Gospel Story Finder

Patrick’s six-year-old arms were full, with a bag of books, crayons, and paper in one hand; his stuffed dog, Muffin, in the other hand; and his pillow squashed between his arms, blocking most of his view.
“Hey, watch out!” his eight-year-old sister, Madeline, said as he bumped through the hall.
“Sorry.” Patrick’s voice was muffled by the pillow, which somehow got into his mouth when he tried to talk. He reached his chin up high, then pushed the pillow down a little so he could see the front door better. When he reached the car, Dad unloaded the things from Patrick’s arms.
“It looks like you’ll be plenty comfortable all the way to Florida with this big pillow and Muffin to keep you company,” Dad said.
“I can’t wait to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house! I hope that it doesn’t rain, so we can play outside every day.”
Dad laughed. “I hope it doesn’t rain on the way down, either, because it’s no fun to drive in the rain!”
“OK, Dad, I’ll say a prayer for no rain all the time we’re gone to Florida!”
Dad patted Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick, I’m happy that you understand that you can pray for the things that are important to you.”
“I learned in Primary that sometimes Heavenly Father doesn’t give us everything we want but that we can still get a good feeling that He is watching out for us and doing what will help us. That’s what Sister Lawrence said.”
“She’s right,” Dad said. “I’m very glad that you go to Primary. We’ve learned a lot of new things since joining the Church, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but I want to really join! I can’t wait until I am baptized, like you and Mom and Madeline!”
Dad rumpled Patrick’s hair. “Your eighth birthday will be here sooner than you think,” he said. “And when you are baptized, I think you will know more than anyone else in our family did when they got baptized! You’ll have had almost two years with wonderful Primary teachers like Sister Lawrence, and almost two years of family home evenings to help make you very wise.”
Patrick helped Dad put the bag of books and papers under his seat in the car, and Muffin on the seat beside the window. “Dad, do you think Grandma and Grandpa will come to my baptism?”
Dad’s face looked serious, and he pulled Patrick onto his lap. “Grandpa and Grandma feel sad that we don’t go to the church they go to anymore. They don’t understand about how the Holy Ghost gave us the warm feeling inside and let us know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true church.”
“If Grandpa and Grandma could have the missionaries come to their house, then they could have the Holy Ghost give them a warm feeling inside too. Then maybe they would want to join the Church.”
“Maybe so, and that would be wonderful. Right now they have asked us not to talk about the Church to them. But it is really important that we show them that we still love them very much, even if we don’t go to their church anymore. Can you help us do that, Patrick?”
“Sure. It’s easy to show Grandpa and Grandma that I love them. They’re nice!”
Everyone had brought everything they wanted to take to the car, and Dad found places to pack it all in. “All aboard!” he called into the house. Everyone piled into the car. Dad said a prayer for safety as they traveled, and they were off.
It seemed to take forever to drive to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Sometimes Patrick played with Muffin and showed him all the things out of the window. Sometimes he read his books or worked on puzzles. And sometimes the whole family listened to music and sang along.
Mom had brought tapes of Primary songs, and Patrick and Madeline sang along with the ones they knew.
Patrick loved to sing what he called the “rainbow song”* especially. Whenever mother played it, he sang the first verse so loudly that no one could hear anything else.
He hadn’t learned all of the second verse yet, but Patrick knew that it talked about being baptized and about how clean he would feel after he was baptized. When the song was done, he couldn’t keep his feelings in. “I can’t wait to get baptized!” he yelled.
After a whole day of driving, a night at a motel, and another day of driving, Patrick’s family at last arrived at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
In the next few days, Patrick had a great time visiting with cousins and his grandparents and playing in the field and stream behind his grandparents’ house. His cousins helped him build a dam in the stream, and Grandpa helped him capture some insects from the field and keep them in a jar until dinnertime. Then they let them all go.
Before Dad and Mom tucked him and Madeline in at night, they read the Book of Mormon together and had a family prayer.
Each night the person saying the prayer asked that Grandma and Grandpa would feel better about the Church and not be angry anymore. But the day before the family was to leave, it looked as though Grandma and Grandpa would just keep feeling bad about it.
That afternoon, Patrick sat at the kitchen table. He drew a big rainbow on a piece of paper. As he colored it, he sang, “I like to look for rainbows whenever there is rain! I like to look for rainbows whenever there is rain!”
“That’s a great picture, Patrick,” Grandma said. “And you even made up a song about it!”
“Nope. It’s a song I learned at church.”
“Oh.” Grandma stopped smiling, and she turned to put the dishes away.
“Do you want to hear the rest of the song?”
“No thanks.” Grandma didn’t even look at Patrick or his picture anymore.
Patrick went over to her. “Grandma, even though you don’t like the Church, can I sing the song? I like it a lot. It’s my favorite song, and I always feel happy when I sing it.”
“OK.”
Patrick sat down again by his picture and sang the whole first verse. “‘I like to look for rainbows whenever there is rain And ponder on the beauty of an earth made clean again. I want my life to be as clean as earth right after rain. I want to be the best I can and live with God again.’”
Grandma came over and sat in the chair beside him. “Patrick, why did you say that I don’t like your church?”
“Because Mom and Dad said you don’t want us to talk about it.”
“Is that what they teach you at your church, that you want to do your best so that you can live with God?”
“Yep. And we should choose the right, especially after we’re baptized. Then we can go to live with Heavenly Father.”
Grandma picked Patrick up in her lap and gave him a hug. “Patrick, I like my church. I couldn’t understand why your family would want to leave it for another church. But if your church teaches you to choose the right and to want to live with Heavenly Father, and if it teaches you beautiful songs that help you feel happy, then I think I should let you talk about it if you want to.”
“That would be great, Grandma! Then we could tell you how the Holy Ghost gave us a warm feeling inside and helped us want to be baptized!”
“Well, maybe so, but right now maybe you could just teach me that beautiful rainbow song!”
“Sure!” He gave Grandma the biggest hug he could.

Last year, I was teaching an online class. My students were divided into teams that met once a week on Zoom to work through practice exercises together. In one group, I had a divorced mother later in her life who was learning to code to support her family. She was working alongside a young man who had recently graduated high school and was taking classes online because the social anxiety of going off to school was too much for him. He was better at computers than she was, but he wasn't quite as committed. They spent hours working together, and they actually made a great pair. One time, when I was visiting with her, she said, "Oh, don’t worry about him, we're going to get him through this.”

Later, I was talking with another student in a different class. He said, "You know, earlier this semester, when things were pretty tough, I was planning to just give up and drop the class, but my teammates wouldn't let me." He said they encouraged him to keep coming and working with them. And then, by the end of the semester, the concepts started clicking for him, and he found he was the one helping them.

What a beautiful example of the principle that when we serve others, we are often blessed even more than they are.

Brother Pace met his future wife, Anne Marie Langeland, while the two were second-grade classmates in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Later, while attending different high schools in the city, they reconnected during a combined seminary activity. They wrote each other for the next few years as she accompanied her family to Norway, where her father presided over the Norway Oslo Mission, and while Brother Pace served in the Spain Madrid Mission. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple on November 21, 1978, and are the parents of seven children.

As the only member of the Church in her school, Angela has plenty of opportunities to be a missionary there. At a birthday party she attended, the girls began watching an inappropriate movie. Angela soon realized that it was not a movie she should be watching. “I told them, ‘I can’t watch this because I’m a member of the Church.’” She left the room, and another friend who was not a member soon followed. Together they watched a more appropriate movie until the other girls were finished. “When I left, I saw that I was wearing my CTR ring,” she said. She is glad that she was able to choose the right and set an example for her friends.

“My grandfather was a patriarch. His health was deteriorating, and Mother wanted him to give my brother and me our blessings, so she took us to his home, where he sat on the edge of his bed in his bedclothing and gave us our blessings. It made me remember the story in the Old Testament of Isaac blessing Jacob, because Isaac, like my grandfather, was old and infirm. When he gave us our blessings, what he said was truly prophetic. He died a few months later.”

I’ve gotten lots of great birthday presents in my life, but what I got from my dad on my eighth birthday takes the cake. And it all started when he asked me a single question in a room full of people.
That room was in our church building, and the people filling it were my family members. I had never seen so many of them in church at one time! We were all there to see my cousin Bre get baptized.
As I watched Bre’s parents take pictures of her in her white dress, I started feeling really excited about my own baptism.
I went over to look at the font, thinking about what my special day would be like. Would the water be warm? Would all my family be there? I hoped I would feel the peaceful, clean feeling that I had heard other people tell about. All of these thoughts were tumbling around in my mind when Dad walked over and asked the question that changed everything.
“Chris, who do you want to baptize you?”
Here’s the thing: my dad couldn’t baptize me because he wasn’t a member of the Church.
My mom is a convert, which means she got baptized later in life. But my dad never seemed to want to be baptized, and that made me sad sometimes. I didn’t talk about it very much because I didn’t want to make him feel bad. But this time, I decided to tell him.
“I want you to baptize me. You’re my dad!”
I still remember the look on his face. First he was surprised. Then he looked kind of sad. Then his expression turned thoughtful, as if he were thinking about something important.
“C’mon, buddy. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, wrapping his arm around me as we headed to our seats.
The next day, I stood with my dad again—this time in front of the bishop’s office. It was time for me to meet with the bishop for my baptismal interview. I was pretty nervous, and it seemed like Dad was too. He kept pacing back and forth in front of the office door. After I had my interview, Dad walked right up to the bishop.
“What do I have to do to be able to baptize my son?” he asked.
The bishop froze, right in the middle of his handshake. You should’ve seen the smile that came across his face! He told my dad that he needed to be baptized and receive the Aaronic Priesthood. My dad said that he was finally ready to make these special promises with Heavenly Father.
You can probably guess how this story ends. A month later, I stood in the baptismal font dressed in white. The water was warm. My family was there. Best of all, my dad was standing next to me, ready to baptize me.
I know that lots of kids are still waiting and praying for a family member to get baptized. It’s hard to wait, but we can keep being good examples and never give up hope. Knowing this makes me feel even more grateful for the decision my dad finally made—the decision that gave me the best birthday of my life.

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.

One minute Norene was sitting quietly in the passenger seat with her little brother, Mark, while her sister, Janette, drove toward home. The next minute the car went out of control and crashed into a cement culvert.
The accident happened so fast Norene only knew that her face hurt, that Mark lay on the floor much too quietly, and that Janette sagged against the steering wheel with blood dripping from her head. A fear worse than any she had known in all her eight years seemed to freeze Norene’s body, and she began to cry.
She heard voices coming closer to the car. “You call an ambulance, and we’ll try to get them out before the car catches fire.” Hands reached in and lifted Norene through the window.
“Are you all right?” a woman asked.
“Yes, but my brother and sister—”
“We’ll have them out in a minute. You lie right here on the grass and rest.”
The man who had come to help pulled at the car doors, but they wouldn’t open. He climbed through the back window and over the seat to get Mark off the floor. He handed the still unmoving two-year-old out the window to the woman. After she laid Mark on the grass beside Norene, she and the man carefully lifted Janette through the broken glass.
Janette moaned weakly and opened her eyes. She tried to reach out to Norene, but her hand fell to the grass by her side and her eyes closed again.
“The ambulance should be here any minute,” the woman told Norene, putting her arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry any more. They’ll take good care of all of you. Where’re your mother and father?”
“They went on a trip,” Norene replied. “My big sister knows where.”
“Well, the folks at the hospital will find them, and everything will be all right. Don’t you worry.”
The trip to the hospital was a frightening one. The siren was going, and the attendants were too busy with Janette and Mark to offer Norene any comfort.
At the hospital a nurse helped Norene onto the bed in a little room and cleaned the cuts on her face. Janette and Mark had been taken to a room down the hall. Norene tried to answer all the questions the nurse asked, but there were many things she didn’t know. Then a new nurse came in and put her arm around Norene’s shoulder.
“Your sister is too sick to tell us very much, but whenever she is able to talk, she says, ‘Get the elders.’ Norene, do you know what that means?”
“Oh, yes! She wants you to call the missionaries.”
“What missionaries does she mean?”
“The Mormon missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Norene answered. “Can you find them?”
“I don’t know if there are any in our town, dear, but I’ll try to find one.”
“Can I see my sister and brother now?”
“Not yet. The doctor is still with them. I’ll be back, and as soon as possible, I’ll take you to see them.”
When she was alone, Norene began to pray. She asked Heavenly Father to help her sister and brother and to please bring Mom and Dad to them quickly. When she opened her eyes, the door had been swung open and she could see nurses and doctors hurrying back and forth, pushing carts and carrying trays filled with bandages and medicines. Then she saw two young men. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Norene knew who they were. They wore suits and had name tags. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Norene ran out of the room. “Are you the elders?” she asked.
“Yes, we are,” one of the young men answered. He glanced at a paper. “Are you Norene?”
“Yes.” She threw her arms around the young missionary’s waist. “Will you give my brother and sister a blessing? They’re really hurt.”
“We’ll be glad to, Norene,” the other missionary replied. “Would you like a blessing too?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
An elderly couple hurried down the hall. “We got here as soon as we could,” the man said, all out of breath.
“Brother and Sister Kendall,” the first missionary said, “this is Norene. We’re going to administer to her and her brother and sister now.”
A calm feeling came into the room when the elders put their hands on Janette’s head and then on Mark’s. They asked Heavenly Father to heal them and to help the doctors do everything they needed to do. When Norene’s turn came, a peaceful feeling took the place of the frantic one she had had, and she knew everything would be all right.
The doctor and nurses came back into the room to take care of Janette and Mark. One of the nurses said, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to see your brother and sister again until tomorrow. Please go out to the waiting room now and try to get some rest.”
Norene and the missionaries went back into the hallway. The elderly woman held out her hand. “Until your parents are located and can get here, how would you like to come home with us?” Sister Kendall asked. “My husband and I are here on a mission, too, and we have grandchildren back home who are just about your age. It would be a treat to have you stay overnight with us.”
Norene thought for a minute. She felt sure that Heavenly Father would watch over Janette and Mark and that He must have sent these kind people to take care of her until her mom and dad came. She reached out, put her hand in Sister Kendall’s and walked with her toward the door.

President Packer has told the story of Joseph Millett, a pioneer who shared his resources with others. Joseph Millett had a large family, and he was going though hard times. He wrote in his journal,

"One of my children came in and said that Brother Newton Hall's folks was out of bread, had none that day."
"I divided our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall. Just then Brother Hall came."
"Says I, `Brother Hall, are you out of flour?'"
"`Brother Millett, we have none.'"
"`Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you was out.'"
"Brother Hall began to cry. He said he had tried others, but could not get any. He went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord, and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett."
"`Well Brother Hall, you needn't bring this back. If the Lord sent you for it you don't owe me for it.'"
That night Joseph Millett wrote in his journal, "`You can't tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett.'"[19] The Lord does know us, and he knows our hearts. He expects us to share our resources with those in need.

Many years ago, while on vacation with my family, I had an experience that taught me a great lesson. On a Saturday, my wife and I decided to take the children for a drive and to do some shopping. During the drive the children fell asleep, and not wanting to wake them, I volunteered to stay in the car while my wife ran into the store.
While waiting, I glanced at the car parked in front of me. It was full of children, and they were looking at me. My eyes caught the eyes of a small boy, six or seven years old. As our eyes met, he immediately stuck his tongue out at me.
My first reaction was to stick my tongue out at him. I thought, “What have I done to deserve this?” Fortunately, before I reacted, I remembered a principle taught in general conference the week before by Elder Marvin J. Ashton (see Conference Report, Oct. 1970, 36–38; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1970, 59–60). He taught how important it was to act instead of react to the events around us. So I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back.
Soon he was joined in his enthusiastic waving by a little brother and sister. I responded by waving this way and that until my arm became tired. Then I rested it on the steering wheel and continued with every creative wave I could muster, all the time hoping their parents would quickly return or that my wife would soon come back.
The parents finally did come, and as they pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them.
That was a simple experience, but it demonstrated that in most encounters we can determine the kind of experience we are going to have by how we respond. I was grateful that I chose to act in a friendly way rather than react to my young friend’s childish behavior. In doing so I avoided the negative feelings I would have felt had I followed my natural instinct.

Perhaps the most cherished Christmas of my youth was the year our family joined with aunts, uncles, and cousins to donate clothing, food, toys, eyeglasses, and appliances to a local family in need. I’ll never forget being part of the large caravan that brought Christmas to their home. That feeling continued long after Christmas passed and the grateful expressions of the mother and her four children remain in my memory. Serving that family allowed God’s love to “[shed] itself abroad” (1 Nephi 11:22) in my heart.

It was a blistering 115 degrees F (46?C) outside, typical for a summer day out on the farm in Brawley, California, USA. I kicked the tire of the huge water truck that had broken down for the third time in four days. I relied on my summer job to pay for entertainment, school clothes, and eventually college. Despite the heat, I hated having to cut a day’s work short, but it looked like I was going to have to do so again.
David, a member of our ward and a family friend, walked over from the mill to take a look at the truck. Venting my frustrations to him, I was tempted to say a word I had heard others use when they were annoyed. The moment before I actually said it, the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn’t because I knew it was a bad word. But in an instant, I brushed it off, thinking no one would ever find out. I said the word, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
Looking up, David told me he and Dad would fix the truck when they could. In the meantime, I found other work to do for the rest of the day.
Hopping into Dad’s truck at the end of the day, we began the drive home. Not too long after getting on the road, Dad looked over at me and mentioned that David had told him about my reaction to the truck breaking down, swear word and all. “David said he never expected to hear something like that come out of my daughter’s mouth,” Dad said. “He respects you too much, honey.”
I hung my head, and the tears came quickly. I had lowered myself in the eyes of people whose opinions I cared about. But most of all, I felt disappointed in myself and knew God did too. I realized that was why saying the word hadn’t made me feel any better.
I made a promise never to say that word again or anything else that would not please God, not because I didn’t want to make my dad and David ashamed of me but because it was the right thing to do. Integrity, I learned, is the way you act when you think no one is looking.

Another very dear young friend here at BYU shared how accepting the invitation to be in the temple has brought the miracles President Nelson promises:

I accepted this invitation from President Nelson ­hoping to simply receive the revelation and peace that time in the temple brings. In a fashion typical of Heavenly Father, my small efforts were magnified, and I received blessings that I never thought I would experience during this life.

Like many converts, I struggle with the concern that the rest of my family cannot enter into the Lord’s temple with me. However, Heavenly Father used my efforts to remind me that miracles can and will occur as we act in obedience and faith. While I was home recently, my family unexpectedly asked me to take them through the temple during the upcoming temple open house. I testify that the sacred work done in the temple is amplified in ways that will bring us and our families eternal joy.

Tommaso Castro
In a dream, Tommaso Castro saw his mother, who had been dead for some years, and she made known to him that she was involved in the study of things important to eternity.
How could that be? he wondered. The religion he knew did not allow for such a possibility.
Then one of his young women friends invited him to help embarrass some American missionaries she had invited to her home. Tommaso went, but he didn’t feel good about participating in the taunting.
When the missionaries started talking about something called the plan of salvation, which would allow our dead loved ones to continue progressing after this life, they had Tommaso’s full attention immediately. He started seeing the missionaries on his own and was soon baptized.
Brother Castro, a stake high councilor, lives in Pavia, south of Milan.

My Grandma Jeri and I have been making fudge since I was a little girl. Because my grandparents live in Utah and we reside in Colorado, we didn’t visit them as often as we liked. When we did, my grandma always made time for us to cook up some delicious fudge.
When my grandparents got their mission call to Cambodia, I was so excited for them to be able to share the gospel, but I was also sad, because it meant that I wouldn’t see them for two years. Their farewell was a bittersweet moment, not only because they were leaving but also because I was munching on bittersweet chocolate fudge.
My grandparents had been gone about a year when my uncle, their youngest son, got engaged. My grandma got special permission to attend the wedding. Excitement ran through my body as I gave her a hug. It was so good to see her and the rest of my family.
After the wedding my grandma and I were talking. My eyes lit up with excitement, and I asked if she wanted to make fudge. The batch was small, but it tasted just as good as I remembered.
It was hard to say goodbye before we left for the airport, but I knew that soon she’d be back. In grandma-fashion, she wanted to make sure we had something to eat on the plane, so I took the rest of our fudge. Needless to say, with a hungry dad and daughter, the fudge was gone before we got off the plane.
I will never forget how lucky I was to have that special time to talk with my grandma. I can’t wait until she gets home from her mission so that we can continue our tradition.

I think of Elder Neal A. Maxwell and some of the challenges he faced during his teenage years. His parents were very poor. It was embarrassing to him that early on they did not have indoor bathroom facilities like so many of his friends. He raised pigs, and that didn’t gain him a lot of popularity at high school either. He suffered from severe acne that challenged his confidence and sense of self-worth. He wondered if he would ever be socially acceptable to others.
He was intensely interested in athletics—particularly basketball—and was good enough to be able to play on the team as a freshman. But in later years, he was cut from the team and the sport he loved. Consequently, as he described it, “I turned to the world of words.” That became an immense blessing for him in his political, university, and educational assignments and to all of us he now serves as one of the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators.

While reading about Lezlie Bowden in the November New Era, I was reminded of the time I was running for a national office of the Future Homemakers of America. Five days before our state’s delegation to the national convention was to leave, I ended up in the hospital with acute tonsillitis. While there I received a blessing that I will never forget. In it my branch president assured me that “the Lord has a hand in all things.” l was able to attend the convention and did my best in competition. I wasn’t disappointed when I didn’t get that national office because I knew that the Lord had a hand in it. I had already been elected to seven chapter and regional offices and one state office. I had never yet lost! This was my chance to experience losing. In life we have to experience losing as well as winning. I knew that while the Lord didn’t need me as a national FHA officer, he was surely watching over me and giving me many other opportunities and experiences for which I will always be grateful. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, and I’m happy to be a part of it.
Lisa BuzanOnaway, Michigan

When I was nine years old, I committed a crime. I made a decision to steal a comic book from a store. The owner did not catch me stealing, but at home my parents were suspicious, knowing that I had no money to buy the comic book. Once my mother got the truth from me, she took me back to the store, where I confessed my guilt to the owner. He let me decide how to make full restitution and how I was going to go about learning not to steal again.
The store’s floor was made of hardwood, and each evening the owner would throw sawdust down and sweep it to get up all of the dust and dirt that accumulated during the day. That job was assigned to me. I was sure that I would only have to do it for a few days. As I came into the store each afternoon after school to do my sweeping, the proprietor would nod his greeting and motion toward the broom and cardboard box of sawdust in the back. It was weeks before he told me one night that he thought I had swept long enough.
I tell you this particular story, not to relive the sin, but to point out that it is the sweeping and the price I had to pay that I remember vividly. I still have the memory of taking the comic book, but the feelings of guilt, heartsickness, distress, and deep sorrow are long gone because I was helped to repent. I remember those long hours of sweeping now to remind me of the price of stealing. That encourages me not to be dishonest again.

Later after the terrifying experience of a wartime Nazi concentration camp, she found herself face to face with one of the S.S. guards.

“It was at a church service in Munich that I saw him, the former S.S. man who had stood guard at the shower room door in the processing center at Ravensbruck. He was the first of our actual jailers that I had seen since that time. And suddenly it was all there—the roomful of mocking men, the heaps of clothing, [her sister] Betsie’s pain-blanched face.

“He came up to me as the church was emptying, beaming and bowing. ‘How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein,’ he said. ‘To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!’

“His hand was thrust out to shake mine. And I, who had preached so often to the people in Bloemendaal the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side.

“Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. Jesus Christ had died for this man; was I going to ask for more? Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.

“I tried to smile, I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.

“As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me.

“And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself” (Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, New York: Bantam Books, 1971, pp. 44–45, 238).

Through professional help and acts of faith on my part, I have learned more about myself and how OCD affects my relationship with Heavenly Father.
Although scrupulosity, otherwise known as “religious OCD,” is just one aspect of how OCD affects me, it has been debilitating.
In my battle with OCD, I felt like if I didn’t read my scriptures, pray, or attend the temple, God would be angry with me. With that perspective, worship became dutiful, dull, and repetitive. Like the Zoramites worshiping upon the Rameumptom, I began to “pervert the ways of the Lord in very many instances” (Alma 31:11).
Because of my disorder, scripture study became a time of mindless reading and relentlessly avoiding any passages that had anything to do with repentance. Praying became an apathetic effort. Temple attendance made me feel guilt-ridden and fearful rather than uplifted and fulfilled.
Gratefully, my feelings and perspective gradually changed. As I worked with my therapist, my anxiety became manageable. I began intentionally exercising faith and believing that I could always be forgiven and that God knew my circumstances. I began giving myself more compassion, and for the first time in a while, I felt that God was pleased with me and loved me. My relationship with Him began to be more fulfilling and more empowering. As I prayed for help and healing, I began to understand the gift of repentance and to worship God because I loved Him—not out of fear.
Although scripture study caused (and sometimes still causes) me anxiety, seeking the healing power of Jesus Christ and gaining helpful tools in therapy have helped me connect with Him and Heavenly Father again.