Gospel Story Finder

Recently I went to church with my sweet mother at our old rock chapel. Drawn to little voices coming from the same Primary room I attended decades ago, I walked in the back and observed caring leaders teach this year’s theme: “I Am a Child of God.” I smiled as I remembered patient and loving teachers who, during our singing time back then, would often look at me—that rambunctious little boy at the end of the pew—as if to say, “Is he really a child of God? And who has sent him here?”
I invite each of us to open our hearts to the Holy Ghost, who “beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.”
President Boyd K. Packer’s words are plain and precious: “You are a child of God. He is the father of your spirit. Spiritually you are of noble birth, the offspring of the King of Heaven. Fix that truth in your mind and hold to it. However many generations in your mortal ancestry, no matter what race or people you represent, the pedigree of your spirit can be written on a single line. You are a child of God!”
“When you … see our Father,” Brigham Young described, “you will see a being with whom you have long been acquainted, and he will receive you into his arms, and you will be ready to fall into his embrace and kiss him.”
Moses learned of his divine heritage talking with the Lord face-to-face. Following that experience, “Satan came tempting” with subtle yet vicious intent to distort Moses’s identity, “saying: Moses, son of man, worship me. And … Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God.”
This great war over divine identity rages fiercely as Satan’s proliferating arsenal aims to destroy our belief in and knowledge of our relationship with God. Thankfully, we have been blessed with clear vision and understanding of our true identity from the beginning: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,” and His living prophets proclaim, “Each [human being] is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny.”
Coming to know these truths with certainty helps us overcome trials, troubles, and afflictions of every kind. When asked, “How can we help those struggling with [a personal challenge]?” an Apostle of the Lord instructed, “Teach them their identity and their purpose.”
These powerful truths were life-changing for my friend Jen, who as a teenager caused a serious car accident. Though her physical trauma was severe, she felt exquisite pain because the other driver lost her life. “Someone lost their mom, and it was my fault,” she says. Jen, who just days before stood and recited, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us,” now questioned, “How could He love me?”
“The physical suffering passed,” she says, “but I didn’t think I would ever heal from the emotional and spiritual wounds.”
In order to survive, Jen hid her feelings deeply, becoming distant and numb. After a year, when she was finally able to talk about the accident, an inspired counselor invited her to write the phrase “I am a child of God” and say it 10 times daily.
“Writing the words was easy,” she recalls, “but I couldn’t speak them. … That made it real, and I didn’t really believe God wanted me as His child. I would curl up and cry.”
After several months, Jen was finally able to complete the task every day. “I poured out my whole soul,” she says, “pleading with God. … Then I began to believe the words.” This belief allowed the Savior to begin mending her wounded soul. The Book of Mormon brought comfort and courage in His Atonement.
“Christ felt my pains, my sorrows, my guilt,” Jen concludes. “I felt God’s pure love and had never experienced anything so powerful! Knowing I am a child of God is the most powerful knowledge I possess!”
Brothers and sisters, how can each of us experience the power of understanding our divine identity? It begins by seeking to know God, our Father. President Russell M. Nelson testified, “Something powerful happens when a child of God seeks to know more about Him and His Beloved Son.”
Learning of and following the Savior helps us come to know the Father. “Being … the express image of his [Father],” Jesus taught, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” Christ’s every word and deed reveals the true nature of God and our relationship to Him. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught, “With blood appearing at every pore and an anguished cry upon His lips, Christ sought Him whom He had always sought—His Father. ‘Abba,’ He cried, ‘Papa.’”
As Jesus earnestly sought His Father in Gethsemane, so young Joseph Smith, in 1820, prayerfully sought God in the Sacred Grove. After reading “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God,” Joseph retired to pray.
“I kneeled down,” he later wrote, “and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. …
“… I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head. …
“… I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—[Joseph,] This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
As we follow the examples of the Savior and the Prophet Joseph in earnestly seeking God, we will come to understand in a very real way, as Jen did, that our Father knows us by name, that we are His children.
To mothers, especially young mothers, who often feel overwhelmed and underwater while striving to raise “a sin-resistant generation,” never underestimate your central role in God’s plan. In stressful moments—perhaps when you are chasing little ones and a charred smell from the kitchen informs you that your lovingly prepared dinner is now a burnt offering—know that God sanctifies your most difficult days. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee,” He peacefully reassures. We honor you as you fulfill the hope of Sister Joy D. Jones, who stated, “Our children deserve to understand their divine identity.”
I invite each of us to seek God and His Beloved Son. “Nowhere,” President Nelson directed, “are those truths taught more clearly and powerfully than in the Book of Mormon.” Open its pages and learn that God does “all things for [our] welfare and happiness”; that He is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, long-suffering and full of goodness”; and that “all are alike unto [Him].” When you feel hurt, lost, scared, upset, sad, hungry, or hopelessly abandoned in life’s extremities—open the Book of Mormon, and you will come to know that “[God] will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character [to do so].”
Coming to know our Father changes everything, especially our hearts, as His gentle Spirit confirms our true identity and great worth in His sight. God walks with us along the covenant path as we seek Him through prayerful pleadings, scriptural searchings, and obedient strivings.
I love the God of my fathers, “the Lord God Almighty,” who weeps with us in our sorrows, patiently chastens our unrighteousness, and rejoices when we seek to “give away all [our] sins to know [Him].” I worship Him, who is ever “a father of the fatherless” and a companion to the companionless. Gratefully, I testify that I have come to know God, my Father, and bear witness of the perfections, attributes, and “excellency of [His] character.”
That every one of us might truly understand and cherish our “noble birthright” as a child of God in coming to know Him, “the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom [He] hast sent” is my fervent prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Nagoya Saints held their first Sunday School meeting in January 1950. To attract more people, Toshiko and the missionaries placed flyers in a local newspaper. The next Sunday, 150 people showed up at the lecture hall. Latter-day Saint meetings often drew crowds in post-war Japan as many people sought hope and meaning after the trauma they had experienced.1 But for most, interest in the Church was temporary, especially as the country grew more economically stable. As fewer people felt a need to turn to faith, attendance at the meetings declined.2

I love him for other things, for other places walking in his footsteps has taken me. I love him for a phone call from Idaho. A young couple had just had twins prematurely. One of them was doing fairly well, but the other was brought into the University of Utah Medical Center, weighing just a little over a pound and a quarter. Think of five cubes of butter, if you would, and you’re talking about the size of this little soul. I received a call from Idaho: “He has been administered to, but would you mind going to the hospital and giving him a blessing?” I found that about the only hour available that particular day was at 5:00 A.M. I went up to the medical center, went into the room, and found the oxygen canopy. I put my fingers—all that would fit—on the forehead of this little soul, gave a blessing, and had the impression from God that one day this boy—182 cm. tall, ninety-one kilograms—would be a young ambassador for the Lord.

There are other experiences. Once as I was leaving a conference, a sweet family stopped me. They knew a nonmember man who was having severe problems, and they wondered if we would give him a blessing. We went to his apartment. In the living room were two pieces of furniture, a bean bag chair and a stereo set—and nothing else. A little girl, nine years old was taking care of her father because the mother, when she heard her husband had cancer, had abandoned him and the girl and her younger brother. The girl took us down the hallway into his room, and there on the bottom of two bunk beds we saw this man, 182 cm. tall, thirty point four kg. We administered to him, feeling he would not live. But we felt impressed to bless him with the thing that would be of most worth to him: that his son and daughter would be protected, that angels would walk through this life with them, that they would be protected when he wasn’t there to do it any longer. You can’t buy those kinds of experiences with all the money in the world.

Seeking to walk in the Lord’s footsteps recently brought me in contact with a young man and his father. The young man and a friend were up hiking in the lower foothills near Cody, Wyoming. The friend jumped across a high-power line that was down, but the young man got tangled in it and was electrocuted. The friend turned and ran all the way back down to where the father lived—and it wasn’t a short distance—and told the father that his son had been electrocuted and that he was dead. The father, who was not a young man, ran all the way back up, taking about fifteen minutes. When he got up to where the boy was lying across the wires, he somehow removed the boy from the wires with a board or a large branch. Then he picked his son up in his arms and held him, saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power and authority of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, I command you to live.” The dead boy opened up his eyes in his father’s arms and was taken to the University of Utah Medical Center, where he recovered.

When I contemplate living honorably, my thoughts inevitably turn to Brother Gustav Wacker. I met Brother Wacker when I served as president of the Canadian Mission in Eastern Canada. He was president of the Kingston Branch of that mission. He was from Germany and spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He was a barber by trade, making but little money cutting hair near an army base at Kingston.

How Brother Wacker loved the missionaries! The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege to cut the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. When the missionaries would make a feeble attempt to pay him, Brother Wacker would say, “Oh no, it is a joy to cut the hair of a servant of the Lord.” Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often did in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by cab, while he himself at day’s end would lock the small shop and walk home alone in the driving rain.

I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain to him that the Lord required no more than a tenth fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about a third of his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued. Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children, but they mothered and fathered the young missionaries who loved to visit them. Men of learning and men of experience sought out this humble man of God and counted themselves fortunate if they could spend an hour with him. His appearance was ordinary, his English was halting and somewhat difficult to understand, his home was unpretentious. He did none of the things to which the world usually pays attention, yet the faithful beat a path to his door. Why? Because they wished to drink this “fountain of truth.”

It was not so much what he said as what he did; not the substance of the sermons he preached but the strength of the life he lived. He had the glow of goodness and the ­radiance of righteousness. His strength came from obedience. In their later years, Brother and Sister Wacker served a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission in the beautiful Washington D.C. Temple. Then, in 1983, his mission in mortality concluded: dressed in his white temple suit, Gustav Wacker peacefully passed away in the Washington D.C. Temple while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion. He had felt a bit faint, and the two of them found a sofa there in the temple, where they sat down just before he slipped away. He had not laid up for himself treasures on earth; rather, he had laid up for himself treasures in heaven (see Matthew 6:19–20).

The Syracuse youth laughed and talked together as they arrived. But noise dropped to whispers as they entered the lower level of the temple itself, through polished brass-and-glass doors that lead to the baptistry. Their eyes were as wide as their smiles.
“When you come through the door, everyone stops talking,” Tyson says.
Ryan Tucker, 16, says, “I noticed the peace and serenity the moment I walked in.” It helped him to leave worries of the world behind.
Leaving the baptistry, the Syracuse youth walked up a wide staircase to the second floor. Their heads kept swiveling as their long line slowly progressed past images of the Savior and paintings of local landscapes.
“It was nice looking around and noticing things by yourself,” says Megan Skidmore, 15. “It’s nice to get away from the world. It helps me feel like I have someplace to go if I ever feel alone.”
As they stepped into the celestial room, quiet awe replaced already softened whispers. They craned their necks just enough to take in the detailed glass chandelier hanging in midair, with a high, vaulted ceiling overhead.
Their final glimpse inside the temple included a short stop in one of its five sealing rooms. This was the favorite room of recently ordained deacon Stockton Stoker, age 12.
“When you look at the mirrors on either side of the altar, the reflections just keep going,” he says. “It represents that families can be together forever.”

Let me tell you the story of one man who sacrificed greatly to maintain his own financial integrity and honor.

In the 1930s Fred Snowberger opened the doors of a new pharmacy in northeastern Oregon. It had been his dream to own his own business, but the economic turnaround he had hoped for never materialized. Eight months later, Fred closed the doors of his pharmacy for the last time.

Even though his business had failed, Fred was determined to repay the loan he had secured. Some wondered why he insisted on repaying the debt. Why didn’t he simply declare bankruptcy and have the debt legally forgiven?

But Fred did not listen. He had said he would repay the loan, and he was determined to honor his word. His family made many of their own clothes, grew much of their food in their garden, and used everything they had until it was thoroughly worn out or used up. Rain or shine, Fred walked to and from his work each day. And every month, Fred paid what he could on the loan.

Years passed, and finally the wonderful day arrived when Fred made the last payment. He delivered it in person. The man who had loaned him the money wept, and with tears streaming down his face he said, “You not only paid back every penny, but you taught me what a man of character and honesty is.”

To this day, nearly 70 years after Fred signed his name to that note, descendants of Fred and Erma Snowberger still tell this story with pride. This act of honor and nobility has lived through the decades as a cherished example of family integrity.

As each person speaks, we come around the circle to Trevor, a young man with special challenges. He sits quietly, reluctant to participate in the discussion about testimonies. Spontaneously, one by one, his friends in the circle start telling good things about Trevor: how he is a good example, how he brings friends to church, how it is nice to know him and have him as a friend. It is a great moment. The kindness toward their friend is authentic. These teens have learned something special about treating someone with Christlike kindness. It is part of their testimonies. For them, having a testimony isn’t just something you talk about, it really is something you do. It is the way you live. It is the decisions you make. And these teens have found what it really means to have a testimony of Christ.

Brethren, at times those who most need our help appear to be least anxious to receive it. As I departed for the mission field to preside in Toronto, Canada, if anyone had asked me who of all the people I knew I would consider least likely to join the Church, I would have included the name of Shelley, a man I had known for many years. His sweet wife had tried in vain to interest him in the Church. A lovely daughter and precious son had both put forth their best efforts, with no perceptible change. Perhaps Shelley just couldn’t express his inner feelings or demonstrate positive emotions. In the ward, every effort had been expended, but to no avail. Shelley remained on the outside.
Perhaps it was the loss of his son to cancer which made the difference, or maybe the friendly conversation of a school crossing guard with whom Shelley visited sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. Then again, faithful home teachers in the ward to which Shelley and his family had moved had helped to bring about the quiet miracle.
After an absence of three years, my family and I returned to our home in Salt Lake City. Time passed, and the next conversation I had with my friend Shelley was after I was called to the Twelve. One evening I received a telephone call from him. In his characteristic direct way, he asked if I would perform the ordinance in the temple which would seal his family for all eternity. I responded, “Shelley, that would be a privilege for me, but first you must become a member of the Church.” Can you imagine my surprise when he replied, “I have joined the Church. I now hold the Melchizedek Priesthood and am very active.”
What a special blessing, to welcome Shelley, his wife, Eugenia, his daughter, Utahna, and, by proxy, his son, Robert, to a beautiful sealing room in the Salt Lake Temple. The blessings of eternity were bestowed. Just three years later, I spoke at Shelley’s funeral services. He had progressed from doubt to faith and now had looked upward and gone forward, bidding farewell to mortality and receiving a welcome to paradise. Today he is with his beloved Eugenia, and they are with Robert and wait one day to welcome Utahna. When I reflect on the life of Shelley, I feel a debt of gratitude to that humble crossing guard, to those faithful home teachers, to that patient wife and daughter, and to all who made a difference in the unfolding of eternal blessings for Shelley and his family.

S: I have three brothers. We are close in age and in comradery. When we were in high school together, one of my brothers lost his sense of his true identity for a season. He started hanging out with kids who weren’t doing great things. I was very concerned about their influence in his life. I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn’t want to risk him pulling away from me and our good relationship. But he continued on with these buddies and I continued to worry. One night he was at a party where people were up to no good, and I was praying for him and about him. I wondered what I could do. As I prayed I had the distinct impression that I should go get him right then and talk to him. I was scared to follow that prompting, but I was also impelled by my love for him. When I pulled up to the house where the gathering was, I heard one of the guys yell, “Hey Winder, your sister is here.” I am sure that was embarrassing to my teenaged brother. But he came out and asked what I wanted. “I came to get you,” I said. “Come for a ride with me.” Fortunately, he came. I remember pouring out my love for him and sharing my knowledge of who he was as a Winder, and who he was as a child of God and the responsibility those identities carried with them. I said, “I want you to be true to who you really are.” Finally, after a lengthy discussion (or more like a one-sided talk), I asked him if he wanted to come home with me now or if he wanted to go back to the party. He chose to come home with me. And in a sense it was the beginning of him coming home to himself, his real self, his eternal noble spirit.
At that moment in time I was able to lift him. But over the years there have been many other times when he has been at my side to boost me through hard times. A few years ago, just before our mother died, he gave her a blessing that carried me through those difficult days of her decline, and the many moments of mourning. He has lifted me, and I have lifted him as we strive to ascend together.

While serving as district president on Tarawa, Tune also filled an appointment as principal of Moroni High School, an LDS high school that resulted from the missionary work of Grant Howlett and his wife, Pat. When the Howletts came to Tarawa in 1976, the AKAS school was having financial and leadership problems. The Howletts supplied the leadership and petitioned the Church to buy the school. Eventually, the Church agreed.
Unfortunately, there was some opposition from people in the government. But the Lord had an agent in place. Baitika Toun, a member of the Church elected to parliament, helped convince several key lawmakers that a school run by the Church would be of great benefit to the I-Kiribati. The Church purchased the school and called the campus Moroni Community School (now Moroni High School).

Your teacher assigns you to write a paper, due in two weeks, on a book your class just read. What do you do?
Option 2
Day 1—Get the assignment, go home, and think, “I’ve got plenty of time.”
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Day 8
Day 9
Day 10
Day 11
Day 12
Day 13—Late in the evening, remember your assignment. Quickly try to form a mental summary of the book (which you don’t really remember very well). Skim through a few pages of the book to see if something jumps out at you. Look up facts and quotes. Write a few half-remembered ideas from class discussions. Stare at your document, with no clue how to connect all the material. Write more. Constantly check to see if the document meets the required length. Momentarily consider changing the font size and line spacing. Repeatedly cast your bleary eyes toward the clock and put your face in your hands, feeling stressed. Type a hasty conclusion. Print out the paper. (150 minutes)
Go to bed late.
Day 14—Go to class and briefly consider asking for more time. Then nervously hand in your paper.
Later—Get your paper back and see that you got the grade you deserved. Even worse, you didn’t learn anything—except the consequences of procrastination.

My father had an idea that his boys ought to learn to work, in the summer as well as in the winter, and so he bought a five-acre farm which eventually grew to include more than thirty acres. We lived there in the summer and returned to the city when school started.

We had a large orchard, and the trees had to be pruned each spring. Father took us to pruning demonstrations put on by experts from the agriculture college. We learned a great truth—that you could pretty well determine the kind of fruit you would pick in September by the way you pruned in February. The idea was to space the branches so that the fruit would be exposed to sunlight and air. Further, we learned that new, young wood produces the best fruit. That has had many applications in life.

I am also very grateful to my mother Leonarda Cruz Dumaguin for her sacrifice and example of Christ-like love. She had the courage to learn about Jesus Christ, recognized the truth and was baptized. My mother has a green thumb and has a love for plants. She lives in a place on the Big Island that appears to be the most unfriendly place to grow anything. Her land is covered by lava rock. However, she did not let that stop her from making her land a piece of heaven. She continued to sow the earth and was determined to nourish and nurture the seeds which she planted. Her labors are now coming to fruition. She finds joy in her work. She continues to be a good example to me of someone who is grateful for everything around her.

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.

My whole life I had heard about the importance of getting a patriarchal blessing. So when I turned 17, I started thinking about getting mine.
To me, it was kind of frightening. What if I didn’t hear anything I wanted to hear? What if there were no great promises for me? I worried about being prepared enough.
I decided that I needed to have faith and that all would be well. I prayed many times, was interviewed by my bishop, and set up an appointment with the stake patriarch to receive my blessing. Then I waited, while trying to prepare spiritually for this important date.
On the day I was to receive my blessing, I fasted all day. I thought I would have this super spiritual day, but Satan was working on me and I had a bad day at school. I was a wreck. I came home after school and paced the floor. I thought back to a fireside when a man and woman in our ward whom I admire told us how to prepare, suggesting that we pray for specific things we want to know.
I went into my room, knelt beside my bed, and prayed that Heavenly Father would tell me what he knew was best for me to hear. I asked that he take away my fears and calm my worried heart.
Everything turned out fine. In fact, it was a personal miracle. It seemed that the patriarch knew me so completely, even better than I knew myself. I knew he was speaking for Heavenly Father, and when he spoke, I felt the assurance that Heavenly Father did know me. He heard my prayers. He knew my name.
After the patriarch had finished speaking, I felt so good about myself. Nothing has ever given me such an awesome and indescribable feeling before.
Now I know why Church leaders are always emphasizing the value of a patriarchal blessing. When we learn the worth of something and pay the price to obtain it, we begin to better understand its value. For me, my blessing and the experience of receiving it was one of the best experiences of my life. I know that my patriarchal blessing will continue to guide me to fulfill its promises.

Ever since Grace Dywili Modiba and her mother and sisters were baptized in 1984, Grace was drawn to family history work.
“I gathered what I could from my aunts, uncles, and other relatives,” says Grace, a member of the Atteridgeville Ward, Pretoria South Africa Stake. “However, I became frustrated at every turn as I tried to find leads about my great-great-grandparents. The answer to my prayers began to unfold one Monday morning in 2001 when my mother called to tell me my cousin had passed away.
“We made arrangements to travel to the funeral, which was in the area where my parents were born. Since it is approximately 120 miles (200 km) north of Atteridgeville, near the border of Botswana, we had seldom visited that area.
“I left with my mum and two sisters on Friday, the day before the funeral. When we arrived at my aunt’s house late that night, we found the house filled with family members and friends. After finishing the arrangements for the funeral, we were tired but there was no place for us to sleep. One of my cousins graciously invited us to stay at her place, if we didn’t mind a long walk. We agreed to go. It was a very dark night, but the road was quiet, safe, and peaceful. When we arrived, everyone quickly fell asleep.
“The next morning I was the first of the visitors to awaken, and I found my cousin already up and busy. She gave me water to wash with, and after I finished, I experienced a prompting that I should go outdoors.
“As I walked a few meters away from the house, I was surprised to see two tombstones in the yard. I slowly went to them and was astonished and thrilled to find that they were the tombstones of my great-great-grandparents. They had the names and dates I so urgently needed! I quickly ran back into the house and excitedly told my cousin of my discovery and how long I had been searching for these ancestors.
“Now, as I reflect on these events, I know that everything happens for a purpose. I know that God lives and that Jesus is my Savior, and I am thankful to Them for leading me to this information.”

Taking care of my physical and spiritual health made a large difference during the past 10 months. There were days, especially at the beginning, where I had no appetite. We were so blessed by the women of our ward who brought meals, so my family ate and I was presented with an easy solution to ensure I ate. Sleep was also very important so I was rested enough to deal with the stresses of the week. Spiritually, I was blessed to have friends and family watch our son so I could go to the temple. I remember the first time I went after the accident. My husband was in the ICU and unconscious. Two people I knew were at the temple that day. They were just the right people. I have returned to the temple almost weekly throughout this trial. It is a place of strength and healing. Attending reminds me to pray for the strength to carry the burdens that I encounter throughout the week, and God listens and answers those prayers. It gives me a wonderfully peaceful place to plead for the needs of my husband in his recovery.

Usually, we sit in two or three rows for our Young Women lesson, and our teacher stands in the front. But one Sunday our teacher had us move our chairs around a circular table. For some reason sitting in a circle made it feel like we could talk to one another instead of only speaking to the teacher. We all felt like we were actually sisters, not just students. In fact, before the lesson even began, one young woman said, “I feel like we’re family right now.”
That Sunday, the lesson was on the Atonement. Our teacher started by passing out copies of a general conference talk. She asked us to circle words that describe the Savior. We called out the words we were circling so others could circle them. After that, our teacher spoke briefly about the Atonement and then turned to me and asked if I had anything to say. I don’t remember what I said, but afterward all the young women started talking to one another. We had a conversation! We were talking about our Savior and His sacrifice as a group of friends.
After a while, the conversation slowed down and we just sat in silence, enjoying the Spirit.
This lesson was remarkable. Because I participated, I felt the Spirit strongly and the lesson became a part of me. I had a testimony of the Atonement before, but this lesson reminded me that the Savior is real and that the Atonement and the gospel are about love. I now have a stronger love for my peers—Church members and those who are not members—and I want to share the gospel with everyone so they can know the blessings of the Atonement. Doing something about a lesson—whether it’s commenting in class or writing in your journal—changes you.

After graduating from BYU, my father-in-law invited me to join him in his furniture business. My mother-in-law was not excited about me joining the company, because she felt the business could not support two families. My in-laws were not members of the Church. My mother-in-law brought me my first paycheck. As she handed me the check, she said: "Spence, I don't want one penny of this to go to the Mormon Church."

I was shocked. No prudent man wants to offend his mother-in-law, yet I faced a moment of decision. I simply glanced at the check, showed it to my mother-in-law, and asked: "Dorothy, who does the check belong to?" She sputtered, "To you." I softly responded, "Then Joyce and I will determine how to best use the money." We paid our tithing.

A few days later she approached me again and said, "Spence, Jim (my father-in-law) comes down and works in the store on Sundays. I want you to be there and work with him." The business was closed on Sundays.

Another moment of decision. I don't know why they seemed to involve my mother-in-law. I responded, "Dorothy, Monday through Saturday I will come to work early and stay late, but on Sundays I will not work unless it is an emergency." In over twenty years in the business, I only had to work two or three Sundays. The family business that had been stagnant for many years prior to our arrival immediately improved and prospered greatly for many years. Dorothy's concern that the business could not support two families changed to: "We're making too much money, I don't want to pay this much income tax." And my father-in-law increased the donations he paid to his church and quit working on Sundays.

Brayden watched the deacons pass the sacrament up and down the aisles.
How am I going to do that? he wondered. January was only a few weeks away, and then he’d be a deacon. But he couldn’t carry a tray and use his walker at the same time.
After sacrament meeting, Mom helped move Brayden into his transport chair. Then she pushed him to Primary. All through class, Brayden kept wondering about how he’d pass the sacrament.
“Hey, Brayden, can you talk for a minute?” Brother Larsen and Mom were waiting in the hall after Primary.
“Sure!” Brayden said. He loved hanging out with the Larsens, especially their son Josh. Josh was a good friend, almost like a big brother, really. And Brother Larsen was kind of like a dad to Brayden. A really cool dad! He was also one of the advisers in Young Men.
Mom pushed Brayden into an empty classroom.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Brother Larsen said. “You’re going to be a deacon soon.”
“Yep.”
“And that means passing the sacrament.”
Brayden nodded. “Yeah.” But how? he wondered again.
“Josh and I had an idea. He and the other young men would like to take turns pushing you in your transport chair. That way you can carry a tray. What do you think?”
Brayden smiled. “I think it sounds great.”
The next couple of weeks went by in a flash. He had a New Year’s Eve party that was a ton of fun—a superhero movie night followed by board games. And the book on robotics that Mom gave him for Christmas was awesome. Just the thing to get him ready for the robotics team at school!
Then before he knew it, it was his first Sunday as a deacon. His sister, Rylie, pushed Brayden next to the other deacons before she went to sit by Mom in the chapel.
“Hey, Brayden, you ready?” Josh said quietly as he sat near Brayden.
“I think so,” Brayden said. His assignment was for the rows on the left. That sounded easy enough. But his stomach still felt twisty.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” began the bishop.
The meeting felt normal but different at the same time. It had all the normal pieces. But his own part was brand new.
One of the older boys blessed the bread. After the congregation said, “Amen,” Josh handed Brayden the bread tray. The cool metal handle pressed against Brayden’s palm as he gripped it tight. Josh pushed Brayden slowly and reverently to the left side of the room.
Brayden handed the tray to Sister Wright. She smiled at him, ate a piece of the broken bread, and then passed the tray down her row.
I’m doing it, thought Brayden. I’m passing the sacrament!
“Thanks for helping me today,” Brayden said to Josh after church was over. Then he gave him a mischievous smile. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you next Friday night for video games!”
Brayden and Josh laughed. Brayden was glad he got to pass the sacrament. He knew what an important and sacred ordinance it was.
He was also glad to be part of such a great deacons quorum with friends who were willing to help him! He would be glad to help them too. Especially if anybody ever needed help building an awesome robot!