Gospel Story Finder

“We have seen the greatest thing on earth, the love of Christ, light up the face of a lonely, elderly woman as the Young Women brought her dinner and sang to her,” says Teri Gibbs. “We have seen that love lift a frustrated mother’s heart as the Young Women baby-sat her children so she could enjoy a night out. It is through this that I have grown closer to Heavenly Father and to other youth in the Church. We strive to be more like Christ.”

As soon as I was assigned to Gaeta, I sought out my relatives. When I showed my father’s older brother the portrait, he wept. He hadn’t seen his brother for years and had no pictures of him.
I taught my uncle that one day he would see his brother again—not in a portrait but in person. I taught him that through the gospel, he could live with his brother again in love and peace with the Savior.
I saw great miracles in Gaeta as I shared with family members the good news that because Jesus Christ overcame death, loss of loved ones is only temporary (see Mosiah 16:8). I testify that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior has made it possible for our families to be gathered eternally.

We headed for Sister Campbell’s first. She was living by herself in a tiny farmhouse in the middle of an apple orchard. We rang the doorbell and waited.
“Treat or trick,” we yelled, when she answered the door.
“What?” asked Sister Campbell. “Oh, girls, I wasn’t expecting anyone clear out here. I’m sorry, I don’t have a scrap of candy. But you’re welcome to the apples.”
“That’s okay,” we told her. “We’re reverse trick-or-treating. We bring you the treat.” She laughed and invited us inside. She told us about the things she used to do at Halloween.
“Some of us played terrible pranks.” Jill and I looked at each other. “We knocked over an outhouse while a boy was in it.”
“Oh, no!” I laughed, though I didn’t mean to.
“I felt awful about it,” Sister Campbell said.
“What happened? Did the boy get even with you?”
Sister Campbell giggled. “I’ll say he did. He married me.”

It was the hardest algebra homework I’d ever faced. I struggled most of the afternoon with variables buzzing in my head. When my mom asked me to babysit for a couple wanting to attend the temple that night, I agreed reluctantly. I reasoned with myself that I wouldn’t understand this homework anyway, so why not watch five kids for a few hours? Knowing the children had an early bedtime, I brought my math book with me.

As my mom drove me to the house, she told me I shouldn’t take their money that night. Startled, I asked her why.

She answered, “They’re going to the temple. It wouldn’t be right if they had to pay to go and perform sacred ordinances there.”

I thought it over and agreed. Seeing my hesitation, my mom added, “I know you’re frustrated with your homework and everything, but you’ll have Heavenly Father’s help if you do this service.” I was thankful for Mom’s encouraging words, but I was still doubtful.

That evening went unusually well. The children didn’t quarrel, and they helped me clean the playroom. I even got them to bed fairly early. Then I started doing my math homework. After taking several deep breaths, I tackled a few problems and found that I could solve them. Right before I finished the assignment, the couple got home.

When the wife handed me some money, I took my mother’s advice and told her to keep it. “You guys deserve to go to the temple for free,” I said. She thanked me and told me that it was hard to find babysitters on school nights.

I finished the rest of my algebra homework easily when I arrived home. But more than that, I felt truly content. The reality of miracles struck me that day. My mom’s words had come true. I did have the Lord’s help when I served. I know now that when we do what is right and do it with love, miracles can happen.

My first Sunday home, I was lying on my bed and realized I hadn’t looked at Facebook since coming home. I opened it and was overwhelmed by the nostalgia of pictures and videos from before my mission. I love to dance and had started watching some dance videos when I heard my mom call up to my room, “Breanne! What are you listening to?”
I listened more closely and realized how inappropriate the background music was. I was pretty embarrassed that here I was—a freshly returned missionary—listening to music that wasn’t inviting the Spirit.
That experience helped me realize how easy it is to become more relaxed in how much we maintain our gospel standards when we aren’t full-time missionaries. I wanted to stay changed. I wanted to remain the person God had helped me become. Luckily, I recognized that, for me, what I was listening to wasn’t bringing the Spirit and was able to adjust.

I remembered an experience I had three years earlier while I was at a university. I had finished my classes for the day at the medical school and was rushing down the street to arrive at my father’s office so we could go home. I was about to run across a street when the Spirit told me, “Stop!”

With my view of the street obstructed by a wall, I had been unable to check for traffic. I stopped immediately, just at the side of the road, as a car came speeding past me. Shaken, I sat down on the side of the road and thanked the Lord for watching over me.

“Preparing for the future can be challenging and exciting,” said Becky Alice Johnson, shortly before her marriage to Stephen F. Petersen last spring. “Decide what skills you would like to become proficient in, and then determine the best route to gain that proficiency. Also learn to budget and save your money, setting goals to use it wisely. All those things will be of great help to you when you do become married, go away to college, on a mission, or to work. Remember, you are preparing for your future, not just waiting to get married.”

An experienced goal-setter and achiever, Becky is well-qualified to give advice. Before her wedding she was able to share her ideas, and show the results of her labors at a trousseau luncheon given by her visiting teachers and the wife of one of the members of the bishopric.

All the Young Women in Becky’s ward, as well as many other friends, were invited to attend the open house luncheon held at Sister Catherine Hogan’s home. As the guests arrived, windblown and flushed from the chill winter weather, Becky greeted them with punch and a variety of finger sandwiches. Downstairs were several display tables, accompanied by note cards that contained appropriate scriptures, thoughts, and notes of explanation.

The items in her trousseau reflected careful planning and selection as well as her love for her family and desire to keep her heritage alive. On one display was draped a blanket made from the wool of her grandfather’s sheep; on another chair was a baby afghan crocheted by her 90-year-old uncle. Becky is an accomplished seamstress, does embroidery work, and also crochets. “Learning to crochet, although it is a simple thing, has been a blessing in my life,” she said. “My mother died in an automobile accident a few years ago, and at the time she was working on an afghan for me. It was in the car with her, and with the help of a friend I was able to finish it.”

Another homemaking art that was apparent was Becky’s ability to save and use money wisely.

Beginning in her early teens she began working at such part-time jobs as teaching piano lessons, tutoring second graders in reading, and selling chicken at a drive-in restaurant. Through her savings she was able to purchase a sewing machine, cookware set, typewriter, silverware service for eight, and a set of fine dishes.

“I never bought anything that wasn’t on sale and that I wasn’t sure I really wanted. I was in no hurry, so I could take my time and find the best buy. When I became engaged, I realized that if I had waited to buy these things until I was ready to set up housekeeping, I would probably have had to pay whatever price was asked.”

Becky has also budgeted her tuition at the University of Utah and a trip to Europe into her savings. While in Florence, Italy, she purchased silk scarves which a friend helped her make into a quilt top. The scarves have “Firenze” (which means Florence in Italian) printed on them, so Becky calls it her “Florence quilt.” Because her mother’s name was Florence, this quilt is even more special to Becky and was shown at the luncheon next to other quilts Becky has helped make.

Another display contained her piano books, yearbooks, seminary and high school graduation certificates, hand-painted figurines, and scrapbooks—all mementos of activities and hobbies that have been meaningful in her life. Looking at them, and then observing the quilts hanging further down, the home-canned fruits and vegetables at the end of the room (which she likes to give as wedding gifts), and the sewing machine off to the side, it was apparent that Becky had prepared well for her future. And preparing well meant planning well. Some of the goals Becky set and achieved were (1) to learn to play the piano well, (2) to graduate from seminary, (3) to own a sewing machine and learn to sew most of her own clothing, (4) to have a nice set of dishes on which to serve her friends and later her family, and (5) to continue her education at the University of Utah. Perhaps one of the most valuable challenges she accepted was to enjoy the time of preparing, using as her motto something taught to her by her mother: “I want to grow, learn, and develop that I may give so much more.”

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

I’m a landlubber, and to me one life preserver would have seemed as good as another. But not anymore! What changed my mind?
I attended a safety exhibit. The exhibit stressed accident prevention and covered safety in many situations.
The display that intrigued me most was water safety. A beautiful large blue and white boat caught my eye. Over the bow lay a variety of familiar pieces of lifesaving equipment. On each piece was a simple card. The card read YES on the pieces of equipment that were safety approved; NO on those that were not. I was dumbfounded. I thought all life preservers were approved and would save life in an emergency. I expressed my surprise to the gentleman who was in charge of the display.
“Most people think they’re perfectly safe,” he said, “but that’s the tragedy of it. Now take this skier’s vest. It will protect the skier from getting his ribs broken if he should hit the water hard when making a high jump. The belt will aid him some, but he needs this life jacket to be protected from drowning. Ski belts are not approved because of insufficient buoyancy and failure to ensure face-up flotation.”
He picked up an orange, U-shaped life jacket. It had a YES sign. “Inside this life jacket are strong waterproof plastic bags. They’re filled with kapok and surrounded with this heavy water-repellent canvas. You could float for days wearing this,” he said. “It’s designed to save life.” He put it on demonstrating it for me. “It fits securely around the neck. This holds the head up out of the water,” he said.
“Now, let’s compare this approved vest with this piece of equipment over here.” He rested his hand on the familiar khaki canvas vest with a NO sign on it. “This is nothing but a death trap,” he said. “It’s about as helpful as a bucket of cement. It can become saturated with water in 15 or 20 minutes. When it’s saturated it weighs 29 pounds. The weight of the human body is 10 to 11 pounds when in water. You put this 29 pounds around your neck and it just drags you down.”
“That’s terrible!” I protested. “Why are they allowed to manufacture such death traps? They’re worse than nothing at all!”
“You’re right.” he said emphatically. “They are just a money-making deal. There is no guarantee they will save.”
As I drove home, I thought how foolish I had been to assume all lifesaving equipment would do the job. I began to wonder if I was making other incorrect assumptions that were potentially as dangerous. Then a very striking comparison entered my mind. There are many different philosophies of life, but not all are designed to save. Some, like the khaki vest, can even be death traps.

More than 50 years ago during World War II, I had an experience. Our bomber crew had been trained at Langley Field, Virginia, to use the latest invention—radar. We were ordered to the West Coast and then on to the Pacific.

We were transported on a freight train with boxcars fitted with narrow bedsprings that could be pulled down from the wall at night. There were no dining cars. Instead, camp kitchens were set up in boxcars with dirt floors.

We were dressed in light-colored summer uniforms. The baggage car got sidetracked, so we had no change of clothing during the six-day trip. It was very hot crossing Texas and Arizona. Smoke and cinders from the engine made it very uncomfortable. There was no way to bathe or wash our uniforms. We rolled into Los Angeles one morning—a grubby-looking outfit—and were told to return to the train that evening.

We thought first of food. The 10 of us in our crew pooled our money and headed for the best restaurant we could find.

It was crowded, and so we joined a long line waiting to be seated. I was first, just behind some well-dressed women. Even without turning around, the stately woman in front of me soon became aware that we were there.

She turned and looked at us. Then she turned and looked me over from head to toe. There I stood in that sweaty, dirty, sooty, wrinkled uniform. She said in a tone of disgust, “My, what untidy men!” All eyes turned to us.

No doubt she wished we were not there; I shared her wish. I felt as dirty as I was, uncomfortable, and ashamed.

Later, when I began a serious study of the scriptures, I noticed references to being spiritually clean. One verse says, “Ye would be more miserable to dwell with a holy and just God, under a consciousness of your filthiness before him, than ye would to dwell with the damned souls in hell.”

I could understand that. I remembered how I felt that day in Los Angeles. I reasoned that to be spiritually unclean would bring shame and humiliation immeasurably more intense than I felt then. I found references—there are at least eight of them—which say that no unclean thing can enter the presence of God. While I realized those references had little to do with dirty clothes or soiled hands, I decided I wanted to stay spiritually clean.

Incidentally, that day we went canoeing in Griffith Park. We were horsing around and, of course, tipped over. We got to shore all right, and in due time the sun dried us out. By the time we returned to the train, we were really quite presentable.

I learned that when I didn’t live as I ought to, getting myself spiritually clean was not as easy as taking a shower or putting on clean clothing or falling out of a canoe.

I learned about the great plan of happiness, that we are on earth to be tested. We will all make mistakes. The Apostle John taught, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Fortunately he added, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” I paid particular attention to that word cleanse.

I thought that repentance, like soap, should be used frequently. I found that when I apologized for mistakes, things were better. But for serious mistakes, an apology was not enough—sometimes not even possible. While these mistakes were, for the most part, not major ones, the spiritual pain called guilt invariably set in. Sooner or later they must be resolved, but I didn’t know what to do. That happens when you break something that you alone can’t fix.

Among you young people are those who are “vexed,” as Peter said, “with the filthy conversation of the wicked.” Some of you joke about standards and see no need to change behavior. You tell yourselves it doesn’t matter because “everybody’s doing it.”

But that doesn’t work because you, by nature, are good. How many times have you heard someone say, after doing some generous or heroic deed or simply helping others, how good it made them feel? Like any natural feeling or emotion, that reaction is inborn in you. Surely you have experienced that yourself! Happiness is inseparably connected with decent, clean behavior.

The prophet Alma bluntly told his wayward son that because he transgressed he was “in a state contrary to the nature of happiness” and that “wickedness never was happiness.” Those who don’t know how to erase mistakes often feel cornered and rebellious and lose themselves in unworthy living. If you travel with transgressors, you will suffer much more than I did in that restaurant.

Most mistakes you can repair yourself, alone, through prayerful repentance. The more serious ones require help. Without help, you are like one who can’t or doesn’t wash or bathe or put on clean clothes. The path you need to follow is in the scriptures. Read them and your faith in Christ will grow. Listen to those who know the gospel.

You will learn about the Fall of man, about the purpose of life, about good and evil, about temptations and repentance, about how the Spirit works. Read what Alma said of his repentance: “I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.”

Hear the Lord say, “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.” Doctrine can change behavior quicker than talking about behavior will.

It was through reading the scriptures, and listening, that I could understand, at least in part, the power of the Atonement. Can you imagine how I felt when finally I could see that if I followed whatever conditions the Redeemer had set, I need never endure the agony of being spiritually unclean? Imagine the consoling, liberating, exalting feeling that will come to you when you see the reality of the Atonement and the practical everyday value of it to you individually.

You need not know everything before the power of the Atonement will work for you. Have faith in Christ; it begins to work the day you ask! The scripture speaks of “obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.” We all pretty well know what it means to obey laws. But how are we to obey ordinances?

Generally we understand that, conditioned upon repentance, the ordinance of baptism washes our sins away. Some wonder if they were baptized too soon. If only they could be baptized now and have a clean start. But that is not necessary! Through the ordinance of the sacrament, you renew the covenants made at baptism. When you meet all of the conditions of repentance, however difficult, you may be forgiven and your transgressions will trouble your mind no more.

President Joseph F. Smith was six years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother. At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”

While pondering his plight, the young elder had a dream, “a literal thing; … a reality.” He dreamed he was on a journey rushing as fast as he possibly could.

He carried a small bundle. Finally he came to a wonderful mansion, his destination. As he approached, he saw a notice, “Bath.” He turned aside quickly, went in, and washed himself clean. He opened his little bundle and found clean, white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.

“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ … I took confidence and said:

“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’” And so it can be with you.

I say to you again that a knowledge of the principles and doctrines of the gospel will affect your behavior more than talking about behavior.

I have used the Atonement as one of many examples. In the gospel of Jesus Christ are values on which to build a happy life.

I give you my testimony that our Father in Heaven lives. The Atonement of Christ can bless your life. If only I could tell you what the Atonement means to me. I once tried to express it in writing and close with these lines:

In ancient times the cry “Unclean!”
Would warn of lepers near.
“Unclean! Unclean!” the words rang out;
Then all drew back in fear,
Lest by the touch of lepers’ hands
They, too, would lepers be.
There was no cure in ancient times,
Just hopeless agony.
No soap, no balm, no medicine
Could stay disease or pain.
There was no salve, no cleansing bath,
To make them well again.
But there was One, the record shows,
Whose touch could make them pure;
Could ease their awful suffering,
Their rotting flesh restore.
His coming long had been foretold.
Signs would precede His birth.
A Son of God to woman born,
With power to cleanse the earth.
The day He made ten lepers whole,
The day He made them clean,
Well symbolized His ministry
And what His life would mean.
However great that miracle,
This was not why He came.
He came to rescue every soul
From death, from sin, from shame.
For greater miracles, He said,
His servants yet would do,
To rescue every living soul,
Not just heal up the few.
Though we’re redeemed from mortal death,
We still can’t enter in
Unless we’re clean, cleansed every whit,
From every mortal sin.
What must be done to make us clean
We cannot do alone.
The law, to be a law, requires
A pure one must atone.
He taught that justice will be stayed
Till mercy’s claim be heard
If we repent and are baptized
And live by every word. …
If we could only understand
All we have heard and seen,
We’d know there is no greater gift
Than those two words—“Washed clean!”
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Mandy trudged through the crusty snow toward her grandparents’ cottage. Her knitting bag, a birthday gift from Grandma Birke, swung from her shoulder.
Inside the cottage, Grandpa Birke was putting another log on the fire. “There,” he said, rubbing his hands vigorously before the blaze. “It’s good and warm now. No cold fingers for our little Mandy.”
Grandma Birke was gazing out the front window. “Here she comes!”
They watched Mandy’s red boots rise and fall as she marched through the snow. “She’s wearing the blue hat and scarf you made,” Grandpa Birke observed.
Grandma Birke nodded and smiled. “After today’s lesson, she’ll have a hat made with her own hands.” She paused. “I hope she enjoys these knitting lessons as much as I do.”
“Sure she does,” Grandpa Birke said.
Mandy crunched through the snow, looking down at her red boots. With every step, she asked herself the same question: “Why” crunch “me?” Crunch. “Why” crunch “me?” Crunch. “Nobody knits anymore.” Crunch. “It’s so old-fashioned!”
Suddenly she remembered her mother’s words: “Learning to knit is a tradition in Grandma Birke’s family. It’s a legacy of love that she’s passing on to you.”
OK, Mandy thought. I’ll learn—but I won’t like it. Looking up, she saw her grandparents coming outside to greet her with open arms. Her face flushed a deep red—and not from the cold.
“How’s my little sweetie?” Grandpa asked, giving her a bear hug. Mandy felt his soft flannel shirt against her face and smelled the fragrance of freshly chopped wood.
Grandma ushered them inside. “Hurry in before we all freeze,” she scolded playfully. “Grandpa’s made a big fire—and I made an even bigger apple pie.”
Grandpa sat in his favorite chair by the hearth and patted his stomach. “A big, old-fashioned apple pie,” he added with a smile. Mandy’s cheeks flushed an even deeper scarlet.
“Why, look how red your face is!” Grandma exclaimed while Mandy hung her hat, coat, and scarf on a wooden peg next to the door. “Come sit over here by the fire and warm up those cheeks and hands.” As Mandy sat down on the small sofa and took out her knitting, Grandma leaned toward her and announced, “Today’s the big day!”
“It is?” Mandy forced a half-smile.
“Why, yes. Today you take your hat off the needles and weave the sides together. You’re almost finished!” She was beaming.
“Neat, Grandma,” was all Mandy could get out.
For the next hour, Grandma’s patient hands guided Mandy’s through the weaving process. “Grandma,” Mandy asked as they locked in the last stitch, “you’ve been knitting ever since you were my age, right?”
“Yes, Mandy, when I was just a little older than you, my friends called me ‘the girl who loves to knit.’ You’ll be called that too—sooner than you think.”
Mandy looked down to avoid her grandmother’s eyes.
“In fact,” Grandma reminisced, “I knitted hats and scarves for everyone.”
She sighed at the pleasant memory, but Mandy’s frustration finally broke loose. “Why, Grandma? Why didn’t you just buy them?” Then she added, apologetically, “I mean, it takes so long.” Mandy ran her fingers over the hat in her lap. “And you always make things for other people—never for yourself.”
Before Grandma could respond, they were startled by a knock at the door.
Grandpa, who had fallen asleep, jerked up. Grandma chuckled. “Don’t bother, dear, I’ll get it.” She opened the door.
The voice of a young man said, “Ma’am I’m Jeff Goodwin, and this is my wife, Diane.” He sounded tense. “I’m afraid we hit a slick spot on the road—”
Grandpa was out of his chair in a heartbeat. “Anyone hurt?” he asked as the couple stepped inside.
The young man looked embarrassed.
“No, sir, but I think we’ll need a tow truck to pull our car out of the ditch. May I use your phone?”
“Why, sure,” Grandpa said.
Grandma gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat, Diane,” she said, “while I get us some pie.”
As Mandy gathered up the yarn to make room, Diane picked up Mandy’s new hat and exclaimed, “Oh, that’s beautiful! Did you make this?” Mandy nodded. “I never learned to knit,” Diane went on wistfully. “I’m all thumbs. Besides, some people are just born to knit, don’t you think?”
Mandy didn’t know what to say.
“Just look at this!” Diane praised the hat. “Feel it. You can’t buy this kind of old-fashioned quality.”
Mandy sat in stunned silence.
Grandma came out of the kitchen and placed a pie-laden tray on the small table near the hearth. She smiled tenderly at her granddaughter. As she returned Grandma’s smile, Mandy began to understand, at last, the value of her grandmother’s lessons—and she knew exactly what to say. “It’s yours,” she told Diane.
The young woman’s eyes grew large. “Oh, no,” she stammered. “I couldn’t … You don’t mean it. …”
“Yes, I do.” Mandy spoke with firm resolution. She put the hat on Diane’s head. “It matches your eyes.”
“Thank you,” Diane said. “But I can’t believe you’re giving this beautiful hat to a complete stranger!” She lowered her voice. “You must love to knit. You must really love to knit.”
“I do,” Mandy said. At least, she told herself honestly, I do now. She looked gratefully at her grandmother. “I really do.”

Joseph Smith’s religious searchings were not directed exclusively to his own benefit and comfort. He frequently invoked the powers of heaven in behalf of others who suffered around him. In an early letter to his brother Hyrum, Joseph wrote:
“This morning after being called out of my bed in the night to go a small distance [to administer to a sister] I went and had an awful struggle with Satan, but being armed with the power of God he was cast out and the woman is clothed in her right mind. The Lord worketh wonders in this land.”27

While on an assignment in Scandinavia some years ago, President Monson learned of a 26-year-old disabled young man named John Helander. John was at a youth conference in Kungsbacka, Sweden, and determined to take part in a 1,500-meter race. He had no chance to win and little chance to finish. But he lined up with the entrants and began.
From the sound of the starter’s gun it was obvious John was in difficulty. The other runners bolted past him even as he seemed fixed at the starting line. He was only partway into his first lap when all of the other participants passed him toward the completion of their second lap. And so the race went, with a winner being announced while John was scarcely halfway through the measured distance.
“Perhaps everyone else thought when the race was over,” says President Monson, “that John would quietly step from the track and disappear. But clearly John Helander didn’t think that.” He just kept running. His speed was minimal. His fatigue was immense. But his whole-souled determination was obvious even to the most cynical of spectators. None stirred from their seats. It was obvious that the race—the race—was still being run.
By the time John Helander completed his 1,500 meters, seemingly ages after the other contestants had crossed the finish line, the entire stadium was in pandemonium. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The stumbling, staggering, exhausted but victorious John Helander had broken the tape, newly stretched for this champion. Determination, courage, devotion, faith—call it what you will—had carried the day.

“You pray funny!” Lucia said after Whitney finished saying a blessing on their lunch.
“No, I don’t,” Whitney said. “Why did you say that?”
“We don’t say prayers like that at my church,” Lucia said.
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked as she picked off the crusty part of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“When you pray it sounds old-fashioned.”
“It’s just the words you read in the scriptures,” Whitney said. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
A car horn honked outside. Whitney looked at the kitchen clock. “That’s probably your mom to take us to soccer practice.”
The girls grabbed their sandwiches and raced out the door. “Bye, Mom,” Whitney called. “See you after practice.”
Whitney didn’t think much about what Lucia had said about her prayer until later that evening when Dad gathered everyone for family prayer.
“Whose turn is it tonight?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s Russell’s turn,” Mom said.
Russell bowed his head and began to pray. He thanked Heavenly Father and asked for blessings. Whitney listened closely as Russell prayed. His words did sound different from the way people usually talk: “We thank Thee. … We ask that Thou wilt bless. … Help us follow Thy prophet .…” Russell finished and everyone stood.
Whitney went to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Then she opened her closet and chose one of her best dresses for church the next day. She took it off the hanger and laid it across the back of her desk chair.
“Hey, Whit,” Dad said as he came into her bedroom with a stack of folded clothes. “Mom told me what Lucia said at lunch. Did that bother you?”
“No, not really,” Whitney said. “Well, kind of. Why do we pray with fancy words? Why not just talk the way we usually do?”
Dad picked up Whitney’s soccer uniform from off the floor where she had dropped it earlier that day. “Why don’t you wear this to church tomorrow instead of that dress on your chair?”
“Very funny, Dad,” Whitney said as she grabbed her shorts and shirt. “This is what I wear to soccer—not to church.”
“There’s a difference?” Dad asked.
“Of course,” Whitney replied.
“Right,” Dad said. “The reason we wear our Sunday best to church is to show respect and reverence for Heavenly Father. We dress differently than we do for other occasions. It’s the same way with the words we use when we pray. The words we say show love and respect.”
“So when we say those words, Heavenly Father knows we are treating Him in a special way?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father listens and understands either way, but when we use words like Thy blessings instead of your blessings and Thou hast seen or Thou seest instead of you have seen or you see, it’s kind of like…”
Whitney lifted the dress from the chair. “It’s like our prayers are all dressed up in their Sunday best!”

Years ago our young family moved into a home on what was then the edge of development in our community, which afforded a view of the mountains to the east. One Monday morning, just as I finished dressing and was ready to rush out the door to work, our six-year-old son, Craig, came bringing his four-year-old brother, Andrew, into the room by the hand. With determination Craig looked up at me and said, “Dad, yesterday in Primary my teacher told us that if you hold the priesthood, you can move mountains. I told Andy this, and he doesn’t believe me. You hold the priesthood, right, Dad?” Then turning his little body and pointing out the window, he looked back at me and said, “See those mountains over there? Show him, Dad!”
What followed was a sweet experience. How grateful I was for young sons who were beginning a lifetime of learning about the priesthood.

When our daughter, Emi, was a little girl, she liked to watch my every move as I got ready for church. After observing my routine, she would comb her hair and put on her dress, and then she would always ask me to put on some “shiney.” The “shiney” she referred to was thick, gooey cream that I used to prevent wrinkles. As requested, I would put it on Emi’s cheeks and lips, and she would then smile and say, “Now we are ready to go!” What Emi didn’t realize is that she already had her “shiney” on. Her face glowed because she was so pure and innocent and good. She had the Spirit with her, and it showed.

“When I was a boy, I had decided that I would really like to work in an office at Church headquarters. I came to Salt Lake City after my mission, when I was twenty-one years old. I’d studied shorthand and typing in school, but I couldn’t afford to go to college. Every Monday for many months I went to the Church Administration Building and applied for a job. Finally I was hired for $100 a month in 1938, and I worked there for several years in various capacities. One day Brother Joseph Anderson told me that President George Albert Smith wanted a male secretary who could travel with him, and I was accepted for the job. Years later, on his eighty-first birthday, President Smith died while I was holding his hand.”

I had the privilege to serve my mission in Anchorage, Alaska, USA. It was heartbreaking to come home early due to complications from spraining both ankles and feet. It was certainly not easy, but I had many experiences that taught me valuable life lessons. I learned that Heavenly Father has a purpose for everything that happens in our lives. I also learned how to go through trials with a better perspective. My relationship with the Savior became stronger than it had ever been because I learned how applicable the healing power of His Atonement is.
Heavenly Father truly helped me through this difficult time. Even though I still struggle at times, I know that Heavenly Father is in control and that He knows what I need in my life more than I do.
Amber Bangerter, Utah, USA

Some years ago, I prayed for the words to defend motherhood when I received an anonymous phone call.
The caller asked, “Are you Neill Marriott, the mother of a big family?”
I answered happily, “Yes!” expecting to hear her say something like, “Well, that’s good!”
But no! I’ll never forget her reply as her voice crackled over the phone: “I am highly offended that you would bring children onto this overcrowded planet!”
“Oh,” I sputtered, “I see how you feel.”
She snapped, “No—you don’t!”
I then whimpered, “Well, maybe I don’t.”
She started on a rant about my foolish choice to be a mother. As she went on, I began to pray for help, and a gentle thought came to mind: “What would the Lord say to her?” I then felt I was standing on solid ground and gained courage at the thought of Jesus Christ.
I replied, “I am glad to be a mother, and I promise you I will do everything in my power to nurture my children in such a way that they will make the world a better place.”
She replied, “Well, I hope you do!” and hung up.
It wasn’t a big thing—after all, I was standing safely in my own kitchen! But in my own small way, I was able to speak in defense of family, mothers, and nurturers because of two things: (1) I understood and believed God’s doctrine of the family, and (2) I prayed for words to convey these truths.

I was raised in a family that made family home evening a priority. In order to make it home in time on Mondays, we would go straight home from school without making plans to be with friends. Personal tasks, such as homework, were completed following family home evening. There really was nothing that took precedence over this special time for our family to be together.
Family home evening made an impact on us growing up not only because of the priority we placed on it but also because we worked together to make it happen. We rotated who would give the lesson, who would prepare the refreshments, and who would say the opening and closing prayers. We didn’t just listen to lessons but also had opportunities to be instructors. As a result, I was blessed to obtain a knowledge and testimony of the gospel and to have strengthened family ties.
Because family home evening has become a habit in my life, I look forward to the blessings it will bring when I have a family of my own.
Chieko Kobe, Japan