks—were more confusing than helpful? I’ve experienced that before. Here’s what I learned from grappling with one long-held gospel question. I hope something in this story helps you in your quest for truth.
The root of my question had to do with God’s blessings. Matthew 7:7–8 says:
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:
“For every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”
Here was my problem: It seems to me that God does not give us everything we ask for! Sometimes we put a lot of effort into something—almost as if we’re “knocking” as hard as we can—and rather than being met with an open door, we’re met with disappointment. How do we reconcile those mortal experiences with these prophetic words?
This question tasted especially bitter during the tougher seasons of life. Like when I experienced medical problems and hospital visits instead of the good health I prayed for. Or when I struggled with feelings of loneliness while watching friends and siblings find companionship. Even though I had plenty to be grateful for, questions about absent blessings remained heavy in my heart. Where was the simple “ask and receive” relationship the scriptures promised? During one period of time in particular, I felt especially betrayed by God. I found myself questioning if the scriptures were true, and if it was worth it to keep going to church and remain temple worthy.
I realized that I had a decision to make.
I would be lying if I said that I just decided to be faithful and that “gospel grit” alone got me through. The truth is that I was fortunate to have supportive friends and family members who encouraged my faith, even when they weren’t aware that I was struggling. I was lucky that my employment was a faith-tolerant atmosphere instead of a toxic one. And I was blessed with callings that helped me remain involved in my ward without being overwhelming. My heart aches for people who don’t have a similar combination of positive circumstances to help them get through periods of doubt. With all this help and a desire in my heart to understand the truth about God, I decided to remain active in the Church, even though it was painful at times.
Over time, I learned an important lesson: God had created me with two hands, each capable of holding something at the same time. Spiritually speaking, just because I had “picked up” a doubt or question in one hand didn’t mean that I had to let go of all the gospel truths I held in my other hand. It often felt like I was metaphorically holding on to the iron rod and pressing forward while dragging these questions behind me. But I didn’t really see an alternative. I didn’t want to ignore the questions I had, and I also couldn’t deny the spiritual truths I already knew. So, although it was exhausting, I found ways to honor both parts of my feelings.
For example, when Sunday Church meetings seemed incredibly draining, I decided to stay only long enough to take the sacrament, committing that I would always show up at least for that ordinance. When scripture study became a source of frustration, I decided to just read Psalms or other verses that were comforting to my soul. And please don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting that we adopt these as longtime habits or look for reasons to excuse ourselves from what prophets and apostles have recommended. But this allowed me, during that particular season, to remain close to God while exploring my questions with an open heart. The whole time, I pleaded in prayer for increased understanding.
Time passed. I got better at gripping the iron rod more tightly while holding my doubts more loosely. Church, scripture study, and prayer became easier to participate in once more. And eventually, a couple of specific life events helped lead me to the answer I was searching for.
The first event was an intense health challenge, including long periods where I struggled to digest meals, and food seemed like an enemy I was forced to live with each day. It was an extremely frustrating situation. Little did I know that this trial would help me recognize a precious truth. The second event that helped me discover my long-awaited answer was hearing a Church leader invite us to study the scriptures topically. As I thought about which topic to study, I felt impressed to study food in the scriptures.
As I used the Topical Guide to read every verse about food that I could find, I was led to Matthew 7—one of the chapters with the “ask and receive” promise that had always seemed so confusing. But this time, I was reading these verses with food and nutrition in mind. Verses 9–11 say:
“Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
“Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?
“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?”
I thought about how those verses describe God as a giver of nourishment. And then it dawned on me. All my life, I had read the “ask and receive” promise with a modern mindset. As I read about the child asking for a fish, I pictured my friend’s daughter begging for a pet puppy. But these verses aren’t talking about childish wants. They’re talking about essential nourishment—bread and fish, sources of food. These verses aren’t telling us that God will give us whatever we want and ask Him for. They are teaching us that God will give us whatever we need and ask Him for. He will always nourish His children, strengthening them enough to face the challenges that come their way.
After I made that connection, Matthew 7 finally fit in perfectly with my understanding of God and His plan of happiness. I have come to see that when the scriptures invite us to knock and promise that a door will be opened, the doorway they are talking about is not a magical portal to an easier life. Instead, it’s more like a doorway to a roadside soup kitchen, which will appear wherever we are along our mortal journey. If we enter that doorway, we will find the Bread of Life and Living Water, He who provided fish for His disciples and promises us an eventual land of milk and honey.
Years ago, Matthew 7 was a source of pain and confusion. But today, those same verses are a source of joy. Not only do they remind me of what I’ve learned about the nourishment that God and Jesus offer, they also remind me of what I’ve learned about grappling with gospel questions.
I still have unanswered gospel questions. And you know what? I bet I will throughout the rest of my life. But as I carry those questions, I will never give up holding on to what I know is true. I trust now more than ever that God will reveal His answers when we are prepared to receive them—either collectively as a Church or individually as His children. And most of all, I hope we can be compassionate to those around us who are struggling.
If you are struggling, don’t give up hope. Answers will come. One day, we will see all promises fulfilled. I look forward to the time described in Revelations 21:4, which says, “God shall wipe away all tears from [our] eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

Before joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was confused about facts pertaining to life—the origin of man, the purpose of our existence, and our destination after death. Frustrated with trying to find answers to these and other basic mysteries of life, I persuaded myself that God didn’t exist. During high school I stopped attending the Orthodox Church. I was attending boarding school, so my parents were not there to take me to church. I felt I needed a rest from the worries pertaining to these ambiguities since there were no agreeable answers anywhere. I also stopped relying upon the Bible as the word of God since those who professed its teachings didn’t agree upon its meaning and couldn’t provide satisfactory answers to my questions. This remained my state of belief for six years or more, until I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon for the first time. By then I was 21 years old and was nearing graduation from university.
When I opened the Book of Mormon, I felt something pure and divine. It was a strange but familiar feeling, yet I had never experienced or remembered feeling that way. It was reassuring, affirmative and desirable. The impression was calm, warm, and sobering and seemed to enlighten my mind. I loved and enjoyed every bit of it and the desire to continue this enjoyment made me study the book daily despite my upcoming final year examinations. I would rather read The Book of Mormon than my school books. Academic studies became a burden while studying the Book of Mormon remained a joyful activity.
The Book of Mormon provided answers to most of my queries, but beyond that, it also invited into my soul, a feeling of awe, reverence and respect for the things of God. This was obviously a manifestation of the existence of a Supreme Being. Within a few days of studying the record, I knew there was a God. I could feel His presence each time I read the sacred book. I didn’t hesitate to rethink my prior opinion about His existential reality. I knew that God lived. In addition, I knew the actuality of a Savior of mankind and His atoning sacrifice. This I had been taught as a child, but my many unanswered questions had dispelled my belief in that truth. I knew that Jesus Christ lived and that He is truly the Son of God and the Savior of the world. I comprehended that He loved me. I felt deep love and gratitude to Him and especially for His atoning sacrifice. I was willing to do whatever He would require of me to be His disciple and friend. The Book of Mormon often referred to Him as the Lamb of God and I understood what that meant and the importance of His blood in atoning for our sins.
As I studied the Book of Mormon, my love for the records and for Joseph Smith, the translator, grew. I had great respect for him. I knew he was a prophet of God and that the Book of Mormon he translated was true. From the Book of Mormon, I learned in clear terms where the spirits of men go when they die and the state of the soul between death and the Resurrection—one of the many questions that bothered me from childhood and which no one ever satisfactorily answered until I read the words of Alma. (See Alma 40.)
My discovery and realization that the many witnesses of God and Jesus Christ as contained in the Book of Mormon helped me re-believe that the Bible, which I had discontinued reading long ago, was also the word of God. The Book of Mormon rekindled my belief in the Bible and led me eventually to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There I was baptized, confirmed, and received the Melchizedek Priesthood. After my graduation from the university, I served a full-time mission, eventually received my endowment, and got married to my beloved wife in the temple.
By honoring covenants made with Heavenly Father in and out of the temple, I feel an ever-increasing measure of the presence of the light, peace and warmth I felt the very first day I read The Book of Mormon. I later learned this tender feeling was the influence of the Holy Ghost confirming to me that the record was true. This gift which all new converts receive as a constant companion upon their confirmation as members of the Church has remained a reliable influence to provide the needed comfort, guidance, enlightenment and inspiration as I search the scriptures and seek answers to my prayers. President Russell M. Nelson taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”

During my senior year of high school, I prayed for the Spirit to lead me to someone ready to hear the gospel. I had a friend in mind as I prayed. This friend of mine, Ashley (name has been changed), had expressed some interest in my religion, and she already held herself to the same standards as Latter-day Saint youth. I was convinced this was the time she needed to hear the gospel.
I was serving in my Laurel class presidency at the time, and during a bishopric youth committee meeting, I received a strong impression to suggest to the bishop that we have a missionary activity in Mutual. I felt impressed that the youth of our ward should invite nonmember friends to this activity for a question-and-answer session with the missionaries serving in our ward. My bishop enthusiastically set up the activity with the elders, and I was sure that this was the answer I had been praying for. Now Ashley could come and learn more about the gospel in an environment where she would not feel any pressure. I was confident that after Ashley came to the question-and-answer activity, she would be touched by the Spirit, ask to receive the missionary lessons, and in about a month would be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
Now my prayers turned to how to ask Ashley to the activity. I prayed to serve as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to introduce His plan and gospel to someone prepared to receive it. At school I invited Ashley to the activity, and she said she would ask her parents if it was all right with them.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Ashley. She told me her parents were definitely OK with it. In fact, she explained that before her parents married, her father had lived with two LDS roommates and was very impressed with how they lived. I was overjoyed because the only obstacle I had envisioned was whether or not Ashley’s parents would be OK with her pursuing another religion.
As I continued to pray about the upcoming missionary activity, I felt a calm reassurance that I was indeed an instrument in the hands of the Lord and that He was pleased I had acted on the prompting at the bishopric youth committee meeting. I looked forward to the activity with great anticipation. Ashley and I had been friends for many years, and I was excited to play a part in her introduction to the gospel and, of course, her resulting conversion.
On the morning of the activity, I received a phone call from Ashley. She had changed her mind and was no longer planning to come to the activity. I was devastated and confused. I had been praying for Ashley, I was sure she was ready, and she was the whole reason I had thrown myself into missionary mode. I also felt embarrassed. During the activity planning process, I had made it very clear to everyone that my friend Ashley was ready to learn and accept the gospel.
As I cried with frustration in my room, I began to be filled with self-doubt. If I had been wrong about Ashley, then maybe I had been wrong in believing that the missionary question-and-answer activity was actually a spiritual prompting. Engulfed in a teenage sense of uncertainty, anger, self-pity, and disappointment, I decided to skip the activity myself.
A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.
In quiet amazement I realized that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was using me as an instrument in His hands to find someone He had prepared to hear and accept the gospel. It had never occurred to me to invite Brian to meet the missionaries because he did not seem, in my opinion, ready. Not like Ashley.
At that humbling moment I realized how vital it is that I act on all promptings I receive by the Spirit. Although I continue to pray that Ashley will be ready for the gospel, I learned a significant lesson from the unexpected outcome of my attempt at sharing the gospel with her. The Lord always has a purpose for the promptings He gives us, and I do not need to know or guess what it is. Instead, it is my responsibility to carry out the prompting confidently and resolutely. As I pray for missionary opportunities, act on promptings, and accept the Lord’s will, rather than trying to impose my own, I can more fully serve as an instrument in the hands of God and help build His kingdom.

When was the last time an adult looked at you, smiled, and wistfully said something like, “Oh, I’d love to be young again, like you. Your life is so carefree.”
How long did it take for you to stop laughing?
Most youth in the Church are busy with seminary, school, Church callings, family activities, homework, recreation, employment, and volunteer work. With all the running around you do, wouldn’t it be nice to get away from it all? Picture a tropical island with warm white sand, gentle surf, and palm trees swaying gently in the background. Can’t you almost feel the sunshine on your face? As you drift off to sleep under the tropical sun, you might think something like, I could live in a place like this.
Well, some people do. Nassau, Bahamas, is a paradise that some people call home. It never gets cold there. Seafood is fresh and abundant. Dolphins frolic in crystal blue water. Plants that would wither and die most places burst into huge blooms in hues of pink, purple, and orange, gently perfuming the air with their scent. Music can almost always be heard playing somewhere in the distance.
The youth in the Bahamas do enjoy their beautiful climate and surroundings, but they’re not immune to the pressures of everyday life. They know that true peace doesn’t come from music or food or even sunshine. It comes from living a good life by being true to the gospel. Because the gospel has only been on their island for about 20 years, they are true pioneers. Many are the first and only members in their families. They not only love the gospel but are eager to share it too.
Angela Vildor, a Laurel, moved to the Bahamas from Haiti a few years ago with her family. With the move came many changes, including learning English—a real challenge since she had spent her entire life speaking Haitian Creole. One afternoon a friend of hers invited her to a free English class sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Angela readily accepted the invitation.
“I met the missionaries in English class,” she says. “They gave me a Book of Mormon and later they talked to me about it. I told them that when I read the Book of Mormon, I felt very strong; it was a very different feeling. They explained that what I was feeling was the Spirit.”
Soon after Angela told the missionaries about her feelings, she was taught the missionary discussions and was baptized. A few weeks later, Angela’s younger sister, Annette, was also baptized. Together, the two of them help each other learn more about the gospel and share it with the rest of their family and their friends.
“Some of my friends are confused,” says Annette. “When they look at the Book of Mormon and see First Nephi, they say, ‘Oh, so this is Genesis for you?’ And I explain that Genesis is Genesis and Nephi is Nephi, and that I believe in both.”
Misunderstandings about the Book of Mormon aren’t the only challenges that Angela and Annette face. Unfortunately, since the Church is still so small in the Bahamas, there are many unfounded rumors about the Church’s beliefs and religious practices. In fact, Annette wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea for her sister to join the Church, but then Angela persuaded her to read the Book of Mormon and find out for herself.
“In the book of Mosiah, it talks about being a witness of God in all times and in all places. I like that,” says Annette. “Then it goes on to talk about desire, and I knew deep down inside that joining the Church was the desire of my heart. It was then that I knew I had to join the Church.”
Much like Angela and Annette, Marco Dauphin is eager to spread the gospel by sharing it with anyone who will listen. Marco is pretty much like any young man his age, with a passion for basketball and a quick, easy smile. But there is something a little different about him, too. He is a leader, introducing his friends and family to things he thinks are good and uplifting. He knows how to include everyone and make them feel at home. When he first met the missionaries a few years ago, he immediately knew they had something special—something he wanted to have, too.
“I remember learning from the missionaries about the Second Coming,” he says. “I loved it.”
Soon he was ready for baptism, and so was his younger brother, Derek. Younger sister Sandra soon followed, and baby sister, Tina, was still too young (she has since been baptized). But Marco’s older sister, Rosenelle, wasn’t so sure that joining the Church was a good idea.
“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.
But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism, but never completely rejecting the idea either.
“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”
And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.
“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”
The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family night, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited. It’s a challenge to coordinate their efforts, but all the Dauphins say it’s worth it.
“Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”
When the Rabasto family joined the Church a little over three years ago, they jumped into the gospel with both feet. After moving to the Bahamas from the Philippines, their dad, Adolfo, was called to the branch presidency. They hold regular family home evening. Archie and Roselle, the two high schoolers in the family, both attend seminary every day. They read the scriptures daily as a family. Rinna, the oldest sister in the family, is a student at BYU.
But what the family loves about the gospel most is the Christmas present they received last year. During the holiday break, the family took a trip to the temple in Orlando, Florida, to be sealed.
“I felt really excited to be in the temple,” says Archie. “I remember my sisters crying, and I felt happy, and peaceful.”
From Orlando, the family said good-bye to Rinna, since she was leaving for college. They miss her terribly, of course, but they say they feel calm about her being so far away in Utah, since they feel a lasting peace from knowing they’ll always be sealed as a family, no matter where they go.
“Everyone in the temple kept telling us how great we looked with our white clothes and jet-black hair,” says Roselle. “We felt great too. You could feel the air-conditioning in the temple, but I felt a warmth from inside. The feelings that I had there were indescribable.”
The youth in the Bahamas are few in numbers, but great in strength and dedication. They all have stories to tell about how the gospel has changed their lives. There’s Nancy Bowe, a soft-spoken Mia Maid who serves as the seminary president. There’s Kelford Gean, who helps his mom remember to study scriptures with him every night. There’s D. D. Wilson, who took her scriptures and her journal on a school trip to Florida because she didn’t want to miss a day of either habit.
Living the gospel in the Bahamas can be difficult, since members are so few and far between, but the youth seem to rise to the occasion with the help of their leaders and their friends. Someday they hope that instead of a small branch or two, the island will be filled with large and active wards. Very likely, when a history of the Church in the Bahamas is written, all of their names will be mentioned as pioneers who laid the foundation for others to build on. But for now, they are happy where they are, with a great love for each other and for the gospel.
And while they love their beautiful country, they know that it’s not where you live, but how you live, that brings peace and happiness. They know that with the gospel in their lives anywhere can be a paradise.

Ten-year-old Alexandra and her family are grateful that the missionaries were able to come to their country. Several years ago the missionaries knocked on their door, and her grandmother invited them in. Because of that contact, Alexandra, her parents (Rosa and Arnaldo), and her brother (Victor), as well as her grandmother joined the Church. When Alexandra attended a Latter-day Saint meeting for the first time, she felt more comfortable there than she had at any other church. Later, when she was baptized, she knew that it was the right thing to do. Alexandra knew that she could gain exaltation and return someday to Heavenly Father and Jesus.

When John Rainer was a young boy in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, one of his favorite parts of the day was dusk. Like most young Indian children, John would run and play and do chores all day long, with an exuberance typical of those who grow up with space to roam and air to breathe. But at the end of the day, when golden fire filled the horizon, John would pause and listen. He would always hear the song of the flute.
“It was a peaceful, relaxed melody,” John recalls. “The old man would sit near the river half a mile from town and play his tunes. He believed the music would travel with the water. You couldn’t see him, but you could always hear his tunes.” It was a time for rest from the day’s labor, a time of repose and contemplation, a time during which a love for music was born in John’s heart.
John grew up and moved to the city. He lived in a comfortable brick home in a suburb of Orem, Utah, with his wife and children. And every evening, just at dusk, he would take his flute—one he made himself—and play a melody—one he wrote himself—to his family. His neighbors didn’t always see John, but they could usually hear his songs. When they did, the whole world seemed to pause, breathe deeply, then sigh in contentment.
“Playing the flute is my way of sharing something my ancestors shared with me,” John said.

On my birthday one Sunday morning, my husband and I were getting ready for church when the phone rang. I answered, and the bishop said, “I know today is your birthday, but could you meet with me in my office in 30 minutes? I would like to talk with you.”
Curious, I hurried to church.
In his office, the bishop said to me, “Sister Cruz, I have a birthday present for you. The Lord is calling you to serve as Young Women president. Will you accept this calling?” I felt overwhelmed, but I accepted the calling. I was sustained and set apart that day.
When I returned home after church, I sat on my bed. The weight of responsibility hit me. I cried and felt inadequate for the work. What a responsibility to guide those young women! I was baptized when I was 22 and had never attended Young Women activities before. How could I be Young Women president?
I did the only thing I knew to do: I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for guidance in this new calling. At that moment I had an experience I will never forget. As I visualized each young woman, I understood that each was a daughter of Heavenly Father. Each needed a president who loved her and could help her understand that God loved her. In my mind I saw the names of all the less-active young women (whom I had never met), and I understood that they were also daughters of Heavenly Father and needed my attention. I felt each one’s potential.
The following months were not easy. I worked hard to get to know each young woman and to understand her needs. Together with the active young women, our presidency helped those who had been less active return to activity. I saw the hand of the Lord at work in many ways.
When I was released from my calling, I worried that perhaps I could have done more. Upon arriving home, I knelt and asked Heavenly Father if my service had been acceptable. I received a sweet feeling that He was pleased.
I thought back on that birthday when I could have turned down the calling because of all my other responsibilities. But I am the one who would have lost most by not accepting the calling. I would have lost the opportunity to learn humility, gain understanding, develop patience, and become an instrument in the Lord’s hands. But mostly I would have failed the Lord in the confidence He placed in me, and I would have failed to learn that the opportunity to serve is a gift.

Dear Reed or Elder May,
I miss you. I miss you very much! I miss you very, very much! Do I have to call you Elder May, or can I still call you Reed? I’m glad that you got out of the empty sea. I was worried about you drowning or something. When I asked her, Mom laughed and said that you were fine there, but I was still worried.
I have something that I want to tell you. But maybe I’d better not tell you.
Please write a letter just to me.
Love,Brad
Dear Buddy,
I miss you, too—very much! When I think of how much you will grow and change in two years, sometimes it makes me a little sad that I can’t be there with you. But I know that I’m doing the right thing by going on a mission. Besides, the elders here who are almost ready to go home all say that two years zoom by so fast that you can hardly believe it.
To answer your question, yes, you can still call me Reed instead of Elder May. But do I have to start calling you Brad now, or can I still call you Buddy?
Buddy, I have to admit that I was puzzled for a long time about what you meant by the “empty sea.” Then yesterday I told Elder Watts, my companion, that you were worried about me in the empty sea, and all of a sudden it came to me! Where I was, was not the empty sea, but the MTC. That stands for Missionary Training Center. That’s where I learned about being a missionary and how to teach people the gospel.
The MTC was a good experience, but I’m glad to be in the mission field now. The members here are friendly, and some of them help us a lot. We are teaching some great families. Elder Watts is a hard worker, and we spend a lot of hours trying to find people who want to learn about the restoration of the gospel and the Church.
Write to me again soon. I want to keep in touch and know everything that happens to you, kind of like our talks in the dark across the bedroom as we were going to sleep. Only now we will have our talks by writing letters.
And remember, you can tell me anything, just like always.
Love,Reed

I did not want to be at Young Women camp last year. Three weeks earlier my grandpa had passed away, and I just wanted to be alone and away from everyone. By the time we got there, I felt like I shouldn’t have come.
However, on the first day, our ward had a devotional that I’ll never forget. One of the older young women spoke about finding joy. At first I rolled my eyes. How could I find joy if there was none?
But then she said something I had never thought about: When it feels like we can’t find joy anywhere else, we can find it in the Savior. Sometimes our mortal lives are filled with grief, depression, anger, trials, and constant uphill battles. Sometimes it is hard to find joy except in Him.
Although my girl’s camp experience was not perfect, I did find joy. I found it by turning to the Savior—in the scriptures, in nature, and in quiet moments where I could pray to Heavenly Father. This principle has gotten me through many trials since. I’m so grateful for the knowledge that the perfect love of the Savior can reach us even when we feel there is no joy.
Elise B., Missouri, USA