Gospel Story Finder

It was just a few days before Christmas, and we were newlyweds traveling home for the holidays. It was a 42-hour drive by car, but that didn’t discourage us at all because we were so excited to be home with our families again! We had been on the road all day and most of the night when we came upon a terrible snowstorm. We found ourselves in a blinding blizzard, and the snow was growing deeper on the highway with each passing moment. The night was pure black. We couldn’t see where we were going, and because of the deep snow we couldn’t see the lines on the road. This was a frightening situation!
Suddenly in front of us we began to see a huge semitruck going slowly and steadily ahead. We could barely make out his taillights, but seeing them gave us hope. My husband, who was driving, fixed his eyes on the lights from the truck, and we drove along in the tracks it made through the deepening snow. Our panic subsided somewhat with that guide up ahead, because he knew the route, he sat up higher than we and could have a better view, and surely he had communication equipment if it was needed.
With prayers on our lips and white-knuckled hands holding on, we followed that light through the storm. We passed many cars off both sides of the road before we sensed that the truck was slowing down and pulling off the highway. In an act of faith, we followed him and soon found ourselves, to our great relief, in a place of safety, a place of refuge. We were so very thankful! We could hardly wait to tell the driver of the truck how grateful we were for his help—for leading the way.

Several years ago I served as a temple worker in the Santiago Chile Temple. During one evening shift I began to experience difficulty breathing, so I reluctantly requested to leave early.
As I walked to the subway station, I prayed that the train I needed would be there so I could get home soon. I thought my prayer was answered when I saw the train stopped at the platform. But as I approached, I saw the train staff rushing to help a passenger who was experiencing a possible heart attack. The words of my favorite hymn pierced my mind: “Have I done any good in the world today?”1 I immediately felt impressed to help.
I hurried to where the staff took the young man to wait for the ambulance, and they allowed me to stay. I prayed to know what to do and pled with Heavenly Father to spare the young man’s life. I didn’t want to leave him alone and scared, so I held his hand and tried to help him remain calm. I assured him that he had a long life ahead and that God had a purpose for him. I found out his family’s phone number, called them, and let them know their son was on his way to the hospital and was not alone.
When the paramedics arrived, I followed them to the ambulance. I felt I should stay with the young man until his family arrived. To my surprise, the paramedics decided I should come with them, so I held the young man’s hand all the way to the hospital.
Shortly after we arrived, they took him to the emergency room, and I went outside to watch for his family. When they came, his mother broke into tears, threw her arms around me, and said she was so glad there are still good people on earth.
A week later I received a phone call from the young man. He told me the doctors said that remaining calm had been critical during that time before he reached the hospital.
Until that day, he did not believe in God. I was speechless when he exclaimed, “You saved my life, and I am forever grateful to you! Now I know there is a God.”
When I left the temple early that day, the Spirit led me to the right place at the right time. I feel grateful to our Heavenly Father for guiding me and giving me courage to do as the hymn says and not let the opportunity pass by, even if the only thing I could do was hold the hand of a stranger.

When you see Madilyn Paige perform, you would never guess the 20-year-old once suffered from paralyzing stage fright. At age 16, she faced her fear by trying out for the singing competition The Voice. She made it to the finals, where her voice enchanted judges and viewers alike.
Since then, Madilyn has released singles and is soon to release an album. She continues performing at venues like the Stadium of Fire in Provo, Utah, USA, and keeps chasing her dream to spread light and share uplifting messages through her music.
“I think music is a superpower. I feel so fortunate that I’ve been blessed with this gift. I want to use it to bring hope and happiness to people.”

I have one such story in my legacy. Grandmother Eyring learned from a doctor in his office that she would die of stomach cancer. My father, her oldest son, had driven her there and was waiting for her. He told me that on the way home she said, “Now, Henry, let’s be cheerful. Let’s sing hymns.” They sang “O My Father” (Hymns, no. 292) and “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” where the last verse begins, “And should we die before our journey’s through” (Hymns, no. 30).

I wasn’t there, but I imagine they sang loudly—they didn’t have very melodic voices—with faith and no tears. She spent part of her last months in the home of her oldest child, her daughter. Aunt Camilla told me that Grandma complained only once, and then it was not really a complaint but just to say that it hurt.

Now, there are many people who have been cheerful and brave in the face of death. But it means far more to her family when the person has taught and testified of the power of the Savior to succor, of the sureness of the Resurrection, and of the hope of eternal life. The Spirit confirmed to me that Grandma’s peace and her courage were signs that her testimony was true, and because of that, all was well, all was well.

As soon as I turned 12, I received my first temple recommend. I’ll never forget that first temple experience. The peace I felt was so unique. Though my home in southern Taiwan was four hours from the temple, I decided to go once a month on our stake temple day. I went even if no one could accompany me.
Soon I started inviting my Church friends to go with me. Though they didn’t show much interest at first, now they go every month. Many people in the ward also started going to the temple. Now no matter how often our ward plans a temple trip, many people come—more than our stake has ever seen before.
Soon after my decision to attend monthly, my family decided to go every month. Even if we have tests at school the day after our temple day, my family and I attend regularly. I’ve been frequently attending the temple with my family for seven years now. The temple is the house of the Lord, and we know the importance of going to the temple.
Chi-Yun Liu, Tainan, Taiwan

Last December I was discouraged and did not want to decorate my house or celebrate Christmas. Then I read an article in the December 2011 Liahona that described how the pioneers celebrated Christmas: dancing to a whistled tune because they had no musical instruments—in spite of having no gifts and too little to eat (see “Christmas for the Early Pioneers” in “Small and Simple Things,” 9). That article helped me change my attitude and take heart. Sometimes we do not recognize or value all that we have.
Ana Rosa de Melo Ferreira, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

This story took place in Brazil.
Rebeca held her sister’s hand. They jumped off the couch and thumped onto the carpet. The two girls giggled.
“Higher!” Melissa said.
“Girls, don’t jump in the house. We don’t want to bother Miss Daisy so early in the day,” Mom called from the kitchen.
Rebeca and Melissa frowned and sat down. They had just moved into a new apartment. Miss Daisy was the neighbor who lived below them.
“Have you ever seen Miss Daisy?” Melissa asked Rebeca.
“No. But I’m scared of her. I heard she hates kids,” Rebeca said.
Melissa’s eyes opened wide. “But what about our French-toast tradition?”
Christmas Eve was in just a few days. Rebeca and Melissa’s favorite family tradition was making French toast as a treat for all their neighbors. This year would be special because it would be their first time making it in their new home.
“Maybe we should skip Miss Daisy’s door,” Rebeca said.
On Christmas Eve, the girls woke up excited to make French toast.
Rebeca helped Dad whip the eggs, milk, sugar, and cinnamon. Melissa dunked the bread into the egg mixture. Then they cooked the bread. Soon, their whole apartment smelled like cinnamon.
Finally, they put the French toast in bags and wrote their neighbors’ names on each one.
Rebeca closed the last bag. “Ready!” she said.
Dad counted the bags and checked all the names. “I don’t see one for Miss Daisy,” he said.
Rebeca and Melissa looked at each other.
“We didn’t want to give one to her,” Rebeca said. “She hates kids.”
Dad frowned. “Our tradition is to share with all the neighbors. Don’t you think we should make one for Miss Daisy?”
Rebeca and Melissa knew Dad was right. They filled one more bag and wrote “Miss Daisy” on it.
They took the bags to each neighbor. At last, they came to Miss Daisy’s door.
What if she didn’t like the treat? What if she yelled at them?
The girls took a deep breath. Then they knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Miss Daisy asked. She opened the door and looked down at them. She had short white hair. She didn’t look too scary.
For a moment, Rebeca and Melissa didn’t know what to say.
“We’re your upstairs neighbors,” Rebeca said.
Melissa held out the bag. “We brought French toast for you. Merry Christmas!”
“Oh, thank you! I love French toast.” Miss Daisy took the bag. “So you’re my new neighbors? I wanted to meet you, but I thought maybe you didn’t like old people like me.”
Rebeca and Melissa looked at each other with wide eyes. “We thought you didn’t like kids!” Rebeca said.
Miss Daisy laughed. “I love children! Come in. I’ll show you pictures of my grandkids.”
They all went into Miss Daisy’s apartment. There were flowers everywhere and lots of family pictures.
“Have a seat. I just made some passionfruit juice,” said Miss Daisy. She poured the juice into cups. “I think it will be perfect with this tasty French toast.”
The girls and their parents took the cups of juice. It was delicious!
They learned the names of Miss Daisy’s grandkids. They even listened to Christmas music with her.
Rebeca and Melissa had been wrong about Miss Daisy. She was nice. And funny too! Christmas French toast was a great tradition. This year, it had helped them make a new friend.
Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney

New Year’s Day of 1966 in Cebu City was not a particularly memorable day for Col. Sisinion G. Tutor and Dr. Avelina Lipio Tutor, both dentists by profession. An attending physician diagnosed the illness of their fourth child as poliomyelitis. And, a pall of gloom hovered in their home, realizing that Chilton Sisinio Lipio Tutor, Jr. (nicknamed Jun-Jun), their only son and then only six months old, will lead the life of a cripple.
On September 21, 1974, when Jun-Jun was only nine years old, fate took another turn. The military plane in which his father was a passenger crashlanded at Baloi airport in Iligan City, resulting in the death of all aboard. Consequently, the widowed Dr. Tutor had to return to her hometown in Rizal Province with the family (Maria Susana, Elizabeth, Rhodora, Jun-Jun and Evelina Chelo) where she began to start life anew as a dental practitioner.
Sometime in July, 1975, two young American missionaries brought the gospel to their home in Angono. On October 11, 1975, Dr. Tutor and her three teenager daughters were baptized at the Buendia Chapel in Makati, opening a new pathway in their lives.
Jun-Jun, of course, did not relish the thought of being left out in spiritual darkness—and, on April 24, 1976, he was born again, also at Buendia Chapel.
The first Sunday of the year 1977, with the Stake President in attendance at Cainta Branch (Rizal Province), 11-year old Bro. Tutor (he celebrates his 12th birthday on June 25) rendered his first testimony—a testimony that expressed unwavering love for the Lord.
A familiar sight every Sunday to onlookers along Methodist Road as he is carried to Church by a male cousin, Jun-Jun is all by himself a picture of deep and everlasting faith in the Eternal Father and in Jesus Christ.

I once visited with a family whose depressed teenager felt unable to commit to anything except getting a little more sunshine. After two weeks of getting outside more to play sports with his father, this young man felt enough energy to experiment with adjustments to his diet, which triggered other improvements and a new momentum of gradual healing. This reflects “the aggregation of marginal gains” that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy recently emphasized.18
Another brother described how adjusting what he took into his mind had rippling benefits for other areas of life: “I started to be choosier about what [media] I watched, and who I hung out with because I had a really clear sense of how it was affecting me. And that influenced my sleeping cycle. And I started to rest more; and I realized I felt really good when I exercised. And I noticed what foods made me feel good and what foods made me feel sick.” He described these changes as a “domino effect … that cascaded into other fortunate turnarounds.”19

Frost was still in the air the morning the young men and women went door-to-door in their ward areas reminding people to donate items in good or reparable condition. Couches, lamps, dolls, toasters, an adding machine, desks, chairs, and other household wares soon bulged the sides of two large trucks, with more contributions still coming. One neighborhood florist donated a whole van full of Christmas decorations. One young man, enthused by the spirit of giving, pedaled up on his used bicycle and donated it to the drive. Half a dozen truckloads of usable items were amassed during the day.

In addition to attending the scheduled church meetings, Sister Eubank and Sister Harkness were able to visit some of the members in their homes. After their 28 virtual home visits, Sister Eubank stated “I have never gone ministering with WhatsApp before, but it gave me the chance to sit in homes where the evening meal was being prepared and children were studying with a lamp and speak heart to heart with a sister about her challenges and joys. I came away so uplifted from meeting these sisters in this intimate way. Many shared deeply personal and spiritual experiences around their conversions to the gospel of Jesus Christ or introduced me to their family with pride.”

Andrew Mello, age 18, still has several months before he submits his mission papers, but that doesn’t mean he’s not actively preparing now. Studying Preach My Gospel, he says, has been one of the best ways he’s been able to do so.
Some preparation has come through personal study. Other times it comes from training in his priests quorum. On the first Sunday of each month, a member of the quorum is assigned to teach a lesson from Preach My Gospel to his peers and adviser. Sometimes they teach the full 45-minute lesson, but other times, just for practice, they’ll teach the 15- or 5-minute versions of several different lessons instead.
And while Andrew acknowledges that this preparation is equipping him for full-time missionary service, he can also see advantages in his life right now.
“I find myself thinking about things from Preach My Gospel all the time,” says Andrew. “I am the only Mormon in my high school, so people often ask me questions about what I believe. I’ve been able to use lessons and skills from Preach My Gospel to tell friends or acquaintances about the gospel.
“There are some questions or conversations that could go a lot of different ways,” he continues, “but when I can steer them in a productive direction because of things I’ve studied, that feels awesome.”

In 1952 I returned to San Diego, California, from a Korean campaign during which I had been baptized at the mission home in Tokyo, Japan. As a new convert I was sure that everyone, everywhere, was looking for the gospel of Jesus Christ, which I had found. I had it, and I was going to give it to them whether they wanted it or not.
I became a member of a car pool that operated between my home in Chula Vista, California, and North Island, where I worked. There were four other navy men in that car pool—all nonmembers. Three of them were lieutenants (which was also my rank), and one was an enlisted man, a first class ordinance man, whose name was George Whitehead. I was elated with the prospects of converting these four car pool mates. I was sure it would be a cinch. It was a 45-minute trip in each direction, and they couldn’t get out of the car—they had to listen. I decided I would convert these four, and then move into a new car pool and convert them, and then move to another. Why, I could convert a whole ward in no time at all!
I went to work on my four comrades. Three of them (the lieutenants) obviously never listened to a word I said, or if they did, you couldn’t tell it; my words were like so much water off a duck’s back. But the enlisted man, George Whitehead, he dared not turn me off. I could tell that George was interested; so when it was my turn to drive, I would take the lieutenants home first and then sit and preach to George in front of his house for an hour before I would let him out of the car.
I kept trying to commit George to come to church, but he resisted for a period of about four weeks. Finally, he agreed to attend with me and said his wife, Lucille, would also attend. I was so excited. I remember on the Saturday night before George and Lucille were to attend their first Mormon Sunday School, I went to the chapel, and I washed the back door of the chapel; it was the door I always used to enter the building. I enlisted the aid of a young man who thought I must be slightly psycho. He said, “Why are you washing the back door of the church? Nobody washes the back door of a church!” I assured him that I was washing the back door because it needed to be washed; and besides, tomorrow morning George and Lucille Whitehead were coming through this door. And everything must be perfect for them, so they would see the Lord’s church in its true light.
I presume that no one looks at the Church more critically than does a missionary who is bringing a contact for the first time. How important it is that all the babies be quiet and that the music be beautiful. It would also be nice if everyone sitting on the stand would stay awake, but I guess that is too much to expect.
George and Lucille came to Sunday School, and I was there to meet them. We had a great Sunday School class that day. (I was teaching the class.) George was obviously impressed. He looked for all the world like a sponge, soaking up every word. But his wife, Lucille, sitting beside him, looked like the Sphinx. I couldn’t tell if she had heard a word I had said. I was concerned. I could hardly wait to speak to her after the class.
As we walked out of the chapel, through that clean back door, I said, “Lucille, what did you think of that service this morning?” She said, without a smile, “I was born a Methodist, and I expect to die one.” At that time I had not heard LeGrand Richards’ story about the Englishman and the Scotsman, where the Englishman said, “I was born an Englishman, raised an Englishman, and expect to die an Englishman.” The Scotsman said, “Have ye no ambition?”
I could have used that retort, I presume; but instead I said, “Lucille, I promise you that to be a Latter-day Saint you will never have to give up anything true that you have learned as a Methodist. We have no quarrels with other churches or religious beliefs. We do not write tracts against other churches and we never will, because we are not in the business of tearing down other people’s faith, but, on the contrary, our purpose is to build it up. To our Protestant friends who believe that salvation is by ‘grace through faith’ we say, ‘We believe it too—does not the scripture declare, “… Without faith it is impossible to please him [God]”?’ (Heb. 1:6.) We just wish to add to their faith. So, to our Protestant friends we say, ‘Come let us share with you the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We will take no truth from you but will merely add certain works and priesthood authority to what you have.’”
This is essentially what I told Lucille that day. She made no further comment whatsoever. That episode took place in 1952.
In 1958 I was in Washington, D.C., still in the navy, and I received orders to go to the University of Southern California to attend a special course of instruction on aviation safety. While I was in Los Angeles, I was able to spend much time in the Los Angeles Temple. As I recall, I did the work for all of my grandparents and great grandparents. The women who acted as proxy for two of my grandmothers and my own mother (who had subsequently died not having accepted the gospel) was this same Lucille Whitehead who was, as she said, “born a Methodist and expected to die one.” She had not quite made it—in fact, she was ready for baptism just three weeks after she had made that statement to me that Sunday morning in San Diego, California. Why? Because the Holy Ghost had touched her heart, and she knew the gospel was true.
Surely the Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. How could I know that sharing the gospel with a member of my car pool would result in making eternal life possible to my own mother?
There are so many things we don’t know, but our Heavenly Father knows. It behooves us to follow his directions to us, for surely we will be eternally blessed for so doing.

The following day the American Explorers and Ecuadorian Rovers set up a joint camp on a beach near Salinas, Ecuador, where they learned of one another’s camping methods. The beach was part of an equatorial desert where it rains only once every three years. They had an ocean at their tent doorways but no water to use other than what they brought with them.
Religious services were held Sunday morning. Catholic Mass was celebrated by an Ecuadorian Scout leader who was also a priest, and another Ecuadorian Scouter—a Protestant minister—held services for Scouts of various protestant denominations. I conducted religious services for the Mormon Explorers.
“It was a humbling experience,” reports Dean Norris, an LDS Explorer. “We knelt together under a tower in an army obstacle course, and Brother Kovalenko administered the sacrament to us and then talked about our responsibilities as living examples of our priesthood and religion.”

Then in January 1999, the Lindon 17th Ward, Lindon Utah Stake, was created. The new ward members didn’t talk much to Fernando. He was just beginning to speak again, and his words were not clear and came very slowly.

The leaders of the new ward, however, felt very strongly that President Gordon B. Hinckley’s directive that new members of the Church need “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4)”* applied to all the members of their newly formed ward—including Fernando. He was called to be the Primary greeter. That calling has been a great blessing in his life and in the lives of the children in his ward.

Fernando welcomes each child and adult to Primary. “The first time he was there,” said Sister Terris, a counselor in the Primary, “the Spirit was so strong that I had tears in my eyes. He was so excited about his calling!”

That first Sunday Fernando struggled to speak and shake hands with everyone. But each week, his arms and hands grew a little stronger and his speech became a little clearer.
“Even though the little kids don’t always understand him,” Tasha Hansen (11) said, “they feel his spirit and pay attention. You really feel it.”
“He’s nice,” Britton Green (6) added. “He always gets so excited when he sees us.”
“And he knows my name,” Cade Terris (7) said.
“The calling as a greeter let me get to know the little children,” Fernando pointed out. “They are the greatest! Then I got to know their parents. They are all my friends now.”
The children are very comfortable around Fernando because they know that he loves them. Once, the Primary chorister asked him to hold up a poster for a song. Fernando tried, but he did not have the strength to do it. One by one, the children came up and encircled him so that he could rest the chart in his lap and they could still see it.
As they came to know him better, the children wanted to help him recover. They wanted to help him fulfill his desire to serve the Lord with all his heart. They wanted him to be able to serve a mission, which he still hopes to do one day.
“The children are always there to help me. I’m learning to speak better because they are always speaking to me,” he said.
“At first, sometimes I would know what he was going to say and answer him before he finished,” Tasha Hansen said. “But I don’t do that now because I know that he needs to practice talking.”
“Once I walked into Primary and he gave me a special handshake,” Jake Green (9) said. “Now he does it with all the boys.” The children created other new handshakes to help Fernando strengthen all the different muscles in his hands.
One Sunday, when Fernando entered the Primary room dressed as Abinadi, the children suddenly quieted down. Knowing how hard it is for him to speak, they know that each word is important.
Now Fernando has also been called to help teach two classes of eleven- and twelve-year-olds. “He’s getting really good at talking,” said Tori Hansen (11).
But Fernando isn’t the only one with new responsibilities in his ward. Families and individuals, including Primary children, have been asked to help with his therapy. They listen to him read, play with him to exercise his muscles, and talk with him. Or they may take him walking.
Jake Green enjoys playing Chinese checkers with him, “but Fernando always wins. He’s too good!”
“It’s quite a sight when we take Fernando walking,” the Terris family laughs. “We squeeze everyone and everything into the car—his wheelchair, his walker, Fernando, and, of course, all of our family. Then we drive to the place where we walk.”
Once the Green family was walking with Fernando by the Provo River. He stood by a fence and threw a stone into the water. It gave him such pleasure to at last be able to stand balanced against the fence and throw a rock, that Britton and Jake picked up several more stones for him to throw.
“We feel good when we help him,” Jake explained.
“The first time I saw him walk with his walker was really special,” Sammy Whirley (7) said. “We have also tried flying kites. We still need to work on that.”
Shayly Terris (11) was asked to read with him and help him practice pronouncing words. “He asked me questions, and I got to know him better. After we finished reading, my mom and I went to help him get back into bed, and he fell and hit his head. He just said, ‘Shhhh, don’t tell Mom.’ He never complains!”
“He helps me look at other people in wheelchairs differently,” Eddie Terris (14) said. “They really can do a lot of things!”
Meagan Hansen (15) remembered the first time her family took him walking at the track. “There is a chain that prevents people from driving cars onto the track. My Dad asked Fernando, ‘How do you get over that?’ ‘I jump,’ he answered. Dad gave him a look, and Fernando said, ‘Seriously.’ So we wheeled him up to the chain and waited to see what he would do. He just lifted the chain up and rolled under it.”
Conner Hansen (8) said, “Sometimes I think my problems are really bad, but when I look at Fernando’s problems, I don’t complain.”
The Hansens add, “No matter what comes up, we don’t miss walking with Fernando. He’s amazing! He helps us keep an eternal perspective. It’s the best thing we do each month.”
Fernando works hard every single day to improve. “I always believed I would get better. I just take it one day at a time.”
“In time he will get better,” Talmage Hansen (11) declared. “He believes it, and so do I.”
Having so many friends in the ward who love and help him, and knowing that he is an invaluable influence in their lives, has helped Fernando continue trying. His strong spirit and testimony have spiritually strengthened those who have helped him strengthen his physical body.
Fernando may have to wait to serve a full-time mission, but he is touching the lives of the Primary children in his ward right now by his example of faith, patience, and trust in the Lord. And they are touching his with their patience, love, and service. “I hope that the children know that they really can help others,” he said.

When I was about 12, I was asked to sing a solo in my home ward. My parents encouraged me to memorize the hymn so that I could look out into the audience. I worked on the song for many weeks until I could sing it without looking at the words. When the Sunday arrived, I sat on the stand and felt my heart pounding. I had sung in other wards before, but I felt nervous singing in front of people I knew. My greatest fear was that I would make a mistake.
When it was time, I stood up and walked up to the microphone. I felt my stomach flip. I was too afraid to make eye contact with anyone, so I looked at the clock at the back instead. My accompanist began to play the introduction, and I started to sing. I made it halfway through the hymn without any difficulties when I looked down from the clock to the congregation. Suddenly, I forgot the words to the hymn. My accompanist continued playing for a few more measures until she figured out I had stopped singing. She went back to where I had left off and encouragingly played the melody, hoping to remind me of the words.
The words did not come. Fear began to rise within me. My face flushed with heat, and I could feel my ears turning red. My mind raced through the words of the hymn trying to remember what came next, but the words did not come. I looked out into the audience feeling humiliated and embarrassed. My heart crumpled with disappointment and embarrassment. I began to cry. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I hung my head, burying my face in my hands. I felt everyone staring at me. I wasn’t sure whether I should sit down or stand there until I could remember the words.
Suddenly, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I looked up through teary eyes to see my bishop, Bishop Smith, smiling at me. He leaned down and told me that he would sing with me. He then nodded to the sister to begin playing. Bishop Smith’s beautiful baritone voice filled the chapel as he began to sing. He knew the words! As soon as he sang them, I remembered them as well. With his arm around my shoulder, I felt the courage to begin again, and together we finished the song.

As Sunday approached, the adversary put many obstacles in my path that could have easily prevented me from attending. How grateful I am that the Holy Ghost persisted.
I felt nervous as I entered the building, but the opening hymn in sacrament meeting reassured me that I was home again. The hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30) invited the Spirit so powerfully that tears flowed down my face. I knew in that instant that Heavenly Father was aware of me and the deep sadness I was feeling.
That hymn has become an unofficial anthem of sorts for the Church, but it has become my personal anthem as well.
“Come,” the hymn invites me. “Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day.”
My journey was hard. But grace did attend me as promised.
Bishop Darren Bird and the rest of the congregation were wonderful and welcoming. They accepted me as their brother in Christ.
The words of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” took on greater meaning to me, however, as I felt Heavenly Father directing me on how I should proceed.
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
I went west and bought a home in Fountain Hills, Arizona, USA, where I met Bishop Jerry Olson. When I requested to meet with him and shook his hand, the Spirit impressed upon me that this man would help bring me back into full activity in the Church.
As I began visiting with the bishop and embarking on this reconciliation with Heavenly Father, I witnessed many spiritual miracles. I was open with the bishop, for which he was grateful. He said that helped him better understand where I had been and where I was now in my relationship with God. He also lovingly informed me that this was the first time that he had had an opportunity to minister to someone with same-sex attraction, and he asked for my patience and forgiveness if he said or did anything to offend me throughout the process.
I thanked him for his honesty and said, “Well, this is my first time as well. We’ll learn together.”
Thus began a wonderful journey and friendship!
Soon I had an action plan on how to become a member again. I accepted the loving and prayerful counsel with a grateful heart and began the process.
Illustration by Jenna Palacios
Later, as I followed that counsel and worked hard to draw closer to Christ, I received the restoration of my priesthood and temple blessings and accepted a call to serve in the elders quorum. In the holy temple, as I communed with Heavenly Father, He showed me how much He loves all His children. I felt solace and a deep desire to please Him.
Months later, a new bishop was called, with whom I have also developed a loving friendship. Bishop Larry Radford knew of my circumstance and appreciated my service in the elders quorum, where he said I had served with love and devotion not only for the quorum but also—and more importantly—for God. His kind words and encouragement helped me feel that the Lord and my fellow Saints were pleased with my service.
I now faithfully serve as the ward clerk.
Having same-sex attraction and being an active member of the Church is not always easy. But as I put all my faith and trust in God, I can feel Him strengthening me. Critics will no doubt say that I’m not being true to who I am or that I’m disappointing the LGBT+ community.
I understand their frustration, and I obviously don’t have all the answers. I can only speak of my own experience. And that experience has taught me this: I am Heavenly Father’s son, a child of God. That’s the one and only label that matters to me. As a result, I try not to allow the world’s labels to define me. I fear that will limit my potential and eternal progression.
Satan is very clever. He knows that by using labels, he can divide us as a community and as a church.
With that perspective in mind, the choices I make are not based on my same-sex attraction but on how to be a true disciple of Christ with same-sex attraction. As Nephi said:
“O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh. …
“… I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God” (2 Nephi 4:34–35).
Throughout my return, I felt the loving companionship of my leaders and fellow Saints, including active and less-active LGBT+ members. I found a place where I could thrive. I found among them the attributes of Christ that I had always associated with my faith: mercy, compassion, understanding, and, above all, love.
As I struggled along the path with my Savior, I felt comfort and peace as I turned to Him, knowing that I wasn’t walking that path alone. Several bishops were there beside me. Members of my quorum. Sisters in the ward. I even had a young man in the ward ask me if I would ordain him a priest. His kind invitation deeply moved me. He saw me as a man who holds the priesthood of God and who can exercise that priesthood in service to others.
These opportunities to serve and worship with my fellow Saints have lifted me and—along with the many blessings I’ve received from the Lord—helped me experience the love, understanding, and acceptance that I needed.
The Savior said, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you” (John 14:18). Those words are true. I needed comforting, and He came to me, more abundantly than I could have imagined.

On a trip to the Orient it was my privilege to attend a sacrament meeting of the Naha Branch on the island of Okinawa. I was so impressed with the quality of the sacrament service and the reverence and dignity exhibited by the Aaronic Priesthood that when I was called to speak I asked one of the young men to join me at the pulpit. I asked him, “How do you feel knowing you hold the priesthood of God?” Not tall enough to see over the pulpit, he raised on his toes so he could see the congregation, then with deep emotion responded: “It’s the greatest honor of my life!”

I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.

When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.

Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?

I recently gave my first talk in sacrament meeting. I had just read the article “An Example to Nonmember Friends” (Oct. 2010) and knew that I should use that as my topic. I liked that people shared experiences in their lives. It helped me understand more about being an example to those around me. One way I can stand as a witness is by magnifying my priesthood responsibilities. A few weeks ago a few other deacons in my ward and I went to a rest home. We take turns preparing and passing the sacrament with the other wards in our stake. While I was there I felt very peaceful and happy inside. I knew that I was doing what the Savior would have me do and would be doing Himself if He were there. I am thankful for the examples of others I read about in the magazine and hope I can also set a good example to those around me.
Spencer G., Utah