Gospel Story Finder

When farmers’ crops fail, it may mean difficult times, but for 47 members of the Church in Mexico a poor harvest also blocked their dreams of going to the Los Angeles Temple. When the seminary students from the La Canada First and Second Wards (La Crescenta California Stake) found out about the postponed trip, they sold cheese, sponsored movies, put on dinners, took inventories for department stores, and held their own fair to raise $3,500 to help the Mexican Saints.

The eight families from Mexico and two bus drivers then rode three days after waiting weeks for visas. Most of the men, farmers and laborers, had seen their area’s crops fail and had canceled their plans to visit the temple this year. The La Canada young people had decided there could be no more worthwhile project than helping the Mexican Saints go to the temple.

The California Saints were ready with a large “Bienvenidos” (welcome) sign when the group arrived, and they greeted their guests with many abrazos (hugs). Everyone moved from the parking lot to the chapel and sang, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” and “Come, Come Ye Saints” in both Spanish and English. The Mexican members from Tezontepec and Conejos were welcomed by La Crescenta California Stake President Don L. Rogers and introduced to their host families.

The next day began with a chapel service after which the Mexican Saints went through a Spanish-speaking endowment session. In the afternoon they attended a sealing session. While the adults were in the temple, six of the young people who had traveled with the group and several La Canada seminary students performed baptisms for the dead. Another group of seminary youth served as baby-sitters in the nursery for the day.

After a day at the temple, the La Canada church members held a fiesta in honor of their guests. The cultural hall was decorated in red, green, and white, Mexico’s national colors, and the visitors were served some of their own national specialties—enchiladas, beans, rice, hot chiles, and fruit salad. The Mexican Saints were all introduced, and an informal program was staged by the hosting wards.

The next day was Saturday, and the La Canada youths were excited to show their guests some Southern California sights. The Mexican children especially loved the Mickey Mouse Parade at Disneyland.

The following day Mexican Branch President Tomás Gracia spoke at stake conference, expressing his love for those who had given so much to make the trip possible for his branch members. A fireside that evening gave everyone the opportunity to get better acquainted. The Saints from Mexico sang and answered questions as well as shared testimonies.

The next morning was a sad farewell as the visitors sang to their new American friends. The busload of strengthened Saints left with renewed determination to share their experiences in Mexico. For the seminary students of the La Canada wards it was hard to say goodbye, but knowing that the months of hard work had gone to help enrich and uplift others made the experience one of deep, quiet happiness.

Photo illustrations by David Stoker
The reverberating dance music echoed loudly down the church hallway into the lobby where I sat with a set of scriptures open in my lap. I could hear the other youth laughing and socializing in the cultural hall, and I knew that somewhere down there the handful of young men from my small branch were catching up with old acquaintances.
I was the youngest person from my branch there and was still fairly new to Church dances. I wanted to meet other LDS youth and wanted to dance with some of the young women from my stake, but I always felt too out of place and self-conscious. So, I sat in the lobby.
This wasn’t my first dance, either. I’d been to a handful before, and some of the older young women had even asked me to dance, but that only made me more self-conscious. A hundred personal flaws would rush through my mind, and I knew that they were just being nice to the new kid. I felt that no one really wanted to dance with me.
That’s why this time I decided to stay in the lobby and leave them to enjoy themselves without worrying about me. Several times youth leaders and others from my branch tried to convince me to join the activity, but using the scriptures as a shield, I argued that I was happier studying the scriptures, idly reading about the bravery of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors without putting their examples into practice. I went home that evening feeling miserable and alone.
At subsequent dances, I began to notice something when I went to the gym: as slow songs were played, most of the young women would sit down and remain seated until the next fast song. Though the more confident young men asked some girls to dance, they always seemed to pick the same two or three young women (generally from their wards). This meant that most of the girls sat through the slow songs watching from the sidelines.
I don’t remember exactly when the dance challenge first came about, but a couple of the young men from my branch decided that the young women should be able to dance to the slow songs. The challenge was simple: Ask a different young woman to dance for every slow song, and never sit out a dance.
Taking strength from the stories of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors, I took the challenge to heart. For every dance after that, I did what I could to ensure that every young woman at every dance would have the chance to dance.
I started by asking any young women who were away from the center of the dance floor or who were from wards or branches that didn’t appear to have any young men there. I often had enough time to ask some girls twice, having danced with every young woman at least once.
Because of this goal, I had the opportunity to get to know dozens of incredible young women over the years, and a girl declined to dance with me on only two or three occasions.
The last youth dance I attended was held immediately after seminary graduation. I looked around the small gathering and noticed the faces of dozens of young women I’d danced with during the last three years. I felt grateful for the experiences I’d had, so I began the dance challenge again for one last time, inviting many girls to dance. Some of the young women were new, but most were now old acquaintances.
As one young woman eagerly jumped up to dance with me, I remembered the first time I’d asked her to dance three years before. I’d been very intimidated to ask her, because she was very beautiful, modest, and mature, and it seemed to me that if any young woman deserved to dance with someone better than me, then it would be her.
As we talked about our plans for college and careers during that last dance, she changed the topic very abruptly.
“I just want to tell you thank you,” she said with a sincere smile.
Caught by surprise, I croaked out a confused response: “For what?”
“When I first started coming to these dances,” she said, “no one would dance with me or the other girls from my branch. I really wanted to get to know other LDS people, but I’m shy. So I would sit in a chair and wait and wait, but none of the boys would ever ask. It was so humiliating that one time, while sitting and watching other people, I vowed that I would never come to a Church dance again.
“That was just before you asked me to dance for the first time. Because of that, I came to the next dance, where you asked me again. I kept coming to dances these past few years because I knew that even if no one else would ask me to dance, you would. So, thank you.”
I found myself at a loss for words. This amazing daughter of God, whom any young man should be honored to dance with, had experienced the same struggles I’d felt while sitting in that lobby.
I realized that all my fears hadn’t been anything to worry about and that by applying the principles of courage, faith, and consistency, I was able to bring happiness into both my life and into the lives of those around me.

I yanked the middle drawer right out of my dresser and rifled through it, hurling all the rejected clothing to the floor. It was school colors day, I was late, and I couldn’t find my blue sweatshirt. I finally saw a blue sleeve poking out of the bottom drawer, and I grabbed the wadded sweatshirt. After stretching it to try to pull out the wrinkles, I threw it over my head and rushed to the front door.
“Bye, Mom,” I said, kissing her on the cheek and racing down the driveway toward the bus stop. From the sidewalk, I could see the last child boarding the bus.
Someone must have told the bus driver and everyone else that I was coming because they all turned to watch me run to the bus. Embarrassed, I slunk into the first available seat without ever looking up.
At school, I quickly realized I had forgotten my homework. The night before I had struggled through a math problem four times before figuring it out, and now I had left it at home where it would do me no good at all!
By the time school was over, I was miserable. I trudged home from the bus stop, rehearsing my troubles of the day. But then a happier thought entered my mind: Maybe Mom made some of her delicious cookies. The chewy ones with the crisscross marks on top. Warm. With milk. I couldn’t wait!
My happy thoughts quickly disappeared when I walked into the kitchen. My little brother—not my mother—had been busy in the kitchen! There was a white powder trail from the flour bin to the middle of the floor, where he sat with a big mixing bowl full of “bread dough.” “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m making bread—just like Mom,” he answered, throwing a handful onto the floor and “kneading” it.
On another day, I might have found my brother’s “cooking” funny. But not today—I was angry. I wanted to be greeted by warm cookies, not by a little brother making a big mess!
Just then Mom walked in and saw the disaster. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Michelle, why are you just watching him make such a mess?” Her voice got louder. “And your room is a disaster! Go to your room and don’t come out until it’s clean.”
I slammed the door to my room and flopped onto the bed. It isn’t fair! I didn’t make a mess in the kitchen. Why am I in trouble? I’m the one having a bad day. Nobody cares about me. I wiped the angry tears from my eyes. I could hear the twins crying. Slamming my door must have woken them from their naps.
I looked around my room. Mom was right—it really was a disaster! There was a drawer on the floor, and I had scattered clothes everywhere while looking for my blue sweatshirt that morning. And my brother must have invaded my toys, because they were scattered around the room, too. It was a mess. And it wasn’t fair! That brother of mine is a problem, I thought. Why can’t he stay out of my stuff? I decided to rearrange my room so he couldn’t reach my toys anymore.
I pulled everything off the shelves and out of my desk drawers—toys, papers, crayons, everything! Everything of any interest to a little brother was going to be moved out of his reach. As I rummaged through my closet, looking for things that needed to be protected, I found my dinosaur drawing kit.
Meanwhile, Mom had gone to the twins’ room to settle them down again. When she returned to the kitchen, she found my brother trying to clean up his mess. Dragging a wet towel in the dough, he had smeared paste from the middle of the room to the sink.
After Mom finally got the kitchen under control, she came to my room, where she found me sitting on an even bigger pile of stuff, playing with my dinosaur drawing kit. I knew right away that I was in big trouble. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something. Instead, she started to cry and left, looking totally defeated.
I felt awful. Everything had gone wrong—my sweatshirt, the bus, my homework, my little brother—and now Mom was upset with me. I felt all alone. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt beside my bed and prayed. “Heavenly Father, please help me. Help make everything all right. Help my mom be happy. Help her to love me even though I have a messy room. Please, Heavenly Father, please help me.” Still kneeling beside my bed, I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed.
Soon I heard Mom in the hall. I sat up and grabbed a shirt to act like I was putting it away—I didn’t want to get in trouble again for not working.
When Mom came into my room, her eyes were red and swollen, even worse than mine. She quietly asked if I had been praying. I hesitated because I knew I was supposed to be cleaning, but I nodded yes.
Mom cleared a spot beside me, sat down, and put her arms around me. “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry I was upset with you. I’m sorry you’re not having a very good day. I’ve had a hard day myself, and I was praying for help when the Spirit whispered that you were praying for me, too.”
“Really?” I asked. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer, and the Holy Ghost told you?”
“That’s right,” Mom said, smiling.
I started to cry again, but this time I cried because I knew Somebody cared. Heavenly Father had seen my awful day, and He understood that I needed love more than I needed a clean room. And even though I didn’t get warm cookies, I felt a real warmth inside, a comforting knowledge that I am never alone.

At a nursing home on First South, we might interrupt, as I did a few years ago, a professional football game. There, before the TV, were seated two widows. They were warmly and beautifully dressed—and absorbed in the game. I asked, “Who’s winning?” They responded, “We don’t even know who’s playing, but at least it’s company.” I sat between those two angels and explained the game of football. I enjoyed the best contest I can remember. I may have missed a meeting, but I harvested a memory.

How long does it take to collect 10,000 pounds of food? The youth of the Marysville Washington Stake did it in about three hours! There were approximately 170 of them. And to be fair, they did get a little help from their adult leaders.
Dressed in yellow vests bearing the words “Mormon Helping Hands,” these young men and women went door-to-door in pairs gathering donations. Along the way, they had some very heartwarming experiences, most notably meeting a family who receives help from their local food bank and an obviously poor elderly woman who didn’t have much to spare. But in both cases, these people were deeply touched by the actions of the youth and still sacrificed by donating food. Talk about the widow’s mite!
The Marysville, Arlington, and Stanwood food banks were the recipients of the generous donations from individuals in each community. The directors of these three food banks were overwhelmed with gratitude for the amount of food donated by the community and collected by the youth and adults of the Marysville stake.

Some people never realize just how important friendshipping can be, but Ray Ebler of Londonderry, Northern Ireland, does. “The main contribution to my testimony was the love that radiated from each member,” he says.

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me. I was touched by the Spirit and gained a testimony.”

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me.”

Ray was taught the discussions and was baptized on July 4, 1991. He wants to express his gratitude to the family that helped him, the ward members, and everyone else involved.

When my wife and I were first married, my parents lived in another state. During a break in our university schedule, we decided to go visit them.
We made sandwiches, packed the car, prepared a bed in the backseat for our young son so that he could rest during the 10-hour trip. After a full day in the car, we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. The preschooler never slept and seemed to gather energy as the day wore on. We knew that if he would just close his eyes and be quiet for a while, he would fall asleep.
After sundown, with two hours of travel still to go, we decided to play a game. The purpose of the game was to try to get an exhausted youngster to sleep. We called it hide-and-seek. Have you ever tried to play hide-and-seek in a car? Let me tell you how we did it. We said to the small boy in back, “Let’s play hide-and-seek.” He enthusiastically agreed. We said, “Close your eyes and don’t open them until we call you. We need time to hide.”
The game started. A front-seat passenger would crouch down in the seat and 10 or 15 seconds later would call, “OK.” Our son would bound over the seat and say, “Aha, I found you!” We would say, “Next time we will hide better. Close your eyes again.” A minute or more would go by. Then we would call, and again he would energetically climb over the seat to find us. Finally we said, “We have a really good place to hide this time. It will take longer. Close your eyes and we will call you.”
A minute, two minutes, five minutes went by. We drove along in silence. The tranquillity was marvelous. We must have traveled 15 miles before we began to whisper quiet congratulations to ourselves on the success of our devious game. Then, from out of the backseat, came the sobbing voice of a heartbroken little boy. “You didn’t call me, and you said you would.”
“You didn’t do what you agreed to do.” What a terrible accusation. It was a defining moment in our lives. We knew that we could never play that game again.

Six-year-old Jason rode down the street on his new red bicycle. It was the first time he had ridden his bicycle without his eleven-year-old brother, Ray, riding along beside him. Jason grinned as he thought about his big brother. Ray wa fun to be with. But now Ray had gone on an errand for Mother, so Jason was riding by himself.

“'Aaaa!' he called as he pedaled past his mother.
She smiled and waved at him. Jason didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to wave back, but he gave her a big smile. When he turned around and pedaled back to his house again, his mother motioned for him to stop. Born with a very bad hearing loss, Jason wore a hearing aid in each ear. The only sounds that he could hear were very soft and unclear, so Jason had only recently begun to learn to talk.
“Jason,” Mother said, at the same time using sign language, “I’m going into the house to do dishes now. It will soon be dark. Please come inside in just a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Jason tried to form the word with his mouth as he finger-spelled.
Mom smiled and rumpled his hair before she walked into the house, and Jason pedaled his bike down the street again. It was exciting riding with a rush of the wind against his face. Jason pedaled faster and faster. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going. “Aaaa!” he cried delightedly.
Then the cry froze in his throat as he stared at the unfamiliar houses that he was passing. The bicycle wobbled and nearly fell over before Jason could come to a stop. He looked around him with wide, frightened eyes. Where am I? he wondered.
Jason turned his bicycle around and pedaled back toward the nearest corner. He peered at the houses in the gathering darkness. They were all strange. Jason choked back a sob. How would he ever get back to his own home? He couldn’t ask anyone for help. He pedaled up and down the streets looking for a familiar sight, but it was no use. The longer he searched, the more confused he became.
Soon it was dark, and Jason had never been so frightened. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly there came to his mind a picture of his family kneeling in prayer, and he thought, I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me!
Jason got off his bicycle, then knelt on the sidewalk and folded his arms. Dear Father in Heaven, he prayed silently, I’m lost. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Jason opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a familiar face, but no one was there. He could see lights shining through the windows of nearby houses. He though about his family in his own home and about how much he loved them. Maybe I’ll never see them again. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought. Then the words I am a child of God! Popped into his mind. They were from a Primary song that his mother had taught him.
“You can learn to say the words if you try,” she had said as she signed to him. “Then you can sing it with your voice, your hands, and your heart.”
Jason had tried. It was hard, but he could sing it well enough for his family to recognize it. Now he loved to sing it often, even though he could barely hear the sounds that he made. He knew that there was beautiful music inside him, though, because he had such a happy feeling when he sang.
Maybe, Jason thought, I won’t feel so scared if I sing. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and began, “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. …”
As he sang the last few words, Jason opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he saw: His big brother was coming down the street!
“Aaaa!” Jason cried, leaping to his feet. “Aaaa!”
Jason started to run. He didn’t stop until he ran straight into his brother’s open arms. Ray caught him in a big hug, swinging him off his feet.
“I’d never have found you if I hadn’t heard you singing that song!” Ray exclaimed. “You’ve sung it so many times at home that when I heard it in the darkness, I knew just who was singing. It led me straight to you!”
Jason couldn’t follow all that Ray was saying, but he knew that he was safe, and he knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

As an 11-year-old, I prepared for my first real babysitting job, and I didn’t quite know what to expect. As I entered the home I became a little nervous at the sight of cigarettes on the table and various containers of alcohol on the kitchen counter.

As the mom explained the basic babysitting procedures for her children, she also asked me where I went to school and what my favorite subjects were. Then she asked what church I went to. At that moment I froze. I didn’t know how to answer because I didn’t know what kind of reaction I would get from someone who obviously didn’t live by LDS standards. I tried to pretend I didn’t hear her, and I continued to prepare the baby’s crib for her nap. A little louder and more curious, she asked again, “Where do you go to church?”

I turned around slowly and with my head slightly lowered whispered, “I’m Mormon.” Although my response was barely audible, she knew exactly what I said. Contrary to what I was expecting, this woman began to reprimand me for lacking the confidence to be proud of being a Mormon. Although I don’t remember her exact words, I do remember her sharing stories about all the Mormons she had encountered in her life and how wonderful they were. She lectured me about standing up for what I believe in, holding my head up high, and being proud to be a Latter-day Saint.

The rest of the evening I babysat and pondered this woman’s words. I knew that if I was going to be a good member of the Church, I had to give it my all. I don’t remember how much money I made that evening or even how long I babysat, but I do know that once you discover you have a testimony, you have to stand up for what you know is right.

When the Hayman forest fire raged through the mountains near our home, our ward became very active in trying to help the firefighters. Our son David, who is known for his baking skills, was asked to make some cookies for the firefighters that evening. He was told how the firefighters work hard all day long in the heat and smoke, and that many of them were far away from home and didn’t have a nice meal waiting for them when they got off duty. Some homemade cookies would certainly cheer them up. David made over 200 cookies that day, and for several days afterward he arranged with other ward members to bring cookies for the firefighters each day. Although the fire canceled his summer camping plans, David felt great satisfaction in serving others.

But it was his commitment to love every person that thrilled Church members. One day a Sunday School class of youth came several miles to see him, by appointment, but he had just rushed off to the hospital where his brother, Thomas E. McKay, lay near death. The following Sunday, miles away from his office, there was a knock on the door of the Sunday School classroom. When the teacher opened the door, there stood President McKay. He had come to meet the class and apologize for being gone the day they had come to see him.
After explaining why he was not in his office that day, he shook hands with the teacher and with each of the children. “I want you to know,” he said, “that the president of the Church keeps his appointments if at all possible.”

Shortly before I graduated from high school, a seemingly small miracle happened, an event that would turn my life in another direction. Despite the distance between my actions and gospel standards, one Sunday morning I followed a strong prompting to go to church and pay tithing. When I arrived at the chapel, I asked for people I knew. One of the names I gave was the Young Men president I had when I was a deacon, the last time I had attended church. He was now serving as bishop of the ward.
That good bishop helped bring me back into the Church. I confessed my sins, and he worked with me to set up a progress plan. Over several months I repented. I advanced in the priesthood. I held a calling. I was doing so well, in fact, that I was called to serve a mission, and I had a period of several years when my addiction was under control.
When I returned home from my mission, I did not struggle with pornography; I simply did not have access to it. That changed in the late 1990s, when the Internet became increasingly pervasive. I accidentally stumbled across some pornographic images online, and I returned to pornographic sites over and over again during the following months. The web had ensnared me.
I wanted to reach out to someone for help, but I wasn’t sure whom—or how. How could I talk to my parents about this? How could I admit to my bishop that even though I had made so much progress, I couldn’t stop engaging in this immoral behavior? I desperately wanted to stop, but I was too embarrassed by my weakness to confide in anyone, so I kept my addiction to myself.
I didn’t even tell my wife, whom I married in 2000. I wanted to tell her about my struggle when we were dating, but I was terrified that she would look down on me or, worse yet, refuse to marry me. So I lied. And I continued to do so in our marriage. I found myself being sneaky to prevent being caught. I hid pictures on my computer. When my wife asked me about particular Internet links, I denied knowing what she was talking about. Addictions are like that; they create great liars. I knew it was creating a wedge in our marriage and causing her great pain, but I would not acknowledge that I had a problem. What mattered most to me was not my behavior but how people perceived me.
My double life—and the resulting loss of the Spirit—made me vulnerable to increasingly serious sins, including infidelity. My wife had strong impressions that something was wrong and told me about them. With great remorse, I admitted to what I had done.
That was my lowest point, the point at which I realized that I had to change. Sitting across from me was the woman I loved. She loved me. I had betrayed her. I determined then to do whatever it took to save our relationship and our family.
I began meeting with my bishop regularly in working through the repentance process and Church discipline. He recommended I attend meetings of the addiction recovery program, offered through LDS Family Services. I had never heard of the program. I learned that the group held free, confidential meetings based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, adapted into a framework of the doctrines and principles of the Church.
I admit that during the first few meetings, I thought, “I don’t need to be here. I don’t really have a problem with pornography. I can quit any time.” That, of course, wasn’t true.
With my bishop’s encouragement, I continued to attend. My pride began to melt away, and I began to work the steps of the program: honesty, hope, trust in God, truth, confession, change of heart, humility, seeking forgiveness, restitution and reconciliation, daily accountability, personal revelation, and service. For the first time in a long time, I was living a “sober” life, a life free of pornography. Recovery isn’t ever really “over,” but I had been introduced to a new level of freedom. It came because as I participated in the 12 steps, I came to understand what was behind my addiction.
I learned that most people battling addictions have turned to some kind of “self-medication” to fill the voids they feel in their lives. Pain, sorrow, loneliness, fear, or other kinds of discomfort can act as triggers that can entice people to use this self-medication to make them feel better. Some people use prescription drugs. Others use illicit drugs. Others use alcohol. For me, pornography offered the short-term, artificial “quick fix” I thought I needed.
Knowing what triggered my addiction was one thing. Avoiding environments that aided my addiction was another. This stance requires being vigilant 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the rest of my life. I cannot get online “just to browse.” In fact, if I am by myself, I don’t go online at all. I can’t look at an ad and entertain thoughts in my mind. We don’t have cable TV in our home. When I commute to work, I avoid taking certain roads because I know there are billboards along those roads that could trigger inappropriate thoughts. If I start to slip and my mind begins to wander, I turn to my wife, to my bishop, and to prayer for strength.
My addiction affects the most minute parts of my life, but taking these precautions is worth it. I cannot neglect these defenses because I know what my addiction can do to me and to those I love.
It’s not just a matter of avoiding the bad, though. I also must make constant, conscious efforts to turn to the good. Several of the 12 steps have helped me do this by bringing me closer to God.
Every day when I wake up, I get on my knees and thank Heavenly Father for giving me the opportunity to repent of my sins and to come to Him through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ. I ask Him to let me know His will so that I can do it. I ask Him to lead me away from temptation. I pray as though I rely on Heavenly Father every minute of the day—because I do—and I keep that prayer in my heart throughout the day. I pray again each night. I also spend some time in the scriptures daily so that I can focus my thoughts on virtuous things. If I don’t make these a habit, I don’t have the Spirit in my life. And left on my own, I am not strong enough to resist temptation.
For a long time I believed I could overcome my behavior anytime I wanted to by my own willpower. But I failed miserably. After a while I got tired of doing it on my own, especially when “on my own” wasn’t working. I realized that I could not do what I needed to do without the Lord’s help. Ether 12:27 helped me understand this better. The Lord told Moroni, “My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
Once I went to Him, still doing all I could do (see 2 Nephi 25:23), I realized that I could do much better and become much more with His help than I ever could dream of by relying on my own merits (see Alma 7:14).
My wife and I now serve as facilitators at the addiction recovery program meetings. She has learned—and is helping others understand—that the Atonement is for not only those who are working to overcome an addiction but also those who have been affected by the addiction through no choice of their own. If we turn to the Savior, His grace can work in all of our lives.
To those who are battling addiction and to the people they love, I can attest that there is hope. There is always hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am deeply grateful to Jesus Christ because He literally saved me from the chains of sin. Addiction is like being held by chains that “bind the children of men, that they are carried away captive down to the eternal gulf of misery and woe” (2 Nephi 1:13). When I realized I was in trouble, I didn’t know where to turn. I was desperate because I could not free myself from my predicament. But the Lord could free me. When I turned to Him, He was there to help.
I can relate with Ammon: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12). I know that God can help us do all things, including overcoming the chains of addiction.

Earlier that week the Valiant class had their farewell activity for Sister Stott. Travis knew that before the activity was over, his teacher would make sure she taught them something. She always did. The moment came as she set up a maze in the multipurpose room while they waited outside. Then, one at a time, she blindfolded them and guided them through the maze by telling them when to stop and turn.
It wasn’t always easy, but by listening carefully and obeying her directions, each class member was successful. Afterward, she talked to the class about how they need to have faith and trust in Heavenly Father and listen for His guidance—after their prayers, for instance—and follow His instructions in the scriptures and as given by their parents and Church leaders. She said that He would always do what was best for them. It was a lesson Travis would never forget.

The young soldier stood at attention before the court.
“William Scott, you have been found guilty,” the judge said in a firm voice. “You will be shot by a firing squad within twenty-four hours!”
William’s heart was heavy with fear. He was only twenty-two and had joined the Union Army a few months earlier to fight for his country.
Two nights before, one of William’s comrades had been too sick to do guard duty so William had taken his place. Then the very next night William found himself assigned to guard duty.
The young soldier doubted he could stay awake, and so he went to the captain and told him of his fear. “I’m afraid I can’t keep awake on guard duty a second night,” William explained. “Could you find a replacement for me?”
The captain was busy, and without really listening he brushed aside the boy’s request.
That night William reported for guard duty, and only a few hours later he was found asleep at his post. Now he was to be shot as a traitor!
As the captain heard the judge pronounce sentence on the young soldier, he stepped forward and pled with the judge. “If anyone ought to be shot,” he said, “then I should be the one. Please save William’s life.”
The sorrow and concern of the captain and the other men of William’s regiment for their comrade’s life touched the heart of the judge. He thought about the matter for a few minutes, and then he turned to the captain and said softly, “There is only one man who can save your friend. Come, we will go to President Lincoln.”
A short time later the judge and captain arrived at the White House. Although the president was very busy, he took time to listen quietly to the story the two men told. When they finished, he said, “It would be a sad thing for a young man like William Scott to die like this.”
President Lincoln’s voice was full of compassion as he promised, “I will look into the matter myself this very day.”
That afternoon the president went to the guardhouse of the army camp. He talked with William about his friends back home, his school, and especially about his mother.
“William, you should be thankful that your mother still lives,” President Lincoln said gently. “If I were in your place, I would try to make her a proud mother and never cause her any sorrow.”
William listened patiently and then he asked the president a question that had been troubling him. “Would it be possible not to appoint any men from my own regiment to the firing squad?” he asked. “The hardest thing of all would be to die by the hands of my friends.”
“My boy,” said President Lincoln, “you are not going to be shot tomorrow. I am going to trust you to go back to your regiment. Your country has great need of men like you.”
For a moment William could not believe what he had heard, but when he looked into President Lincoln’s loving eyes, he knew the words were true. “How can I ever repay you, sir?” he asked in a voice that trembled because of the big lump in his throat.
President Lincoln put his hands on the young boy’s shoulders. “My boy,” he said, “my bill is a very large one. No money can pay it and no friends can help you. There is only one person in all the world who can pay your debt, and his name is William Scott. If you will fight bravely and do your duty as a soldier, then the debt will be paid. Will you make that promise?”
William promised he would do as the president asked. Then with tear-filled eyes, William vowed to himself that with God’s help he would keep the solemn promise he made that day to President Abraham Lincoln.
And he did!

Some of our most vivid and significant memories of living in the Midwestern United States as young parents are of yearly visits to the temple in Washington, D.C. At the time, it was the only temple in operation east of the Mississippi River. Knowing that temple ordinances are essential for all of Heavenly Father’s children gave a sense of urgency to our efforts.
Like many of you, we arranged for friends to care for our small children, traveled through the night with a busload of fellow members, spent a couple of precious days doing as much temple work as we could, and then rode the bus home through the night so we could attend our Church meetings on Sunday. Those trips did not seem to be sacrifices; they were cherished because of the spiritual uplift that fed our souls for months afterward.
A few years later, we were thrilled to welcome the Chicago Illinois Temple, the first temple built in the North America Central Area since the Cardston Alberta Canada Temple 62 years earlier. With a temple only 45 minutes from our home, it was a joy for us to attend more often than once a year and to receive that spiritual food on a regular basis.
Yet today, though some of us live within closer reach of a temple, we may still find it difficult to attend frequently. It may be that the easier availability of a temple lulls us into thinking, “I’ll go tomorrow, when I have more time.” It is easy to become distracted by immediate pressures and let more important opportunities slide away. Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “I encourage you to establish your own goal of how frequently you will avail yourself of the ordinances offered in our operating temples.”1
If we neglect the opportunity to attend as often as our circumstances allow, if we take lightly the opportunity to go to the temple when it is right in our backyard, so to speak, we may forfeit future blessings and opportunities our Father and His Son have in store for us. “I, the Lord,” He said, “am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
When it seems that events conspire to prevent us from going to the temple, we can remember Jesus Christ’s assurance: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). As we persevere and attend the temple despite stumbling blocks, we’ll have the Savior’s help to overcome the world in which we live. One time as my husband and I were preparing to leave for the temple, one problem after another cropped up. Finally, as we were nearly out the door, we had a strained “marital moment.” As the two of us walked silently to the car, we could hear our oldest daughter reassure her sister, “Don’t worry; they always come home happy from the temple.” And she was right!
Whether we come to the temple with hearts full of joy or heavy with sorrow, the temple is the place for every worthy member with an open heart to be lifted and strengthened.
I have come to the temple almost floating in deep gratitude for a blessing granted to a struggling loved one; I have also shed quiet tears of great sorrow for my own failures. I have received promptings and instruction and even rebukes from the Spirit while serving as proxy for someone receiving the ordinances that will allow her to progress through eternity. All of those experiences have lifted and strengthened me. And yes, I’ve sat through many an hour in the temple as a “duty,” simply fulfilling my obligation, and I even found myself dozing off during temple sessions in my years as an early-morning seminary teacher! But every single time I’ve gone to the temple, I have been blessed. Whether we are granted an immediate blessing or our efforts accrue toward later blessings, every bit of time we spend in the temple results in some personal increase.
Being in the temple reminds us of the span of eternity, both looking back at our ancestors and forward to our children. Our children are also strengthened in their eternal perspective when they focus on the temple. How can we best prepare them for the temple—a vital step in their eternal progression? President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, counseled, “Parents should teach the importance of the temple from a child’s earliest days.”2 President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) advised parents to put a picture of the temple in their children’s bedroom so they can look at that sacred reminder every day until it becomes part of them.3 You can also share with your children the blessings you receive from attending the temple as well as your testimony of the joy you anticipate in eternal relationships with them. And you can support your teenagers in their desire to perform baptisms for the dead. Remember in your family home evening lessons and teaching moments that “the temple is the object of every activity, every lesson, every progressive step in the Church.”4
As you sing with your children, “I love to see the temple. I’ll go inside someday. I’ll cov’nant with my Father; I’ll promise to obey,”5 you will help them feel a desire to enter the Lord’s holy house. And your own heart will swell with gratitude for Heavenly Father, for His plan of salvation, for the Savior and His Atonement, which have made it possible for you to be with your loved ones forever. The Savior’s “way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.”6 That path leads to and through the temple!
Worldly influences can pull us away from the temple. A dear young friend has been troubled by opinions and speculations about the Church that he read on the internet. He decided to forego attending the temple until his questions are resolved. With all my heart, I plead with you who may have questions that affect your testimony to continue participating in personal prayer and scripture study and to continue attending the temple while you work to find the answers that will bring you peace. Stay focused on the gospel to avoid being distracted by clever but false ideologies. One wouldn’t seek to heal a physical ailment by asking a star football player for medical advice any more than significant spiritual questions can be correctly resolved by someone who has a limited understanding of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The Holy Ghost, who bears witness of “the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5), “will tell you in your mind and in your heart” (D&C 8:2) what is eternal truth.
One of the places to access that Spirit most abundantly is in the temple. If you are worthy to enter the house of the Lord (as determined by you and your bishop), please come to the temple with your questions and receive the assurance that even if you do not understand all things now, the Lord does. Remember all that you do know and understand. The things you do know and have received a spiritual witness of will lead you to “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, [and will] keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7). I testify that the understanding and peace you seek will come as you continue to have faith that your Father in Heaven will lead and guide you to the truth.
Isaiah reminds us that the temple is “a place of refuge … from [the] storm” (Isaiah 4:6). President Thomas S. Monson’s words are equally reassuring: “As we enter through the doors of the temple, we leave behind us the distractions and confusion of the world. Inside this sacred sanctuary, we find beauty and order. There is rest for our souls and a respite from the cares of our lives.”7
As troubles in the world increase and the pressures of daily life build up, we must keep our focus on the things that really matter. It is easy to focus on the negative and on worldly woes, as if we were looking at our failures and problems through a microscope. Being in the temple reminds us to keep an eternal perspective. Like a massive telescope focused on stars beyond our immediate sight, the temple opens our minds to a higher and broader vision. It allows us to see, hope for, and work toward becoming all that Heavenly Father has designed us to be. It helps us focus on eternal truths—on Heavenly Parents who love us and desire to help us, on our true worth as Their children, and on what we are capable of becoming as “heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17). In the temple, the plan of God is taught and eternal covenants are made. In the temple, we are given the tools to become our highest and best eternal selves.
“As we attend the temple,” counseled President Monson, “there can come to us a dimension of spirituality and a feeling of peace which will transcend any other feeling which could come into the human heart. We will grasp the true meaning of the words of the Savior when He said: ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid’ [John 14:27].”8
The spirit you bring from your service in the temple will touch many within your circles of influence—some you may not have even considered. At the conclusion of one of our visits to the temple in Washington, D.C., the group of members shared testimonies as the bus rolled across the miles toward home. One after another, participants shared their joy and gratitude for the immediate and eternal blessings of the temple. Our nonmember bus driver finally couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed the microphone and expressed appreciation for being with us. He then said, “I don’t know what you people have, but I feel something different here.” Of course, a ward mission leader on the bus got his contact information and later gave it to the missionaries.
May I invite you to take advantage of the gift of the temple near you as often as your circumstances allow. You will be strengthened and find peace in the house of the Lord Jesus Christ, for He is the light and the life and the hope of the world. As these latter days progress toward His promised return, may you receive His light and feel the hope that is offered in His holy temples.

In 1977 the newly created Ottawa Ontario Stake in Canada, was facing some unique challenges. With headquarters in Ottawa, this large stake took in eastern Ontario, part of the province of Quebec, and northern New York State. The new stake thus showed a varied ethnic composition. It included a Chinese branch in Montreal, Canada, where two missionaries from the Hong Kong Mission aided in proselyting; a bilingual (French-English) branch at Hawkesbury, Canada; and an all-Lamanite branch at Hogansburg, New York, on the St. Regis Reservation.
One of the most urgent needs of the new stake was the erection of suitable buildings, since many wards and branches were meeting in rented halls and schools. Our stake president, Boyden E. Lee, felt impressed that before the Church could more rapidly increase its growth in the area, suitable chapels would have to be built. A five-year stake building plan was initiated, but by the end of the first year it had produced very limited results.
So the stake presidency decided on a special program to raise the required amount—one million dollars—in two years. President Lee worried a great deal about this decision, wondering how, during a period of inflation and financial stress, he could ask the members of the stake for such a large amount of money in such a short time.
As he prepared for a special stake assembly, he said he felt impressed to pronounce a special blessing and promise upon the members of the stake and to seal that promise by the power of the priesthood, just as one would in giving an individual blessing. He was initially hesitant, but the impression persisted, and he was unable to forget it.
The special stake building fund program was presented at the assembly. Adult members of the Church had been asked to fast and pray before coming to the assembly. At the close of that meeting, President Lee did indeed pronounce a special blessing on the members of the stake and promised then that if they would do all they could, the Lord would open doors to enable them to meet their building-fund assessments. This promise was sealed upon each member of the stake by the power of the priesthood.
Many others reported similar experiences. Jobs were found, promotions were obtained, seemingly worthless investments became profitable, bank accounts long since forgotten were discovered, and inheritances were received.
Two years after the challenge was issued, over $ 800,000 had been raised for the stake building fund. Three chapels have since been completed, two more are under construction, and four have been approved for construction. When these buildings are completed, each of the sixteen wards and branches of the stake will indeed have a modern chapel.
The refrain from the familiar hymn that “sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (Hymns, no. 147) has been richly felt throughout the stake. Our special building program is now bearing fruit in increased spirituality and convert baptisms. On 6 July 1980, only three and a half years after its creation, the stake was divided into the Ottawa Ontario Stake and the Montreal Quebec Mount Royal Stake, thus laying the foundation for future growth and development.

While I was serving as a missionary in Durango, Mexico, our mission president challenged our mission to try a “week of sacrifice.” He asked us to put forth more effort than usual by working hard and setting specific goals during the week. My companion and I had faith that if we sacrificed this way, the Lord would bless us and we would find many people to teach.
However, during the week of sacrifice, we didn’t have much success. We did not find any families to teach, and we were disappointed.
One morning following that week, my companion and I looked at a map of our area. Our area was very large, but we felt we needed to go to the part that was farthest away.
After we got there, we prayed and asked Heavenly Father which street and which house to go to. When we finished, we turned around to look at all the streets. We saw a railing nearby and peeked over the top. We saw a woman sitting with her eyes closed, with a broom in her hands.
My companion said, “Hello!” and when the woman heard us, she stood up and went on sweeping as if nothing had happened. Then we told her that we were missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ and that we had a message for her. She let us into her home, and we had a very spiritual discussion. We told her about Joseph Smith and how he went into a grove of trees to pray to find the truth, and in answer to his prayer, he was visited by God the Father and Jesus Christ.
She interrupted us and said, “That is true. I know that God answers our prayers. When you spoke to me, I was praying and asking the Lord to send someone who could lead me to His path, and you came immediately.”
We felt the Spirit, and we testified that God had sent us to her and that we too had been praying right then to know which of His children needed our help. Soon Sister Rufina was baptized. In the weeks following, her children, grandchildren, and even some of her neighbors were baptized—a total of 20 converts in that part of our area. The Lord guided us to Sister Rufina, and she was the door to sharing the gospel with her family and neighbors.
I know that Heavenly Father blesses us if we ask Him, but not until after He has tried our faith. I am grateful that my companion and I could be instruments in the Lord’s hands and find people who were ready to listen to the gospel message. I know that God loves us and will guide us if we ask.

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

Some years ago in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, Elder Marion D. Hanks conducted a panel discussion. Included in that panel was an attractive and able young woman, divorced, the mother of seven children then ranging in ages from 7 to 16. She said that one evening she went across the street to deliver something to a neighbor. Listen to her words, as I recall them:
“As I turned around to walk back home, I could see my house lighted up. I could hear echoes of my children as I had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier. They were saying: ‘Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?’ ‘Can you take me to the library?’ ‘I have to get some poster paper tonight.’ Tired and weary, I looked at that house and saw the light on in each of the rooms. I thought of all of those children who were home waiting for me to come and meet their needs. My burdens felt heavier than I could bear.
“I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Dear Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? I’ll come back in the morning.’
“I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was: ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. You would never wish to come back. But I can come to you.’”
There are so very many like this young mother, who found herself in loneliness and desperation but was fortunate enough to have faith in the Lord, who could love her and help her.

Yes, it’s true—a blind postman! His name was Owen Jones, and he delivered the mail for almost twenty-five years.
Owen was born in 1819 in a little village in Wales. When he was just a small boy, he fell into the fireplace, severely burning his face and losing the sight in one eye. When he was about thirty, he lost the sight in his other eye.
At first, he was discouraged and depressed, but before long, his natural, happy disposition returned. He continued to play the violin, and he worked at developing his talents for mimicking voices and telling stories. He learned to accept his blindness without bitterness, and, like many blind people, he developed his other senses.
When the missionaries came to Wales, he and his family were baptized and decided to go to America. He and his brother and sister arrived in New Orleans in 1849 on the ship Hartley. From there they made their way to Utah. Owen settled in Brigham City, a small community about sixty miles north of Salt Lake City, where there were other Welsh pioneers.
The neighbors found him cheerful, sociable, and friendly. He often did small repairs for them, and he made chair seats of rush (a course grass), cane, and rawhide.
He never had any trouble getting around the little town. He had an excellent sense of direction, counted the steps between fences and trees, and listened to the sounds around him.
When the job of postman became available, someone suggested that “Blind Man Jones,” as he was affectionately called, could do it. He was happy for the opportunity to be useful and to earn a steady paycheck.
He did well at his new job. Each day an associate sorted the mail for him and put it in the proper order in his canvas bag. Then away he went. Carrying a long buggy whip in front of him much like blind people nowadays use a white cane, he made his way around the town, delivering the mail. If he was not sure he had the right letters in his hand, he asked homeowners to check and resort them for him.
Owen took his meals with many of the townspeople; they all enjoyed his company and loved to hear stories about his early life in Wales. He spoke English almost as well as his native Welsh, and he was often called on to translate for immigrants who had not yet learned English.
Many children remembered having him in their homes for meals and parties. Owen loved to be a part of these happy times. Sometimes the carpet was rolled up, and the children danced to his violin music. He particularly enjoyed hearing the children’s laughter as they hopped and skipped to the music.
After one evening of dancing and merriment, the host asked his son to walk Owen home. After a block or so, he said to the boy, “You’d better go back; it must be very dark.”
“But what about you?”
“Oh, I can find my way without any trouble. Remember, the world looks the same to me whether it is night or day!”
The children always watched for him, and they took his hand and walked along with him, especially when he came to a small footbridge over a little creek. He probably would have had no trouble getting across, for the bridge had a railing, but he let the children feel that he really needed their help, and they loved it.
Owen never complained, and he never seemed to feel sorry for himself. He often said, “I would much rather lose my eyesight than my hearing. I can laugh and joke with friends, play the violin, and enjoy the music. I can hear the birds and the rushing streams and the other sounds of the world around me. Those are the things that give me joy!”
Owen Jones died of pneumonia in 1894 and was buried in the Brigham City Cemetery. He never married, but he enjoyed the love and affection of all the townspeople just the same as if he had been part of their families. He was an inspiration to all who knew him because he was willing to make the most of his abilities.
“It is not so bad to lose your sight,” he once said. “After all, what counts is what is in your mind!”
We could all learn a thing or two about living from Owen.