Gospel Story Finder

I’ve studied carefully and prayerfully some who are remarkably faithful and effective witnesses of the Savior and His Church. Their stories are inspiring. One humble man was called as the president of a tiny branch. There were so few members he could not see how the branch could function. He walked into a grove of trees to pray. He asked God what he should do. An answer came. He and the few members began inviting friends to join with them. In a year, hundreds had come into the waters of baptism and become fellow citizens in the Lord’s Church.

Years ago I read a Time magazine article that reported the discovery of a letter, supposedly written by Martin Harris, that conflicted with Joseph Smith’s account of finding the Book of Mormon plates.14
A few members left the Church because of the document.15
Sadly, they left too quickly. Months later experts discovered (and the forger confessed) that the letter was a complete deception.16 You may understandably question what you hear on the news, but you need never doubt the testimony of God’s prophets.

Dad and I went fishing for breakfast. The early sun rays had just peeked over the hills when I hooked something.
“You’ve caught the bottom of the lake,” Dad said.
But how could the bottom of the lake be moving around the canoe?
“It just seems like that because the canoe’s moving,” he said.
But since I was slowly reeling it up, we decided I must have snagged a piece of wood.
“But Dad,” I said, “if it’s a log, why is it jerking? Dad, it’s pulling the line back out!”
And the piece of wood swam underneath where Dad was sitting in the canoe.
As if not to scare the fish, Dad whispered, “Wow! You’ve only got four-pound test line! Better let some out and play with him awhile.”
The fish could easily snap the line. I would have to be careful and wear him out. I unreeled some line and waited.
“That’s the biggest mackinaw I’ve ever seen,” Dad said. “He’s longer than the canoe is wide.”
For what seemed like hours I let out line and reeled line in. Finally I eased the “mac” alongside the canoe, and, since we had no net, Dad reached down and slipped his finger inside the gills. I leaned to the other side to counterbalance Dad as he lifted the fish into the boat.
I felt a sudden lunge, heard a splash, and then heard a dreadful moan from Dad. I twisted around just in time to see a massive dark green shape swim away. Dad slowly sank to the bottom of the canoe and stared blankly at the water.
“Kev,” he said, “you caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen, and I let it get away.”
My momentary anger quickly caved in. Dad was hurting all right. But he was hurting for me. When he realized how big that fish was, he could have taken over and reeled it in himself. It was, after all, his pole, his lure, his line. But no, he gave me the chance and now was in pain because forces beyond my control had deprived me. He said he was sorry, and eventually we laughed about it and went on to catch other fish.
But something was frozen on that day in July when the fish swam away from the boat. A moment in time was frozen in my memory, a moment when I learned that my dad is also my buddy, and that he cares very much what happens to me.

I am an eyewitness of that truth. Over a lifetime, my wife has spoken for the Lord and served people for Him. As I’ve mentioned before, one of our bishops once said to me: “I’m amazed. Every time I hear of a person in the ward who is in trouble, I hurry to help. Yet by the time I arrive, it seems that your wife has always already been there.” That has been true in all the places we have lived for 56 years.
Now she can speak only a few words a day. She is visited by people she loved for the Lord. Every night and morning I sing hymns with her and we pray. I have to be voice in the prayers and in the songs. Sometimes I can see her mouthing the words of the hymns. She prefers children’s songs. The sentiment she seems to like best is summarized in the song “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”
The other day, after singing the words of the chorus: “Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do,” she said softly, but clearly, “Try, try, try.” I think that she will find, when she sees Him, that our Savior has put His name into her heart and that she has become like Him. He is carrying her through her troubles now, as He will carry you through yours.

When I was visiting a friend once, I realized the journal’s potential for encouraging spiritual and emotional growth. After hours of discussion with a philosophy student who wanted to argue about the gospel, I wrote a long entry about my beliefs. Putting it on paper was like testifying. That night, as I wrote, I realized how open and honest I was with my journal—probably more candid than I was with any friend.
Writing out my ideas gave me a chance to analyze them. Sometimes, in writing, I realized that my attitudes were based on selfishness or faulty judgement. Other times I was glad to realize that my ideas were good.
Sometimes I found myself laughing out loud at my reactions to the traumas of each day. Once on a bad day I wrote “PHOOEY” in letters 15 spaces high. It helped.
I started titling each entry. One of my favorite titles—and favorite entries—came when I was trying to develop greater faith. That title was “Doubt Creeps in and Janet fights Back.” Some titles reflect a calmer attitude. One in Janet 3, “Days and Nights and Things I Love,” leads into a paragraph I love to reread:
“I love nights that are chilly and clear, when I can see the stars and talk aloud under them. And I love early mornings, being up, being alive, and being outside on a day that is only starting. I love new beginnings that are just getting organized. And clean sheets, clean nightgown, clean body, clean hair, and a reason to be happy. I love the world when my soul brims with hope.”
My soul doesn’t always brim with hope. Sometimes it brims with frustration. When that’s the case, I can look back to the rejuvenating entry I wrote that September night. I can find encouragement from another entry, written soon after that one: “When I can understand what I’m going through, I find that endurance becomes easier.”
Not every entry is profound or even interesting. But each, in its own way, traces my daily conversion to the gospel, my struggles with myself, and my delight with the discovery of living “… for the Lord gives unto the faithful line upon line, precept upon precept to try you and prove you herewith.” (see D&C 98:12). Each helps the others assume clearer perspective. Not only does each entry reflect my life, but it affects and becomes part of my life.
It was during Janet 4, when my best friend moved, that I wrote: “I hurt too much to write.” And it was during Janet 5, after I had written a thoughtless letter that hurt a friend, that I wrote in my journal: “Through the many confusing voices that ring through my mind, one calming voice pervades and tells me the whole matter will be of no consequence.” After writing about that “calming voice,” I listened to it more carefully. The “voice” was right; when I later asked the friend to forgive me, he said he already had.
One day, when I felt that life was cruel to me, I started what has become a tradition. I wrote an entry titled “Things I Am Thankful For.” It amazed me that day, as it still does, how varied and plentiful are my blessings, and how obscure and sometimes even humorous are my trials.
Through moves from one side of the United States to the other, through vacations, at each peak and plateau, the volumes of my journal have been a constant friend, on a bookshelf or in a suitcase along with my copies of the scriptures. They have become a vehicle for working out personal challenges of each day.
I thought, at the beginning of the journal keeping, that I would neatly record my most profound thoughts, making them more accessible when I had to give sacrament meeting talks. Once or twice I have used a journal for that, but that is only part of the full benefit. The journal isn’t a reference book about my life, nor does it map my life. It isn’t a status chart; it’s a dynamic artwork, though it is rough.
The Janet series is vigorously continuing in its 15th volume. Some volumes span a year, and others a few months. I am the only person who has read all of them, and I may keep it that way—for a few decades, at least. The volumes have graduated from inexpensive notebooks to actual hardback books with blank pages.

With that kind of tradition, it was no wonder that Dene had soccer (or football, as the British usually call it) in his blood. The first gift he received from his father was a soccer ball. When he began walking at 11 months, that ball was an old and treasured possession and he began kicking it immediately. By the time he was a year and a half old, he was handling it better than most Americans his age ever would. But at that point he suffered his first setback. One day while he was out kicking his ball, he slipped and broke his leg. He was in a hospital six weeks with his leg in a sling, and he wore a cast for another six weeks. He had to learn to walk all over again, but he began kicking the ball long before his cast came off.

Klarie dribbled hard and fast down the court. This is it, she thought. The tallest, fastest girl on the team had been guarding Klarie the whole game. But now she was guarding someone else. This was Klarie’s chance!
She quickly spun away from another player and set her feet. Then she jumped and took her shot. The ball sailed through the air as Klarie held her breath. Please go in.
The ball swished through the net.
Klarie’s team members gave her high fives. Then Coach Garcia looked down at the timer and blew her whistle. “And that’s the end of practice! Good job, everyone! I’ll see you all tomorrow. Make sure to rest up because we’ll be doing a lot of sprints.”
Klarie groaned and walked over to gather her stuff. Then she saw Coach Garcia waving her over.
“Hey, Klarie,” she said. “Good job today. I know you work really hard in practice, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Klarie said with a big smile.
She was still smiling as she walked out to her mom’s car. And as they drove home, she replayed her last shot in her head. Especially the swish of the ball through the net. She hardly even noticed the conference talk Mom was listening to.
But then something caught her attention. The speaker said, “We must take time to actively exercise our faith.”* The words “actively exercise” sounded like something she would hear at basketball practice. How do you exercise faith? she thought. Do you run with faith? Or dribble faith like a ball?
Klarie turned to Mom. “How do you exercise faith?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “How do you get better at basketball?”
“I practice,” Klarie said. “My coach tells me how to get better. And when we do drills, I try really hard to do them right.”
“Is it easy?”
“No!” Klarie said, remembering how tired her legs felt after sprints. “I have to practice a lot.”
Mom nodded. “Heavenly Father wants us to have faith in Him, but we have to work on it. He gave us ways to practice and get better.”
“Like what?”
“He asks us to talk to Him in prayer. He’s kind of like our coach. He gives us scriptures. They’re like His playbook. And He inspires prophets to encourage us to learn as families. Our family is like—”
“Like our team!” Klarie interrupted.
“Exactly! Our family team works and practices together,” Mom said. “So what happens when you go to practice, Klarie?”
“I get better,” she said. She thought of how good it felt to make her final shot after working hard in practice for weeks.
“That’s right. When we practice, we’re exercising our faith. That helps our testimonies get stronger. And it makes us happier.”
Klarie had never thought of faith like that. She had heard faith was like a seed. But she’d never known it could be like playing basketball! She thought about how her coach made practice plans for their team. Maybe I can make a practice plan too, she thought, but for faith! As soon as she got home, she found a big notepad and started writing:
Prayer—morning and night
Scripture study—every day
Church—every Sunday
Maybe exercising faith wasn’t exactly like practicing basketball. But practice was practice. She felt warm and happy inside as she looked at her plan. She trusted Heavenly Father and knew He would help her!

Andrea had been saving money from her paper route and her allowance for a long time. She wanted to get a CD player for her mom for Mother’s Day. She knew her mom would love listening to music in the kitchen while she worked. Finally, after paying tithing, Andrea had saved $20. With this money she hoped to find a great deal on a good secondhand CD player.

Andrea knew Mom wouldn’t mind if it was secondhand, because Mom was always happy to find “great deals” and “the best bargains” at the store. Mom would be proud to know that Andrea was trying to get the most for her money too.

The Saturday before Mother’s Day, Andrea was excited to find a CD player at her friend Robin’s neighborhood yard sale.

“How much?” Andrea asked.

“Fifteen dollars,” Robin said.

Fifteen dollars! That meant Andrea would have five dollars left over for a fancy gift box and a card.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “But can you keep it here for me? I’ll need to sneak it home later, after my mom leaves for her hair appointment.”

“No problem,” Robin said. “I’ll put a ‘sold’ sign on it, and you can pay me when you pick it up.”

Andrea walked home smiling and humming to herself. What a good bargain shopper she was! Mom would be so proud.

Then Andrea saw another yard sale. Maybe she could find a great deal here on wrapping paper or ribbon. As she looked at the sale tables, another CD player caught her eye. This one was almost the same as the one sold by Robin—except the sign on this one read “$5.”

Five dollars! That was a better bargain than the first one. Andrea couldn’t believe her good luck. By spending only five dollars she’d have enough money left over to buy not only a fancy gift box and card but also the choir CD her mom liked so much. Mom would be twice as proud of her for finding this great deal.

Quickly Andrea bought the CD player and carried it home. By now Mom was gone, so Andrea hid it in her closet. She happily called Robin to tell her she didn’t need her CD player anymore. Robin didn’t say much.

Soon after Andrea hung up, the phone rang. It was Robin calling back.

“What you did isn’t fair,” Robin said. “Lots of people wanted my CD player but I told them it was sold to you. Now our yard sale is over and I can’t sell it. You broke your promise to me, and that’s not nice.”

After Robin hung up, Andrea sat in stunned silence. At first she felt mad. “How dare Robin talk to me like that?” she thought. “It’s my hard-earned money and I can do whatever I want with it.” Besides, getting the best deal was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

Then Andrea started feeling bad. Robin was right, she realized. Andrea had broken her agreement. While Andrea had gotten a better deal, Robin got no deal at all.

Andrea said a prayer for courage, took a deep breath, and dialed Robin’s phone number.

“You’re right,” she blurted out as soon as she heard Robin’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you the money I promised, but you can keep the CD player. Maybe at another yard sale you can sell it to someone else. Is that OK?”

Now it was Robin’s turn to be stunned. Finally she responded: “That’s OK. You don’t have to pay me. I just remembered someone else who wanted it. I’ll give her a call. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. See you at school, Andrea.”

When Andrea hung up, she gave a prayer of thanks that she was able to do the right thing. She knew it was the right thing because now she felt good inside. She was glad she had gotten a great deal on the CD player, but she was even happier that she had strengthened a friendship and learned to have integrity. That was the best bargain of all—one that would make her mother truly proud.

David’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he sat straight up in bed. Faint moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, leaving gray shadows on the walls. The only sound came from his brother Thomas’s heavy breathing as he lay asleep.
It had been only a dream. Two Indians had come into the yard. When David saw them, he ran to the house for protection. One of them drew an arrow from his quiver and shot at David, hitting him in the back. Then they entered his home, sneering at his mother and frightening her.
Although it had been a dream, it seemed real. David rubbed his back where the arrow had hit him in the dream. He had felt the blow.
After that David became very afraid at night. Thoughts of people trying to hurt his mother and younger brothers and sisters seemed real to him.
One day David found his father packing a satchel. “Why are you packing, Papa?” David asked.
“I’ll be gone with the cattle for a few days,” his father answered. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long. I’ll just be moving them to some fresh pasture.”
“I don’t want you to go,” David said.
“Everything will be all right,” his father replied. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
David watched sadly as his father took his satchel to the front gate where his horse was tied. After waving good-bye to the family, he rode off after the cattle. David felt sick inside. He tried not to worry, hoping everything would be all right like his father had said. But as evening drew near and the sun went down, his worries grew.
After supper the family prepared for bed. When they had all knelt down at their bedsides and said their prayers, they snuggled under the covers to go to sleep. But David couldn’t sleep. His heart pounded, and his mind raced. Through the open doorway of his bedroom, he could see his mother going to her bedroom.
At last his mother blew out the candle and went to sleep. But David still couldn’t close his eyes. He thought he heard noises around the house. His brother Thomas slept soundly, but the fear in David’s heart grew. What could he do? Tears trickled onto his pillow. The palms of his hands were sweaty, and he could still hear the noises around the house.
David decided to pray as his parents had taught him. He was sure the Lord would help him, but he had one problem: kneeling by the side of his bed. How could he leave the safety of his bed to kneel and pray? What if someone was hiding beneath his bed?
David knew that the only way he would be able to sleep was if he prayed to the Lord for help. At last he slowly climbed out of bed onto his knees. He asked the Lord to protect his mother and his family. All the noises died away, and a calm feeling entered David’s heart. A voice spoke clearly to him, saying, “Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you.” David felt the sweet assurance that he would be safe in bed at night.
Snuggling under his covers, David fell asleep. He didn’t worry at night anymore. Even though it had been a difficult test for him to get out of bed and kneel to pray, he had prayed the way he knew he should. And the Lord answered his prayer.

Years ago our family had a little black dog, a toy poodle named Lady. Lady was smart, energetic, and great at fetching a ball. She was willing to retrieve a ball anytime, anyplace, and for as long as anyone was willing to throw one.
One day, after repeatedly throwing a ball for her to fetch, I decided to throw two balls at the same time, one blue and one yellow. Lady chased after the blue ball, picked it up, began running back to me, and then saw the yellow ball. She dropped the blue ball, dashed to the yellow ball, picked it up, and started back to me. Then she seemed to think of the blue ball, dropped the yellow ball, turned around, ran back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began returning. As she was passing the yellow ball, she stopped, dropped the blue ball, picked up the yellow ball, and resumed running back. Then she dropped the yellow ball, turned around, scampered back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began running to me. As Lady passed the yellow ball again, she came to a screeching halt. She dropped the blue ball, looked back and forth from the blue ball to the yellow ball. Then she gave up, walked to her basket, and lay down. For Lady, two balls were too many. She became confused, overwhelmed, and discouraged.

Phan Phon and his wife make sure they teach the gospel to their grandchildren. The gospel of Jesus Christ helped their family move forward after the tragedy of losing their home in a fire.
When Phan’s home caught on fire, he could only save his three grandchildren. Everything else burned to the ground. Phan was angry at the neighbor who caused the fire. When his anger spread to his family and neighbors, Phan knew he needed to forgive.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
The first time I heard the explosion, I asked my wife, “What is that sound?”
She said, “Maybe the neighbor is burning something.”
Then I heard a second explosion. Someone next door told me, “There’s a house burning behind your house!”
We went to get some water, but we couldn’t put the fire out. The fire spread to my house. I ran in the house to get my three grandchildren. Smoke was coming through the windows, but I didn’t think about anything besides my grandchildren. They are the most important thing to me. I left everything else inside.
We got out and all we could do was watch the house burn. Firefighters did not arrive in time because the road to our house was too small. My house was old, and it burned quickly. I stood with my wife and grandchildren and watched it burn.
After the house burned down, I felt hopeless. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what to do to find a new place to live. The day after the fire, we knelt to pray and asked the Lord to show us the way and bless us to be able to find a new home. I was weeping while praying to the Lord, but I trusted that He would help me.
At first, I was mad at the neighbor who caused the fire. I wanted him to pay for what had happened. My family and the neighbors affected by the fire were also mad and wanted to send a letter to the government to make the person who caused the fire legally responsible for what happened. They asked me to sign the letter, but I didn’t want to.
I realized that my neighbor was poor like me. He didn’t intend to start the fire. If I made him pay, he would be in trouble, and I would still feel hatred. I remembered the word of the Lord that we should love our neighbor. I felt that I should forgive.
When I decided to forgive, I felt peace.
I told everyone affected by the fire that I wanted to forgive. Except for one family, everyone decided to do the same thing. They wouldn’t make him accountable for what happened.
My neighbor was happy I forgave him. My family is more happy too. When I see this, I am also happy.
Members and neighbors contributed what they could to help my family. I received a lot of rice and shared it with others. They asked me why I give when I’m in a bad situation. I tell them when I serve others, I serve the Lord. I want to give to Him because He made many miracles happen in my life. We have a beautiful home, better than the one that burned down.
Phan’s anger toward the neighbor who caused the fire was replaced with peace when he remembered the word of the Lord. Phan is grateful for the guidance he receives from the scriptures.
As his home burned down, Phan could only think about his grandchildren. Phan loves his family. “They are the most important thing to me,” he says.

Let me start with when I was a small boy.

Once upon a time, this group of boys was out playing baseball. We were having a great time playing baseball. I was about ten-years-old, and our parents had left us there. I was there with my older brother, and we got tired of playing baseball after awhile. There was a dry riverbed in front of the baseball diamond, and across the river bed there was a cliff. My friends and I decided we wanted to go across that river bed and climb that cliff. It seemed like the right thing to do for a bunch of ten-year-olds. Maybe it wasn't all that smart to do.

We went across the riverbed, started climbing up the cliff, and it was difficult, so we went over to the edge of the cliff, where there was a hillside. One by one, we filed up this hill, but the boys ahead of me I thought were going too slow, so I thought, "Well, I need to get ahead of these boys, so I can lead the way and show them how to climb up this hill a little faster." So I got off of the trail and climbed over through some bushes, and pretty soon I found a place where I could climb up more rapidly. But the soil was very soft there, and I found myself slipping, slipping, and slipping! Pretty soon, I looked behind me, and I was just a few feet from this cliff. I had climbed up over the top of the cliff and I was about to fall down it. A little boy, I started grabbing plants. I grabbed this one little plant, which held me for a while, but it came off, and I slipped down closer to the edge of the cliff. I grabbed another little plant, and I remember grabbing that plant and kneeling on that hillside. I prayed with everything that a ten-year-old boy could pray with. I asked my Father to help me. I remember that time; an image came into my mind. The impression was to put my left foot back as far as I could. So I stuck my left foot out and felt it go over the cliff. Then the feeling was, "Keep going," so I did. I put my foot down over that cliff and my toes went into a crack in the cliff. I was then on solid ground. I put my other foot down, and sure enough, I found the same crack. Plant by plant, step by step, I worked my way over to safety.

Two things happened to me that day, maybe three. One, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God knew me, and that He loved me. He would answer my prayers. More than that, at that moment, I knew that He wanted me alive for some reason. I didn't know what it was I still am not sure that I know what it is but He wanted me alive. He wanted me to do something.

It’s difficult to work eight hours a day in the extreme conditions of a desert in the same two-by-two-foot hole of dirt with someone from a completely different cultural and religious background without coming to know and appreciate his uniqueness. The gospel suddenly became more significant to me as I realized the contrasting way of life it offers. As I sat with my equally tired and thirsty German, Israeli, Indian, or Dutch brother who had dumped those last hundred buckets I had filled, and he thanked me for the drink from my canteen, the words of the Savior filled my mind: “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” (John 4:13–14.)

1849–1919
“I esteem it a great privilege to … help in the [spreading] of the gospel.”
She lived in Norway. She was a widow, and she raised two sons.
She learned the gospel from a shoemaker. When he repaired her shoes, he put a Church pamphlet in each one. She was baptized in the sea.
She served a mission in Scandinavia. Her son John became an Apostle.
Anna C. Widtsoe letter, Salt Lake City, Utah, to Joseph F. Smith, June 6, 1903, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.

The morning of February 10, 2022, was like most mornings in Las Vegas: hot and windy. What seemed like a normal Wednesday for my wife Brooke and I would become a day we’d never forget.
It started as we hopped in the car for a quick 15-minute drive to our OB-GYN. Brooke was ten weeks along with our first baby and we had a routine check up scheduled.
When we arrived at the clinic, we checked in and sat down in the waiting room. Every emotion possible was running through my mind. Everything from, “I cannot wait to see Brooke be a mom” to every doubt I felt about being a dad. I could barely remember what Brooke asked me to pick up at the grocery store; How was I supposed to be ready to take care of a helpless yet perfect baby? I remember how bright it was. How quiet it felt. We waited and waited … and eventually, Brooke’s name was called.
The nurse led us down the hallway into a small room. The lights were low. Just the three of us: me, Brooke, and the doctor.
The doctor was kind, asked a few routine questions, and then did an ultrasound.
We held hands tight. Waiting for the fluttering sound of a tiny heartbeat. Waiting for a glimpse of our soon-to-be firstborn child. All the fears and doubts I had minutes earlier in the waiting room seemed to vanish as I thought of hearing our beautiful baby.
But instead, the only thing we heard was the doctor’s voice as she compassionately but confidently said: “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I’m not finding a heartbeat.”
Those are words no one is ever prepared to hear. There’s no script. No warning. No way to process what’s just happened.
The next few moments are blurry in my memory. But I remember wrapping my arms around Brooke. I remember holding her as tightly as I could. And whispering through tears, “I love you, everything is going to be okay,” as we sat there and cried together.
The following days, weeks, and months were … not easy, to say the least. And to be honest, the years since haven’t been either. About two years to the day later, in February of 2024, we experienced this same pain of losing a baby all over again.
During this two-year span, my core love for and belief in God didn’t go away. But my ability to sincerely give thanks and praise? That changed.
It’s hard to lift your head and heart in worship when the one thing you’ve prayed for more than anything isn’t coming. It’s hard to feel joy for others when they have what you so deeply long for.
And I know that for many of you listening, today is hard too. Maybe for the same reason. Maybe for a different one. But the ache is real. Some feelings and trials require more than a “rub some dirt on it and keep moving forward” perspective.
I found myself stuck in a spiritual place I had never experienced before. I was hurt, confused, and exhausted. I was still praying. Still showing up. But it felt like my heart was walled off. Like my faith and my feelings couldn’t coexist. In essence, I felt defeated and alone.
Until one day, I learned about a form of worship in the scriptures that changed everything.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

In July 2018, I received a temple recommend for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After that, I thought that living well was good enough, and I did not feel the need to go back. Last year, in June 2023, I had some situations in my life that gave me the desire to return. Deep in my heart, I knew I should not postpone it any longer. I strongly felt the Spirit during general conference urging me to return to the temple, and I knew it was one of the things that God truly wanted me to do. I decided to put it on my to-do list for 2024 and made plans to travel to the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple.
After informing my husband of my intention to return to the temple and to receive my own endowment and fully committing to this decision, I encountered multiple obstacles. Through the months following, my financial situation weakened. Not only did I want to receive my endowment, but I also wanted to be sealed to my parents. This would require them to travel to the temple with me, which would require even more financial support. My finances continued to decline.
I also faced challenges at work that were beyond my control. I knew what was going on, but I made a conscious decision not to let it bother me. I kept praying for courage to continue and drew strength from the scriptures.
On the day of departure, my daughter’s airline booking was not confirmed. The travel agency had made a mistake, which added another problem. Just before we left for our temple trip, my children became sick. When they are sick, they want to be with me. As I was leaving, my children were crying, which was yet another difficulty, making it hard to leave. But with each obstacle, I believed that things would work out. How, I did not know, but God would help me.
My experience in the temple was truly miraculous. I had never felt Christ’s love so strongly before. I felt close to Heavenly Father and forgiven for my mistakes. I felt peace, strength, and wisdom to navigate my life and to make the right choices. I was blessed with more wisdom on how to be a better woman and mother, how to interact with people, how to deal with others’ imperfections, and how to be more patient.
I then had the opportunity to be sealed to my parents. Even though I missed my sisters at that moment, I had a very loving and miraculous experience. After leaving the temple, every problem I had placed in Heavenly Father’s hands was resolved.
I am very grateful that, despite every obstacle, I never gave up. Even though I felt weak and wondered why this happened, deep down, I knew I had to learn from these experiences and stay strong. I did stay strong and kept pushing through. I did it, and today, I have received my endowment and am sealed to my parents.

I am grateful to my parents for their careful attention to detail in teaching me to live the principles of the gospel in relation to my fellowmen. My father was totally honest and set a great example for us children. When I was about seven years old, he sent me to the hardware store on an errand. He had given me five dollars, which in those days could buy a great deal. When I returned home, he counted the change I had and discovered that the store clerk had given me one dollar too much. The store was about a mile from our home, but he insisted that I walk back and return the money. This is typical of the lessons of honesty he taught us all during our childhood and teenage years.

Bear and Chipmunk were sitting at their kitchen table. “Do you remember what day today is, Chipmunk?” Bear asked his friend.
“Tuesday?” said Chipmunk.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Bear, “but do you remember what else today is?”
Chipmunk looked at the calendar on the wall. “Why, it’s your birthday, Bear! Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered!” said Bear smiling. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone baked me a birthday cake and gave me a birthday present?”
“That would be nice,” said Chipmunk. “Maybe someone will.”
“Maybe I’d better leave so that someone can get busy,” said Bear.
“Maybe you’d better,” said Chipmunk, trying hard not to smile until Bear was safely gone.
“I love birthdays, especially Bear’s,” Chipmunk said, opening the kitchen cupboard and taking out a cake. “I’m glad I baked this yesterday.” He mixed up a batch of honey frosting and spread it over and around the cake. “I hope Bear likes it.”
Bear was peeking through the kitchen window. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will!”
Chipmunk carried the birthday cake into the dining room and put it on the table, then went to the bedroom and took a big box out of the closet. Taking some wrapping paper out of the desk drawer, he wrapped the big box. “I hope Bear likes it,” he said.
Bear was peeking through the bedroom window. “Oh, I will,” he said quietly. “I know I will.”
Chipmunk carried the big box into the dining room and put it on the table next to the birthday cake. “There now,” he said. “Everything’s ready. I’ll call Bear.”
But Chipmunk didn’t have to call Bear. Bear was standing right there next to him! Chipmunk laughed. “Happy birthday, Bear!” he said.
“You really did remember, Chipmunk!” Bear said happily.
Bear opened the big box. His eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Chipmunk,” he said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Chipmunk.
“I love them!” Bear said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Bear stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Chipmunk.”
“I’m sorry, Bear,” said Chipmunk, “but I can’t.”
Bear looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t have any roller skates.”
“Well then,” said Bear, “why don’t you take the money Grandma Chipmunk sent you for your birthday last week and buy some.”
“I already spent it.”
“On what?”
“On something special.”
Bear looked down at the new white roller skates he was wearing. Suddenly he knew what that something special was. Bear didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Chipmunk.”
“You’re welcome,” said Chipmunk, smiling again.
Just then the doorbell rang. Bear skated over and answered it. A delivery person handed Bear a big package. It was from Uncle Bear. Bear unwrapped it, and his eyes opened wide. “Look at these, Chipmunk!” he said, taking a pair of glowing purple roller blades out of the box. Bear had never seen such fabulous skates before!
Chipmunk hadn’t either. He didn’t say anything, but the pair of white roller skates he had given Bear for his birthday seemed quite plain and ordinary now.
There was a card in the big box. It said:
Dear Nephew,
I Hope you enjoy these.
Happy birthday!
Uncle Bear
P.S. If there is something else you’d rather have, please exchange these for it.
Bear looked at the glowing purple roller blades he was holding. He looked down at the white roller skates he was wearing. He looked at Chipmunk. Then Bear put the glowing purple roller blades back into the big box and skated out the front door with them. “I’ll be back soon, Chipmunk,” he called over his shoulder.
Chipmunk watched Bear disappear down the road. “He didn’t even take time to have a piece of his birthday cake before he left!” Chipmunk said sadly.
He was sitting in his favorite chair when Bear came back. Bear was still wearing the white roller skates Chipmunk had given him, but he was not carrying the big box from Uncle Bear. Instead, he had a little box. Bear skated over to Chipmunk and handed him the little box. “Open it, Chipmunk,” he said.
Chipmunk’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Bear!” he cried, taking a pair of little white roller skates out of the little box. “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Bear.
“I love them!” Chipmunk said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Chipmunk stopped lacing up the little white roller skates. “Bear,” he said, “where are the purple roller blades Uncle Bear sent you?”
“I exchanged them for those,” said Bear, pointing to the little white roller skates Chipmunk was wearing.
Chipmunk didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Bear.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bear, smiling again.
Chipmunk finished lacing up his little white roller skates. He stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Bear!”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk,” said Bear, “but I can’t.”
Chipmunk looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I haven’t had a piece of my birthday cake yet! And honey frosting is my very favorite.”
Bear ate three big bear-size pieces of birthday cake. Chipmunk ate two big chipmunk-size pieces. Then Bear wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “I’m ready, Chipmunk. Let’s go roller-skating together right now!”
Chipmunk wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let’s!”
And the two friends did.

Our best hope is that they will follow our example of humbly seeking to know if the choice they are considering will draw them nearer to God or away from Him. If they do what we have done and pray in faith, light and truth will come to them. And if they obey, not only will more truth come, but they will have learned how to build their lives on a foundation of truth.

The teenager most likely to have that happy experience will have been given earlier, in childhood, the chance to gain self-discipline enough to persist in obedience even when at first no good result seems to come. I know now why my mother had me weeding on my knees for what seemed like hours in a wet garden with rows that seemed to stretch to the horizon while the weeds broke off in my hand with roots still in the ground. I know now why she smiled so happily when she saw me trying to dig those roots out with my fingers in tearful frustration. She knew something about teenage years that were coming and what it would take in dogged persistence to build a foundation on light and truth. I don’t necessarily recommend weeding or hard labor for little children, but I offer the thanks to my mother now that I was not wise enough to give when I was in the garden.