Gospel Story Finder

We went over to Cordoba in Argentina. As the president of the mission and I were going down the street, we met a young woman in her early 30s, and the mission president said, “Sister, tell Brother Kimball how many people you have brought into the Church. She said, “Oh, I didn’t do very much.” He said, “Well, tell him.” She said, “I think it’s about 32.” Thirty-two of her friends had come into the Church because one woman was willing to accept her responsibility—not only a privilege, but a responsibility—to bring people into the Church.

President Heber J. Grant called Harold B. Lee into his office one morning.
President Grant: Tomorrow you will be sustained as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Harold: But, President Grant, do you really think that I am worthy of this call?
President Grant: My boy, if I didn’t think so, you would never be called to this position.
That night Harold couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was the foolish mistakes he had made in his life and about all the people he might have offended. He knelt to pray.
Harold: Heavenly Father, I will love and forgive every soul that has walked the earth. I pray that Thou wilt forgive me in return and make me worthy to be Thy servant.
The next day, he nervously went to the temple and was ushered into the room where the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles meet with the First Presidency.
President Grant: Take a seat here, Elder Lee.
Elder Lee: Imagine all the great men who have sat in this room, in these chairs!
After the ordination, one of the Apostles gave Elder Lee an assignment.
Apostle: Now, you know that after having been ordained, you are a special witness of the Lord Jesus Christ. We want you to give the Easter talk on the radio next Sunday night.
Elder Lee went into a room in the Church Office Building to read Bible accounts of Jesus’ life. As he read, he realized that he was having a new experience.
Elder Lee: I can almost see the events as if they are happening right now!
Elder Lee learned that every Apostle receives a special personal witness of Jesus Christ. When Easter Sunday came, he was ready to speak.
Elder Lee: I am now the least of all my brethren and want to witness to you that I know, as I have never known before this call came, that Jesus is the Savior of this world. He lives, and He died for us.

Several years ago on a Sabbath day I sat with an associate in his beautiful cathedral and listened as the priest spoke of the body and blood of Jesus. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed tears making their way down the cheeks of my friend. My mind ambled back over the years of our association, and memory impressed upon me the reality of my friend’s commitment to his faith, his goodness as a human being, and his genuine, heartfelt desire to be true to what he understood. There came over me the quiet but compelling realization that the Almighty loved this man as much as he loved me; that he was a child of God, just as I was; and that the Lord would do all that was possible to maximize this man’s opportunities and insure his ultimate happiness.

That was an important moment in my life. I grew up with a testimony. It has not been difficult for me to believe. Though I was reared in a part of the country where there were few members of the Church around me, I somehow sensed deep in my bones that what we are about in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, is right, and is meant for the blessing of the entire world. On that particular occasion, however, as we sat reverently in a place that was somewhat foreign to my spiritual upbringing, there sprouted within me an inner awareness that God loves all men and women of all ages and is no respecter of persons. Oh, I knew then as I know now that this is the only true and living Church and that the Latter-day Saints are the custodians of the fulness of the gospel and the holy priesthood. There was and is no question whatsoever about that. But I seemed to perceive then—and as I grow older I perceive even more clearly—the goodness and mercy and infinite patience of our Heavenly Father toward all his sons and daughters. As Enoch observed: “Thou art there, and thy bosom is there; and also thou art just; thou art merciful and kind forever” (Moses 7:30).

Later on, we moved to Venezuela, where my dad is from. I lived there for two years, and we faced a lot of challenges. But there were good things too. I loved the food, and I had family there who were anxious to meet and talk to me. They were such humble people, and we all went to church together and felt the Spirit.
But even though we were going to church and I could feel the Spirit, I knew my family and I were missing something. One Sunday morning, the bishop invited everyone in the congregation to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year. I knew this would help my parents and me more fully live the gospel of the Lord. Little by little, as we read the Book of Mormon, the Savior started giving us more knowledge and blessings, and we continued to read the scriptures regularly.
Soon, I got baptized. I could really feel the Spirit in my life, and my parents did too. My testimony started growing more. We moved to Orlando, Florida, and we had to make a lot of changes and sacrifices again, just like when we left Spain. But our testimonies were growing stronger and stronger every time we went to church. We went to church every week and kept reading the scriptures.
After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so anxious to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms for the dead while I waited for my parents to complete temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now, my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms for the dead, because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple with my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

It sounded simple. For two weeks I was to choose a family member and every day give something small to the person to express my love. I chose my little brother because we usually did not get along very well, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to draw closer to him. I decided to do it anonymously, and for the first week I bought him small bags of candy and various trinkets, leaving them by the side of his bed or under his pillow. After the week was over, I was thinking, Wow, this has got to be the easiest Personal Progress goal ever!
The second week, however, fell during our family camping trip, and the absence of convenient stores seriously complicated things. But I soon found that all it took was a little more creativity. Instead of buying things, I started doing things. I helped him roll his sleeping bag, whittle a marshmallow stick, and untangle his fishing line. Thinking constantly of ways to serve my brother strengthened our relationship incredibly, and I could see clearly the promise being fulfilled: “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light” (1 Jn. 2:10).
The last day of camp I lay in the dark tent, deep in the woods, listening to the soft calls of the birds and the gentle splashing of water from the nearby lake. The wind rustled through the tree tops, and I felt a cool breeze across my face.
“Someone tie up the window,” my brother mumbled sleepily. I felt him shiver beside me and suddenly realized that I had not done anything for him that day. I tied up the window, but since it was the last day, I felt I should give him something extra special. Maybe when we get home, I can buy him something especially expensive, I thought. No, that won’t do. It has to be today, and he is almost asleep. I lay quietly, thinking for a moment, and then rolled onto my side to face my brother.
“Warren,” I whispered.
“Hmmmm?”
“I love you.”
He was quiet for a second before he clearly responded, “I love you, too.”
I lay on my back and looked through the “sun roof” at the clear, dark sky and smiled.

Six months after Ethel died, then at nine months, then at two years, I wrote down my feelings. Keeping a daily journal has been a source of comfort. Between nine and twelve months after Ethel’s passing, I decided to ‘get back out there’ by joining a social group and a travel group. That lasted about a month before I realised my heart wasn’t ready. I felt the impression to attend the temple regularly. Despite the initial pain, this proved a great strength to me.

Though it happened more than four decades ago, my wife and I have never forgotten an occasion when we were blessed by an anonymous donor. It was Christmas of 1953, and I was a graduate student at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. In many ways it was the best of times. We had two small and much adored children and were deeply in love with each other, as we are to this day. Furthermore, I loved my studies and research at a world-renowned university. But we were very poor, with not a penny of financial reserves, and barely able to scrape by on my graduate stipend of two hundred dollars per month. Somehow my dear wife had managed to find a few dollars for modest Christmas presents for our two children, but that was as far as the money went. We weren’t particularly troubled by the lack of funds, but, like the couple in O. Henry’s classic tale “The Gift of the Magi,” each of us had hoped to give the other some expression of our mutual affection.

On Christmas Eve our doorbell rang. When I answered it, I found on the front porch a package in Christmas wrappings. It was addressed to us but had no indication of who had sent it. When we opened the package on Christmas morning, we found a shirt for me and a blouse for my wife. Never were gifts more appreciated, not just for themselves, but most of all because someone cared about us. We still don’t know the identity of the giver but bless his or her name to this day.

I wanted to feel the Spirit more in my life, so I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked how I could do that. I was in a quiet place and I opened the Book of Mormon.
I looked up “Holy Ghost” in the index. I found Alma 13:28, which says, “But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit.” This was a beautiful answer to my prayer. The answer to my prayer was prayer!
As I tried to humbly come before the Lord in prayer and ask for the Spirit, I was able to feel it more in my life. I felt like I had more opportunities to serve, and I felt more connected to Heavenly Father throughout my day.
Even though this was a simple answer to my simple question, it helped strengthen my testimony that when we ask in faith, we will receive the wisdom we need from God.
Olivia T., 13, Hawaii, USA

Crisanta Juan really wasn’t interested in leaving her family or her Philippine hometown of Mayantoc. But several of her friends were applying for jobs as nannies in Saudi Arabia. If they got the jobs, they told her, they could make lots of money to send home. Thinking nothing would ever come of it, twenty-five-year-old Crisanta signed up. A month later, she received word that she had been hired by a Saudi Arabian prince!
When the prince’s secretary came for her, Crisanta still wasn’t convinced that she wanted to go. The man couldn’t comprehend her hesitation.
“It’s a privilege to serve in a royal family!” he said.
“But I don’t want to go,” she replied. “I’m happy here in the Philippines.”
“Why? What is your work here?”
“I’m a factory worker, and I’m happy with that,” she said.
“Don’t you want a higher salary?”
“No,” she answered. “I don’t need more money. I’m happy.”
The secretary insisted that the prince had chosen her and that no one else would do. And he already had her passport ready. Feeling great pressure, Crisanta finally agreed to go. Soon she was in an airplane on her way to Saudi Arabia.
But the farther she went from home, the more frightened she became. Terrified, she wondered if it was all a cruel joke. “I couldn’t believe they would get some unknown girl from the Philippines to work for a prince!”
Then came the shock of being led into the prince’s palatial home. Crisanta had never dreamed of such wealth. There she met the beautiful nineteen-year-old princess (one of the wives of the prince) and her two-year-old daughter, who was to be Crisanta’s charge.
The child spoke only Arabic. “How can I talk to your daughter?” Crisanta asked the princess in English. “I cannot speak Arabic.”
“You must learn,” the princess answered. Crisanta, who had graduated from college, began to study Arabic with a tutor. Within three months, she spoke it so well that the prince asked her to teach Arabic and English to his daughter. He raised her pay because she was now to serve as tutor—as well as nanny.
It didn’t take long for Crisanta to become accustomed to her new lifestyle. “I felt like a princess,” she says. “I didn’t have to wash or iron my clothes, or cook, or do anything except teach and care for the child.” She was chauffeured in a luxurious car. She ate rich food—often at a long table with the prince, his wives and children, and the other nannies. She spoke almost daily with the prince about his daughter, her grades, and her development.
Crisanta was paid well. She sent money to her family, and they upgraded their humble Philippine home. She also learned to spend money on herself. Soon she had many new dresses, expensive jewelry, and other luxuries. “I wanted everything, so I bought it,” she says. “And I didn’t buy cheap things!”
After three years, Crisanta returned home to the Philippines for a month’s vacation. There she found that her parents and two sisters had joined the Church, and she agreed to listen to the missionaries. But after four discussions, she told the missionaries that she wasn’t feeling anything and didn’t want to continue. “Because of my luxurious life, I didn’t think I needed a spiritual life,” she says. But for some reason, she decided to take the Book of Mormon and Church pamphlets back to Saudi Arabia with her.
As Crisanta was reentering Saudi Arabia, the airport officials found the Book of Mormon in her luggage and told her it was illegal to take the book into the country. “I showed them the letter attached to my passport,” she says. “It said I could bring back whatever I wanted.” The officials telephoned the prince. He asked to talk with Crisanta.
“Is that book really important to you?” he asked. She replied that it was. He gave his permission.
That night, Crisanta started reading. She noticed that the missionaries had marked certain passages in the Book of Mormon, particularly Moro. 10:4–5. “I started getting interested,” she says. “And I realized that in order to understand all these things, I must ask God. So I prayed about it. Every morning, I felt challenged to read that book, and every day I made time to read it. I realized that it was really helping me spiritually. I felt that I was nearer to God and that my life was different now.”
Crisanta wrote home excitedly, telling her family of her growing testimony. They sent her a tape recording of their family home evening, complete with hymns and testimonies. Crisanta was especially moved by the testimonies of her mother and father. “They uplifted my spirit, and I cried and cried,” she says.
Before a year had passed, she wanted to go home again to learn more about the gospel. But the princess refused to give her any time off, reminding Crisanta that she had recently had a vacation—and the she had promised to stay for three more years.
“So I asked the prince for permission,” she says, “and I really cried.” The prince gave in, but he told her she must return after one week. As a guarantee that she would return, Crisanta could take only four dresses with her. The rest of her new clothes and all of the other possessions that she had earned during her years in Saudi Arabia had to stay behind.
Back home in the Philippines, Crisanta met with missionaries again. “I told them that although I hadn’t been interested before, I felt different when I read the Book of Mormon.”
During their second visit, the missionaries asked her to pray. “I felt a warm feeling in my heart—and then I started to cry and couldn’t continue my prayer for a while. I felt all my sins, and I realized the happiness that I had known since reading the Book of Mormon. I felt that I really am a daughter of Heavenly Father, that I really am important to him. After my prayer, I told the missionaries that I wanted to be baptized immediately.”
They replied, “No, Sister, we have to continue the discussions.” She was baptized a few days later, on 9 April 1988.
From that moment, Crisanta lost interest in her life of luxury in Saudi Arabia. “I felt that I had something to do here in the Philippines,” she says. “The longer I stayed here, the happier I felt. I was happy because I had learned the importance of life—not only here, but also hereafter. I had learned that the family is important. And I had found that I must put God before anything else—that I had to serve him.
“I had also learned that money cannot make me happy. In Saudi, I cherished all the luxuries. But when I joined the Church, I realized that those things are void—they are nothing to me. Everything I do in the Church gives me more joy than those other things I had. So I had to sacrifice those things.”
After a few days, the prince telephoned her from Saudi Arabia, saying that she must return because the baby was waiting for her.
“I want to extend my vacation,” she told him.
“But we want you back,” said the prince. “The baby wants you back.”
“And I really miss the baby,” Crisanta said. “I want my job. But I feel I have a job here to do.”
“What is it?” the prince asked.
Crisanta then told him that she wanted to serve a mission for the Church—and that she wouldn’t be able to return to Saudi Arabia for two years. Convinced that she was serious, the prince released her from her commitment. “You can come back to Saudi Arabia after two years if you want,” he said. “But the princess cannot wait for you.”
A month later, Crisanta received word that the prince had hired another nanny. The new nanny and Crisanta corresponded several times, sharing news and insights about the baby. “The little princess was always asking when I was going to come back,” she says.
At home, Crisanta served as a Primary teacher, as Primary president, and as a stake missionary. She worked in a bank to earn money for her mission. “If only I could bring back all that money that I spent before!” she says. “Oh, I had a lot! I was crazy before—really crazy!”
Exactly a year after her baptism, Crisanta received her endowment in the Manila Temple. Two months later, in June 1990, she received her mission call. She is currently serving—in her native Philippines.
People ask her why she would give up so much for her mission. “I tell them I’m happier now than before.”
“Is it that good?” they ask.
“Yes, it’s that good,” she tells them.
What are her plans after her mission?
“I want to go where Heavenly Father wants me to go,” she says. “If he takes me again to Saudi Arabia, that’s what he wants for me.”
But she isn’t sure. “I have already had a luxurious life and all the things that go with it. When I had a lot of money, I didn’t know God, I didn’t know Jesus Christ, and all I wanted was to buy everything I liked. But I came to realize that those things are not important to me. Other things are more treasured, more valuable.
“Now I want a simple life,” she says. “I want to serve Heavenly Father. I want to be loved by him. I want to love him.”

“Alexander, please be quiet and put the bear away. It’s time for the sacrament.” Alexander put the bear back into his sister’s diaper bag and slumped down on the bench. I know I’m supposed to think about Jesus during the sacrament, he thought, but I don’t really know what to think about. Sometimes he tried to imagine what Jesus Christ looked like. Long hair, a beard, white clothes, and sandals, maybe with lots of straps. It seems like Jesus walked around a lot, he thought.
I walk a lot, too, he decided. I’d like walking home from school if it weren’t for Zachary. Why does he have to bother me? He’s always walking close behind me and stepping on my heels. One of these days, I’m going to clobber him. I’ll just turn around so fast, he won’t have time to duck, and I’ll whack him with my backpack. No, that would make Mom and Dad sad. What can—
The deacon brought the bread, and Alexander remembered that he was supposed to be thinking about Jesus Christ. He passed the tray along and tried to concentrate again. He remembered the words of a Primary song: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still And think about Jesus, his cross on the hill. … It shouldn’t be hard, even though I am small, To think about Jesus, not hard at all.”* He tried to picture the images in the song. He thought of the poster that Sister Behunin had made to teach them the words of the song. Sister Behunin always makes good posters, he decided.
He heard the priest begin the prayer on the water, and he closed his eyes and again tried to concentrate. “… that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.”**
“Always remember him.” Remember what? It’s hard to remember something I don’t even know, Alexander thought.
After church, Dad reminded him that he was in charge of the lesson for family home evening and asked how it was going. “Do you need any help?”
Alexander hadn’t even started preparing. “Can you help me find out more about Jesus? I want to know what I’m supposed to remember about Him. You know, like in the sacrament prayers?”
“Well, what do you already know about Him?”
“Christmas … He slept in a manger. He got lost once as a boy. I think they found Him at the temple. He walked around a lot and talked to people. He got baptized. He died on the cross. He was resurrected. And He talks to the prophet today.”
“That’s good, Alexander. That’s all true. Now tell me about the Savior and you. Does He know your name?”
“Huh? Me? How would I know if Jesus knows my name?” Alexander tried to remember a story about Jesus talking to children.
“Why don’t you tell us about Jesus Christ and children for family home evening. I’ll help you find a few scriptures.”
Alexander was nervous about that. Sometimes it was hard for him to read the scriptures by himself. But he knew that Dad would help him, so he agreed. His dad showed him a few scriptures to read and told him to come and talk with him after reading them.
The next night, Alexander was ready for family home evening. First he told the Bible story from Mark 10:13–16, where Jesus’ disciples scolded the people for bringing children to the Savior and He told His disciples to let the children come to Him. He held them and blessed them.
Then, from 3 Nephi 17:11–13, 21 [3 Ne. 17:11–13, 21] in the Book of Mormon, Alexander told about Jesus Christ visiting the Nephites and inviting the children to come to Him. He waited until every child had been brought to Him. He prayed with them and blessed them one at a time. Alexander finished by bearing his testimony. “I am thankful for Jesus. I know that He loves me. I believe that He knows my name.”
The next week during the sacrament, Alexander listened to the prayer. Then he got out his Book of Mormon. He turned to 3 Nephi 17 [3 Ne. 17] and found the verses he had marked in red the week before. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine standing in a crowd and seeing the Savior. He imagined Jesus asking to see the children. He tried to imagine climbing up on Jesus’ lap and hugging Him and hearing Jesus say his name and give him a special blessing. He tried to think of what Jesus would say to him, and what they would talk about.
After church, Alexander’s mom told him she was proud of him for being so reverent during the sacrament. He didn’t say anything, but in his heart, there was a special warm feeling.

“Why do bad things always happen to me?” grumbled Harold as he tried to pull his school backpack out from under him. It was a cold morning, and the road to school was very icy. He was late, and in his hurry, he had fallen just outside the school door and landed on his backpack.
Harold looked inside the pack. “Oh no!” he moaned. “This is worse than I thought.” When he’d fallen, he’d mashed everything in his lunch, including the little box of juice his mother had put in as a treat. It had squirted over everything. Harold pulled out his book report. It was dripping with apple juice.
“Why do bad things always happen to me?” he muttered over and over as he opened the school door and went down the hall to his class, holding up with two fingers the dripping book report.
“Good morning, Harold, how are you today?” asked Mrs. Bennett as he walked into the classroom.
“I’m terrible,” he growled as he hung up his coat and sat down.
Two girls nearby giggled. “Harold is always terrible,” Katie said.
“Always,” laughed Anna.
Mrs. Bennett went over and sat down next to Harold. “Why is everything so terrible?”
Without a word, Harold showed her the soggy and sticky book report. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out on the top of his desk and said, “See this? Bad things always happen to me. I can prove it because I have them all written down on this list. Now today I need to add what happened on the way to school. I fell on the ice. I squashed my lunch. Juice got all over my book report, and I think I bruised my elbow.”
“Well,” his teacher said, “that is kind of a tough way to start the morning. What else is on your list?”
Harold read down his bad-things list. “Yesterday I stubbed my toe. My two big brothers took all the chocolate milk at dinner before I could get any. I didn’t get a turn on the swings at recess. On Monday I lost my favorite little car, and my pencil broke during the spelling test. Amanda spilled her milk in the lunchroom, and it went all over me.” Harold took a deep breath and was about to go on.
“I see what you mean,” Mrs. Bennett broke in quickly. “I’m wondering, though, just why you keep all of that on a list.”
“Because if I don’t, I might forget something. You see bad things always happen to me.”
Mrs. Bennett looked for a long time at Harold and then pulled the pencil from behind her ear. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.
Harold shook his head.
“I think your list isn’t long enough.” Harold looked at his teacher in surprise. He thought his list pretty much covered everything. He had kept it in his pocket and added to it all week.
“I’d be really curious to see what your list looks like if you wrote down absolutely everything that happens to you today. You will need more than that little paper. Here, use this notebook. Start with what happened on the way to school, then add everything that happens to you all day.”
“OK,” Harold said, “but you’ll see that bad things always happen to me.” Mrs. Bennett just smiled, and he started writing. He made sure that he covered all the details about the apple juice, the ruined book report, the smashed sandwich, his bruised elbow—everything.
Math was the first class. They worked through the problems on the chalkboard while Mrs. Bennett handed back their tests. Harold’s had a big 100% written on the top! She winked at Harold when she gave it to him and said, “Better write this down in the notebook.” Harold got out his list.
In reading, the students were reading aloud a play called “Robin Hood Rescues Maid Marian,” and when they drew names, Harold drew the part of Robin Hood! Mrs. Bennett winked again, and Harold knew that he was supposed to write that down.
As the children put on their coats to go outside for recess, his teacher noticed that he had some new boots with a warm, fuzzy lining, and new gloves to match. “New boots, Harold?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “Mom got them for me yesterday while she was shopping.”
“Hmmmm.” Mrs. Bennett rubbed her chin, “That sounds to me like something that happened to you.”
“I know,” said Harold. “I’d better write it down.” While he was at it, he noticed that his coat was pretty nice and warm too. Then he realized that he hadn’t yet written down anything about the hot breakfast his mother had made for him.
As the day went on, Harold’s list grew longer and longer. Right after lunch, he put down all about how terrible it was to eat a smashed lunch and how Robert had laughed about his funny flat sandwich for an hour. But out on the playground, he scored three baskets for his team, and Nick asked him to play after school, and he had to put that on the list too.
During art, his paint water spilled all over. That went into the notebook in big, capital letters. Jenny helped him wipe everything up, though, and Mrs. Bennett winked again, so he knew that he was supposed to add “help from a friend” to his list. He was on the third page of the notebook already.
At the end of the day, Harold took the notebook back to his teacher. “Well,” he said to her, “I think I’ve recorded just about everything.”
“Good,” she said. “What do you think—shall we count up all the bad things now?”
Harold looked at his feet and fiddled with the old, crumpled list in his pocket. It was really hard for him to say it, but maybe everything wasn’t so terrible. “Mrs. Bennett,” he said as he looked at the notebook, “I think maybe I saved up all the bad things so long that I forgot to notice the good things.”
Mrs. Bennett smiled.
“This kind of a list is a lot more interesting to write than the old one. Do you think I could keep this paper?”
“Harold, you can keep the whole notebook,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I hope you keep adding things until it’s a very long list.”
Harold grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “But, you know, it still bugs me that my apple juice ended up all over my book report instead of in my lunch.”
“I bet it does,” Mrs. Bennett said, “but at least it helped you see not only that good things happened to you, too, but also that it helps to write things down. Hmmm—I think you’ll have good things happen to you next week when we start a lesson on journals. What do you think?”
“Yes!”

“After keeping record of my time spent on social media for the first week, I was a little shocked at the amount of time I spent on my phone. It was definitely a good idea for me to use some of that time for the Book of Mormon, especially because diligently reading scriptures is not one of my strengths.
“Ironically, one of the first days I read my scriptures in the morning was a terrible day. However, I knew that reading scriptures would only improve my life, so I kept reading.
“I think the greatest impact from reading every day was that I felt much more in tune with the Spirit. I was able to make decisions much easier. I felt more love for the people around me and an increased desire to serve. When I read my scriptures in the morning, the day went so much better. When I read at night, I slept well. I would strongly recommend that everyone try this. What a difference it makes!”
Bryn C., 18, Utah, USA

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it started once when I was a bishop. A student sat across my desk from me. He talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they could be sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said something I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort. Finally, he asked if it were enough. And he said he didn’t want me to guess; he wanted to be sure.

About that time a kind priesthood leader took me aside and asked me if I had any questions. I said that I did, and I asked how I could know when a person has done what it takes to be forgiven. To my surprise, he didn’t give me a lecture on repentance or on revelation. He just asked some questions. They weren’t what I had expected. They were questions like these: “Does he attend all his meetings?”
“Yes.”
“Does he come on time?”
“Yes.”
“Does he do what he is asked?”
“Yes.”
“Does he do it promptly?”
“Yes.”
The questions went on that way for a few minutes. And all the answers were the same. Then he said “Do you have your answer?”
And I said, “Yes.”
And so somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a righteous priesthood bearer at its head. They have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he’d only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like sacrifice now.

In 1982, we moved to Hemel Hempstead (Hertfordshire). The meetings were now consolidated, and I stayed for the whole three hours. I was called as the elders quorum president. An elderly missionary couple were assigned to visit my home, and for the first time Rajinder said a prayer and felt the Spirit. I subsequently baptised her. We were later sealed in the London England Temple with our children.

One winter day, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was just eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady. One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. There the two of us sat in the otherwise-empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry.
Surprised, I asked her why she was crying.
She replied, “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised Melissa that I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing facility in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song, “Hark! the herald angels sing; Glory to the newborn King!” (Hymns, 1985, no. 209.) I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say thank you.
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She was staring at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met by a benign but blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word. Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying, “Don’t talk to her. She doesn’t know anyone—even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the years she’s been here.”
Luncheon ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said, “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words, “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. The words of the Master seemed to have a personal meaning never before fully felt: “Woman, behold thy son!” And to his disciple, “Behold thy mother!” (see John 19:26–27).
Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
From Bethlehem there seemed to echo the words:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(“O Little Town of Bethlehem,” Hymns, 1985, no. 208)
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ had entered in—all through the doorway called love. I declare this solemn truth in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

While living and working in Alaska a number of years ago, I had occasion to go on a fishing trip with a group of young men that included one of my sons. The other adult leaders and I knew that the area we would be camping in was bear country, so prior to the trip, we gathered the boys together to discuss certain safety measures.
We talked about four basic rules to remember when fishing in bear country: First, don’t do things that would invite a bear into the camp. For example, don’t store food out in the open that would attract the bears. Second, keep the camp clean. Take care of all garbage. If you catch and clean fish, get rid of the entrails and slime. Third, if a bear does come, know how to defend yourself. Drop down, be still, and play dead. Fourth, if someone gets hurt or is attacked by a bear, know how to get help. Signal to others that you are in trouble, and keep a good orientation of your surroundings so that you know the fastest way to go for assistance.
I am confident that all would have gone well on that trip had we kept all those rules. But we didn’t! On our last day we cleaned fish in the center of the camp and didn’t properly dispose of the remains. That night a Kodiak bear wandered into camp. We had just settled inside our tents, when we heard its panting. We literally froze in fear. We couldn’t talk.
Luckily for us, the bear got what it was after and nothing more. It found and ate some of the fish we had cleaned, and it ran off with two buckets, which were filled with the day’s catch. But it left us alone and didn’t do more harm.

What can we do to better prepare our children spiritually for their eternal roles? Perhaps the most inclusive answer is: Teach them how to live the principles of the gospel. To be good teachers, we must learn to be better listeners. Let me share one personal example: Our first child, Clark, when he was four years old, appeared to be guilty of some minor wrongdoing that at the time seemed to require some sound fatherly counsel. I took him into the bedroom and talked to him about why he must not ever again do what I had predetermined that he had done. When I concluded my great discourse, this little, brown-eyed boy looked into my eyes and said, “But Daddy, I didn’t do it.” Through his eyes his spirit talked to me and I knew that he was telling me the truth. I embraced him and asked for his forgiveness. His spirit, though in a four-year-old mortal body, spoke loudly to me that day, and I learned from him a great lesson: Always be a good listener.

While the Mayflower skimmed westward with the breeze in her sails, Ellen played on deck with four-year-old Mary Allerton, the youngest passenger on board.
“Mary,” Ellen said, “shall we play pretend?”
“How do we play pretend?” Mary asked.
“Well, first, you make believe you’re my sister. Now I need to find a brother. Let me see … John Howland will be just right.” Walking briskly up to him, she said, “Ahoy, mate. A jolly good day it is.”
“Righto!” replied John, grinning. “That it is.”
“Aye, and a jolly good day for pretending,” Ellen added. “Would you like to pretend you’re my brother?”
“I’d like that very much,” the boy answered.
“Then it’s all settled. We are a family. Families stick together on ocean voyages and help each other.” Pretending helped ease Ellen’s homesick longing for Sarah and Roger.

Joel stopped by Brandon’s house on the way home from school. Brandon had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and now he had home school because his treatments made him weak. Brandon also had to stop playing on their baseball team. School and baseball practice just weren’t the same without him.
Brandon’s mom answered the door. “Thank you for coming, Joel,” she said. “Some of Brandon’s friends don’t visit anymore. I think they feel uncomfortable.”
Joel looked down at his feet. He hadn’t visited Brandon for a few weeks. Then he ducked into Brandon’s room.
Brandon’s face brightened when he saw Joel. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
“No problem,” Joel said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. The chemotherapy makes me tired, but the worst thing is having to wear this hat all the time.” Brandon pulled off his baseball cap to reveal his bald head.
“Did the chemotherapy do that?” Joel asked.
Brandon nodded.
“That’s rough.”
Brandon rubbed his head. “Actually, it’s pretty smooth.”
Joel grinned. Brandon had a great sense of humor. He’d even kept it through his sickness and all the hard treatments.
Joel stayed until he could tell Brandon was getting tired. As he walked home, Joel thought about how he could help his friend feel better. He took off his baseball cap and looked at it. He remembered how excited he and Brandon had been when they’d gotten their team hats. Now Brandon wore his all the time to cover his head.
Joel had an idea. He smiled as he hurried home to share it with his mom.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked when Joel told her his plan.
Joel nodded. “That way Brandon won’t feel so alone,” he said. “I need to talk with the rest of the team.”
The next day Joel and his teammates went to Brandon’s house.
When they walked into Brandon’s room, Joel could tell it had been a bad day for his friend. Brandon’s freckles stood out on his pale face.
“Guess what?” Joel asked.
Brandon gave a tired smile. “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games today.”
“We’re getting our heads shaved.”
Brandon stared at the boys. “Why?”
“We thought it’d be cool,” Joel said. “And teammates stick together.”
On Saturday the team gathered at Brandon’s house. Brandon’s dad set a stool in the front yard. Joel was first in line. He grinned nervously as Brandon’s dad shaved off hunks of hair.
“All done,” Brandon’s dad said. “Next!”
All the boys on the baseball team had their heads shaved.
“It feels a little funny,” Todd said, rubbing his head.
Everyone laughed.
“You guys are the best,” Brandon said. He was smiling too, even though he had tears in his eyes.
Joel punched Brandon lightly on the shoulder. “Well, you’re our best pitcher,” he said. “We hope you’re back soon, helping us win!”

I remember being excited to receive my endowment when I was getting ready to leave for my mission. I also remember having that excitement turn to worry and confusion after some family members gave me veiled warnings about attending for the first time.
I knew their intentions were genuine in trying to help me have a good experience. But I wish that instead of focusing on warning me that the temple was unfamiliar, people had helped prepare me for the temple in uplifting and correct ways.
With that in mind, here are four things to consider as you talk to those preparing to go to the temple for the first time:
When someone we love is attending the temple for the first time, we naturally want to share our own experiences with him or her. But we need to make sure what we’re sharing is focused on gospel truths rather than our own opinions.
Correct information allows our loved ones to focus on the Savior and not be swayed into feeling a certain way about their temple experiences. President Russell M. Nelson said, “Good inspiration is based upon good information.”
You can share correct information (and even pictures!) about the temple from the temple preparation course, the scriptures, and temples.ChurchofJesusChrist.org. Sometimes we might get nervous about what to share, but by turning to resources rather than our opinions, we don’t have to worry about oversharing.
By giving correct information about the temple, we offer a more enlightened view about the temple. Opinions are often focused on feelings and experiences we’ve had, while gospel information is focused on allowing your loved one to have their own experience in the temple.
What descriptions of the temple have stuck with you? For example, President Nelson said, “Your service and worship in the temple will help you to think celestial.” And President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said, “Each [temple] stands as a beacon to the world.”
We can choose words that will offer hope and enlightenment to those we love who are preparing for their temple experience. We can avoid negative descriptors of the temple (like “weird” or “strange”), and we can choose to use positive, Christ-centered descriptions (like “peace” and “hope”).
I find it helpful to think about the many beautiful pictures I’ve seen of the inside of the temple, and often I will share those pictures with friends or family members who are preparing to go. What feelings and emotions and words come to mind when you see those images? Try to be uplifting in how you speak about the temple.
Out of our love and deep respect for the temple, it can be easy to feel afraid of talking about it. We can get flustered and wonder what is OK to say. I know I got caught up in the culture of telling curious friends and family members that we can’t talk about what happens in the temple.
However, as I served in and studied more about the temple, I came to see that we can share more than I realized!
For example, we can share that “an endowment is literally a ‘gift.’” The temple endowment is a gift of sacred blessings from God to each of us, and some of those blessings include:
“Greater knowledge of the Lord’s purposes and teachings.
“Power to do all that God wants us to do.
“Divine guidance and protection as we serve the Lord, our families, and others.
“Increased hope, comfort, and peace.
“Promised blessings now and forever.”
We can also talk about the covenants we make in the temple. The beautiful thing about the temple is that it allows us to draw closer to God and strengthen our relationship with Him by making additional promises with Him. These covenants are:
“Law of Obedience, which includes striving to keep God’s commandments.
“Law of Sacrifice, which means doing all we can to support the Lord’s work and repenting with a broken heart and contrite spirit.
“Law of the Gospel, which is the higher law that He taught while He was on the earth.
“Law of Chastity, which means that we have sexual relations only with the person to whom we are legally and lawfully wedded according to God’s law.
“Law of Consecration, which means dedicating our time, talents, and everything with which the Lord has blessed us to building up Jesus Christ’s Church on the earth.”
As we share positive messages about the temple, we help our loved ones feel more welcome and ready to attend for the first time. We can help them look forward to deepening their relationship with Jesus Christ through temple covenants.
What I learned most about the temple is that with correct information, it’s not strange at all. In fact, most—if not all—of the information and blessings we receive in the temple are familiar to what we are taught every day in the gospel.
Through my experiences, I’ve learned that fear is not of the Lord. When we avoid talking about the temple or try talking about it with veiled warnings or worries, it gives the adversary greater power to skew the beauty of the temple. Instead of cutting our conversations short by saying, “Just keep going back and it will get better eventually,” we can share the positive experiences we have from attending the temple.
When we find ourselves fearful of answering questions about the temple, that may be an invitation from the Lord to study more about the temple. This will bless not only us but also those around us. The Lord intended for the temple to bless us, not scare us.
Remember President Nelson’s words: “Making covenants and receiving essential ordinances in the temple, as well as seeking to draw closer to Him there, will bless your life in ways no other kind of worship can.” And the more we speak positively about the Lord’s house, the more we will keep guiding each other to return and invite those blessings into our lives.