Gospel Story Finder

When George Albert Smith was in his later years he had the following experience:
“I became so weak as to be scarcely able to move. It was a slow and exhausting effort for me even to turn over in bed.
“One day, under these conditions, I lost consciousness of my surroundings and thought I had passed to the Other Side. …
“… I saw a man coming towards me … and I hurried my steps to reach him, because I recognized him as my grandfather. … I remember how happy I was to see him coming. I had been given his name and had always been proud of it.
“When Grandfather came within a few feet of me, he stopped. His stopping was an invitation for me to stop. Then—and this I would like the … young people never to forget—he looked at me … and said:
“‘I would like to know what you have done with my name.’
“Everything I had ever done passed before me as though it were a flying picture on a screen—everything I had done. Quickly this vivid retrospect came down to the very time I was standing there. My whole life had passed before me. I smiled and looked at my grandfather and said:
“‘I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.’
“He stepped forward and took me in his arms, and as he did so, I became conscious again of my earthly surroundings. My pillow was as wet as though water had been poured on it—wet with tears of gratitude that I could answer unashamed” (George Albert Smith, Sharing the Gospel with Others, 1948, p. 111).

The girls learned self-defense while the fellows considered career opportunities. Not your typical youth conference—but there’s nothing typical about Malibu, California, either.
The youth of the Los Angeles California East Stake spent their youth conference at a Malibu ranch. They began with get-acquainted games and films of the 1973 Southern California Dance Festival in which many of them had participated.
The three-day conference included a prebreakfast hike; instructions in macrame, soap carving, and decoupage; rowboat races; an obstacle course; football; volleyball; softball; self-defense for the girls; and a career workshop for the fellows. Even after all that they weren’t too tired to enjoy a session of ballroom dance instruction followed by a dance.
On the serious side the young people enjoyed guest speakers, a scripture chase, group discussions, and a testimony meeting.
Also included in the conference activities was a tug-of-war over the lake, and the losing team went for a swim. Later there was a panel discussion in which all the bishops in the stake fielded questions from the young people. It was a great success for the 150 youths who attended.

When I helped my older brother, Tahoe, with his Eagle Scout project, I learned important lessons about service. Along with many other people, I helped Tahoe with various acts of service at a local elementary school. Some people helped paint over some old benches, others helped repaint some poles, and some helped build a garden shade. I helped sand and paint two rows of poles. The job took some time and was tiresome, but when we were done, I saw the positive effect it had on the school and how filled with joy the principal was when she saw the improvements. The experience reminded me that we, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, are constantly being reminded to live more like Christ and to serve as He did. I saw that even though I was tired, I was happy with what I had done and was glad that I could help with the work.
Diego J., California, USA

Superior Branch of the Missoula Montana Stake put on its very first road show. With only five active members in the Mutual, the youth recruited members of the branch presidency and a couple of Primary children to participate with them. With the help and confidence building of their leaders, they wrote their own script, made their costumes, and found help with providing live music. Those participating were Vince Price; Shaleen, Lane, and Deana Morgan; Rick, Buffy, and Grant Seemann.

Time passed. Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army. I swelled up with pride. And this one man became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.

Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.

And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have a Mutual Improvement Association. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their voices singing:
“It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me;
But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.”
(Hymns, no. 75.)

I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension when I’m no good any longer, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.

Although most of the Saints had left Nauvoo by summer, some remained because of poverty or sickness. This made anti-Mormons very angry. On 10 September 1846, about 800 men with six cannons began to fire on the Saints still in Nauvoo. The attack continued for several days until an agreement was reached that every Mormon would leave except five men and their families, who would stay to sell the remaining property.
Five or six hundred of these remaining Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick.
On 9 October, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into their camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starvation and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them, either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.

Freiberg Germany Temple
While visiting communist East Germany in 1968, President Thomas S. Monson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, promised the Saints, “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.” At the time, the closest temple was in Switzerland, but East Germany was under strict government rule. Members of the Church were routinely denied visas to travel there.
President Spencer W. Kimball counseled Henry Burkhardt, president of the Church’s mission in Dresden, to befriend communist officials in the country. Though this was difficult, he acted on faith. Members fasted and prayed, and Henry developed friendships with many government officials and often asked for Church members to be allowed to travel to the temple. In 1978, when he asked again, one official said, “Why don’t you build a temple here?”
The long wait was over, and the Church built a temple in Freiberg, Germany, which was dedicated in 1985 by President Gordon B. Hinckley.

Sixteen-year-old Jenny Bales gathered her three charges and placed them around the park table to eat their lunch. Her stomach was sending hurry signals to her hands to open her own bag. Lunches were usually quiet, and after a hard morning it gave her time to think. The deep pain was still resting just past her empty stomach. She would try to understand it a little more today.
She pulled an apple from her sack and looked across the table only to see Scotty Redman staring at her, frustration wrinkling his face into a frown.
Angrily, he slapped his square-fingered hand on the park table and cried, “Make it stop, Miss Baoes! Make da win stop! I don like it. My bag bow away.”
Jenny listened to a boy a year older than her wail like a small child. She felt a small knot replace the hunger pains in her stomach. In the last two months she had worked with Down’s Syndrome children. They each had a unique personality. With Scotty, when his world tilted too far, you had to shift it back, or he cried, sulked, threw things, or sat stubbornly against the wall. In the classroom, you found the missing crayon or helped him find a project. But stopping the wind was impossible. Scotty didn’t know this, and explaining it to him wouldn’t help.
“The win bow my bag away. Make it stop right now!”
That wind won’t blow your bag away, she thought. Just sit on it. But Jenny knew that wouldn’t work either. When Scotty ate his lunch, the bag had to be on the table to the left of his food. Order. Things like they were supposed to be. That’s what he needed. She had wanted time today to think about her own pain, but she knew Scotty would not stop unless she did something.
“Make da win stop,” he said. This time fire sparked in his eyes.
“Boy, you’re stubborn,” she whispered to herself. She felt the muscles in her left shoulder tighten in defense. One of Uncle Jed’s sayings sifted into her mind: “Stubborn is just determination headed the wrong way.”
She looked across the table again. Scotty’s tongue darted down to his chin, across his lips and disappeared into his frown. His hands stayed wrapped around the top of the lunch bag. In the classroom things had order, she thought, but here the wind blew.
He slapped his chunky palms on the table again. “Make da win stop—now,” he yelled. His face turned beet red.
She hadn’t seen Scotty this disturbed before. She felt a little frightened and wondered what would happen if she couldn’t distract him or change his mind. But worse than the fear of what he might do, his stubbornness and anger grated still tender wounds. It felt too much like when Mom and Dad had separated. Six eternal months ago. Impasse. No solution. They had been stubborn. They still were.
It was plain though that Scotty wasn’t going to eat lunch unless she made the wind stop. Maybe if she said a prayer. The divorce had taught her about prayer. When her parents first separated, she almost blamed Heavenly Father for the pain she was feeling. At night she muffled her sobs with a tear-soaked pillow until she fell asleep. In the morning she was never sure if it was anger, or loss, or confusion that greeted her first. Finally, though, when it was all more than she could bear, she had learned to ask for help, and the Savior’s healing hand would touch her heart for a moment while he retrieved from some lost corner of darkness, her peace—the peace that kept slipping away, but not so fast anymore.
So, she said a silent prayer. Then she told Scotty about the new pink dress she bought last Saturday—and waited for the wind to stop. His pudgy square fingers continued their grip on the top of the lunch bag. She finished her story and looked up to see the branches moving back and forth in the gusting wind. “I didn’t think that was the kind of prayer you’d answer, Heavenly Father, but what am I supposed to do?” she muttered under her breath. Then she remembered.
Jenny stood up and walked around to Scotty’s side of the table. His eyes drew a bead on her, every step she took. She sat down next to him then reached an arm around him. “Scotty, I’ve tried to make the wind stop, and I can’t. But I can be here.” He looked back into her eyes like he really wanted to understand. “I’ll sit right by your side while the wind blows. I promise. And if it blows your sack away, I can bring it back. Together we’ll keep things in order.”
Scotty’s tongue flicked again down to his chin. His hands loosened their grip on the sack. He opened it, pulled out a peanut butter sandwich, three carrot sticks, and a chocolate chip cookie. Then he set the bag to the left of his food. The wind blew and the bag flew away three times while he ate. But every time Jenny was there and brought it back to him. And every time he put it right back where it was supposed to be.

Then one day I remembered that the missionaries who had given me the Book of Mormon had told me that the local Latter-day Saint branch president owned a business in town and that if I ever had any questions, I could go to him. I visited President Murray Conley, asked some questions, and was pleased with his answers.
Later, some members of my church visited me and informed me that I was being misled. The next night, the minister and his wife came to visit. But when I asked him to explain Malachi 4:5–6 [Mal. 4:5–6], he got angry and told me I had been brainwashed by the Mormons and there was nothing more he could do.
One night I read 3 Nephi 14:13–14: “Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat;
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” [3 Ne. 14:13–14]
I got up from my chair and walked outside. Alone in the darkness, I could see myself standing at that narrow scriptural gate, pacing back and forth, afraid to go in. I realized at that moment that I had found the way. The Lord spoke to me that night, not as we speak to one another, but with a still, small voice that said, “What are you going to do about it?”
I went back to tell President Conley I wanted to be baptized. But he was in Salt Lake City. Thinking that only the branch president had the authority to baptize, I left, intending to return a week later.
During that week, Satan placed another stumbling block in my path—more doubts. “Do I have to start all over again?” I wondered. After struggling with my doubts for three days, I started reading a book President Conley had given me—Truth Restored, by President Gordon B. Hinckley. As I did, the Spirit, which had borne witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, also bore witness to me that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s true church.
When President Conley returned from Salt Lake City, I told him I wanted to be baptized. As we drove to Gilmer, Texas, for my baptism on 19 October 1970, I asked him, “Do I understand correctly from what I have read in the scriptures that just because I’m being baptized, I’m not saved, but that I have to endure to the end?”
He said, “That’s exactly right.”
I cried all the way to my baptism. I felt very strongly that the Church was true. After baptism, I felt it ten times more strongly.
Many times after, I wondered, “Why me? Why do I know the truth while many good Christian people don’t?” And a scripture always came to my mind, “Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Luke 11:9).
Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”
I do know with all my heart and soul that the Book of Mormon is true. It led me to the living God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to his church guided by a living prophet.

Eric sat down on the couch next to his mom and wondered why she looked sad.
“We need to talk,” Mom said.
“Let me guess. It’s something about the move, right?” Eric asked. It seemed to Eric like almost everything had to do with the move.
“Well, yes,” Mom said. “It’s about Muffie.”
“What about Muffie?” Worry crept into Eric’s voice.
Mom sighed. “We can’t have pets in the new apartment.”
“But she’s my dog!” Eric patted Muffie’s head as she lay beside him. “She goes with me wherever I go.”
“I’m sorry, Eric. We can’t take her with us, but …”
Eric didn’t hear any more. He ran to his room and flung himself on the bed as Muffie followed. Eric buried his face in the quilt Grandma had made him. He didn’t want Muffie to see him cry. Muffie whined softly and wiggled her small honey-colored body next to Eric. She did that whenever he was confused or upset.
Eric thought about the first day Muffie wandered into his yard. She had bounded up to him, her stub of a tail wagging like she knew him. He and his mom tried to find the dog’s owner, but they couldn’t. Mom let Eric keep Muffie. Now, everything seemed so unfair. Eric wondered why this was happening.
Eric didn’t sleep well that night. In the morning, Mom asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m too sad.”
“I don’t blame you for being sad or even angry.” Mom put her arm around him. “When I was little, my dog Pancho ran away. I never knew if he found a good home. It’s different with Muffie. We’ll find her a place to live.”
“Muffie’s home is with me,” Eric said. “Why can’t we get a place where we can keep her?”
“I can’t find an apartment that will allow pets,” Mom said. “Besides, Muffie wouldn’t be happy in a crowded place where she can’t run around.”
“If I were Muffie, I wouldn’t like that either,” he admitted. “But I’ll miss her.”
Mom spoke gently. “I have an idea. When you pray tonight, ask Heavenly Father to help you feel better and to help us find a good home for Muffie. After all, He loves Muffie too.”
After his prayer that evening, Eric was filled with warmth and peace. He felt that Heavenly Father would help take care of Muffie.
Mom put an ad in the paper, but days passed and no one called. In the meantime, Eric spent every spare moment with Muffie.
The move was only a week away, and Muffie still didn’t have a new home. Eric prayed harder than ever. He hoped that Heavenly Father would not forget about Muffie.
The day before the movers came, Mom said, “I don’t know what else to do except take Muffie to the animal shelter.”
Eric’s stomach tightened.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Someone will adopt her, and she’ll find a good place to live.”
Eric wasn’t listening. He couldn’t understand why—after so many prayers—he still had to take Muffie to the animal shelter.
The next morning, Mom and Eric rode in silence to the shelter. When they arrived, Eric slowly tugged Muffie on her leash toward the shelter. Muffie jerked back as Eric tried to move her through the door.
“Come on, girl. It’ll be OK,” Eric said, but he wasn’t convinced.
While Eric’s mom signed papers, Muffie squirmed and barked. Afterward, Eric knelt and held Muffie close to him, then ran out of the room. He couldn’t bear to say good-bye. It was bad enough hearing her yelps.
Eric threw himself into the car. As they drove away, Mom offered comfort, but Eric remained quiet. He felt numb inside. “Why is this happening?” he wondered.
Suddenly, he noticed the toy dog bone still in his pocket. It was the good-luck bone he had wanted to give Muffie.
“We have to go back, Mom. I forgot to give Muffie the bone.”
At the shelter, Mom waited in the car while Eric went inside. A worker was trying to put tags on Muffie’s collar. Her barks of protest changed to a yip of glee when she saw Eric. She jumped into his arms. Eric wished he could stop the tightness in his throat.
Behind him, the door opened, and a little boy and a woman walked in. The boy pointed at Muffie and said, “Look, Mom, it’s Fluff!”
“After all this time? I don’t know, Tommy,” his mom said.
Eric watched with big eyes. Tommy edged forward. “Fluff. Here, girl,” he coaxed.
Muffie hesitated only a moment before she leapt toward Tommy. Eric stared at his own empty arms, then looked at his dog and Tommy together. It reminded Eric of his own first meeting with Muffie.
“Wait, Tommy.” His mother turned to Eric. “Is she yours?”
“Well, she, I …” Eric stammered.
“She can’t be yours. I lost my Fluff months ago, and now she’s back.” Tommy patted Muffie, and she nuzzled his cheek.
“Could she really be Tommy’s lost dog?” Eric asked himself. Eric was still sad, but the look in Tommy’s eyes made it not hurt so much anymore to let Muffie go. “Bye, girl,” he whispered.
When Eric told his mom what had happened, she hugged him tightly. “It’s all right, Mom,” Eric said. “Muffie is OK because Heavenly Father really does love her too.”

After several meetings with the missionaries, I was not making much progress. I felt I had not received a confirmation of the truthfulness of the gospel.

One day, Renee asked me, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon?”

I replied, “No.” I was listening to the missionaries—wasn’t that enough?

With tears in her eyes, Renee assured me that she knew the Book of Mormon is true and explained that if I wanted to know if it is true, the only way is—guess what—to read it! And then ask!

Read, ponder in your hearts, and “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, … with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ” (Moroni 10:4) if the Book of Mormon is true, if this is the true Church.

So the third lesson, in one sentence: when you receive these things—the Book of Mormon—and you are exhorted to read and ask God if they are true, please just do it!

The final experience I’d like to share is about repentance. After I had finished taking all the missionary lessons, I was still not convinced I needed to change anything in my life. It was Elder Cutler, a young, confident missionary with limited Spanish, who one day said, “Joaquin, let’s read together Alma 42, and we will include your name as we read it.”

I thought it was silly, but I did as Elder Cutler asked and read in verse 1: “And now, my son [Joaquin], I perceive there is somewhat more which doth worry your mind, which ye cannot understand.” Oh! The book was speaking to me.

And we read in verse 2: “Now behold, my son [Joaquin], I will explain this thing unto thee,” and then the Fall of Adam was described.

And then in verse 4: “And thus we see, that there was a time granted unto [Joaquin] to repent.”

We continued reading slowly, verse by verse, until we reached the last three verses. Then I was struck by a powerful force. The book spoke directly to me, and I started to cry as I read, “And now, [Joaquin,] my son, I desire that ye should let these things trouble you no more, and only let your sins trouble you, with that trouble which shall bring you … unto repentance” (verse 29).

I realize now that I had expected to receive revelation without paying the price. Until then I had never truly spoken to God, and the idea of speaking to someone who wasn’t present seemed foolish. I had to humble myself and do what I was being asked to do even if, in my worldly mind, it sounded silly.

That day I opened my heart to the Spirit, desired to repent, and wanted to be baptized! Before that moment, I had thought of repentance as something negative, associated only with sin and wrongdoing, but suddenly I saw it in a different light—as something positive that cleared the path to growth and happiness.

Elder Cutler is here today, and I want to thank him for opening my eyes. Every decision I have made in my life since then has been influenced by that moment when I humbled myself and prayed for forgiveness, and the Atonement of Jesus Christ on my behalf became part of my life.

So the last lesson, in one statement: experience repentance; nothing draws you closer to the Lord Jesus Christ than a desire to change.

My dear investigator, friend of the Church, if you are listening today, you are very close to reaching the greatest joy. You are close!

Let me invite you, with all the energy of my heart and from the depths of my soul: go and be baptized! It is the best thing you will ever do. It will change not only your life but also the lives of your children and grandchildren.

The Lord has blessed me with a family. I married Renee, and we have four beautiful children. And because of my baptism, I can, like the prophet Lehi of old, invite them to partake of the fruit of the tree of life, which is the love of God (see 1 Nephi 8:15; 11:25). I can help them come unto Christ.

So please consider my experiences, and (1) take the missionaries very seriously, (2) go to church and remember spiritual feelings, (3) read the Book of Mormon and ask the Lord if it is true, and (4) experience repentance and be baptized.

I testify to you that if you pay the price of revelation, humble yourself, read, pray, and repent, the heavens will open and you will know, as I know, that Jesus is the Christ, He is my Savior, and He is yours. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Dan had recently moved to Brigham City from Washington and really didn’t know many people. When a man dressed in a suit and tie walked into his seminary class, pointed him out, and announced that he wanted to talk to him, Dan was sure he was in big trouble. But when the man explained that he was the one they wanted to play the Nephi-like character Ben, Dan was more than happy to comply.

Dan rearranged his schedule as a lifeguard so he could give his time to the project. When he asked his boss for permission to be out for the last day of shooting, his boss took him into his office and showed him a long, detailed list of all the hours he’d missed for the filming. Then he computed that into the dollars and cents that Dan would have earned. It was quite a sum, but Dan didn’t mind.

“The film really helped me,” he said. “It brought my testimony way up. After playing a character that was a lot like Nephi, it made me feel closer to him—like I knew him. I can really relate to his story in the Book of Mormon.”

For a long time, my dad was an assistant farm manager. He worked so hard and always dreamed of one day buying his own farm.
His work ethic inspired me, especially after I left to serve a mission in Japan. I found strength and motivation when I thought about his example.
So on one preparation day, when my dad told me he had finally bought his own farmland, I was so excited for him. He invested a lot of money into growing pumpkins and told me they were going to grow large within six weeks. He found so much joy in finally achieving his goal.
But things didn’t go according to plan.
A few weeks after I heard about my dad’s new farm, the COVID-19 pandemic began and I was suddenly released from my mission. However, I couldn’t go home because of lockdowns across Australia. I was required to isolate for two weeks before going home, and it was the loneliest time of my life.
During isolation, my dad called me. I noticed right away that he was sad. Four weeks had passed since he’d planted his pumpkins, but they were frail and tiny—smaller than his hands. He worried about losing the money he’d invested in his new farm.
My dad is a good, honest, and humble man. Seeing him so upset brought me to tears later that night. My heart broke because I couldn’t be home with my family to offer my support. It was so unfair that my dad had worked so hard only for things to fail.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to know what I could do. And that’s when I got a distinct impression:
“You can fast for the pumpkins.”
At first the thought seemed ridiculous. Fast for the pumpkins? I doubted that would make a difference! But I thought about the many times I had fasted throughout my mission and how it had brought so many miracles. Sometimes it was as small as knowing what words to say while teaching or just increasing my love for those I served, but fasting had still made a difference.
So, on a random Wednesday during my isolation, I fasted—for pumpkins.
But I also fasted for my family and me to feel the Savior’s love during a difficult time.
A few weeks later, I finally arrived home. When my dad took me to his pumpkin fields, I saw hundreds of massive pumpkins. They were huge! It was truly a miracle. I couldn’t believe it.
I felt Heavenly Father’s awareness of my family in that moment.
This experience wasn’t just about the miracle of the gigantic pumpkins (and yes, my arms still feel sore when I think about harvesting them). To me, the miracle was realizing how much love Jesus Christ can bring into our homes and into our family relationships when we act in faith.
I know that Heavenly Father sees all that we might be facing within our own families. He is aware of our worries and our struggles, and He helps us express love when we ask for His help. He even saw that something as seemingly insignificant as a pumpkin patch was important to my family and helped me find a way to channel my love for them in a meaningful and miraculous way.

The waves and foam reflected the faint blue-white of the sky as yellow lights began to shine through the windows of the ocean liner cruising majestically through the water. It had been a peaceful afternoon in the Caribbean, but now day was giving way to dusk. On board, a mother and father and five daughters were arguing unsuccessfully with the waiters in the dining cabin.
“I’m sorry. That’s very nice, but we don’t drink,” dark-haired Shelley insisted for the third time, joined in agreement by Sheila, Stacy, Cynthia, and Melissa.
“It’s special tonight; you must have some, compliments of the ship,” stressed the smiling steward as he uncorked the champagne bottle.
“This is my gift to you for all the fine entertainment you have given us on this cruise,” continued the ship’s agent seated at a table behind the Phelps family, pounding his fist for emphasis.
The steward smiled broadly as he began pouring the liquid into each glass. Frothy white bubbles floated to the top; the girls and their parents watched in amazement as it became apparent that the champagne bottle contained milk!
“As soon as we realized what it was, we all started laughing,” Sheila later related. “The agents and others around us raised their glasses and declared ‘a toast to the all-American family!’ We were surprised, and impressed with how important it is to live the standards of the Church wherever you are and in whatever you’re doing.”

One day at school, my friend Sophia asked me what I believed in and if I belonged to any religion. I remembered the first Article of Faith, which says, “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.” So I shared that with her.
I also told her that I was a Christian and a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She listened to me and understood what I shared with her.
I felt very good because I knew that I had been brave to share my beliefs with my friend. Because of my hard work to learn the Articles of Faith, I was able to share the gospel and know what to say.

Listening selflessly can be painful, however. You may be the one who needs to change. You may find out things about yourself that you don’t like. My wife once explained, “When we disagree on anything, you end up making me feel stupid.” That hurt. My first inclination was to show her she was wrong, but then I realized I was doing just what she had accused me of doing. I suppressed my pain and listened carefully. Those moments were an important turning point in our relationship. The Lord has promised that if we act with “kindness, and pure knowledge,” our souls will be greatly enlarged. (See D&C 121:42.)

Eriklook huddled close behind the oil stove. The canvas walls of the tent flapped in and out with a sharp snapping sound as the Arctic wind blew fiercely outside.
Quiet as a lemming, the Eskimo boy listened from his hiding place as the men talked. They were herders who guarded the village reindeer against danger. Ahsanna, the chief herdsman, had called them to his tent for a special meeting.
“I saw wolf tracks this morning,” Ahsanna was saying. “We must keep a careful watch.”
“Aye,” agreed the herdsmen.
“One wolf can do much damage,” observed Saganna, “but many wolves could destroy the herd.” He was a great hunter and knew much about the cunning ways of the wolf.
The herdsmen were worried. Reindeer were the main source of food for their village, and any threat to them was a serious matter.
“We could put up a scarecrow to help keep the wolves away,” suggested Sovalik, a younger herdsman.
“No,” said Ahsanna, “the wolves are smart. They would probably chew the scarecrow to pieces.”
The thought of this made Eriklook giggle. Suddenly the men became still, and all eyes turned toward the stove where he was hiding.
“Young boys do not have the right to laugh at the talk of men,” Ahsanna said loudly. “Come out and explain yourself, boy!”
Eriklook crept from behind the stove. He tried to talk, but he was so frightened he could only stutter.
“You must leave the tent,” ordered Ahsanna sternly, “and return to the village. Because you have done wrong, you will not be allowed to visit the herd again until permission is granted.”
Eriklook sadly left the tent without saying a word. Outside he made his way toward the reindeer for one last look.
There were several hundred animals of all ages and sizes in the herd. Eriklook liked to watch them as they grazed. The animals were thin, but by fall they would be fat again.
It’s a wonder, thought Eriklook, that there is enough grass to go around. The reindeer eat continuously!
As Eriklook turned and started for the village, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a flash of gray. Then he saw another and another. A large band of wolves was coming across the Arctic prairie.
Eriklook knew they must be driven off at once or they would harm the herd.
He quickly grabbed his wolf chaser from his parka pocket and began whirling it as he ran toward the herd. The chaser was made from a piece of whalebone about ten inches long and one-inch thick. There were notches cut along both edges, and a sealskin thong was attached to one end.
As he ran through the center of the reindeer straight toward the wolves, Eriklook whirled the wolf chaser above his head in a circle so that it made a loud humming sound. The noise hurt the ears of the wolves so they stopped moving.
“Get away!” shouted Eriklook. “Get away!”
But the big fierce-looking animals growled and flattened their ears to show they weren’t afraid. Then they began to creep on their bellies toward the boy and the herd.
Eriklook was frightened, but he didn’t dare turn away. The pack would be on him in seconds if he turned his back. He continued moving toward the wolves, whirling his wolf chaser until it sang.
“Go away!” he shouted. “Get out of here!”
The wolves circled, baffled and uneasy. Snarling, they retreated a little.
This gave Eriklook courage.
“Go!” he commanded. “Go!”
Suddenly a shot boomed out from behind the boy, and the wolves fled across the tundra and were soon out of sight behind the low hummocks.
“Well,” exclaimed Ahsanna, lowering his gun, “I don’t think they will return for quite a while.”
He caught Eriklook under the arms and swung him around.
“Because of your bravery you have saved many reindeer,” he said. “Without your shouts we would not have known the wolves were here until it was too late.”
The chief herdsman looked at his helpers who had gathered around.
“Eriklook was punished because he foolishly broke a rule,” said Ahsanna, “but what about us? We too were foolish for leaving the herd unguarded. I think we have all learned a lesson today!”
“Aye,” they said, nodding their heads at the boy.
Ahsanna looked at Eriklook and smiled. “We all thank you for what you have done for us today,” he said. “And soon you can visit the herd again!”

This next example shows you do not have to be wealthy or old to be an instrument for good. Eighteen-year-old Marie “Djadjou” Jacques is from the Cavaillon Branch in Haiti. When the devastating earthquake struck near her town in August, her family’s house was one of tens of thousands of buildings that collapsed. It’s almost impossible to imagine the despair of losing your home. But rather than giving in to that despair, Djadjou—incredibly—turned outward.

Associated Press

She saw an elderly neighbor struggling and began taking care of her. She helped others clear away debris. Despite her exhaustion, she joined other Church members to distribute food and hygiene kits to others. Djadjou’s story is just one of many powerful examples of service carried out by youth and young adults as they strive to follow the example of Jesus Christ.

Hannah sat on the train seat between her father and her sister, Bessie. Papa had let Bessie sit next to the window, but Hannah didn’t mind because that meant she could sit next to Papa. She snuggled up next to him, and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Today we’ll go inside the house of the Lord,” Papa said, his voice trembling a little.
“Yes, Papa,” Hannah said.
“Do you know why?”
Hannah nodded. “The Salt Lake Temple will be dedicated today. Then it will be a real temple.”
“Yes,” said Papa. “And why else do you want to go?”
“To see how beautiful it is inside,” Hannah answered.
Papa smiled. “Is that why we go to the temple?”
Hannah looked down at the pink ticket she was holding on her lap. It had President Wilford Woodruff’s own signature on it. She would show it at the door so she could go inside to see the temple dedication.
“To see President Woodruff?”
“We do love our prophet, but why else do you want to go?” Papa tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.
Hannah leaned back in her seat. What answer was Papa after?
“You think about that.” Papa patted her knee. “On the way home, you can answer again.”
The train ride went by quickly, and soon Hannah found herself staring at the Salt Lake Temple. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Looking up at the spires made her delightfully dizzy. The angel Moroni sparkled in the morning sun. “Holiness to the Lord,” Hannah read from the inscription on the wall. She felt a powerful joy in her heart. She promised herself that someday she would be married right here in the temple.
Hannah whispered to her father, “I know why I want to go to the temple. It’s because of Charley and Grandfather Bird and the rest of our family. It’s for Holiness to the Lord and for me too.”
Papa nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I want to go too.”

It was storming outside, and the only sound in the cabin was Father’s voice quietly explaining why he had given flour to those who had come by during the day. There was much sickness in the little community and a mixture of flour and water seemed to be the best possible medicine.
Patiently Father reminded the children that they had been especially blessed because none of them had had the strange “winter sickness.” Even though the crops had failed in the fall, it had been possible for him to trade flour for the wagons he made for his neighbors or for pioneers going through Fillmore on their way to the west coast.
Early that morning Mother said, “Please don’t give away any more flour, Father. There’s only enough left for a little bread for our own children.”
Before Father could answer, a knock came at the door. A neighbor stood outside. He said he needed some flour for his sick wife.
Even the youngest child was touched by the look of gratitude on the neighbor’s face when Father filled a cup with flour, gave it to him, and said, “Be of good faith; the Lord will provide.”
A few minutes later another knock was heard and when Father opened the door, a young man hurried in. The family knew Father could not refuse help when the worried young father said, “Oh, Brother Carling, my baby is dying! I must have some flour.”
After the young man left with the flour, Mother started to cry. Father gently put his arm around her and suggested that the family kneel with him in prayer. A feeling of peace and hope came into the little cabin as Father expressed thanks for health, for warmth, and for safety on such a cold November day. Then he prayed that in some way it might be possible for them and their neighbors to get food, especially some flour.
After the prayer, Father suggested that Mother try to scrape together enough flour from the box to make a little gravy. To her surprise there was plenty for that and some flour was still left over.
While the family was eating, another knock was heard at the door. The man standing outside said he needed the services of a good wagonmaker and had been told Father might be able to help. “I have twenty tons of flour here,” he said. “I wonder if I could trade flour for wagons!”