Gospel Story Finder

My daughter is a musically talented young woman. For many years I felt that this talent would not be developed unless I stood over her at the piano and insistently supervised her practice like a slave driver. One day, sometime in her early teens, I realized that my attitude, probably once useful, was now visibly affecting our relationship. Torn between a fear that she would not fully develop a God-given talent and the reality of an increasingly strained relationship over that very issue, I did what I had seen my own mother do when faced with a serious challenge. I closeted myself in my secret place and poured out my soul in prayer, seeking the only wisdom that could help me keep that communication open—the kind of wisdom and help that comes from the tongues of angels. Upon arising from my knees, I knew what action I must take.
Because it was just three days before Christmas, I gave to Mary a personal gift and a small note. It read: “Dear Mary, I’m sorry for the conflict I have caused by acting like a sheriff at the piano. I must have looked foolish there—just you and me and my pistols. Forgive me. You are becoming a young woman in your own right. I have only worried that you would not feel as fully confident and fulfilled as a woman if you left your talent unfinished. I love you. Mom.”
Later that day she sought me out, and in a quiet corner of our home, she said: “Mother, I know you want what is best for me, and I have known that all my life. But if I’m ever going to play the piano well, I’m the one who has to do the practicing, not you!” Then she threw her arms around me and with tears in her eyes she said, “I’ve been wondering how to teach you that—and somehow you figured it out on your own.”
As Mary and I reminisced about this experience a few years later, she confided in me that my willingness to say “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake, please forgive me” gave to her a great sense of self-worth, because it said to her that she was worthy enough for a parental apology, that sometimes children can be right.

Sue washed the last pan and handed it to her sister Betty. “I wish we lived in town and had a dishwasher,” Sue grumbled.
“If we lived in town, we couldn’t go down to the pond and sail the new boats Daddy helped us make. Mother said we could go as soon as we finished the dishes.” Betty paused and then asked, “What about the monster?”
“The monster” was the girls’ name for the big cast-iron kettle with a lid that their mother called a Dutch oven. It was heavy and hard to handle, and usually something had been burned in it.
“It doesn’t look dirty,” Sue declared.
“I don’t remember anything being cooked in it,” Betty added.
“But if it’s clean, why isn’t it put away?” Sue asked.
“Maybe Mother plans to use it tonight.”
“If we don’t have to wash the monster, we can go to the pond right away. If Mother asks us about it, we can always say we thought it was clean.”
So it was decided. Sue drained out the dishwater, and Betty went to get their toy boats and to put their cat, Ladybug, outside. When Betty came back, she was surprised to see Sue filling the sink with water again. ”What are you doing?” she asked.
“I just don’t feel right about leaving the monster. I’m going to wash it.”
“I’ll help you,” said Betty. “I don’t feel right about it either.” She took the cover off the Dutch oven.
Both girls gave a surprised “Oh!” Inside the monster were oranges, sandwiches, cookies, and a note that read: “For my two good helpers. This is for a picnic at the pond. Have fun. Mother.”

This brings me to a third lesson that I have learned from the parable of the good Samaritan. I think it is significant that, in this story, Jesus chose a despised outsider—a Samaritan—as the benevolent savior rather than the victim. It may be a Samaritan—an outsider we least expect to have compassion for us—who rescues us. We must reach out to those who are different, not only because they may need us but because we need them. Are we humble enough to recognize that the Samaritans in our lives have something to offer us? Can we do as Jesus did when He chose to pass through Samaria on His way to Galilee rather than avoid a group of people who were not welcome at home? Will we acknowledge the woman at the well—a Samaritan—and accept a drink of water from her?6

A recent experience cemented this lesson for me. A few weeks ago my family and I visited Encircle, a resource center for LGBTQ youth and their families right here in Provo. The resource center is housed in a beautifully restored home that was built in 1891. Encircle provides programming and services—including counseling, social activities, service opportunities, and more—for the LGBTQ community. I had been thinking—once again, quite abstractly—for some time about how I might be more helpful and supportive of our local LGBTQ community, but I had been unsure of what I could do.

My family parked our car outside of Encircle, and we walked in the side door of the blue-and-white building. I was ready to offer myself to Encircle. Maybe I could volunteer there, or perhaps I could donate funds for programming, or maybe I could offer some kind of pro bono legal help. I was proud of myself for finally making a real effort to act.

What I hadn’t really stopped to consider was that my brothers and sisters in the LGBTQ community might have something to offer me—that I might need them. As soon as my family walked in the door, we were welcomed, quite literally, with open arms. My children found other children to play with, and new friends offered us food and let us into their lives. I was struck by the sense of community and closeness I felt there and by how quickly this new circle of friends had opened up to us. I left Encircle that day not as the rescuer I had imagined myself to be but as the rescued.

I also learned this same lesson when I traveled to Dilley for the first time. In that summer of 2016 I boarded a plane to Texas with every intention of helping—even rescuing—the women and children detained there. But I did not expect to learn so much about the human spirit, about resiliency and courage, from my interactions with these women. I expected to find broken spirits and desperate souls. Instead I often encountered grace and an unyielding faith that inspired me. The course of my life has changed because of my interactions with these women, and I am grateful to them for that.

I used to keep all my money in my sock drawer. It was really simple to budget: when I ran out, well, I ran out. But managing my money from my dresser drawer forever just wasn’t realistic. I found that out when I got my first job and then again when I went away to college. My expenses seemed to skyrocket, and keeping track of my money was no longer an easy task. I wanted to be better at managing my money, but setting up a budget at that point appeared overwhelming. If only I had known how easy and important it is.

“If you aren’t happy, you are doing something wrong.” I’m sure when my Sunday School teacher told us this, he never imagined how I would misinterpret it. I wrote it down and posted it on my mirror, knowing I wasn’t very happy. I cried in my room many nights—out of fear, disappointment, and self-pity. So I began to feel that I must be doing something terribly wrong. Even though I couldn’t exactly pinpoint it, I knew I must have some fatal flaw.
Of course, I wasn’t perfect as a teenager. But now I know that my feelings of unworthiness were not justified. Most of my sorrow came from the choices of others. And their choices were almost completely beyond my control. I was a child in my family. And as a child, I was not responsible for the overall success or failure of my family. Nor was I responsible for my parents’ choices.
The same is true for you. You may have an alcoholic parent or parents who fight or parents who violate the commandments. True, you need to do your best to not be part of the problem, but try not to complicate your situation with false feelings of guilt.
Sometimes making it through a divorce or another kind of family difficulty is a matter of simply hanging on. Hang on to the reality that your Heavenly Father loves you and your family deeply and eternally.
Often, my prayers for my family seemed to go unanswered. Sometimes, the more I prayed, the worse things seemed to get. I didn’t know then that, though the Lord shares our sorrow, he will not force change. But over time, his love can often find a way to bring even greater blessings than we had prayed for. So many of those fervent prayers of long ago have now been answered. And I now know that he has never ceased trying to bless my loved ones.
Hang on to the scriptures that fill you with faith. For example, “Let your hearts be comforted; for all things shall work together for good to them that walk uprightly” (D&C 100:15).
Find music that feeds your spirit. How many nights I found peace by singing to myself, “When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm is a golden sky and the sweet, silver song of the lark. Walk on through the wind. Walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone. You’ll never walk alone” (Rodgers and Hammerstein, “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” Carousel).
If your family’s unhappiness includes abuse—physical, sexual, or emotional—you may need to ask for help. Find an adult—a parent, Church leader, social worker, school counselor, or physician—whom you trust and who will take you seriously. This may be embarrassing and very difficult. But sometimes intervention from outside the family is needed to protect you and other family members.
Hang on to leaders and friends who encourage you and help you keep your faith and standards. Brother Cherrington, a stake patriarch in our ward, always made me feel that I was someone special and that I would make it.
Hang on to your patriarchal blessing and the vision of yourself it gives you. Its promises, however distant they may seem, are real and eternal. The Lord knew all about your present difficulties when he gave those promises, and they will be fulfilled.
Hang on to the reality that you are not alone in your situation. As a teenager, I felt that my family and our problems were unique. When my best friend spent the night at my house, I worried that she would notice what I wanted to hide. Not until we were adults did we discover that her family had very similar problems to mine.
Don’t be fooled by appearances. The most confident, witty, and popular of your friends may face problems even greater than yours. Even the most faithful families may have deep challenges. Knowing this can help you break out of the prison of being totally absorbed with your own problems. Let it also prompt you to reach out in love to your friends, even when your own problems seem great.
In times of difficulty, how can we possibly keep a positive attitude? In August 1831, the Prophet Joseph Smith and ten elders were returning to Kirtland, Ohio, from a missionary journey to Jackson County, Missouri. On the third day of their trip, they had a perilous canoe ride down the Missouri River. They must have been tired and shaken, possibly homesick as well. Then the Lord reassured them with these gentle words: “Be of good cheer, little children; for I am in your midst, and I have not forsaken you” (D&C 61:36).
We, too, can be assured that the Lord will never leave us alone. During my teenage years, I did not always recognize his presence. Now I know that when my way was the most perilous, he was always with me.
We need to also know that our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation is infinitely more just and merciful than we can possibly comprehend. He will leave nothing undone for the blessing of his children. Truly, there are no eternal orphans in his loving plan.
Although we must live in the present, we can also live for the future. We can live for the day when we can go to the temple to receive greater understanding and blessings than we now enjoy. We can live for the day when we can make a home of our own—a home where we can strive to bring love, peace, and the Spirit. We can also live for the day when we can nurture others as we may not have been nurtured ourselves.
For me, this day has come at last. I know that it can come for you.

My dear brothers and sisters, when I was 12 years old, my family lived in Göteborg, a coastal city in southern Sweden. By way of reference, it is the hometown of our dear associate Elder Per G. Malm, who passed away this summer. We miss him. We’re grateful for his nobility and his noble service and for the example of his absolutely adorable family. And we certainly pray God’s richest blessings to be theirs.
Fifty years ago, we attended church in a large remodeled home. One Sunday, my friend Steffan, the only other deacon in the branch, greeted me at church with some excitement. We went to the chapel’s adjacent overflow area, and he pulled from his pocket a large firecracker and some matches. In an act of youthful bravado, I took the firecracker and lit the long gray fuse. I intended to snuff out the fuse before it blew up. But when I burned my fingers trying to do so, I dropped the firecracker. Steffan and I watched in horror as the fuse continued to burn.
The firecracker exploded, and sulfurous fumes filled the overflow area and the chapel. We hurriedly gathered up the scattered remnants of the firecracker and opened the windows to try to get the smell out, naively hoping that no one would notice. Fortunately, no one was hurt and no damage was done.
As members came to the meeting, they did notice the overpowering smell. It was hard to miss. The smell distracted from the sacred nature of the meeting. Because there were so few Aaronic Priesthood holders—and in what can only be described as dissociative thinking—I passed the sacrament, yet I did not feel worthy to partake of it. When the sacrament tray was offered to me, I took neither the bread nor the water. I felt horrible. I was embarrassed, and I knew that what I had done had displeased God.
After church, the branch president, Frank Lindberg, a distinguished older man with silver-gray hair, asked me to come to his office. After I sat down, he looked at me kindly and said he had noticed that I had not partaken of the sacrament. He asked why. I suspect he knew why. I was sure everyone knew what I had done. After I told him, he asked how I felt. Through tears, I haltingly told him I was sorry and that I knew I had let God down.
President Lindberg opened a well-worn copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and asked me to read some underlined verses. I read the following out loud:
“Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.
“By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”
I will never forget President Lindberg’s compassionate smile when I looked up after I had finished reading. With some emotion, he told me that he felt it would be fine for me to resume partaking of the sacrament. As I left his office, I felt indescribable joy.
As a 12-year-old in Göteborg, I could have blamed Steffan. He was the one who brought the big firecracker and the matches to the church in the first place. But blaming others, even if justified, allows us to excuse our behavior. By so doing, we shift responsibility for our actions to others. When the responsibility is shifted, we diminish both the need and our ability to act. We turn ourselves into hapless victims rather than agents capable of independent action.
Another choice that impedes repentance is minimizing our mistakes. In the Göteborg firecracker incident, no one was hurt, no permanent damage occurred, and the meeting was held anyway. It would have been easy to say that there was no reason to repent. But minimizing our mistakes, even if no immediate consequences are apparent, removes the motivation to change. This thinking prevents us from seeing that our mistakes and sins have eternal consequences.
The fact that we can repent is the good news of the gospel! Guilt can be “swept away.” We can be filled with joy, receive a remission of our sins, and have “peace of conscience.” We can be freed from feelings of despair and the bondage of sin. We can be filled with the marvelous light of God and be “pained no more.” Repentance is not only possible but also joyful because of our Savior. I still remember the feelings that washed over me in the branch president’s office after the firecracker episode. I knew I had been forgiven. My feelings of guilt vanished, my gloomy mood lifted, and my heart felt light.

The gas shortage has a lot of people stalled these days, but Jeff Ricks, 19, of Rexburg, Idaho, is not one of them. He found his own solution to the problem by simply building a car that requires no gasoline.
Jeff’s electric car began as a 1959 sedan that he purchased for $20. He repaired the interior himself and sent the car to a local body shop for a paint job.
Then with the knowledge of electronics he possessed after a year of high school electronics, a semester of college electronics, and hours of research in the Ricks College library, Jeff set to work to equip his car with an electric motor. In the end he converted a generator into a traction motor because a surplus motor couldn’t be located. His family helped in the often frustrating search for the correct combination of electrical parts, and after much experimentation the first successful electric car in southeastern Idaho was born.
Jeff’s oil-free, gas-free, tune-up-free, pollution-free wonder is capable of traveling 30 miles at 30 miles-per-hour between rechargings. He estimates its present sale value at $3,000. “But it’s not for sale,” he is quick to add.
Jeff is an elder in the Rexburg Second Ward, Rexburg Idaho Stake.

Haig looked across the hot street. He reached back and closed the door behind him as he dashed barefoot over the blistering cobblestones to the shade of his father’s shop. Father was inside making the candies for which he was known all over Cairo.
“Ah, Haig, you have braved the hot stones to come to see your father,” Krikor said, handing his son a broken piece of candy.
“Thank you,” Haig said, and went into the back of the tiny shop to get the tray his father would need to take the finished candies to sell at the marketplace.
Krikor glanced fondly at his son who had brought the tray, and said, “So, in two days you will begin school. And to think, you will ride on a bus, and it stops only a mile from the school. When I was a boy in my home country I walked to the next village each day to have my lessons from the village priest.”
“But, Father, how am I to walk to the bus with no sandals? The ground is so hot that it is cracked and broken.”
Father looked up from his work, his hands pausing for a moment. “Well, now, I don’t know, Haig. Sandals cost twenty piasters, much more than we can spare right now.” Then more hopefully Krikor added, “But perhaps I shall get such a good price for my candy today that there will be enough extra to buy your sandals.”
Haig looked around the crowded shop at the boiling candy and at the bottles that held flavorings to mix with water for sweet drinks. His father had often explained with pride that in Armenian the family name meant “candymaker.” I wish, Haig thought now, that our family had been sandal makers instead.
That afternoon as Haig’s mother prepared supper, he heard children singing outside. He knew there were few Christians living in Egypt, but from the children’s song Haig could tell they were, like his family, Christians. “Listen, Mother,” he called, “the orphans.”
His mother opened the door and smiled at the ragged children. When they finished their song she handed their leader a small coin. As they passed on to the next house, Haig noticed their feet.
“Look, Mother, even the orphans have sandals.”
“Yes, I see, Haig. They are fortunate for that. But sandals for you are another matter. Your father has saved five piasters to buy some for you, yet it is not enough.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “When we have done all we can and still need help, what must we do?”
“I know, Mother, and I have prayed.”
“Why then, we pray again. Tonight when you go to bed, ask our Father in heaven to help you get sandals so you can wear them to school.”
After Haig said his prayers that night, he overheard his parents talking in low tones.
“Today I hoped to sell my candy at a good price so I could buy Haig a pair of sandals, but business was no better, worse even, it seemed,” his father said with a sigh. “I had to lower my price in order to sell the candy at all. I may have to take two of the piasters I had saved to buy sugar for tomorrow’s candy. Maybe next week I’ll be able to buy the sandals.”
Next week! Haig agonized. Why, I’ll never, never be able to go to school. I shall never learn to read and write.
Haig dreamed of a room full of sandals that night—all shapes and sizes. As more and more sandals tumbled into his room, he called out, “But I only need one pair!” And suddenly he was awake and it was morning. Hopefully he looked across the room. No sandals. Quickly he climbed off of his bed and searched the room. Still no sandals.
He dressed and went into the other room, sad-faced. There he found his mother talking with a woman. Haig did not remember ever seeing her before, but he heard her say, “Yesterday evening I said to my husband, ‘I feel impressed that I must go to visit Arminé and Krikor; I have not seen them for a long time.’ So I caught the night train from Alexandria and here I am only four hours later.”
His mother saw Haig standing in the doorway. “Son,” she said. “Come meet a special friend of our family. This lady and her husband stayed in our home when you were born. They were refugees from Armenia during the terrible war. It was she who gave you your name.”
The lady smiled at him. “You are indeed a fine boy.”
She turned to Haig’s mother. “My husband and I have wanted to give Haig a gift for a long time. I would have brought one with me but I wasn’t sure what he might like. If you can suggest something, I’ll buy it for him today.”
His mother looked at her son and smiled. “I think Haig would like a pair of sandals very much,” she suggested.
“That is good,” the lady said. “Today we will buy a pair of sandals.”
Haig was excited. “May we go now?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” his mother answered, laughingly. “First, breakfast. Then the shoes. And tomorrow—school!”

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to meet it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

In the spring of 2021, our Young Women presidency had the chance to meet the remarkable athletes of the BYU women’s cross-country team. We all know what happened a year earlier, in the spring of 2020. When COVID-19 hit, all sports shut down, and cross-country at BYU was no exception. The coach and the athletes were frustrated. They had prepared for years to compete at this level—now it appeared all opportunity was lost. It seemed as if all they could do was wait. It was during this waiting period of indefinite length that Coach Taylor told her team something powerful. She told them to “win the wait.” That phrase has stayed in my heart and mind ever since I heard it.

Rather than sit back and passively wait out the COVID-19 restrictions, adjustments were made to train differently than they had in the past. Instead of taking a break or easing up on the training schedule, these athletes doubled down and focused. When the wait was over, they were prepared to compete—and win. And that is exactly what happened. When gathering restrictions were lifted, and they could resume competitions again, they went on to win a national championship. They won the wait.

One day, I turned to my father for advice. Because of his training as a psychiatrist, I knew he wouldn’t be too critical of his son-in-law. His first words were like a bucket of cold water over me: “Martha, if you continue like this, you could drive your husband away.”

My jaw dropped. “What do you mean by that?” I asked. This wasn’t going at all as I had expected.

He held up his hand to ward off my indignation. “Just let me explain. Not long ago, I counseled a Latter-day Saint woman who had left a basically good marriage. She felt her husband wasn’t living all the Church standards. Years of nagging and pleading hadn’t changed him. She thought that if she left him, he would change his ways in order to win her back. She never suspected that he would find someone else who loved and respected him as he was. He remarried happily after their divorce, and she was devastated.”

I opened my eyes to pure darkness. I was alone. And I needed to get moving.
Moments before, my siblings and I had gathered in our barn. This was the perfect arena for our favorite game: hide-and-seek in the dark.
I had the misfortune of being the first seeker. My siblings ran off with flashlights in hand, and I was left alone without a light source. After two minutes of waiting, it was time to run off in search of my siblings.
But I couldn’t bring myself to move.
I was temporarily paralyzed by the fear of what lay beyond in the dark. Eventually, my fear of being alone took over. I took tentative steps forward and …
I fell flat on my face.
I got back up and continued to stumble around in the dark.
As someone with a crippling fear of the dark, I felt vulnerable and exposed in my pitch-black barn. If I hadn’t been so focused on my fear, perhaps I would’ve been more prepared for the obstacles that awaited me.
I tripped and fell in my barn because I couldn’t see any obstacles. A flashlight would’ve warned me of the danger and saved me a great deal of pain.
My sister was my hero that day in the barn. She could’ve ignored my pleas for help as I crossed her path. But instead, she turned on her flashlight and ran to my rescue. Her grace made me feel less alone. And I clung to that grace until the search for my brothers was over.

I used to believe that God loved me less than He loved other people. Less than people made it sound like He loved me. And less than I thought He would if I was “better.” I wondered how a divine, perfect Father in Heaven could love someone imperfect like me.
Struggling with infertility intensified these feelings. My arms remained empty for years, and I wondered if there were no spirits in heaven who wanted me to be their mother or if there were no souls God trusted me to teach, take care of, and love. I stumbled along with little fragments of comfort and counsel that the Lord gave me as I went through dietary alterations, fertility treatments, pills, shots, and surgeries. But I still wondered if God actually loved me or if this was some sort of punishment for my misdeeds. My heart was so weary.
Amidst all of this, my marriage fell apart. The return to singles wards and dating brought even more feelings of inadequacy and shame. I thought, “Surely now God doesn’t love me. Surely now His disappointment in me has reached a peak.”
A few years later, though, I found myself in a temple preparation class with a friend who was going to be entering the temple soon. The teacher said a phrase I had heard many times before pertaining to our eternal progress but hadn’t really thought about. He said that “we are embryos of Deity” with the potential to become like our Father in Heaven. That day, those words struck me differently.
I had seen embryos already—or rather, something like them. Most expectant mothers see their baby for the first time at an ultrasound appointment around eight weeks. But when I was going through fertility treatments, I would do ultrasounds earlier in the process where I would see the follicles that were growing my potential babies.
I had never prayed so hard for something to succeed. I cheered and wept for the hope of those babies. I had visions in my head of all the experiences we could have together and all they could be. I altered my diet and sleep schedule to support them as best I could. I went through pains and scars so they could hopefully live. I loved those tiny potential beings!
They were completely reliant on me to survive. They couldn’t walk or speak. They hadn’t even developed to a baby yet. I knew full well there would be poopy diapers, temper tantrums, and disobedience. I knew they would make mistakes as they grew older and potentially even break my heart. I knew that the road of motherhood would be hard and anything but beautiful at times. But I loved them. I loved them more than anything else in my world.
As I reflected on those feelings, they all came flooding back, and I heard the Lord whisper to me, “That is how I love you.”
If I, in my imperfectness, can love a potential baby that much, how much more can a perfect Father in Heaven love me?
He loves us no matter how dependent we are on Him or how many skills we lack. He loves us, knowing that we will make mistakes and do things that may break His heart. He loves us because of who we can and will be. He loves us for the experiences we will have with Him and for the hope that we will return to Him.
In hindsight, I’ve made mistakes, but my heart was always seeking the Lord and seeking goodness. I was absolutely deserving of His love! Because the truth is, His love was never something I had to earn or be worthy of. His love was always there for me, long before the moment I took my first breath and long after I made my first mistake. His love is just as infinite and perfect as He is Himself. God loves you that much too.

On my desk sits a handcrafted, somewhat mangled, little clay sheep. I keep it there to remind me of the real reason I get up in the morning.
The other young man, John, was extremely quiet. Although he came to our family home evenings, he always sat in the corner, never saying anything. Though others would try to start a conversation with him, he would not respond. Kathleen and I would invite him over on other days of the week, but he wouldn’t come. We tried everything we knew to get him to express himself and let him know that he was worthwhile. He never responded. We were particularly worried about him because he showed all the symptoms of dropping out entirely, and we didn’t really know how to get through to him, to let him know that he was worth more than his social security and that he had more to offer the world than the stripes on his sleeve. During that special home evening activity John convinced us that we need no longer be so gravely concerned.
At the beginning of the assignment, he took some clay and went off to a corner of the living room. Almost hiding, John very quietly stayed by himself throughout most of the evening, working the clay. Occasionally he smiled as someone else in the group made a contribution. Generally, he showed no emotion whatsoever and said absolutely nothing. So after everyone had made a presentation but John, we prodded him to speak.
To our pleasant surprise, John stood up and then said, “In the Bible there is a story about a shepherd who lost a sheep. This shepherd, as the story goes, was very concerned for the lost sheep, so concerned that he left the whole flock to seek out the one that couldn’t be found. I feel like I am the lost sheep, and you have found me. I want to give you this little clay sheep to show my gratitude.”
Then he sat down. No one said a word. I doubt that there was a dry eye in the room.
I can’t think of a better reason to get up in the morning than to feed my Father’s sheep. So, as a gentle reminder, I keep John’s gift on my desk—always.

Samuel and Anna-Maria Koivisto showed both commitment and willingness. Soon after their marriage, the Koivistos moved from Finland to Sweden to pursue career opportunities. After arriving, Brother Koivisto was invited to visit with President Leif G. Mattsson, a counselor in the Göteborg Sweden Stake presidency. Because Samuel did not speak Swedish, they spoke in English.

Following a brief visit, President Mattsson asked Samuel to serve as a ward mission leader. Samuel pointed out the obvious, “But I don’t speak Swedish.”

President Mattsson leaned over his desk and pointedly asked, “Did I ask if you could speak Swedish, or are you willing to serve the Lord?”

Samuel answered, “You asked if I was willing to serve the Lord. And I am.”

Samuel accepted the calling. Anna-Maria also accepted callings. Both served faithfully and learned to speak beautiful Swedish along the way. Commitment and willingness to serve the Lord have characterized the lives of Samuel and Anna-Maria. They have taught me that when we serve, we use the talents we have, and the Lord then helps us accomplish His purposes.

One important reason for her eagerness to serve is the spiritual motivation she has felt since joining the Church. She cites, for example, the manifestation that came to her in January of 1985, the day before she began her work in the temple. As she lay on her bed immediately after retiring, she saw the skeletons of many dead, and then saw an Indian woman, plainly from an earlier era, praying before a distinctive door. She lay awake for a time puzzling about what her experience might mean. But when she reported to the temple the following day, Sister Tintí was assigned to the baptistry where—she found that door!
“I believe I saw that woman so I would know who the people were who needed me,” says the 57-year-old temple worker.

Konnichiwa! My name is Honoka, and I live in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I like to play, jump rope, and draw. My dream is to be an illustrator someday. I was at school when a big earthquake happened.
When the earthquake hit, my first thoughts were, “This is scary!” and “I wonder if my family is OK.” I prayed in my heart that they would be safe and that people’s lives would be spared. Later I found out that none of my friends had been hurt. At that time, I felt that God had protected us. I know that God and Jesus live.

Like many of you, I am a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I joined the Church when I was 18 years old. I would like to share with you how the Atonement of Jesus Christ has changed me personally.

I was raised by “goodly parents”. [26] They taught me about God and a Savior. We attended religious services every week and on special Holy Days. I attended religious training appropriate to my age. We had prayer at home. I would say we were a family of faith.

Yet, when I was in high school, I began to question my faith. It was at this same time that I had many friends from high school who were Latter-day Saints. Just after I graduated high school, the week before I left for college, one of those friends gave to me this copy of the Book of Mormon. “I will never ask you if you have read it,” she said. “But feel free to bring it up with me if you like.” Not the best missionary invitation!

As I packed my bags for college, I tossed the book into my suitcase and brought it with me. My parents and younger sister flew with me across the United States from California, where we lived, to New York, where I would start University. The dorms were not yet available, so we spent that first night in a hotel. As I sat in that hotel, I remember wondering if I should read the Book of Mormon. I was uncertain. It might be a cult? I realized I had never read the entire Bible, and I decided that before I read some new book, I should first read the Bible, get to know my own religion. I had not packed a Bible. But, having traveled a lot, I knew it was not uncommon for hotels to have a copy of the Bible in the nightstand drawer. As I opened the drawer to read the Bible, I was shocked to discover a Book of Mormon in the drawer next to the Bible! Yes, we were at a Marriott. But, I did not know that Mr. Marriott was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To me, this was a sign. I was to read the Book of Mormon. And so I began that very night.

Over the next few months, as other freshmen were exploring the delights of New York City, I spent many hours in my dorm room reading the Book of Mormon. On my dorm floor I gained the nickname “Dan-dan the Morman.”

My high school friend had not marked any specific passages to read and so I began at the beginning. I must confess, that I did not start with the greatest of faith. I recall my attitude being something like, “let us see what this Joe Smith guy wrote, that makes my LDS friends act so weird.” I continued reading with this attitude until I was 289 pages into the book. Almost halfway through. Then I read:

“But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words. Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves— It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.” [27]

At that moment, I felt those swelling motions. I realized that I had been feeling them. I began to know that this book was true. And that knowledge changed everything. I was not baptized that day, or even that month, and I had many more confirmations along the way, but that is a story for another day.

During my last phone call home as a missionary, I was saying goodbye after telling my family about all the blessings and miracles I’d been seeing, when my dad said, “Jake, I hope that all of these experiences are helping you to become fully converted.” Now, that sounds nice, but at the time, I was just a little offended. Did my dad think I still wasn’t converted? Of course I was converted! Wasn’t I? I mean, I was a full-time missionary! I’d spent two years teaching, baptizing, and converting others. What did he mean he hoped I was becoming converted?

True conversion requires much more than a two or three-year commitment. It requires what President Dallin H. Oaks once described as “the steady dedication of a lifetime.” In retrospect, I’m grateful for my dad’s reminder that the end of my missionary service was just the beginning of a lifetime of discipleship. I’m grateful he warned me that if I didn’t continue to strengthen my faith in Christ and maintain the spiritual habits I’d learned as a missionary that I might be sifted as wheat.

The Grant Third Ward youth committee terrified its way to a lot of money with a Halloween spook house. The location was Brigham Young’s Carriage House. The production featured such treats as a man having his legs sawed off, a girl’s severed head speaking from the oven of a kitchen range, a zoo of starving children, coffins full and empty, electric shocks, horrifying sounds, and other thrills. The funds will be used to sponsor a youth conference.