Gospel Story Finder

The LDS Scouts came from all over the world, including Germany, Wales, Guam, England, and South Africa, but most were from the United States and Canada. One thing they all shared was a zest for getting to know Scouts from other parts of the world. One LDS Scout executive was worried because he had heard a complaint that the U.S. Scouts weren’t integrating well enough with other contingents. Determined to do his part, he hailed a passing English Scout. He was surprised to find that the lad did not have an English accent.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Campbell.”
“Where are you from?”
“Salt Lake City.”
The “English” Scout had traded uniforms with a friend in the British contingent. This was not unusual. By the end of the jamboree, many of the LDS Scouts looked rather like a walking world atlas, with headgear from one nation, shirt from another, trousers from another, and a neckerchief from still another.

At last I am alone. The crowd of students, their parents and Church leaders have finally filtered into the cool darkness after the dedication ceremony. It’s November 19, 1995, and we have a new seminary building. I am the senior seminary president.
I loosen my tie, slump into a desk in the corner of the classroom, and admire the strength and splendor of the new structure: the high-arching ceiling, the state-of-the-art audio/video system, the oak shelves for our scriptures, the red brick walls, and the double-paned windows.
My mind travels back to the seminary burning two years earlier and the transformation that followed. After the fire, my testimony of seminary’s importance blossomed. It wasn’t until I went without seminary for two months that I realized the powerful impact those daily lessons had on me. While the Church members spent several weeks cleaning up the old building and searching for a temporary replacement, I wasted my vacant seventh periods shooting pool at a friend’s house. That was fun at first, but over time, I felt that something was missing. That missing something was the spiritual nourishment of seminary. I missed that. The warm, comforting feeling that embraced my soul when I entered the seminary building—I missed that too.
When we finally received a temporary trailer and seminary classes resumed, the lessons had new meaning for me, and my appreciation for seminary continues to grow.
I rise from my desk and quietly slip out of the dim building. As I shuffle through the front door, I glance up at the New Era poster hanging overhead. With a simple picture of a baby chick cracking through its shell, the poster proclaims, “Adversity can make you strong.”

I bought the first one several years ago in a drugstore in Alexandria, Virginia. At 77 cents it was the least pretentious bound notebook I could find. At the time, I didn’t know I was starting a journal, I only knew I needed a place to organize my thoughts.
Before then, I had written ideas on any convenient scrap of paper—on the backs of tithing slips, on church programs, in small spaces on calendars. As I lost those bits of paper, I lost my only record of my best insights. The time had come to make them more lasting.
From the time I learned to write till I was about 18 years old I had kept diaries, but the small, hand-size pages didn’t allow for long entries. And the word diary on the front seemed too lofty, like the record an explorer would keep of an Antarctic exploration. I wrote only the activities of my life in them, never my thoughts. (A typical entry: “Today I almost failed my history test, but tonight Mike in my French class called me.”)
There was little emotional substance to those entries, but at least there were entries. Regrettably, as I attended college, I became “too busy” to keep a diary.
Therefore, when I bought the 77 cent notebook, I was just tired of losing those insights that would make good Sunday School talks. As I wrote in that first notebook, I was fascinated by how easily words came. I began looking forward to writing in my notebook at night. Sometimes during the day I would write myself a note about ideas to record that night. Some mornings I awoke before dawn and wrote fervently for five minutes or even an hour, undisturbed by the need to get up and get dressed. Some nights I wrote several entries; some nights I wrote none.
I liked the inexpensive notebooks because I wasn’t afraid to make mistakes in them, or to write about the mistakes I made in living. I began setting aside time to write. I wrote in the same place—sitting on the sofa, by the lamp. I recorded in the margins events that were significant, such as a new car or the date of my cat’s vaccinations. The actual writing space was used to record my reactions to the day, my observations and conclusions.
It was only when I went back to the drugstore several months later to buy another notebook that I realized I was keeping a journal. I decided to give the series of notebooks a name: Janet. The first volume, Janet I, hadn’t exactly assumed journal form, since I had dated few entries, and none mentioned daily activities and impressions. As I realized I was keeping a journal, I modified the format so that I would at least know what day each entry was written.
It became interesting, too, to note where I was each day I wrote. No matter where I went—on trips or to stay with nearby friends—I found that I was the same person, with the same personality.
When I was visiting a friend once, I realized the journal’s potential for encouraging spiritual and emotional growth. After hours of discussion with a philosophy student who wanted to argue about the gospel, I wrote a long entry about my beliefs. Putting it on paper was like testifying. That night, as I wrote, I realized how open and honest I was with my journal—probably more candid than I was with any friend.
Writing out my ideas gave me a chance to analyze them. Sometimes, in writing, I realized that my attitudes were based on selfishness or faulty judgement. Other times I was glad to realize that my ideas were good.
Sometimes I found myself laughing out loud at my reactions to the traumas of each day. Once on a bad day I wrote “PHOOEY” in letters 15 spaces high. It helped.
I started titling each entry. One of my favorite titles—and favorite entries—came when I was trying to develop greater faith. That title was “Doubt Creeps in and Janet fights Back.” Some titles reflect a calmer attitude. One in Janet 3, “Days and Nights and Things I Love,” leads into a paragraph I love to reread:
“I love nights that are chilly and clear, when I can see the stars and talk aloud under them. And I love early mornings, being up, being alive, and being outside on a day that is only starting. I love new beginnings that are just getting organized. And clean sheets, clean nightgown, clean body, clean hair, and a reason to be happy. I love the world when my soul brims with hope.”
My soul doesn’t always brim with hope. Sometimes it brims with frustration. When that’s the case, I can look back to the rejuvenating entry I wrote that September night. I can find encouragement from another entry, written soon after that one: “When I can understand what I’m going through, I find that endurance becomes easier.”
Not every entry is profound or even interesting. But each, in its own way, traces my daily conversion to the gospel, my struggles with myself, and my delight with the discovery of living “… for the Lord gives unto the faithful line upon line, precept upon precept to try you and prove you herewith.” (see D&C 98:12). Each helps the others assume clearer perspective. Not only does each entry reflect my life, but it affects and becomes part of my life.
It was during Janet 4, when my best friend moved, that I wrote: “I hurt too much to write.” And it was during Janet 5, after I had written a thoughtless letter that hurt a friend, that I wrote in my journal: “Through the many confusing voices that ring through my mind, one calming voice pervades and tells me the whole matter will be of no consequence.” After writing about that “calming voice,” I listened to it more carefully. The “voice” was right; when I later asked the friend to forgive me, he said he already had.
One day, when I felt that life was cruel to me, I started what has become a tradition. I wrote an entry titled “Things I Am Thankful For.” It amazed me that day, as it still does, how varied and plentiful are my blessings, and how obscure and sometimes even humorous are my trials.
Through moves from one side of the United States to the other, through vacations, at each peak and plateau, the volumes of my journal have been a constant friend, on a bookshelf or in a suitcase along with my copies of the scriptures. They have become a vehicle for working out personal challenges of each day.
I thought, at the beginning of the journal keeping, that I would neatly record my most profound thoughts, making them more accessible when I had to give sacrament meeting talks. Once or twice I have used a journal for that, but that is only part of the full benefit. The journal isn’t a reference book about my life, nor does it map my life. It isn’t a status chart; it’s a dynamic artwork, though it is rough.
The Janet series is vigorously continuing in its 15th volume. Some volumes span a year, and others a few months. I am the only person who has read all of them, and I may keep it that way—for a few decades, at least. The volumes have graduated from inexpensive notebooks to actual hardback books with blank pages.

“In speaking of my father, who is now in his eighties, I would have to say that he is one of the most brilliant men I have ever known. He is a strong-willed man who can do anything he puts his mind to. A repairman was never called to our home because Father fixed everything. Father always emphasized the importance of work, and he always had chores available for me to do. When I was ten and eleven, I swept floors at my father’s automobile agency, where there was usually more work than I could get done. I used to think Father was a little tough on me, but looking back now, I believe the hard work was a great blessing.
“My mother is the oldest daughter of Hyrum Mack Smith, who was the oldest son of Joseph F. Smith, the sixth president of the Church. Both of my grandfathers were apostles. Hyrum Mack Smith died when he was only forty-four years old, and Grandmother Smith, my mother’s mother, passed away a year later. I never knew either one.
“Mother is a very soft, sweet, tenderhearted person. She has always been a good listener. I think that during my growing up years she was probably my best friend. She is now seventy-eight years old. My mother and I had many good talks. She has always been a good cook, and there was homemade bread or cookies for us to eat whenever we came home from school. The best thing, however, was that Mother was always there after school to greet us.
“One of my fondest childhood memories is of my dog. Mother and Father bought me a collie, and I named him Scotty. Collies are smart, but this dog had an uncanny ability to know what time it was. Every morning Scotty walked with me through the park to the corner and left me there to cross the street on my way to school. He seemed to sense that that was as far as he should go. I live close to school and came home for lunch, and every day at noon Scotty was there to walk home with me and then back to the corner after lunch. At 3:30 he was there again to walk home from school with me. He was as faithful a companion as you would ever want to have. Scotty lived with us many, many years. He and I were inseparable. He was my protector, and ours was a great relationship. I was very sad when he died. I never had a brother, but it didn’t seem to matter because my best pal was Scotty. I hope that other children have pets that mean as much to them as Scotty did to me.”
Elder Ballard concluded our interview by saying, “There are two messages that I would like to give to the children of the world. The first is that even though you are young, you must always strive to do all you can to live the teachings of the gospel and to be as close to the Lord as possible. We never know what the Lord may call upon us to do, and we must be prepared. Some of you may have received special ordinations and challenges before you ever left Heavenly Father’s presence. You must never lose sight of what your destiny is in helping to build the kingdom of God.
“The second thing to remember is that you are never too young to begin thinking about the kind of companion you will marry. To find a girl or boy who is worthy to go to the temple to be married is a very special quest. No decision, as far as I am concerned, is more important than your decision about whom you will marry.
“When you are a child, you can begin developing concepts of what a righteous and loving eternal companion should be. By staying active in the Church, it will be easier and more natural for you to find that right person. It was very clear in my young mind whom I was looking for, and when I found her, I knew that I had found her.”

Photographs of the ward courtesy of Nolfo Zambrano
If someone offered you a piece of delicious banana bread, how would you react? For the young men in a ward in Ecuador, that’s one way they start conversations about the gospel.
Every two months they have a missionary day with open houses in a different area of their ward. They split into several teams, each made up of a young man, a full-time or recently returned missionary, and an elder or high priest. Some of the groups work at a tent, some go to contact people in the park, and some go door to door.
When they meet someone, they offer the person a piece of banana bread. When the person accepts, he or she is told that although the bread is delicious and good for the body, the missionaries have a message that will be nourishing to the person’s soul. The young men and their companions then invite the person to meet with the missionaries. In this way, they’ve been able to get 40 to 50 referrals for the missionaries in a couple of hours.
The young men also fellowship the members of their own quorums. On Saturdays they meet for a Young Men activity and to work on Duty to God. Then they visit the less-active members of their quorum. They encourage them to attend church and then invite them to come back to play sports or participate in another activity.
In this way and many others, these young men are preparing to be lifelong missionaries. Two of them (at right) share how they feel strengthened and inspired by their experiences.
I have been a member of the Church for five years. My parents are not members, but my uncle Jorge is the Young Men president, and he has been a great support. I am also grateful to my bishop for his constant support and encouragement.
I decided to get closer to the Church after one of the missionary days they had in the ward. It was one of my first experiences that motivated me to join the Church. As a deacon, teacher, and now a priest, my leaders have always supported and encouraged me to participate in all of the missionary work activities. I like the open houses, where I have the opportunity to share with others the blessing of being a member of Christ’s Church. What inspires me most are the service activities, where I have the opportunity to serve my neighbor as Jesus taught us to do.
A year ago, my younger brothers, Luis, age 15, and Israel, age 12, joined the Church. Together we have been working on the projects in Duty to God, and since their baptisms we have shared wonderful experiences working together. All of the young men in the ward are very close, and we support each other.
I know that baptism is the gate to enter the kingdom of heaven. When we are in the service of our fellow beings, we are in the service of God (see Mosiah 2:17). Missionary work blesses families, and I know that my life has changed because of the gospel.
Alvaro T., 17
As a deacon I learned my responsibilities thanks to the support of my parents and leaders and working with the goals in the Duty to God booklet. As a teacher I learned more by going to do visits as a home teacher, participating in the open houses on the missionary days, sharing banana bread, attending Mutual, and participating in ward and stake activities.
Now as a priest I get to focus more on missionary work. Working with the Young Men president and as an assistant to the bishop, I have learned much more about my responsibilities as a priesthood holder.
Our leaders constantly invite us to come with them and the full-time missionaries so that we can become familiar with missionary work. They also exhort us to read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. All of these experiences motivate and prepare me to receive the higher priesthood and to serve a full-time mission.
Isaac G., 17

Let me tell you about when I first got this calling. People often assume that I must have been in a stake Relief Society presidency. Nope, that was my roommate. I was, at the time, called as a family home evening committee member. People often assume that my grandpa, sitting behind me today, got me this calling. Nope, he had no idea. People often assume that I was somehow acquainted with President Emily Belle Freeman. Nope, I had only ever seen her on her Come, Follow Me podcast. But one random day in May of 2023, I got a call from a secretary of one of the members of the Seventy asking me to come to Salt Lake for a one-on-one meeting.

For four days, it was constantly on my mind. My roommates and I wrote down all the possibilities of what it might be with expo markers on a mirror in our house: a second mission? Maybe putting together a young adult focus group? One of my roommates even guessed that the church had taken it upon themselves to find me a husband. Whatever our guesses were, nothing prepared me for the calling I received.

When the Young Women Council had their first meeting over a month later with President Freeman, she asked us to consider two questions over the course of the next few months: “Why me? Why now?” So I did what she asked, and over the following months, I pondered deeply. I doubted deeply. Why me? I knew so many other, more qualified young adults. I felt like a nobody. Why now? I was still an undergraduate with a lot of plans for the future that included not staying in Utah. The only way I could describe it was that I felt major imposter syndrome, that they had made a mistake, and that I was inadequate for the task ahead of me. How could I ever measure up?

Well, those months passed by with a lot of pondering, searching, and studying. Now if you were to ask me “Why you? Why now?” I would respond by saying that I still have no idea and I am still searching for my answers. But I’ll tell you something I’ve learned along the way about how God works. It is something I’m sure many of us are familiar with, yet it now has become something I identify with. “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.”

But while Pedro’s academic curiosity and craftsmanship would have made him stand out in any community, one other quality made him unique. There have been few characters in the course of written history with whom faith and fact were synonymous. Pedro was one of these.
Even for those of us who use the term daily, faith is a paradox. Conspicuously absent in many who bear its robes, it sometimes finds a more congenial soil under homespun wool and leather thongs.
At any rate Pedro’s faith was both simple and factual. We had bought a diesel engine that generated electricity for our school and church building. A film arrived from Church headquarters depicting the struggles of early pioneers in southern Utah. President Lorenzo Snow, president of the Church at that time, promised the pioneers that a devastating drought would end if they would pay their tithing.
That year Pedro’s village was experiencing a drought. Potatoes and corn were drooping in despair at the rainy season’s slow arrival.
Pedro arrived the morning after the film was shown to pay ten soles (less than 50 cents) in tithing. He then went home and sat on his porch to wait for the rain.
It rained.

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop.”

I encountered the Church a little while later when I was over at my friend Zach’s house for a movie night with some other friends. While we were choosing a movie, I noticed Zach’s family’s collection of Church materials in an adjacent bookshelf. “Pick something for me, Zach!” I pleaded jokingly.
“These are all lesson manuals,” he explained. “But here—try this instead.” He handed me a book titled Book of Mormon Stories. I took it without much thought as we all paraded into the living room. But during a lull in the movie, I decided to open it, and I began reading about Lehi and Sariah’s family. I couldn’t put it down! I felt something stirring in my mind, something I’d never experienced before—the feeling that what I was reading wasn’t just some made-up story but something more.
Zach let me take the book home, and I read the whole book in two nights. Then I read it again and took notes. When I returned the book to Zach he offered me my own copy of the Book of Mormon, full and unabridged.
The small feeling in my heart continued to grow as I read the Book of Mormon. I finished it in a little over a month. Sometimes I would read for hours at a time. I carried it with me everywhere and read it every time I got a chance.
During this time I started going to church. I cried at my first sacrament meeting—I felt the Spirit so strongly! As I listened to the testimonies of others at that first fast and testimony meeting, I remember wondering if I would ever have my own testimony. Young Women was my favorite meeting. I loved being with other girls who shared my values and some of my interests and learning about how I was a daughter of God. I felt so much love at church.
That night, I asked Heavenly Father in prayer if joining the Church was the right path for me. My mind was filled with one word: John. I had never read much in the Bible, but I knew I’d find my answer in the book of John. I found John 14:6: “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” Christ was meant to be the way for me too.
I also prayed to know the truth when I finished reading the Book of Mormon. However, I didn’t receive an answer the first time I asked. After nearly a week of frustrated, tearful prayer, I watched The Testaments of One Fold and One Shepherd. As I watched the movie, I felt a burning in my heart, and I knew that now was the time to ask. I got down on my knees and asked in full faith and with an open heart if the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that if I received an answer, I would act upon it, regardless of the consequences. The answer I got was so powerful that I continue to feel it every day.
After I finished the Book of Mormon and received my answer, I began taking the missionary discussions. I am so thankful for the missionaries who taught me. I learned so much and began to prepare for baptism. I also began attending seminary and going to Mutual. My knowledge of and love for the Savior and His Church grew so much during those first few months.
I was baptized on April 26, 2009, by Zach’s dad, Brother Simons. I had the support of the entire ward, my family, and my friends. I have never felt so beautiful in my life as I did in my white dress and as I made that wonderful covenant with my Heavenly Father. Afterward, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost by Brother Davis, whose entire family was especially supportive of me while I was investigating the Church. I was so touched, and I knew that the words he said were from Heavenly Father.
Every day it’s difficult being the only Church member in my family, but they are incredibly supportive of my decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They aren’t investigating the Church, but they are continuing to have open minds. I have been blessed with a wonderful, loving family, and I love them very much.
Since my baptism, I’ve moved to a new ward, so I don’t get to see Zach and the other families that supported me very often. But I know that friends in the gospel are friends forever. I also know that this is Christ’s true Church, we are all Heavenly Father’s children, and He loves us very much. I know that the Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith was a prophet, and President Thomas S. Monson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that He lives. Nothing happens without a reason. When I asked Zach to pick me out a book at movie night, I had no idea it would change my life. I am so thankful that I was given the beautiful opportunity to come unto Christ. The gospel has changed me forever.

The sign at the entrance to Manzanilla High School near Sangre Grande, Trinidad, is clear. “No” it says in big red letters, and it itemizes what is forbidden by the dress code: Absolutely no short pants, skirts, or tops; and absolutely no thin straps, halter backs, strapless vests, or bare backs.
Some students balk at the restrictions, but for 17-year-old Michelle Ramnauth they’re no problem at all. “There’s nothing in the school dress code that isn’t already clear in For the Strength of Youth,” she says. And many people at the school know what For the Strength of Youth is, thanks to Michelle.
She explains: “After lunch every day we have 20 minutes for silent reading, and we can read any book we would like. So I would bring For the Strength of Youth and read it. One day I left it sitting out and some of the more mischievous boys took it.” But then they actually read it. “And that turned out to be good because they used to curse a lot, but now when they are around me they respect my standards and don’t do that anymore.”
In fact, word spread through the school that Michelle followed the “rules” in her church book, and that meant she had high standards. “If the way I conduct myself in school agrees with For the Strength of Youth, that’s exactly how I want it to be,” she says. “Some people think that means I’m too proud to talk to them, but that’s not it. When they’re telling dirty stories or using bad language, I just don’t want to be around that influence. They’re being disrespectful, I would say. But I have two or three genuine friends who are now trying to change their ways because they respect me and appreciate me for who I am. So I would call them my true friends, and I’m happy if I can be a good example for them.”

The S¶o Paulo Tabo¶o Stake chose the theme of “Changing the World” for their youth conference during Carnaval. As they cleaned the square of a local public building, they had opportunities to introduce several people who passed by to the Church. They also knelt in prayer before giving copies of the Book of Mormon to many of their neighbors, none of whom refused the gift.
“These were the most wonderful days of my life. I learned how to help and serve my fellowmen. I am very happy to be a member of the Church. I want to serve a mission and help the people of the world to be as happy as I am.”
Debora, Second Ward, Bosque

I recently encountered a situation that challenged the way I thought about agency and personal revelation. As I was nearing the end of graduate school, I had a few different job offers in different cities and could not decide which one to take. Like the brother of Jared, I had experienced many moments where I had prayed about a major decision and God answered with a pretty definitive response. Relying on those prior experiences, I began to pray and ask God to help me decide which job I should take. I was also doing my part by learning about each job opportunity and counseling with many people. But no matter how much I prayed or fasted, the heavens stayed silent, and I received no answer.

The deadline to make a decision was approaching, and I began to panic. Surely this was the kind of decision the Lord must care about, so why wasn’t He answering? Maybe He didn’t care about which job I chose, but He must care about which city I moved to since it would undoubtedly have an impact on my life. The Lord had always cared about my decisions in the past, so why would He not care about this one too?

Yet no matter how hard I tried, no answer came. I started to wonder if I had drifted far enough away from God that I could not hear His answer. I also wondered if I could not hear because I subconsciously did not want to hear the answer. Finally, the day before the deadline, I knew I had to make a choice, so I used my judgment and made a decision. That night I simply prayed, asking if He would tell me if my answer was wrong. Still no response came, so I went ahead and took the job.

Several months later, I was still questioning my decision, so I asked for a priesthood blessing to receive reassurance. In the blessing I was told that I didn’t get an answer to my prayer because the Lord was happy with any decision I made. This blessing reinforced advice previously given to me by my mission president, who told me that oftentimes it doesn’t really matter what decision we make. God wants us to learn how to stand on our own two feet and decide how to live our lives. My mission president also reminded me that God, as our Heavenly Father, won’t punish us and take away promised opportunities if we are sincerely trying to figure out what to do.

After years of inactivity, my dad announced out of the blue one day that we were going back to church again. This met with some protest from me. Throughout my childhood I knew only vaguely of the Mormon church. Basically I knew that there were rules against everything I was currently doing. Besides, what would my friends say if they found out?
Finally my dad and I agreed that I would just try it out for a while and that if I decided against it he wouldn’t force me to go. Sunday came. I sat through sacrament meeting and Sunday School as if I were deaf. Then came Young Women. I sat in the corner, arms crossed, eyes glaring. (Later I found out that I had actually scared my adviser as much as I had hoped to.) With that Sunday over I vowed never again! The following Sundays I contracted everything from a cold to tonsillitis in order to avoid going.
Although I would have denied it at the time, I felt something that Sunday. I felt something from this adviser who really seemed to care about this strange new girl in her class. I felt something, too, from an LDS schoolmate who took an interest in my spiritual well-being. Somehow she convinced me to go back to church.
Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to such a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted that always in my life.

In Cali, Colombia, a few days ago, the mission president visited one of our Church meetings. At the start of the meeting a seven-year-old boy came up on the stand and sat next to him. He was not on the program; he just wanted to be there. When the meeting was nearly over he strode to the pulpit and bore his testimony.

When he finished, he went back and sat next to the president. The two exchanged glances. The mission president smiled approval. The young boy smiled back. In those dark eyes was a message of love and security. Here was someone who knew he belonged.

Later it was learned the boy had spent his earlier life as an orphan. A couple in the ward had taken him in and were raising him as their own. The whole ward was his home, and he was blossoming in this atmosphere of acceptance.

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

President Shumway has agreed to read from his journal, an experience his mother recited to him illustrating this principle.

One day when I was very young, someone told Mom that they were pretty sure that my dad had quit smoking. Dad had not been active in the Church because of his habit, but never smoked around the home or family. Mom was so overjoyed by this news that she started walking down to his workplace just to be around her "hero" for a few minutes. As she rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Dad, but to her great disappointment, he was "lighting up" right at that moment, .and she was pretty sure he saw her. Broken hearted, she turned and ran home. She had been so patient and waited so long already: enough was enough!

She began getting her angry speech ready. She was going to let him have it, he deserved it. But then a thought came into her mind: "You had better pray about this." She went out in the moonlight and knelt down on the ground. "Heavenly Father, please help me! What should I do?" Almost instantly a warm and comforting feeling came over her, and all her anger disappeared. In its place came the words that she should say to my dad.

It wasn't long before Dad came home, perhaps expecting an irate wife. Instead, he was greeted with a loving hug and kiss. A little later that evening Mom took hold of both of his hands and said, "Darling, I just want you to know how much we appreciate how hard you work and what a good provider and head of the family you are. We love you so much, and our greatest desire is to be with you for eternity."

Well, you can guess the happy ending. Mom's loving patience over those eight years of marriage paid off. We were all sealed in the Mesa Temple shortly thereafter.

Such a situation arose in the life of Spencer W. Kimball when he left Thatcher, Arizona, upon his call to the Council of the Twelve. Elder Kimball sought out people with whom he had had business, Church, or personal relationships and asked them if they had any concerns about his past dealings with them. If any felt he had not been fair with them, he offered to make amends with them without argument. (Edward L. Kimball and Andrew E. Kimball, Jr., Spencer W. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1977, pages 197–98.)

I knew a wonderful gentleman not too many years ago who helps to illustrate this universal principle of cultural myopia. I first met him in Singapore when I was assigned to be his family’s home teacher. A distinguished professor of Sanskrit and Tamil, he hailed from the south of India. His wonderful wife and two sons were members of the Church, but he had never joined nor listened much to the teachings of the gospel. He was happy with the way his wife and sons were developing and supported them fully in their undertakings and Church responsibilities.
When I offered to teach him the principles of the gospel and share our beliefs with him, he initially balked. It took me a while to figure out why: he felt that by so doing, he would become a traitor to his past, his people, and his history! To his way of thinking, he would be denying everything he was, everything his family had taught him to be, his very Indian heritage. Over the next few months, we were able to talk about these issues. I was awed (though not surprised!) by how the gospel of Jesus Christ was able to open his eyes to a different viewpoint.
So what happened to my friend? Well, he was taught the lessons and joined the Church. His family has since been sealed for time and all eternity in the Sydney Australia Temple. He has given up little—and gained the potential for everything. He discovered that he can still celebrate his history, still be proud of his ancestry, his music and dance and literature, his food, his land and its people. He has found that there is no problem incorporating the best of his local culture into the greatest of all cultures. He discovered that bringing that which is consistent with truth and righteousness from his old life into his new one serves only to enhance his fellowship with the Saints and to assist in uniting all as one in the society of heaven.

What an uplift President Kimball’s August message on testimony was to me. I have been a member of the Church all my life but never have I enjoyed such an upliftment. I have spent the whole summer in the hospital, so I have not been able to attend my meetings like I always do. The meeting I have missed the most is testimony meeting. This meeting seems to do me the most good. I grow so much from others’ testimonies. However, as I lay in my bed one day, I had a strong urge to bear my testimony. I felt a strong feeling that my Heavenly Father was with me, so I poured out my heart to him. I shared my testimony with my best friend. I lay there and cried because I knew that my testimony had been heard. It needed to be shared, and my Heavenly Father knew it.
I am still in the hospital, but I know God lives and I know that we have living prophets guiding us today. The gospel is so marvelous, and this is a wonderful time to live. I have felt lonely at times in this hospital room, but I have learned many lessons, and the Lord has always been with me.
The power of the priesthood has also been an uplift in my life. My dad and my brother have brought the sacrament to me with my bishop’s approval.
The gospel is marvelous and has been such an inspiration in my life. Thank you, President Kimball, for your most beautiful article. It was one I needed right now in my life.
Jo HendricksApple Valley, California

One of the sweetest experiences I had in the temple was working with children who were being sealed to their parents. I once asked a little boy, “What are you doing here in the temple?”
He said, “I came with my parents to be sealed.”
I asked, “What does that mean?”
He said, “We will be a family forever.”
I said, “That’s a wonderful answer. You must have a good family if you want to be with them forever.”
His eyes lit up, and he said, “Yes, I do.” Children can feel the sacredness and seriousness of the temple.

A missionary I know recently wrote his family:
We had a zone conference tonight. It seems that some missionaries from another district have been taking the meetings a little less seriously than other people feel they should. They were openly rebuked for it, and it gave me some thoughts on the relationship we place between the gospel and people. . . . It’s so easy to notice what other people do wrong and how we would do things differently. Can you imagine how different the world would be if that trend was reversed and if we all noticed the positive of others and set these qualities as our goal to work for rather than comparing ourselves to the negative? [Letter from Elder Adam Wilcox to MarJean Wilcox]
Yes, Elder Wilcox, I can imagine. In fact, in my fondest dreams we treat each other in the kind ways that heal and soothe the bruises and rebuffs of life. This wise young elder reminds us that if we will acknowledge successes and think of ways to bring everyone in, rather than emphasizing the errors or differences that leave some out, life will be better all around.