Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago Morgan High School played Millard High for the state football championship. From his wheelchair, to which Morgan coach Jan Smith was confined, he said to his team: “This is the most important game of your lives. You lose, and you will regret it forever. You win, and you will remember it forever. Make every play as though it were all-important.”
Behind the door, his wife, whom he tenderly referred to as his chief assistant, overheard her husband say, “I love you guys. I don’t care about the ball game. I love you and want the game victory for you.” Underdog Morgan High won the football game and the state championship.

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”

The Lord blessed my family too. While on my mission, I received an email from my parents telling me that my older brother went to church for the first time in 12 years. He later changed his work schedule so that he could go every Sunday, and he set a goal to read the Book of Mormon. Also my younger brother who had been struggling made some changes in his life and strengthened his faith. My cousin became active again and started going to the temple every week to do baptisms for the dead. We truly have been blessed.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.

Stanley was a 19-year-old investigator in Hong Kong. He was excited about the gospel and wanted to be baptized until his friends criticized the Church. He met with the missionaries. They testified that God cared enough about him to answer his prayer. They invited him to kneel and ask Heavenly Father if the teachings were true. First one companion and then the other offered a short prayer. Then Stanley prayed. When he finished his humble prayer, they asked him, “Stanley, how do you feel?” He slowly raised his head and in almost a whisper replied, “Baptism, baptism.”

As a young missionary serving in France, I wanted to know for myself that the Book of Mormon was true. I believed it was true. I hoped it was true. I had even gone on a mission with faith that it was true. However, as I worked day after day as a missionary and told people the best I could in my limited French that I had a testimony of the book, I still did not actually know for myself.
Our little apartment in southern France was cold and damp throughout that first winter. Every morning and evening, before and after the work of the day, I would huddle with a blanket and an overcoat to read and study my Book of Mormon. I knew of the promise of Moroni, that if I were to read, ponder, and pray, I too could know. For days and weeks I read, but nothing happened. No light, no angel, no voice—nothing except a feeling of peace as I read.
I continued to read and underline meaningful passages and pray to know that the Book of Mormon was true. The miracle eventually came. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has described, it was more like the rising of the sun than the sudden turning on of a light switch.4 A light began to illuminate my mind and my heart. I began to see the Book of Mormon in a different way. Passages that I had read before began to mean something new. The best way I can describe the experience was that my mind began to be enlightened.
Over a period of weeks and months, I can say that I came to know more surely than anything I had ever known that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I came to know that it was written and preserved for our day and was brought forth as a powerful witness of Jesus Christ and His Church. The impression that came to me again and again through the voice of the Spirit was, “It’s true, it’s true, it’s all true.”
Forty years later, that same witness continues with me. I have now read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time—every time—I again hear the words “It’s true.” This has given me the assurance that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that this is His great work of salvation.

Things were going great. I finally felt I was with the program: I attended Sunday meetings regularly, read my scriptures every day, had prayer morning and night, regularly fasted, paid a full tithe. I had even shared the Book of Mormon with one of my neighbors and was well on my way to completing the Young Womanhood Recognition requirements.
Just one problem.
It nagged at me, constantly in the back of my mind.
I wasn’t baptized yet.
Sweet 16, here I come, and the only thing I wanted for my birthday was to be baptized. I had asked my dad several times, and we had compromised. Yes, I could go to church more often now, but I still wouldn’t step into a font until I turned 18. That was that.
This was some birthday. I flopped on the couch, realizing two years had passed since I first read the Book of Mormon and wanted to be baptized. I sighed. Two years down, two to go.
The doorbell rang. A salesman, I thought.
Ready for disappointment, I turned the corner and saw two silhouettes in the frosted glass. The missionaries!
“Hi, Liz, how are you?”
“Great! How are you? Come in!” They had no idea how glad I was to see them. They stopped by sometimes to see how I was doing and were always ecstatic when I made it to sacrament meetings.
“So what’s happening?” asked Elder Rizutto.
“Oh, not much,” I said. “Well … it’s my birthday.”
“Really? How old are you? Eighteen?”
“I wish.”
My testimony was strong, I felt the Spirit often, and I knew Heavenly Father was watching over me. But I was tired of being patient. I wanted to be a Latter-day Saint, a real member with a certificate. When people asked me about my religion, I wanted to shout from the top of the hills, “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Can’t you tell? Can’t you see the miraculous changes in my life?”
“We should go, it’s getting late,” said the elders after a short conversation. “We just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Wait. I just have one question. What do you call people like me? When people ask me what religion I am, I’m not sure what to say.”
“You haven’t been baptized, so you’re a nonmember,” one elder said.
“How do I tell a nonmember that I’m a nonmember?” I asked. “I believe in the Church. I have a testimony.”
A pause.
“Liz, you are a daughter of God,” said Elder Rizutto. “And to be a Saint is to be a follower of Christ. If you believe Jesus Christ is your Savior, Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and the Book of Mormon is true, then you are a Latter-day Saint.”
“Oh,” I said quietly. He was right. Why had I been so worried about a title? Heavenly Father knew the intent of my heart. He knew I was doing my best to be a good member of the Church—even as a nonmember. The gospel was not stamped on a certificate but in my heart. I still needed to be baptized for a remission of my sins and to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, but I knew who I was.
Two more years passed. I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands by those in authority. Thinking back on the years of waiting, I wondered again why I had to wait so long to become an official member of the Church. Then I remembered what the missionaries told me, and I realized it didn’t matter how long I had to wait or why. The baptism sealed in my heart the knowledge of what had been true all along: I am a daughter of God, a Latter-day Saint.

I love to bake. I love the smiles that come from baking. Everyone likes good treats. One time my mom left all the ingredients for banana bread in the kitchen, but she wasn’t looking forward to making it.
I decided to bake the banana bread for her. Soon I found out that the banana bread wasn’t for her. Instead, she was preparing it to give to her students. My mom was very happy I helped her in that way.

My dear friends, I am thankful for this opportunity to share with you my experience with the scriptures.
While growing up, I was blessed to come from a home where scriptures were an important part of our lives. I had gone to many Church activities and heard friends and family bear testimony of the power of the scriptures. I had a desire to gain a personal testimony of the power and truthfulness of the scriptures.
But that did not happen easily. Because of my learning disability, it was hard to read the words and even more difficult to understand them. I often felt embarrassed and frustrated. I didn’t like to go to Young Women because I felt inadequate. I was afraid I might be called on to read. I felt more comfortable with my family, but I continued to feel frustrated.
I prayed for help and I found this scripture. Please turn with me to Moroni 7:33 [Moro. 7:33], and I will share with you my answer: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.”
What a wonderful promise! If I would put my faith in the Lord, he would help me. He would help me to understand the scriptures. This was the key for me. One verse at a time, one day at a time, I began to understand. Even my schoolwork improved. The Book of Mormon got me through high school. I still have my learning disability and face challenges every day, but daily scripture study reminds me to have faith in my Heavenly Father.

Of course the gospel brings a sense of peace too, a comfort and reassurance the youth of Huntsville want to share with their friends. So when Amanda and the rest of the youth in her ward wanted to know how to be better missionaries, they called in some experts—the elders serving in their area! And since ward members already take turns inviting the missionaries to dinner, the youth promised to feed their guests before hearing from them.
“It was a lot of fun,” says Jared Mayfield, 13, who craves almost anything associated with cheese and pepperoni. All of the youth helped in making, baking—or at least eating—the pizzas. After dinner, the elders gave advice about how to prepare for a mission and told how they felt when their own calls came. They suggested ways to bring the gospel into everyday conversations and discussed how to tell if people are interested in what you have to say.
But most of all they bore testimony of the Restoration of the gospel and the change it can bring in the lives of those who embrace the truth. And they encouraged the youth to do their part in sharing the gospel right now and in preparing themselves for future missionary service.

When the Church published a rendering of the temple to be built in Bengaluru, a friend messaged me, pointing out how closely it resembled a picture I had drawn in my missionary journal 20 years ago. I had forgotten all about this drawing, so I immediately looked for the journal and was awestruck to see that my friend was right. To me this was a very personal and special manifestation of God’s love for me. How utterly grateful I am to see this dream come true. My rendering in 1999, depicted my stick-figure future family going to the temple outside our home in India. Although I now live in Melbourne, Australia with my family, I can’t wait for us to one day visit this temple. But for now, I truly rejoice with by brothers and sisters in India and many Saints around the world, as we celebrate a sight that we have so longed to behold.

When I was growing up, I had a special relationship with my grandfather. I was the oldest son in the family. I removed the snow from the walks in the winter and cared for the lawns in the summer for our home, Grandfather’s home, and the homes of my two aunts. Grandfather usually sat on the front porch as I mowed his lawn. When I had finished, I would sit on the front steps and visit with him. Those moments are treasured memories for me.
One day I asked my grandfather how I would know if I was always doing the right thing, given that life presents so many choices. As my grandfather usually did, he answered me with an experience from farm life.
He taught me about breaking in a team of horses so that they would work together. He explained that a team of horses must always know who is in charge. One of the keys to asserting control and directing a horse is a harness and bit. If a member of the team ever believes that it does not need to obey the will of the driver, the team will never pull and work together to maximize their ability.
Now let’s examine the lesson my grandfather taught me using this example. Who is the driver of the team of horses? My grandfather believed it is the Lord. He is the one who has a purpose and a plan. He is also the trainer and builder of the team of horses and, in turn, each individual horse. The driver knows best, and the only way for a horse to know it is always doing the right thing is to be obedient and follow the driver’s lead.
What was my grandfather likening to a harness and bit? I believed then, as I believe now, that my grandfather was teaching me to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. In his mind’s eye, the harness and bit were spiritual. An obedient horse which is part of a well-trained team of horses needs little more than a gentle tug from the driver to do exactly what he wants it to do. This gentle tug is equivalent to the still, small voice with which the Lord speaks to us. Out of respect for our agency, it is never a strong, forceful tug.
Men and women who ignore the gentle promptings of the Spirit will often learn, as the prodigal son learned, through the natural consequences of disobedience and riotous living. It was only after natural consequences humbled the prodigal son that “he came to himself” and heard the whisperings of the Spirit telling him to return to his father’s house (see Luke 15:11–32).
So the lesson my grandfather taught me was always to be ready to receive the gentle tug of the Spirit. He taught me that I would always receive such a prompting if I ever veered off course. And I would never be guilty of more serious wrongdoings if I allowed the Spirit to guide me in my decisions.
As James 3:3 states, “Behold, we put bits in the horses’ mouths, that they may obey us; and we turn about their whole body.”
We must be sensitive to our spiritual bits. Even with the slightest tug from the Master, we must be willing to completely alter our course. To succeed in life, we must teach our spirit and body to work together in obedience to God’s commandments. If we heed the gentle promptings of the Holy Ghost, it can unite our spirits and bodies in a purpose that will guide us back to our eternal home to live with our eternal Father in Heaven.
Our third article of faith teaches us about the importance of obedience: “We believe that through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”
The kind of obedience my grandfather described in his example of a team of horses also requires a special trust—that is, an absolute faith in the driver of the team. The lesson my grandfather taught me, therefore, also alluded to the first principle of the gospel—faith in Jesus Christ.
The Apostle Paul taught, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Then Paul used the examples of Abel, Enoch, Noah, and Abraham to teach about faith. He dwelled on the story of Abraham, for Abraham is the father of the faithful:
“By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he went.
“By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country. …
“Through faith also Sara herself received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age, because she judged him faithful who had promised” (Hebrews 11:8–9, 11).
We know that through Abraham and Sarah’s son, Isaac, a promise was given to Abraham and Sarah—a promise of posterity “so many as the stars of the sky in multitude, and as the sand which is by the sea shore innumerable” (see verse 12; see also Genesis 17:15–16). And then Abraham’s faith was tested in a way that many of us would consider unimaginable.
I have contemplated on many occasions the story of Abraham and Isaac, and I still do not believe I fully comprehend Abraham’s faithfulness and obedience. Perhaps I can imagine him faithfully packing up to leave early one morning, but how did he take all those steps alongside his son Isaac over the three-day journey to the base of Mount Moriah? How did they carry the wood for the fire up the mountain? How did he build the altar? How did he bind Isaac and lay him on the altar? How did he explain to him that he would be the sacrifice? And how did he have the strength to lift the knife to slay his son? Abraham’s faith empowered him to follow God’s lead with exactness up until the miraculous moment when an angel called out from heaven, announcing to Abraham that he had passed his agonizing test. And then the angel of the Lord repeated the promise of the Abrahamic covenant.
I recognize that the challenges associated with having faith in Jesus Christ and obedience will be more difficult for some than others. I have had enough years of experience to know that the personalities of horses can be very different and, therefore, some horses can be easier or more difficult to train and that the variety of people is far greater. Each of us is a son or daughter of God, and we have a unique premortal and mortal story. Accordingly, there are very few one-size-fits-all solutions. And so I fully recognize the trial-and-error nature of life and, most importantly, the constant need of the second principle of the gospel, even repentance.
It is also true that the time during which my grandfather lived was a simpler time, especially regarding the choices between right and wrong. While some very intelligent and insightful people might believe our more complex time demands ever more complex solutions, I am far from convinced they are right. Rather, I am of the frame of mind that today’s complexity demands greater simplicity, like the answer my grandfather gave to my sincere question about how to know the difference between right and wrong. I know what I have to offer today is a simple formula, but I can testify about how well it works for me. I recommend it to you and even challenge you to experiment upon my words, and if you do, I promise that they will lead you to clarity of choice when you are bombarded with choices and that they will lead to simple answers to questions that confuse the learned and those who think they are wise.
Too often we think of obedience as the passive and thoughtless following of the orders or dictates of a higher authority. Actually, at its best, obedience is an emblem of our faith in the wisdom and power of the highest authority, even God. When Abraham demonstrated his unwavering faithfulness and obedience to God, even when commanded to sacrifice his son, God rescued him. Similarly, when we demonstrate our faithfulness through obedience, God will ultimately rescue us.
Those who rely solely on themselves and follow only their own desires and self-inclinations are so limited when compared to those who follow God and tap into His insight, power, and gifts. It has been said that someone who is all wrapped up in himself or herself makes a very small package. Strong, proactive obedience is anything but weak or passive. It is the means by which we declare our faith in God and qualify ourselves to receive the powers of heaven. Obedience is a choice. It is a choice between our own limited knowledge and power and God’s unlimited wisdom and omnipotence. According to the lesson my grandfather gave to me, it is a choice to sense the spiritual bit in our mouths and follow the driver’s lead.
May we become heirs to the covenant and the seed of Abraham through our faithfulness and by receiving the ordinances of the restored gospel. I promise you that the blessings of eternal life are available to everyone who is faithful and obedient. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The first time it snowed, my best friend, Lou, came to school wearing it. I’d never seen such a crazy-looking creation. It had fat stripes of purple, orange, red, green, and pink. It wrapped around his neck three times, and the ends still reached below his knees. I’d only put that scarf on for Halloween.
“Some strange creature’s eating Lou’s face,” Bobby teased, pulling one end.
“We’ll save you,” Annie joked, tugging at the other end. Together they wrapped Lou up until he looked like a mummy that had rolled in ten different kinds of paint.
“That’s enough,” I said, chasing them off. “Go build a snowman.” I untangled Lou.
“Thanks,” he said, tucking the ends of his scarf into his pockets.
“Why don’t you take that thing off and hide it in your backpack?” I suggested. “The whole school’s going to tease you if you parade around in that.”
Lou shrugged. “They’ll get tired of bugging me. I want to wear it.”
“Whatever,” I said. The bell rang, and five minutes later we were doing fifth-grade fractions, so I couldn’t waste any more brain power wondering about Lou’s scarf.
It snowed almost every day that week, and Lou kept wearing his crazy scarf. He was wrong about the kids getting tired of teasing him. Of course, Lou did look like he’d borrowed that thing from a circus clown.
“Don’t you have another scarf?” I asked him. “One that’s a normal color, like blue, and about three feet long instead of ten?”
“Yes, but I’m wearing this one.”
“I guess you like all the attention,” I grumbled, “but I’m getting a bit tired of the crowd we keep attracting.”
“Ignore them.”
“It’d be easier if you’d just lose that scarf,” I suggested again, less hopefully.
“I can’t.”
I sighed. “Could you at least tell me why? Since I’m the one who has to keep rescuing you, I deserve to know.”
Lou looked at me for a minute. “I’ll tell you on Monday,” he said.
“Monday?”
“Monday. And ask your mom if it’s OK if you’re a little late getting home from school that day.”
All weekend I wondered about Lou’s scarf. Why did he wear that goofy thing to school? Why wouldn’t he tell me until Monday? It was a mystery to me. Lou was usually kind of fussy about his clothes, and he didn’t like stripes.
On Monday, Lou showed up wrapped in that mile-long scarf as usual. The other guys pretended it was a snake from outer space.
“OK,” I told Lou, “I waited. Now let me in on the secret.”
“After school,” he said. “I promise.”
When the last bell finally rang, Lou was waiting for me by my locker.
“Come on,” he said. “I help out in Mrs. Reed’s room for a while on Mondays. They’ll be waiting for me.”
“What about the scarf?”
“I’ll tell you afterward. Come on.”
I followed Lou into Mrs. Reed’s room. She worked with a few kids who were mentally handicapped. It was hard work for them to learn how to do everyday stuff, like telling time and tying shoes.
“Hi, Lou,” said a girl named Jen. She had big brown eyes and soft black curls. She gave him a big hug. I liked her right away. “Please read Black Beauty today.”
“Please, please!” two more kids begged.
For the next fifteen minutes, I watched Lou read to his little fan club. They sure were happy to have him there. When he finished, Jen hopped over to me.
“Are you Lou’s friend, too?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled.
“Lou’s my best friend,” she said. “I made him a beautiful scarf.”
“That must have taken a long time,” I said, wondering if it was the scarf he’d been wearing.
“I picked out my favorite colors and made the scarf all by myself,” she reported proudly. “Now Lou wears it every day.”
“I’ve seen that scarf,” I said, looking at Jen’s happy smile.
“I’ll be your friend, too,” she said, patting my hand.
“Thanks,” I said before she skipped off.
“Ready to go?” Lou asked, pulling his scarf up over his cheeks as he waved good-bye to Jen and the others.
“Ready,” I answered with a grin. Lou didn’t need to explain anything now. Jen’s feelings were more important than a little teasing. He knew how proud and happy it made her feel to see him wearing her gift. Suddenly I felt honored to have a friend like Lou.
“By the way,” I told him, “I’ve decided that I like your scarf.”

Patch Crowe, 22, says he was born “with music inside.” As a toddler, he would wander around the house babbling songs before he could even talk. As a teen, he was part of a Nashville, Tennessee, USA, boy band, Beyond 5. The group disbanded in 2014 when members started preparing to serve full-time missions.
Recently returned from serving in the Scotland/Ireland Mission, Patch has released his first single, married his sweetheart, and is developing musical projects to inspire every listener.
“I believe Heavenly Father allows us to experience music to enhance our lives. Music makes you feel alive.”

In a recent letter to the editor, I read:
“One is continually hearing about the ‘Terrible Teenagers’ with their obnoxious dress and deplorable actions. How refreshing it was to have a most thrilling experience with—yes, four teenagers.
“One evening I was hosting a special guest from New York City. We were on our beautiful Temple Square, admiring the Seagull Monument. As we turned to go, four teenagers approached us. I immediately felt the [in]security of my gentleman guest, when one of the group stepped forward and said, ‘Lady, we would like to present you with this rose to make you happy, and hope that you will have a nice evening.’
“There clutched in his hand was a beautiful, long-stemmed American Beauty red rose, with a spray of fern, artistically wrapped in cellophane.
“‘We bought this rose to give to someone, and when we saw you, we thought you were the one.’
“As they turned to leave, I quickly got their names, expressing my most profound appreciation and admiration for their thoughtfulness and kindness to me, which was so unusual, and how I was quite overwhelmed to think that four teenagers would have the desire for such a gracious act, and that no one would appreciate it more than I would, a little grandmother, as I gave each one a big hug.” (Irene E. Staples, Deseret News, 22 Sept. 1985, p. A-19.)

Among the monolithic serpents, jaguars, and other creatures of ancient American worship, 12 attractive young people walked and pointed and laughed and whispered and looked. There is a lot to see in the Mexican National Museum of Anthropology—the finest anthropological museum in the world.
The young people were from Benemérito de las Americas, an LDS school that includes primary, secondary, normal, and preparatory schools. Its students come from all over Mexico, and its graduates are making names for themselves in all walks of life. There is not a finer school in all Mexico. Today 12 students had come to explore their heritage in Chapultepec Park, the ancient pleasure gardens of the Aztec emperors and now the largest and most beautiful recreational area in Mexico City.
The Museum of Anthropology was their first stop. Mexico owes its language and much of its legal and cultural system to its Spanish ancestors, but it owes its deepest pride and sense of belonging to its Indian forefathers. It is to the Indian cultures, both pre-Hispanic and modern, that the museum is dedicated.
The group stared in awe at the Colossus of Tula, one of the huge stone sentries that guarded a Toltec temple. They admired the intricate carvings and colorful frescoes of Mayan temples. They examined the mysterious Olmec stone heads that are as tall as a tall man. They smiled at the Tarascan ceramic sculptures that depict a long-ago everyday life, and wondered at the Aztec sun stone and the monolithic Aztec serpents and skull-faced deities. They were thrilled with the incredible workmanship of the ancient artists and stoneworkers as they visited hundreds of displays from many ancient peoples. They read the stories of vanished civilizations in stone and clay with a growing sense of pride, because these were their ancestors, and because they knew, as the learned men who built the museum did not, that they were of the house of Israel.
They then moved to the upper level of the museum where Mexico’s modern Indian cultures are represented. When the museum was built, representatives of tribes all over Mexico were brought in to build authentic dwellings and implements for the exhibits, and the young visitors gained new insight into their country.
After leaving the museum the group paused a moment by the fountain-home of an immense stone statue of Tlaloc, the ancient American rain god. When the 168-ton statue was excavated and moved to Mexico City to be displayed at the museum, the city was lashed by the heaviest rainstorm ever recorded in the dry season.
Next the group strolled through Chapultepec Park. The park is immense, covering many acres of grass and trees, several museums, an amusement park, a zoo, a botanical garden, sports fields, playgrounds, a lake, bridle paths, and many refreshment stands. Along their route they stopped at a kiosk by the lake to eat a snack, watch the boaters on the lake, and feed the friendly swans.
Then it was on through the park, past happy crowds and balloon salesmen, and even some men selling wind-up toy monsters, to cyprus-hung Chapultepec castle atop its hill. When Cortez arrived, Montezuma had a palace there, and it wasn’t long till a Spanish viceroy had erected a stronghold on the spot. The Emperor Maxmillian made it into a sumptuous palace, and it was later to serve as a military academy. Today it is the National Museum of History, housing artifacts, paintings, documents, and memorabilia from the stormy and colorful history of Mexico. It was here that young cadets clutched the Mexican flag and lept to their deaths rather than surrender during the Mexican-American war. The six niños heroes, as they are known, are now pictured on a ceiling mural in the castle. Here Maxmillian and Carlotta established their ill-fated court, and from here Maxmillian watched his “empire” crumble when France withdrew her troops.
Bold murals covering the broad sweep of Mexican history, filled with the image of the patient, strong, indestructible Indian and the flash of uniform and sword, were everywhere. Looking down from the walls are the great figures in Mexican history—Father Hidalgo, whose strong voice signaled the beginning of the revolution against Spain; Benito Juarez, the farsighted Indian who arose from anonymous poverty to become the president of the republic and the most beloved figure in Mexican history; Zapata, Guerrero, the controversial Villa, and others who ignited Mexico’s second great revolution, a revolution for equality and reform that Mexico’s leaders say will never end; and many others, great and small.
The young Latter-day Saints studied the symbols of their nation with deep respect and patriotism. It was clear that they believe in their country and are determined to contribute their own talents to its greatness and goodness.
After leaving the castle they wandered around the grounds for awhile, just as Maxmillian might have wandered on a cool afternoon. They visited the only known statue to a cricket, built there because Chapultepec means cricket in the language of the Aztecs.
After leaving the castle they paused a moment for amusement in a hall of mirrors, where the curved surfaces reflected grotesque caricatures of their laughter.
Their last stop was the Museum of Modern Art where Rivera, Orozco, Siquieros, Tamayo, and other great Mexican artists are displayed. Mexican art tends to be bold and vibrant and vital, making strong statements in strong colors, but there is often a sadness too, because Mexico has known sadness. Having seen the painting and sculptures indoors, the young people walked through the gardens outside, studying the large abstract sculptures planted there and discussing their possible meanings, sometimes seriously, sometimes with tongue securely in cheek.
While waiting for their school bus to pick them up, the young people had time for some reflections on their day and their lives.
“I was amazed by the artistry of those ancient craftsmen,” one young lady said. “We can see the kind of life they lived and almost live it again with them by studying what they left behind.” Another commented, “I’ve been impressed with everything we have seen about our ancestors. I could see how these old cultures related to the history of the Book of Mormon.”
An 18-year-old student commented, “I was impressed by the philosophy of the great poets and thinkers of ancient America. Today I could feel as they felt and understand them.”
Another young person found the visit to Chapultepec castle to be the most moving experience. “It brought great honor to our nation when the six niños heroes gave their lives rather than let their country’s flag be dishonored,” she said.
One thoughtful young man felt he saw the hand of the Lord in the history he had studied at the castle. “I could see,” he said, “how the Lord prepared Mexico for the gospel. Great men such as Hildago, Juarez, Guerrero, and Allende made it possible for us to have liberty and religious tolerance, and we can see how the purposes of the Lord are fulfilled.”
The young students all share a profound loyalty to the Church school they attend. “Benemérito prepares us to be leaders of the Church and the nation,” one young man said. “From Benemérito will come great architects, engineers, doctors, lawyers, chemists, physicists, and teachers. If we study hard and live as we should, we can help fulfill the prophetic promise that the Lamanites will blossom as a rose.”
Above all, these young men and women love the Lord. “I am grateful that I have been taught the gospel,” a young girl said. “The gospel is the greatest blessing in my life. I know that someday I will see my Father in heaven, and so I will keep his commandments.”
The lives of these young men and women are reminiscent of these words by the ancient sage Huehuetlantolli, engraved on the wall of the museum:
And they began to teach them:
How they should live.
How they should respect people.
How they should give themselves to that which is proper and upright.
That they should avoid evil,
Fleeing quickly from wickedness,
Perversion and greed.

“Mom, I have a problem,” Addison said. She took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom mirror. She pointed at her frowning reflection. “See?”
Mom bent closer, squinting at the mirror. “I only see my beautiful daughter. She could use a smile, though. Is that the problem?”
“It’s the freckles!” Addison said. She leaned over the bathroom counter. Her nose almost touched the mirror. “Whenever I look in the mirror, all I can see are freckles.” She pointed at all the soft brown dots on her cheeks and her nose. “Bailey’s freckles look cute. But mine just look funny.”
Mom put her hands on Addison’s shoulders. “I think your freckles are beautiful.”
Addison nodded, but it didn’t change the way she felt. “You’re my mom. You’re supposed to think that.” She sighed.
“Let me show you something I learned once,” Mom said. She led Addison outside to the garden. Mom picked up a small pebble and gave it to Addison. “Hold this up close to your eye. What do you see?”
Addison studied the pebble in her hand. She turned it over to see if she was missing something. “Nothing. All I can see is a rock.”
Mom smiled. “Now put it down.”
Addison tossed the rock back into the garden.
“Now what do you see?” Mom asked.
Addison looked around. “Lots of things. I see the little rock, but I also see the ground, the flowers, and the grass.”
“Exactly,” Mom said. “It’s all in how you look at it. Just like with the pebble, try not to focus only on your freckles—otherwise you miss seeing all the other great things about you, like how smart you are and how patient you are with your brothers and sisters.”
Mom picked up the pebble and pressed it into Addison’s hand. “Think of yourself as a whole garden, not just one pebble. Then you’ll be able to see yourself the way the Savior sees you, as a precious daughter of God.”
Audrey went back to the mirror. The first thing she saw was the same old freckles. She felt the pebble in her hand and took a step back. Now she could see more of her reflection. She saw a girl named Addison who liked reading, singing songs in Primary, and playing with her family. I like me, Addison thought—and that meant liking her freckles too because they were a part of her.
She felt happier as she thought of herself as a precious daughter of God. That made her smile, and when she did, she saw something by her mouth she’d never noticed before. Dimples!

Two twins get in a rocket ship.
Wait, no, that’s not it.
One twin gets in the rocket ship, and the other stays behind. And when the twin in the rocket ship gets back he’s older. No … he’s younger than the one who stayed at home. And this all has something to do with traveling at the speed of light?
I stopped to scratch my head and let out a long sigh. The theory of relativity was one of the first things we had studied in my physical science class, and here I was, just about to take my first-ever university final and still completely in the dark about the speed of light.
Everything else in the class was as clear as a newly polished test tube, but for some reason my brain couldn’t wrap itself around Einstein’s theory. And I had to understand it since it would make up a significant part of my final exam.
I had been praying for help to understand it all semester. I had put all my effort into it and still wasn’t any closer to even a glimpse of comprehension. Why wasn’t the Lord helping me? Didn’t He know how important this class was to me?
On the day of my physical science final, I answered every question until I got to the dreaded relativity essay. “Heavenly Father,” I thought. “I’ve done my best, now please help me to get this right!”
I sat and I sat, and nothing came. Finally I just finished the rest of the test and left downhearted.
As I stepped out the door of the testing center, into my mind came the theory of relativity but, this time, I completely understood all I had been taught. And I knew that this flash of pure knowledge came from Heavenly Father. After months of struggle, it was just there all of a sudden. I wondered why the Lord couldn’t have revealed this knowledge to me a few minutes earlier while I was still taking the test.
As I pondered, the Lord taught me something else I needed to learn. The grade wasn’t the most important thing. It was learning that mattered. And more important than learning the theory of relativity, I learned that all knowledge comes from the Lord. He can help me to understand anything if I do my part, regardless of whether I have an exam or not.
Years later I still have a clear understanding of what I learned about relativity, and the Lord continues to teach me about many other subjects as I diligently seek His help.

Illustration by Brad Teare
“Oh no! Here comes Pedro!”
Everyone at school knew that Pedro was a bully. He was big, and he was mean! He called other kids names, took their lunches, and chased them around the school yard. No one wanted to be around him.
Pedro walked by Lucas and his friend Arthur. He called them “losers” and pushed Arthur.
Lucas was tired of Pedro being so mean. Without even thinking, he shouted, “Stop it, Pedro!”
Lucas couldn’t believe it. He’d just stood up to the biggest bully in school!
Pedro stormed up to Lucas and grabbed his shirt. “What did you say?” Lucas’s heart beat so fast it felt like it would jump out of his chest! “I’ll give you one warning,” Pedro said. “But you’d better watch out!” He shoved Lucas and walked away.
After that, Lucas did his best to avoid Pedro, but Pedro always found him. He kept Lucas off the swings, pushed him during dodgeball, tripped him in the cafeteria, and always said mean things.
One day Lucas and Arthur were playing with Arthur’s soccer ball. Pedro jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed it.
“Please give it back,” said Arthur.
“Who’s going to make me?” Pedro pushed Lucas and laughed.
Lucas could feel his stomach twist in knots. He was so angry! “You know what, Pedro?” Lucas said. “You’re the meanest kid I know! Nobody likes you. Everyone wishes you’d go away!”
Pedro stopped laughing. Lucas felt great about what he said … until he saw the look on Pedro’s face. Was he about to cry? Pedro quickly looked down and walked away.
Lucas instantly felt terrible. For the rest of the day, no matter how hard he tried, Lucas couldn’t get rid of the terrible feeling. That night, he tossed and turned in bed. He kept thinking about how sad Pedro had looked.
How could Pedro feel bad? Lucas thought. He doesn’t care if he’s mean to other kids. I had to say something, right? The more Lucas thought about it, the more he realized he was right to stand up for himself and his friend. But he was wrong to say those mean things.
Lucas knelt by his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. He told Heavenly Father that he never wanted to hurt anyone like that ever again. He wanted to be kind. When Lucas said “amen,” he knew what he had to do.
After lunch the next day, Lucas found Pedro standing against a wall by himself. Lucas was nervous. What would Pedro do? Lucas took a deep breath and walked over.
“Um, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Pedro looked surprised. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I said some really mean things to you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Pedro stared down at his shoes. “It’s OK.”
The bell rang. Lucas started walking back to class. He felt so much better. But there was one more thing he wanted to say. He turned back around. “We could play soccer at recess tomorrow if you want.”
A small smile crossed Pedro’s face. “That sounds good.”
After that, things got better with Pedro. He was still a bully sometimes, but he wasn’t as mean. He even played with Lucas a few times at recess. And it was actually fun! At the end of the school year, Pedro told Lucas that he was moving away. Then he said something that really surprised Lucas.
“Thanks for being my friend,” Pedro said. “Even when I wasn’t nice.”
The warm feeling in Lucas’s heart let him know that being kind is always the right choice.

Sometimes, being a good person feels like a lot of work.
I used to think of being Christlike as a hefty list of things I had to do and be. When I tried to set goals, I’d get overwhelmed thinking about how far I was from where I should be. I felt like I was failing in so many ways I didn’t know where to start—like when your room is so messy that you don’t know what to clean up first.
During a time when I felt extra inadequate, a scripture kept coming to my mind:
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:37–39).
I realized that I’d been more focused on “doing” the gospel than becoming like the Savior. Somehow, with so many distractions, the love got lost along the way. But wasn’t love supposed to be the point? During His ministry, Jesus Christ taught the people a higher and holier law to love God with their whole hearts and to love others as they love themselves. Whenever I felt discouraged, I’d remember Jesus’s words and think, “As long as I make choices out of love for God and others, I’ll be on the right path.”
I decided to set a simple goal: “Do one thing each day to love God, others, and myself.”
I wrote it on the first page of a new journal. I’ve never been a great journal-keeper, but I thought it would be important to record what I was doing.
The first day was a fast Sunday. Before I went to bed, I wrote down what I’d done to work on my goal.
I wrote that I showed love for God by going to church and staying for both hours, even though I didn’t feel like it. I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting. And when I read my scriptures, I wrote down my thoughts for a more meaningful and focused study.
I wrote that I loved others by joining a family call with my parents even though I was tired. I fasted for a friend who I knew was struggling and sent her an encouraging message. I spent some time with my brother.
I loved myself by taking a nap and allowing myself to relax. And I went to bed earlier than usual so I could be more rested for work the next day.
None of these things were big, but when I looked over what I’d written, I felt peaceful. My day had been full of love, and that’s what Heavenly Father wanted for me.
All week I remembered my goal and wrote how I showed love. I went to the temple. I listened to people vent about their problems. I said kind things to others. I did things that made me happy. I took better care of myself. I made more space for the people in my life. I took time to reflect and connect with God.
After just a few days, I was amazed by the difference. With showing Christlike love as my goal, things that usually felt like a chore became expressions of love for God, others, and myself. I started looking for new opportunities to express love, whether it was getting a glass of water for my sister, making my bed, or pausing to say a prayer of gratitude.
I felt like I was seeing the world with new eyes, and as I looked for ways to love, I also noticed the love that was all around me every day. I added a new section to my journal entries: “How I’ve seen God’s love today.” I wrote down the thoughtful things people did for me and the kind words they offered. I wrote down nice things I saw people doing for others. I wrote down the small, tender mercies from God I noticed each day. I wrote down all the ways I felt uplifted, all the things that gave me hope.
Sister Susan H. Porter, Primary General President, taught: “When you know and understand how completely you are loved as a child of God, it changes everything. It changes the way you feel about yourself when you make mistakes. It changes how you feel when difficult things happen. It changes your view of God’s commandments. It changes your view of others and of your capacity to make a difference.”1
As I continued with my goal, I discovered how true this was. I could feel my whole heart changing, and I understood the power of God’s love better than I ever had.
After a month, I wrote this in my journal:
“I feel hopeful instead of stressed. I’m aware of my weaknesses, but I feel that as long as I keep inclining my heart to God, things will be OK, even if I’m never able to fix the weak and broken parts of myself. My heart is the thing that matters most, and a heart that loves God and others and tries to serve and uplift is a good heart.”
I wish I could say I’ve never missed a day in my journal. The truth is, I fall out of the habit sometimes, even for months at a time. But whenever I start again, I can feel the difference. I open my eyes once more to see the Savior’s love all around me—and all the ways I can add to it.
I’ve come to better understand the truth that “charity never faileth” (Moroni 7:46) because when I felt like I was failing, Jesus Christ’s love is what lifted me back up. When I feel the Savior’s love, I want to reflect it back into the world, and I know that as I strive to do this, He will bless me with a better, stronger heart—one that can love as He does.