Gospel Story Finder

As a freshman at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College), I missed my family. But after a few months of classes, I had settled into college life and was enjoying myself. When the telephone call came, I was in my apartment, studying.
“Christy, I have some bad news for you,” my mother said, her voice breaking. “Your father passed away tonight from a severe heart attack.”
Emotions flooded over me as I tried to comprehend what I had just heard. I had seen my father only a few days before, but I had no idea it would be for the last time. Dad’s death was a shock to our entire family; it was also a shock to my home ward. Dad was only 53 years old, and he was serving as our bishop.
The days that followed were filled with visits and phone calls from family, friends, ward members, and neighbors. We felt a tremendous outpouring of love from those around us. At Dad’s funeral, family members shared memories of our life with him, and we testified of the plan of salvation and of life after death.
Dad had been a faithful husband, a devoted Latter-day Saint, an avid Scouter, and a wonderful father. Many people were blessed because of the life he had lived. After the funeral my oldest brother dedicated the grave, and as a family we stood and sobbed through “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
The day after the funeral I returned to school. I wasn’t thrilled to be back, but I knew I had to go on with life and fulfill my responsibilities. Some days were easier than others. I spent a lot of time thinking about my father, and I relied on my knowledge of the plan of salvation and my faith in Jesus Christ to help me face my challenges and questions.
About two weeks after my father passed away, I took my journal to a chapel on campus to record my feelings and the events surrounding Dad’s death. As I wrote, I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had an overwhelming assurance that my Heavenly Father loved me, that He had a plan specifically for me, and that I would never be left alone. As I finished writing, bells sounded from speakers atop the nearby student center playing the hymn “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” (Hymns, no. 136). Words from the hymn instantly came to my mind:
I know that my Redeemer lives.
What comfort this sweet sentence gives!
He lives, he lives, who once was dead.
He lives, my ever-living Head. …
He lives to silence all my fears.
He lives to wipe away my tears.
He lives to calm my troubled heart.
He lives all blessings to impart.
I do know that my Redeemer lives, and I know He loves me. Because He rose from the dead, I know that my father and all of our loved ones who have gone before us will also live again. What a comfort it is to know these truths.

His voice was soft as he began. “Your mother and I first met at the fire station where I was a student firefighter, and she worked in the office. We began dating, and I realized she was different from the other young women I had dated before. I was a carefree young man who had been brought up in another church. But I hadn’t really paid too much attention to religion.
“I had very few values or goals at that time,” he continued, “and I really didn’t care.” He leaned forward and intently confided in me. “Kjersten, your mother set the most shining example of righteous living I had ever seen.” As he said this, a warm feeling swept over me.
My dad told me details concerning their marriage, my birth, and our family that I had never before heard. He told me the story of his conversion to the Church and how because they were first married civilly, they had to wait a year before they could be sealed in the temple. He also shared with me some of the adventures he and Mom went through in that first year of marriage. For the first time, pieces to a few little puzzles fell into place. I finally understood why my parents’ marriage and sealing dates are different and why they say that the first year of their marriage was the hardest they ever had.

The Arizona Temple was the only other Mormon place she ever had me visit. If I asked her what she wanted to do for a night out, she’d always reply, “Let’s go visit the temple. I love it there.”
I gave in, and we went there a few times. Usually we just walked through the grounds and admired the gorgeous landscaping, but after our third visit she talked me into touring the inside of the visitors’ center.
Inside, we saw several films and met many very friendly people. After the films and introductions, we went on a guided tour of the center. At the conclusion of the tour, our guide bore his testimony of the things we had seen that night. Liz cried.
After that experience, the temple was one of her favorite topics. “Chris, isn’t the temple a beautiful place? That’s where I’ll get married someday. I’ve promised myself that.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting married there either,” I said. “It’s really no different than a cathedral.”
“It is different. When two people are married in the temple, they’re married forever.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve always believed that true love lasts forever.”
Liz grew very serious. “You don’t understand. Only active members of the Church are allowed in the temple. You wouldn’t be allowed to enter.” She explained again that when her time came, she would be married in the temple. No other place was acceptable for her.
“But what if you really love a guy who’s not LDS?” I asked. “If you really love someone, it shouldn’t matter where you get married. All that matters is that you’re together and you’re in love.”
“If two people really love each other,” she answered shaking her head, “they’d never settle for anything less than an eternal relationship.” She paused and looked me in the eye. “I never would.”
As we neared the end of our senior year, we had many arguments about temple marriage. Liz maintained that she’d never marry outside of the temple. I argued that, in true love, the ceremony was not important. Love was eternal regardless of the type of marriage.
The more we discussed it, the more she talked about the temple and how special it was. I was confounded. It was obvious that we were falling in love, yet Liz wouldn’t budge on her temple marriage hang-up. I felt positive that if our love matured, she would eventually give in and agree to be married anywhere. I was wrong.
One afternoon at school, Liz met me at our locker. Her eyes were tearfully red, and her voice was taut with emotion. “Chris, I’ve decided that we can’t see each other anymore. We can’t go out again—ever.”
Her words stunned me. “What do you mean? Look, I don’t care what your parents think …”
She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. “It’s not my parents. It’s me. I can’t allow myself to date you. I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
“Liz, you’re just upset. Why don’t we just talk this out like we’ve always done? You’ll feel better in a little while.”
She backed away from me. “No, I’ve made up my mind,” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to see you again!” She pressed a shiny black paperback into my hands and ran down the hall.
We stopped seeing each other. Liz started going out with LDS guys, and I moped around campus. I thought about the many discussions we’d had. What was it that made her so stubborn about a temple marriage? Why wouldn’t she compromise? What made her so special?
Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

“How is your letter coming along, Ryan?” Sister Woodland asked.
“Not great,” I said.
For our Cub Scout activity, we were writing letters to Easton and Aiden. They were brothers who used to come to church, but they had stopped coming for some reason. Their whole family had stopped coming.
“It’s been a long time since they’ve come to church,” one of the Cub Scouts said.
I had never seen them because I had just moved into the ward. I felt weird writing them a letter since they didn’t know me, and I didn’t know them. I had no idea what to say. Besides, I wasn’t very good at writing letters.
“Just let them know we’d love to see them at our activities,” Sister Woodland said. “Make them feel welcome.”
“OK,” I muttered. But I didn’t understand how my letter would make a difference. “If they have stopped coming to Scouts and church, an invitation from a total stranger won’t help,” I thought.
I slumped down in my chair and tried to think of something to say—anything to say.
“Hi, I’m Ryan,” I wrote. “I’m new.”
That didn’t seem like a great thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything better, so I left it.
I slumped further down in my chair and thought harder about what I could write. Finally I added, “We have fun at Cub Scouts, but there are only four boys in our den. I really wish you guys would come.” It was the truth.
The paper was still almost blank, so I added, “We are going to build birdhouses next week. You should come.”
While I tried to think of something else to say, I started drawing on the letter. Though I am not great at writing, I am good at drawing. I drew a birdhouse. It looked pretty good. Then I started drawing lots of birds around the birdhouse. I drew many different kinds of birds until the paper wasn’t blank anymore.
I looked at the paper. There was no way that it was going to help Easton and Aiden come to church again. I was a stranger. I wasn’t a missionary or an adult. I couldn’t get someone to come to church. I was a little embarrassed as I handed the letter to Sister Woodland.
The next week was our activity to build birdhouses. And guess what? Easton and Aiden were there! I was shocked.
“Hey, I really liked your letter,” Easton told me. “I like to draw too.”
“Yeah,” Aiden said, “and I’ve always wanted to build a birdhouse.”
I couldn’t believe it. They actually came—because of our letters! I became good friends with Easton and Aiden, and they started coming to Scout activities every week. Then they started coming to church too. Sometimes their family came to church with them. Now, years later, they still come to church every week.
So, I guess you really can make a difference in someone’s life—even if you are a stranger, even if you are just a kid, and even if you aren’t very good at writing letters.

I remember a warm, sunny afternoon when spring was trying to nudge its way through a long winter in Cache Valley, Utah. My father, whose Saturdays were always filled with chores for his grandsons, stopped by our home with an offer to “go for a ride.” Always happy to ride in Grandpa’s truck, our four- and six-year-old sons scurried into the back jump seat, and I joined my father in the front. Our drive took us through the streets of downtown Logan, which wrap around the Logan Temple, prominently situated on a hill, centered beautifully in the city. As we moved further away from the city, we turned from paved, busy streets to seldom-used dirt roads, where we crossed old bridges and weaved through trees far into the country. We were far from any other traffic and all alone.
Realizing his grandsons were in a place they had not been before, my father stopped the truck. “Do you think we are lost?” he asked the wide-eyed boys as they gazed out the windshield across the valley. Followed by a moment of silent assessment came the profound reply of a young child. “Look,” he said, pointing his finger. “Grandpa, you are never lost when you can see the temple.” Our eyes turned, focusing with his, seeing the sun glistening off the spires of the Logan Temple, far across the valley.

Illustrations by Scott Jarrard
My mother and I arose early on a wintry Saturday morning to drive two hours to my all-day volleyball tournament. I quickly became absorbed by the music and games on my iPod.
With music streaming through the headphones and my eyes looking down at my game, I heard a distinct voice urgently say, “Aubrey. Aubrey. Help. Look up.” The voice was audible through the sound in my headphones, and I was confused. As I looked up, I realized our car had gone off the road and was speeding down a grassy median. I looked over at my mom; she had fallen asleep at the wheel! I screamed, “Mom! Mom! Wake up!” She immediately awoke, grabbed the steering wheel, and tried to gain control of the car. Luckily, the car eventually slowed to a stop. We sat in silence and unbelief for several minutes.
I explained to my mom that I had felt prompted to look up. In amazement, we both knew what had happened. That prompting from the Holy Ghost had probably saved our lives. He was the one who warned me about the danger and instructed me to help. I will never forget this experience or the prompting that I felt that day.

Several months ago while traveling by air in the Andes area, I had the opportunity to explain to the man sitting next to me why I was living in South America.
After coming to understand something about the Church, its doctrine, and my role as a General Authority, he finally said, “How can you give your entire life to another man, like this Mr. Kimball, and stay in this country as long as he tells you to stay here? I could never do that.” I responded, “I could not either, if he were just a man,” and then bore testimony of the true role of the prophet on the earth, and that “for the Lord, through him, I would do anything.”

This story happened in Malaysia.
Claire heard the fish sizzling in the kitchen as she played with her little sister. While Mom and Dad cooked dinner for Lunar New Year, Claire and Chloe pretended to be the festival dragon.
Chloe giggled when Claire stomped through her room in her dragon mask and red shirt. Everyone was wearing red today. On Lunar New Year, red meant you’d be happy and strong. Claire loved her family’s Lunar New Year traditions!
“Mom, will we talk to Grandma and Grandpa today?” Claire asked when Chloe went to bed for a nap. Usually they celebrated with Grandma and Grandpa. But they were living in a different country now.
“Yes. We’ll call them after dinner,” Mom said. She wiped her hands on her red apron. “Do you want to help me make cookies?”
Claire nodded and climbed onto the chair by the table. She carefully cracked eggs into a big bowl.
While the cookies were baking, Claire helped Dad set the table. They put out the special holiday plates with pretty patterns on them. Then Claire put photos of Grandma, Grandpa, and other family members on the table. Setting out the photos helped make it feel like they were all together.
Soon the kitchen smelled like buttery cookies. It was time to eat! Claire, Chloe, and their parents sat around the table.
Claire said the prayer. “Thank Thee for another year to be with my family.” After everyone said amen, Claire put a sticky rice ball in her mouth and smiled. It was so good!
When dinner was over, Dad got out two red envelopes. This was another tradition. They meant good luck in the new year. “One for Claire and one for Chloe,” Dad said. Claire shook the envelope next to her ear. She listened to the coins clinking inside.
“Thank you,” Claire said to her parents. “Now can we call Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Of course!” Dad said. He set up his phone on the table, and Grandma’s and Grandpa’s smiling faces filled the screen. Claire and Chloe waved.
“Hi, Grandma! Hi, Grandpa!” Claire said. “We miss you so much!”
“We miss you too. How are you?” Grandma asked. Claire talked with them for a long time.
After Claire talked with Grandma and Grandpa, Mom asked them about people Claire didn’t know.
“Mom, who are those people?” Claire asked after they said goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa.
“They are some of our family members. I’m learning their names and stories so I can include them with our family history,” Mom said.
Claire thought about that. “What’s family history?”
“It’s when we learn about all of our family,” Dad said as Chloe climbed onto his lap. “The more we learn about our family, the stronger we become.”
Claire nodded. “Can you tell me the stories?”
“Of course!” Mom reached across the table and picked up the family photo album. She turned to an old photo in black and white. “This is Dad’s great-great-grandpa. He lived a long time ago. But we can feel close to him when we learn about his life.”
Claire looked at the photos while Mom and Dad told her stories. While she listened, she felt happy. She didn’t have to always be near her family to feel their love. She smiled. It was a very good Lunar New Year.
What’s your favorite family tradition?
Illustration by Hannah Li

Brethren, during my Aaronic Priesthood years I was a swineherd! Way back then, by means of a 4-H Club project involving purebred Duroc pigs, I became familiar with work! As proof that what follows is not merely swollen memory, may I, with Elder Nelson’s help, display very briefly this blanket of nearly 100 ribbons won by my prize pigs at various fairs over several years.
Up near Elder Nelson’s hand is a pink ribbon, won 60 years ago. It was the very first ribbon I ever won. I think the judge had a tender eye, and the pig wasn’t really so choice, but he knew I needed encouragement and hence the fourth prize. The purple ribbons were for champions that were exhibited later on!
Thank you, Elder Nelson.
Brethren, I learned the hard way about the need to watch shifting pork prices at the local meat-packing plant. Careful records of profits and losses were kept with the help of my bookkeeper father. As in all things, my parents, so supportive, even ended up doing some of the perspiring themselves, including a special mother born 95 years ago today. She showed me how to work, and she loved me enough to correct me.
In order to obtain low-cost pig feed, I regularly bought dozens and dozens of three-day-old loaves of bread at a bakery for a mere penny a loaf. Additionally, if present at the right time at a local dairy, I could get about 70 gallons of skim milk free! Now I pay $2.50 a gallon—an amusing irony. By saving in these ways, I could buy the needed grain for the pigs with the little hard cash that I had.
There were many times when a pregnant sow would give birth to her litter after midnight. The resultant weariness of attending to all that, and more, was real. Yet through it all, there was a sense of some accomplishment, including contributing to our family menus. Most young men my age did similar work. Back then, brethren, we were all poor together, and we didn’t know it. Work was a given. Today, for some, receiving is a given.
However, there were real social downsides to raising pigs. Already shy, I remember vividly the principal of the junior high school coming into my class once and saying aloud in front of everybody: “Neal, your mother just called. Your pigs are out!” I felt like crawling under my desk but instead ran home to help round up the pigs.
My father was loving but exacting. He noted that while I worked hard, my work was often not carefully done. I was a stranger to excellence. One summer day I determined to please Dad by putting in a number of needed fence posts, firmly implanted and fully aligned. I worked hard all that day and then expectantly scanned the lane down which my father would walk home. When he arrived, I watched anxiously as he carefully inspected the fence posts, even checking them with a level bar before pronouncing them to be fully satisfactory. Then came his praise. My sweat of the brow had earned Dad’s commendation, which, in turn, melted my heart.
Please forgive this brief autobiographical note, which I have used to express my deep appreciation for learning to work at an early age. Even so, brethren, I certainly did not always put my shoulder to the wheel with “a heart full of song” (Hymns, no. 252), but I did learn about shoulders and wheels, which helped later in life when the wheels grew larger. Some of today’s otherwise good young men mistakenly think that putting their shoulders to the wheel is the same thing as putting their hands on a steering wheel!

Katya carried a large box as she walked out of her apartment building into the sunshine. It was summer, and for a few months, the weather was warm in her city in Russia. She set the box down on a bench where her friends Dima and Sonya were waiting.
“Here’s everything we need for our play!” Katya said. She opened the box and pulled out a plastic crown and pieces of purple, blue, and red cloth. With some creativity, these would make great costumes.
“What play are we doing?” Dima asked.
Katya smiled. “I think we should do ‘The Frog Princess’!” It was her favorite fairy tale. Katya smiled as she imagined herself playing the beautiful Vasilisa.
Sonya grabbed the blue cloth from the box and draped it around herself. “I want to be Vasilisa!” she said.
“Wait,” said Katya. “It was my idea. That means I should be Vasilisa.”
“You can be her,” said Sonya. But then she giggled. “When she’s a frog!”
Katya frowned and pulled the blue cloth away from Sonya. “But it’s my play!”
Sonya put her hands on her hips. “Nobody wants to play with you if you’re bossy. You’re a better frog than a princess.”
Katya felt tears in her eyes. She grabbed her box and ran inside, all the way up the stairs into her family’s apartment. She slammed the door behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Mama said. Katya burst into tears.
“Sonya is ruining everything!” Katya told Mama the whole story. “She said I was a frog!”
“Oh, Katyusha,” Mama said. Katyusha was Mama’s nickname for Katya. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of her.”
Just then there was a knock at the door. Mama went to answer it, but Katya ran to her room. She heard voices, and then Mama called to her. “Would you like to talk to Sonya? She has something to say to you.”
“No!” Katya yelled.
She could hear voices again, and then she heard the door close.
“I think Sonya is sorry,” Mama said.
“I don’t care,” Katya said. She pushed her face deeper into her pillow.
Mama stood by the door for a minute. “You know, sometimes when I’m really angry, I don’t want to forgive other people. Sometimes I need to ask Heavenly Father to help me want to forgive.” Then she walked away.
Katya was too angry to forgive. Sonya had hurt her feelings! But … being angry didn’t feel very good either.
She sighed and knelt by the side of her bed. Katya knew Heavenly Father wanted her to forgive Sonya. It was the right thing to do. But maybe Heavenly Father wanted Katya to forgive because it would help Katya feel better too.
“Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Sonya,” she said. “I really don’t want to, but I also don’t want to stay angry.”
She finished her prayer and took a deep breath. Katya felt her anger start to melt away, just a little. She could do this. She could forgive. She walked to Sonya’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Sonya opened it and started talking right away. “Katya, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I forgive you,” said Katya. “And I’m sorry I took all my costumes back. You would be a good Vasilisa too. We can take turns.”
Sonya smiled. “OK. Can we go practice now? I’ll get Dima!”
Katya smiled back. “I’ll get the costumes!”

Those in attendance at the Why I Believe service were also delighted to be joined by the mayor and mayoress of Stockton-on-Tees, Jim and Pauline Beall. Councillor Beall, having been born and raised in Stockton-on-Tees, is a man who is passionate about helping the community and local people. He has a great wealth of experience in the social care sector, having worked in this field for 33 years previously. The care and compassion of him and his wife, Pauline, shone through as they visited the Billingham meetinghouse.
Sam Cox, Billingham Stake Relief Society president, reflected on the night when she said, “It was a pleasure to be able to welcome the mayor and mayoress of Stockton-on-Tees into the Billingham meetinghouse, as we celebrated together being a part of this faith community. Why I Believe has such a depth to it, yet through beautiful music and the words spoken, we felt a witness of the love that Heavenly Father has for us. What a blessing it was to have an evening where the focus was on our Saviour, Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, the Solid Foundation in whom we believe.”
The mayor and mayoress shared great enthusiasm and awe about the music and testimonies they heard and were extremely grateful for the invitation. When they were presented with a Book of Mormon, the mayor mentioned that he already had a Book of Mormon sitting on his bookshelf at home but would be more than happy to take another. He commented on the beautiful artwork that can be found in the Book of Mormon. It was a fantastic evening to share in belief and faith with each other.

Sometimes the fear of the consequences of confessing a sin keeps us living in the past.
I once counseled an elderly sister who had kept in her heart a serious sin that she had committed as a teenager. Every time she had looked upon any of those she had wronged, she wept inside.
I wondered why she had not already heeded the Lord’s counsel, “By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them” (D&C 58:43).
She told me, “I just couldn’t find the courage to confess my sin. I finally got so weary of looking back that I couldn’t go on. Lately I have feared that I would not be able to cleanse my soul before I die.”
My heart ached for her. She had forsaken her sin long ago. But because she had never confessed, she had never known the joy of feeling forgiven. She had never been able to forget the past. After her confession, she lived in peace. Later, when I attended her funeral, I felt grateful that she had finally been able to stop looking back.

Illustration by Alex Nabaum
My father is a good man. But when you’re 12 and you find pornography hidden in a remote file folder on your father’s computer, your emotions get sliced open. I felt like it would be difficult to see him in the same way again.
Two years later, when I was 14, I was looking through the computer’s history files and again stumbled upon a few websites he had viewed and was forced to admit that maybe my father had a problem. I knew I had to talk to my mother.
She and I were driving together in the car when I blurted it out.
To my astonishment, she was not surprised.
She sighed. “Your father’s been struggling with this for a while now,” she said. “He’d told me he’d stopped, but I guess not.”
When we got home, I watched as she typed a letter to my father explaining what I had told her. After that, I tried to put it out of my mind again.
My father and I argued bitterly during my early teen years. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t like him, I didn’t respect him. I mistakenly thought, “Nobody else’s dad looks at pictures like that. He must be a bad person.”
It escalated when I was 15. Sometimes I would come into the room and glance at his computer screen and see that a pornography site was minimized to the task bar. He would pretend to have been playing a game of solitaire. I watched as my father didn’t take the sacrament, and I listened as my mother explained how my father had finally been convinced to go to the bishop. I felt burdened by humiliation.
What I didn’t realize at first, of course, was that these were incredibly wonderful steps on the path to full repentance. I later stumbled once or twice upon my father deep in fervent, aching prayer. This image is burned into my brain just as deeply as that file I’d found when I was 12.
At 16, the problem had not gone away. Once, I was doing homework late at night and overheard my mother sobbing and shouting at my father.
I crept back to my room, knowing from my father’s silence that he was suffering. I felt his remorse radiate through the house, as well as his sense of helplessness.
My brother and sister knew nothing about it, and I wanted it to stay that way. The only thing they knew was that sometimes, especially when Mommy wasn’t home, Daddy would come out of his room in an awful mood.
My father was trying. The bishop sent him to a support group for men with problems like his. I had learned to respect him again, learned how, on the good weeks when we read scriptures as a family every morning and he whistled hymns, to like and even love him again. I saw that there was much more to him than simply this ugly problem. I learned to let him ask me about school without turning it into an argument. I learned to pray for him.
Good men can do wrong things. My father gives a generous fast offering, he’s always willing to lend a helping hand, he serves in his Church calling readily, he never swears or speaks vulgarly, but most of all he wants to be better. He knows that what he’s done is wrong, and he is hopeful that he will change.
To anyone else in my situation: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and He will carry you through. He will carry you through not only if you’re the one who struggles under the burden of sin, but also if you are the one who stands by, watching as the one you love fights for salvation.

Gus German is only 17 years old, but he cannot remember a time when he wasn’t visiting Church members with his father. In Delaware, members are spread out in different directions and in many cases they’re miles away from one another. With that in mind, members try to check up on each other. Of course, Gus didn’t become a home teacher until age 12, when he received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned by his bishop to be his father’s companion. But he’d already learned a lot about caring for people and about preparing and presenting meaningful lessons, so he stepped right into his home teaching role.
“Scripture stories were my staple home teaching lessons,” says Gus, a priest who grew up in the Wilmington (Delaware) West Ward. “I’d studied them in story books from the time I was five, so I knew those stories cold. Some people wonder who Nebuchadnezzar is. I know who he is.”
Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.
When Gus turned 16 and got his driver’s license, he was able to see that smile more and more. As her condition worsened, Sister Miller was unable to drive. Gus happily volunteered to pick her up and take her to church. “Sometimes she couldn’t stay past the sacrament in sacrament meeting so I would take her home.” Now, other ward members pick up Sister Miller when she’s able to go to church. And when she wasn’t, guess who went to her house to take her the sacrament.
“Sometimes I went with my dad, and sometimes I went with the Young Men president or one of the guys from my quorum,” explains Gus. “It’s something I did that helped her out. I liked doing it.”
Something else he did to help her out: Gus and his dad took Sister Miller to receive her patriarchal blessing.
“When we went for my blessing, Jack (Gus’s dad) took us in his car, the hot rod (a Chevy Nova). We laughed all the way down there. Gus was in the backseat laughing, and my face hurt from laughing,” Sister Miller remembers. “When I had my blessing, Jack and Gus were as quiet as church mice. After all that laughing we did on our way down, it was pretty quiet on the trip back. That is very memorable. We always have a good time, the three of us.”
Last September, Gus left Delaware to attend BYU. He saw Sister Miller at Christmas when he went home, and he still stays in touch, even though she’s living at one end of the country and he’s 3,000 miles away. She misses his visits, but is happy Gus is going to college. In Gus’s place as Jack German’s home-teaching companion is Lance, Gus’s 12-year-old brother.
As for Gus, some things never change. No sooner had he settled in his new ward in Provo than he was called to be a home teacher.

Valentine’s Day: a day of love or a day of loneliness? Or something else entirely? The spectrum swings far and wide regarding how people feel about this particular holiday.
Sister Wendy Nelson once described to a large group of Church members how Valentine’s Day can be both wonderful and miserable, depending on the circumstances and the individual.
She was also quick to elevate the definition of love beyond that of romance. “Our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ want us to feel the love They have for each of us. And the Savior says to you and to me, ‘If you love me, keep my commandments’ [John 14:15],” Sister Nelson said. “What a wonderful Valentine gift we can give to our Heavenly Father and to our Savior—as we humble ourselves and open our hearts to receive Their love and as we keep the Lord’s commandments.”1
True love—Christlike love—has little to do with chocolates or wrapped presents. And it’s within reach for us all.
One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).
Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.
But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.
So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2
And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!
Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3
My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.
Then, in a twist of fate almost so coincidental as to be serendipitous, I was about to witness a demonstration of this principle in the very talk Elder Wirthlin was giving.
About halfway through his conference address, Elder Wirthlin started to lose physical stability. His breath came in short gasps and his body began to tremble.
Right when it appeared that Elder Wirthlin might not be able to finish delivering his address, President Russell M. Nelson (then Elder Nelson) rose and stood quietly behind Elder Wirthlin.
For the next several minutes, President Nelson’s silent presence was remarkable. With a firm grip on Elder Wirthlin’s arm and another grip on his lower back, President Nelson quietly personified the topic in discussion of Christlike love.
Did President Nelson take Elder Wirthlin’s struggles away? Not really. Did he do anything complex or dramatic? Again, not really. But his love and concern for his friend and fellow quorum member was palpable, and the strength he offered Elder Wirthlin made all the difference.
True love occurs every time we try to make another’s burden lighter.
Ultimately, Valentine’s Day could be missing the point a bit with its focus on love during one specific day of the year when we all need to give and feel Christlike love every day. That’s true for each of us, whether or not we’re in a romantic relationship. As children of God, we each need love like we need food and air.
And as Elder Wirthlin taught and President Nelson demonstrated, those strengthening, life-shaping acts of love don’t have to be as mysterious or complex as I once assumed.
If I’m having a rough day, a kind word from a friend can make all the difference. That’s another example of Christlike love. So is a stranger smiling and saying hello.
If I know somebody is sick and I bring them a hot bowl of their favorite soup, that’s me trying to be a little more Christlike. It’s me trying to share Christlike love.
And that’s always in season.

As we moved forward in our relationship, Annie (my wife) and I agreed on a few things. The first was that there was no easy escape clause in our marriage. Divorce wasn’t an option unless infidelity or abuse were involved. We agreed that everything else could be worked out. We also recognized that the behavior patterns we had seen in our homes growing up didn’t work. We needed a better way: that way is the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Annie and I had both previously been endowed, temple attendance was an important part of our courtship. We went regularly and enjoyed the Spirit together. We started studying the Book of Mormon together. This formed a good basis for our discussions about what we wanted to create in a marriage.
The same month that my wife and I got engaged, the Church released the proclamation on the family, which counsels, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”2
Similarly, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) in speaking of the increase in divorces throughout the world, identified one major reason: “It appears to me that there are some obvious reasons that account for a very high percentage of these problems. I say this out of experience in dealing with such tragedies. I find selfishness to be the root cause of most of it.”3
It’s easy to blame our spouse for problems, especially the small annoyances that bubble up with daily living. If we concentrate on those problems, they can grow into huge divisions that can sink a marriage.4 I’ve often found that selfishness makes those frustrations grow. Knowing this has helped me to think more about Annie and her needs and helps me to ignore minor annoyances.
We have now been married for 22 years. It hasn’t always been easy. Annie and I have had the normal relationship bumps. There have been difficulties over the years. But because of our commitment to the relationship and a willingness to turn to the Lord for answers, we have grown together. As different situations and questions have arisen, we have been able to turn to the scriptures, the teachings of the prophets, and prayer to find solutions.
The average length of a first marriage that ends in divorce is nine years (in the USA).5 Because Annie and I built our marriage after the manner the Lord has shown us, we beat those odds. I’m glad we didn’t let fear of the world we were raised in stop us. There’s always more work to do, but we are both confident that our marriage will continue to improve through the years to come.

By August 23, 2011, Amado and Evelyn Vigil had experienced a transformation not unlike the change that had occurred on that hill in their capital city. Dressed in white, they entered a sealing room with their daughter, Michelle, age nine, and their son, Christian, age three. They were the first family sealed for time and eternity in the San Salvador El Salvador Temple. Like the temple they had entered, they were newly dedicated to the Lord’s service, and they were united in their dedication.
Evelyn and Amado speak tenderly of the day their family gathered in the sealing room. They had worried that by the time they were endowed and ready for the sealing ordinance that same day, their children would be restless. They were particularly concerned about their energetic three-year-old son, Christian. But the children entered the sealing room with peaceful reverence, suggesting that they understood the reason they were there. And when it was time for the children to participate in the sealing ordinance, Christian, without any instruction or prompting, walked to the altar and kneeled by his parents.
Evelyn remembers seeing the family’s reflection in the mirrors. Amado also speaks of seeing, not only in the temple but in everyday life. He expresses gratitude for the eternal perspective that now guides his life—a perspective that Michelle and Christian seemed to sense when they were in the Lord’s house. This perspective has expanded even more since then, especially as the Vigils have welcomed a new daughter into the family—Andrea, who was born in the covenant in July.

May I tell you of my own testimony concerning the benefits of Relief Society for single women?
After my husband’s sudden death several years ago, I felt that life was giving me more challenges than I should have. I felt a large amount of self-pity and rebellion to think that as a relatively young woman, I was facing the fact that I would probably spend the rest of my life alone. While I was wrestling with these problems, the opportunity came for me to accept a position at the headquarters of the Relief Society and to become a member of its general board. There was but one drawback—it required that I move far from my family and friends to Salt Lake City.
Of course, I accepted the calling and loved my work in it. But as satisfying as it was, I found that I still needed friends and companionship outside my world of work.
In Relief Society I found that I had friends in my ward. My testimony was strengthened as I participated in gospel studies and heard the testimonies of other sisters. It brought out my valuable feminine qualities, and I found opportunities for service, as well as for homemaking activities. It brought relief from some of the pressures of life and from loneliness, and it gave me a fresh point of view.

For the youth of the Utah South Jordan West Stake, youth conference will never be the same again. Neither will the Book of Mormon.
For years, the stake had spent their youth conferences at local water parks or college campuses or going river rafting. Then the leaders planned a Book of Mormon conference.
At first the youth worried that it would be boring. But it didn’t take long to see they were wrong.
“It’s been kind of like living in a really intense movie for three days. I wouldn’t mind doing this every year,” says Ian Jack, 15.
He doesn’t have time to say more. The call to battle sounds. He picks up his foam rubber sword and runs out to join the army, which is acting out the Nephites’ and Lamanites’ last battle. All the youth agree that the battles are a blast.
But battles are just part of the fun. The youth have acted out scenes from the Book of Mormon, built their own wooden tower, and lived through the three days of darkness and destruction preceding Christ’s visit to the Americas.
They saw Abinadi burned at the stake, witnessed an angel appear to Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah, and went to battle as the 2,000 stripling warriors.
After each activity the youth gather in discussion groups to talk about what they are learning and feeling about the Book of Mormon.
On the last morning of the conference the youth are given “golden plates” and asked to record their feelings. Most of the youth make commitments to continue their study of the Book of Mormon.
But this time it will be different. They won’t just be reading. They’ll be understanding, feeling—and remembering—the Book of Mormon. Perhaps for the first time.
The plates are buried in a box made of bricks, to be “discovered” at a later time. But the youth have already made the most important discovery. They’ve lived the Book of Mormon, and it was anything but boring.

Oh, how powerful the tender, tempering teachings and the disarming wisdom of our sisters can be. I found the spirit of Relief Society—the whole of it—in the quiet reply of one of your number.
Someone ridiculed her determination to gather her year’s supply. She had stored enough for herself and her husband, with some to spare for her young married children who were without the means or the space to provide much for themselves. She told him she did it because the prophets had counseled us to do it. He chided her, “In the crunch you won’t have it anyway. What if your leaders call everything in? You’d have to share it with those who didn’t prepare. What will you think then?”
“If that should happen,” she said, “at least I will have something to bring.”
God bless you sisters of the Relief Society who bring so much. God bless that little circle of sisters somewhere in Eastern Europe who are a part of this great eternal circle of sisters—God’s organization for women upon this earth—the Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I bear witness that God lives, that He directs this work, that His benevolent power is upon this great circle of sisters, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.