Gospel Story Finder

My wife and I are at a very exciting point in our lives, with two teenage girls in our home who have so many questions, and I am always amazed at my beloved wife, Busi’s, answers. She just never gets tired or impatient with them. A little while ago she explained the importance of reading the scriptures daily and used an analogy that has stuck with me.
She started by asking them how often they brush their teeth. They looked at her as if to say, “What kind of question is that?” Almost instantly they answered her question with, “Mom, that’s easy—we do it at least once a day!” She then proceeded by asking them, “Why don’t you just brush them once every week or once a month?”
I wondered where this conversation was going until she explained to them how brushing our teeth can be compared to reading the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. We don’t read once a week or once a month. In the same way, we don’t wake up one day and read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Instead, we must strive to follow the counsel from living prophets and apostles by making time as families and individuals to read daily from its sacred pages.
President Boyd K. Parker (1924–2015) once said, “In a world ever more dangerous . . . the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, has the nourishing power to heal starving spirits of the world” 1 . When we look around us, whether it be while watching television or reading newspapers or just going through mainstream social media, we are forever bombarded with a host of negative things happening around us. I have learned that as my family and I have made time to read daily from the Book of Mormon, we have grown closer to each other and have had an increased desire to be more Christlike.
The Prophet Joseph Smith has this to say regarding the Book of Mormon, “a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.” 2 I know that this promise from the Prophet of the Restoration is true. I also know that President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation for us to hear Him 3 will become a reality as we read daily from the Book of Mormon. From its pages we will hear the Saviour’s words and His promises. We will also hear His teachings as taught by His prophets. From those teachings we will gain the assurance of His divinity, especially of what we can do to learn of Him and to become like Him.
If you have not started reading daily from the Book of Mormon, please don’t get discouraged, or more importantly, do not give up. Please make a resolution to start reading a few verses every day. The most important thing is to start somewhere, and I promise you that once you start, you will experience the promise that was made by the prophet Alma in Alma 32:28 when he said, “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if you give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if you 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 breast; 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.”
I testify of the power of daily reading from the Book of Mormon. I have seen the fruits of it in my life and in the lives of many of my friends and loved ones.

As the time to leave Nauvoo drew near, the Brethren redoubled their efforts to endow as many Saints as possible in the temple. Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the saints to receive the ordinances (of the Temple), and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”
But it was not just the Apostles who were working hard. Many faithful Saints gave freely of their time by washing the temple clothing each night so that the temple work could continue the next morning.
The Brethren planned to stop the ordinance work on February 3, 1846, before leaving for the west the next day. President Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave Nauvoo, but upon seeing a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned. This delayed his departure for another two weeks, but it meant that 5,615 Saints were endowed before they left Nauvoo.

Elder Spori’s labors extended as far as Joppa, Damascus, and Jerusalem. It was here in the land of Palestine that he discovered how miracles can come about through small means.
By local law all Christians had to be out of the city of Haifa before the gates were locked at dusk. But Elder Spori was working in that city with an investigator who was ill at the time. The young Mormon elder hated to leave until he was sure his friend was better. That evening, with the investigator getting better, Jacob made plans to leave the city. He knew the gates were locked and that getting caught meant going to jail. As he walked along the city’s shore, pondering what to do, he watched the fishing boats coming into port. He noticed some men preparing the nets for the next day’s work and had the feeling he should help them. He stepped up and began working; no one seemed to notice him. When the work was finally done the men rolled up the nets, got into the small boat and prepared to set sail. Without a word Elder Spori also got into the boat. Before long they were on the sea. The next day the boat landed at Cairo, and Elder Spori jumped from the boat, went into the city, and resumed preaching the gospel.

Did you ever stop to think how difficult it would be to be the only hearing-impaired person in your ward? Daniel Frame of Lansing, Kansas, has.
On his application for the Robert K. Neeley Scholarship that enables a hearing-impaired student in the Chicago Temple District to attend an “Especially for Deaf” session at BYU, Daniel wrote, “My home ward is a hearing ward where everything I do must be done with my parents, who act as interpreters. Attending the ‘Especially for Deaf’ conference would be my first opportunity to participate in a learning and spiritual activity with other deaf members of the Church.”
Daniel got the scholarship and hopes to use some of the things he learns there on his mission next year.

It was Christmas Eve. Alone in his car, Dan Lytle had driven four and a half hours through the thick California fog. For the same four and a half hours he had followed the same white Volkswagen bug with the same green and white Washington plates through the same unending fog.
Dan hadn’t been this tired since his mission. But he had a diamond ring in his pocket, and there was a girl in San Leandro waiting up for him. Dan reckoned there would be at least another three hours of driving before he could put the ring on Callie’s finger.
Looks like a long night, he said to himself as he and a thousand other drivers rushed through the fog.
Dan turned the car’s radio dial, looking for Christmas music to help pass the hours. Funny, he thought, how sometimes at night your car radio can bring in Los Angeles or Salt Lake or Omaha—and how at other times the same radio brings in only static. He turned the radio off.
For perhaps another hour Dan passed through a foggy world where literally all he could see was the back end of a white Volkswagen bug with green and white license plates. It was tense, tedious driving, requiring full attention.
And then into his mind came a still, small, prompting thought: “Dan, pull over into the far right lane and slow down.”
Slow down? Why? Weren’t all the other cars and trucks doing just fine hurtling through the thick mist as if there were no such thing as ten-foot visibility?
Besides—it was late. Even if he kept to his present speed, Dan couldn’t hope to open the ring box until well after this foggy Christmas Eve had turned into a foggy Christmas day.
Dan wondered. Had the Spirit really warned him? Or had it been just the normal workings of a cautious mind? Couldn’t he just continue at the same speed as everyone else? Was it really important that he pull over to the right and slow down?
Again came the prompting: “Dan, if there were a wreck on the freeway, there is no way you could stop in time: You’d slam right into the wreckage. You really should pull over to the right and slow down.”
Dan Lytle had been taught that he should never ignore the promptings of the Spirit. Reluctantly, he signaled, then pulled his car over and cut his speed. The white Volkswagen bug with Washington plates sped on, and instantly was swallowed up in the impenetrable fog.
Better late than not at all, I guess, he thought ruefully. He calculated that at his new speed, he likely would be on the road for quite some time.
What if Bishop Clark had not been in tune with the Spirit that Christmas Eve so long ago? thought Dan Lytle. Or what if he had ignored the prompting?
Dan Lytle peered intently through the fog. “Modesto, 12 miles,” he read. Got to be careful I don’t miss the Oakland turnoff. A fellow could drive right past it in this fog.
And then, suddenly, out of the fog came the red glare of tail lights. Flares appeared on the roadway, along with highway patrol cars with flashing lights. A trooper, walking between lanes of now halted cars, passed the word: “Terrible accident up ahead—dozens of cars and trucks in a big pileup. Be patient, folks—we’re trying to clear out one lane so you can get by.”
It took a long time for the four lanes of northbound cars to merge into one lane. Dan’s concern for the accident victims grew to disbelief and then near nausea as he was waved past the massive jam-up.
He saw crumpled cars, jack-knifed trucks, ambulances, patrol cars, paramedics—and motionless human forms under blankets at the side of the road.
As his car crept past the wreckage, Dan counted the demolished vehicles—10 … 20 … 30. How many more people on Christmas Eve, delayed at best, dead on the highway at worst?
And there: number 41. A horrified Dan Lytle recognized what had been a white Volkswagen bug with Washington license plates—now jammed into an accordion between the wreckage of number 40 and number 42.
For hours and hours I followed that car, thought Dan. For hours and hours—until the Spirit told me to move over and slow down.
What if I hadn’t been in tune to receive the warning? Or, what if I had received the warning and then had ignored it? He shuddered at the thought. Dan understood now as never before the principle his bishop had learned those many years ago.
With the massive accident scene finally behind him, Dan resumed his previous slow speed. He turned on the car radio, and from a station a thousand miles away came Christmas music, clear and sweet and reassuring.
There was not the slightest trace of static.

When the temple was first being built, the Saints thought that at last they had found a place where they could live the gospel and worship in peace. Then, on June 27, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith were murdered in Carthage Jail by an angry mob. Grief-stricken, the members wondered what they would do without Joseph to lead them.
At the time, most of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were in the east on missions. Two days before the murders, Parley P. Pratt, one of the Twelve, was impressed to leave New York and return to Nauvoo. He learned of the martyrdom on his journey home. As he walked across the plains of Illinois, filled with sorrow and wondering how to comfort the members in Nauvoo, he stopped and prayed for help. He wrote, “The Spirit said unto me: … ‘Go and say unto my people in Nauvoo, that they shall continue … to build the House of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
Because the members carried on so well and the temple was still being built despite the death of the prophet, anti-Mormons increased their persecution of the members and made attempts to drive away the Saints. And so, on September 24, 1845, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles announced that the Saints would leave the following spring. Even though the members knew that they would again be forced to leave their temple behind, they worked harder than ever to finish it. They wanted very much to receive its sacred ordinances before moving west.
Rooms in the temple were dedicated as soon as they were completed so that ordinance work could be performed immediately. The October 1845 general conference was held in the partly finished building. Brigham Young offered the opening prayer, calling the temple “a monument of the saints’ liberality [generosity], fidelity, and faith.” He and Heber C. Kimball began giving endowments to faithful Latter-day Saints on December 10, and so many people wanted to receive them that endowment sessions were continued until three o’clock the next morning.
The Church’s enemies, upon seeing all the activity at the temple, tried to have Brigham Young arrested. On December 23, government officials waited outside the temple to arrest him. Learning that they were there, Brigham prayed for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.” Then he saw William Miller, a man his same height, nearby.
Brother Miller agreed to act as a decoy. He wore Brigham’s cloak and climbed into Brigham’s carriage. The officers arrested him and took him to the Mansion House, where the Church members also pretended that he was Brigham Young. It wasn’t till his captors had taken him to Carthage that someone identified him! Meanwhile, Brigham Young and the other Apostles had gone into hiding.
The Brethren endowed as many faithful members as possible before leaving Nauvoo. In January 1846, Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the Saints to receive the ordinances [of the temple], and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”
On February 3, Church leaders had planned to stop the ordinance work. Brigham Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave for the West the next day, but when he saw a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned to the temple to serve them. This kept him there another two weeks! More than five thousand Saints received their endowments before heading west.
The Nauvoo Temple was dedicated privately on the night of April 30, 1846. Orson Hyde, one of the Twelve Apostles, dedicated it publicly the next day, even though only a few members were still in Nauvoo to see it, most of the Saints having already started the trek west. By the end of the year, the majestic temple stood unused. Two years after the Saints left Nauvoo, an arsonist set fire to the temple, and in 1850 a tornado destroyed three of the walls. The remaining wall was leveled in 1865 for safety reasons.
Soon after the Saints settled in Utah, they began the construction of the Salt Lake, St. George, Manti, and Logan Temples. The St. George Temple, completed in 1877, was the first temple to be built in the west—and the first temple the Saints were not forced to leave.

A little over 34 years ago, when yet a high school student, I was first contacted by the missionaries—who invited me to attend MIA and join their basketball team. Not knowing anything about the Church, but being very interested in basketball, I attended MIA. Later I attended Sunday School, then sacrament meeting.
After a year of attendance and studying the gospel with the missionaries, and having read the story of Joseph Smith’s first vision, I accepted the invitation to be baptized into the Church. That evening, I returned home, having committed myself to baptism, to ask my widowed mother for permission to be baptized.
Suddenly I saw tears in her eyes. I asked her why was she shedding tears. And she answered, saying, “These are not tears of joy, but of sadness”—for she had just lost another son. In her widowhood she had lost a son—my brother—and so she said she had just lost another son to a Christian church.
She later explained that at my father’s deathbed she had promised and covenanted with him to raise the children honorably in the Buddhist faith. I quickly assured my mother that in the year that I had been associating with the missionaries, I had always been lifted up and had learned nothing but good things from them.
I promised her that if she would permit me to be baptized and later found that through my behavior I had caused her any embarrassment—or committed some shameful or dishonorable act—then all she had to do was ask me to stop going to church, and I would, without question, obey her will.
However, on the other hand, if I became a better person—more attentive to her needs as a widow, more kind toward the demands of home, brothers, and sisters—then, I said, “Would you permit me to continue to go to church? Because I know that this is the place where I can gain an education for an eternal life.”
It is my testimony today that I never had to leave the Church nor cause my mother any concern about my behavior. As I lived the gospel principles taught by the missionaries, and as I studied the principles myself, I had the assurance from my Father in heaven that my future outcome would be one that I would never have to worry about.

“Ski down here to the right, Ethan. Remember to keep your ski tips together and the backs apart, and follow me.”
Ethan was nervous. He watched as his ski teacher put his ski tips together and snowplowed a short way down the hill. This was only his second day of skiing, and even though he loved the snow and the mountains, he was still a little scared of skiing. As he looked at the path his teacher had taken, he thought it looked too steep.
“I think I’d rather go this way,” Ethan called to his teacher, pointing off to his left. There was another path that looked much easier. It was flat and straight as far as he could see.
But his teacher shook his head.
“You don’t want to go that way,” he called to Ethan. “It gets a lot harder than it is right there—you just can’t see it.” He pointed again to the path on the right and said, “Go right where I went,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
Ethan faced a tough decision. The path his teacher wanted him to take looked scary. The other path seemed like a better choice. Should he listen to his teacher or do what he wanted to do?
He really wanted to take his own path, but Ethan decided to follow his teacher’s advice. His palms were sweaty inside his mittens as he pushed his skis out into the triangle shape his teacher had taught him and started down the path on the right.
It was easier than he thought! He skied quickly down to where his teacher was waiting.
“Good job, Ethan!” his teacher said as Ethan skied over to him. “I’m glad you trusted me. Do you see that?” he said, pointing up the hill.
Ethan looked at the very steep, rocky, scary-looking hill his teacher was pointing to. “Yes,” he answered.
“That’s the path you wanted to go down,” his teacher replied.
Ethan gulped. His teacher was right—the path on the right was much better.
“Are you glad you listened to me?” his teacher asked.
“Definitely!” Ethan replied.
As they skied down the rest of the hill, Ethan trusted his teacher without worrying. He knew his teacher would tell him the right way to go.
Heading home after his ski lesson, Ethan thought a lot about how scary it would have been if he hadn’t trusted his teacher and hadn’t taken the safer path. His mom was always quoting a scripture about trusting in the Lord instead of in our own understanding. Maybe that was because Heavenly Father’s plan was the safest path—even if it did seem harder at first.
Ethan could remember a few times when he had wanted to do something that seemed easier or more fun than keeping Heavenly Father’s commandments. He decided that from now on he would trust Heavenly Father and follow His path. He felt a warm feeling inside because he knew he would be safe.

As John’s condition worsened, he and I continued our practice of beginning and ending each day with prayers of gratitude. As we did so, we found that grief did not overwhelm us or our posterity. Each one had opportunities to hug Papa and express their love and gratitude for him. We found moments of joy. Peace seeped into the hearts of our posterity and others who visited, strengthening them and softening their grief too.
However, despite the peace that prevailed in our home, watching my vibrant, exceedingly active husband deteriorate and lose 50 pounds in a month was heart-wrenching. Late at night on April 21, John lay in bed. He was surrounded by his children and me. We sensed that his spirit would depart his body at any moment. I lay beside him, holding his hand and whispering words of love and gratitude for our life. I thanked him for the inspiring example he had set as he responded to his afflictions by turning to the Lord in faith and gratitude. I kissed him. Within seconds, he was gone.
After John’s body was taken away, our family sat together in our home. Tears fell from our eyes as we expressed thankfulness that John’s mortal suffering had ended. Words of gratitude spilled from my mouth as I thought of the many tender mercies Heavenly Father had given to us (see 1 Nephi 1:20). God had enabled me to care for John in our home, despite having physical issues myself (which actually necessitated multiple surgeries not long after John died).
As we talked, I was comforted as I expressed thanks for the eternal promises of our temple covenants (see Doctrine and Covenants 132:19–20). I told my children I felt like Johnny was hugging me, confirming what I was saying as I expressed gratitude. What a joyous feeling! I reminded my family of President Russell M. Nelson’s words in November 2020: “Practicing gratitude may not prevent us from experiencing sorrow, anger, or pain, but it can help us look forward with hope.”1
Suddenly, I felt a heavenly embrace so strongly that it filled me with awe. I also felt that John was well and happy and that I should be too. Right then, I promised myself—and my sweetheart—that I would be.

One such Elder was James Leaing McMurrin, who arrived on UK shores in the spring of 1884 and was assigned to Glasgow. He was delighted by this, as Scotland was the home of his ancestors. He eagerly endeavoured to find them, but sadly had no success.
Six months into his mission he was reassigned to Ireland. On learning of this, his aunt gave him the address of one Hugh McMurrin, who lived in Ireland. The Elder determined to visit him if possible. However, the address was not within his assigned area.
Sometime later, he and his companion went out to visit a family of Church members but got lost. It was getting late, and upon enquiring at a house the direction to the town they were seeking, the occupants offered the elders a meal and a bed for the night. After learning Elder McMurrin’s name, the couple told him of a neighbour they had by the name of Hugh McMurrin.
Astonished, but delighted, Elder McMurrin visited him and found he was the Hugh McMurrin his aunt had told him about. He had moved from the address his aunt had given him. From this gentleman he received the addresses of other McMurrins, whom he visited and who gave him nearly one hundred and fifty names of his ancestors.

On August 10, 1848, the year after the pioneers reached the valley, they held a special harvest festival to give thanks for good crops despite the crickets that had almost eaten all of their tender gardens in the month of June.
A bowery was built in the center of the little city and underneath its shade, tables were piled high with vegetables, fruits, and grains. Green peas had grown especially well, and also on the tables were cucumbers, squash, beets, carrots, corn, beans, parsnips, and buttermilk.
A liberty pole was raised. On it hung a white flag, an ear of corn, and sheaves of wheat, rye, and oats.
Sister M. I. Lamson told about the celebration in a letter to a friend:
“There were firing of cannons, band of music, a number of cheers and the harvest song sung, prayer by Brother Parley P. Pratt, speaking by several. All made ready and a bugle sounded, a blessing asked, and when done eating, bugle again. Then the table [was] taken away, dancing commenced.”
What an exciting day it must have been for those pioneers who had been driven from their homes and endured all the hardships of crossing the plains.
On that first Thanksgiving Day, called the Harvest Festival, celebrated by the Mormon pioneers there were prayers of thanksgiving, songs, speeches, music, dancing, smiling faces, and merry hearts.

My struggle with pornography began during my youth, when others introduced me to inappropriate materials and behaviors. The gospel was not a major part of my life then. Although my family had attended church through my Primary years, by the time I was 13 or 14, we stopped going altogether. As a result, the teachings of the gospel did not really play a role in my decision making.
It never occurred to me to tell my parents what neighbors and so-called friends were introducing me to. I was too embarrassed to bring up what I had seen and experienced. I had no idea how to deal with it. For decades to come, my pornography addiction would remain my secret.
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.

An example of true love and inspired teaching was found in the life of the late James Collier, who had, through his personal efforts, reactivated a large number of brethren in the Bountiful, Utah, area. I was invited by Brother Collier to address those who had now been ordained elders and who, with their wives and families, had been to the Salt Lake Temple to receive those eternal covenants and blessings for which they had so earnestly strived.
At the banquet honoring this achievement, I could see and I could feel the love that Jim had for those whom he had taught and rescued. Unfortunately, Jim Collier at that time was afflicted with a terminal illness and had to persuade the doctors to allow him to leave the hospital to attend this final night of recognition. As he stood at the pulpit, a large smile came over his face. With tear-filled eyes, he expressed his love to the group. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Brother Collier quipped, “Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom, but no one wants to die to get there.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’m prepared to go, but I will be there waiting on the other side to greet each of you, my beloved friends.”
He returned to the hospital. His funeral service was held just a few weeks later.

When I was serving as a branch president in a young single adult branch in Florida, we had a young man that learned about the Church through the sister missionaries and shortly after was baptized. He was the only member of the Church in his family, and he did not have any friends in the Church prior to meeting the missionaries. However, I recall that on the day of his baptism, the other members of the branch embraced him and loved him without any judgments. It was a beautiful baptism service. It felt like he was among old friends. And this happened because the members of the branch loved him and cared for him even before his baptism. They participated in his missionary lessons with the sisters. They invited him to attend family home evenings every Monday. They made sure that he was enrolled in and attending institute every week. After he was baptized, they took the time to help him to prepare a name and take it to the temple and perform the baptism for his ancestor. All these interactions occurred in a normal and natural way, and he felt that he belonged.
This was the result of a combined effort from all the members of the branch and the full-time missionaries, as we are all called to assist.

The image of that team standing in the field stayed with me. I thought that perhaps I could do a painting of the bishop’s team standing in the field with the reins draped over the plow.
I hesitated because it had been nine years since I had painted a picture. Two friends with unusual talent and inspiration offered to help me paint the bishop’s team, and July gave a respite from travel, so I began.
I learned much from those two friends, and in a real way they are in my painting. But I received more help from my two sons. One son took those pictures of the plowed field, for I try always to be very accurate when depicting something in wood or on canvas or with words.
That is another lesson. I could draw back from our children something they had learned when they were young.
The other son decided to do a sculpture of the bishop’s team to be cast in bronze as a companion to my painting. We spent many rewarding hours helping one another.
He took from our barn a couple of old harnesses which have hung essentially untouched for over 50 years. He dusted them off and took them home. He draped one harness over a very patient riding horse. It stood quietly as he arranged the harness in proper order and made detailed sketches of it.
His neighbor had collected some old plows. Among them was a plow of proper vintage, which he also sketched.
And so there came back that which we had given those sons in their youth. As with our other children, they have improved on that which we as parents taught them when they were very young. And if our days are prolonged upon the earth, there comes a second harvest—our grandchildren—and perhaps a third.
That painting of The Bishop’s Team will soon be finished. My son’s sculpture is at the foundry being cast in bronze.
His sculpture, incidentally, is much better than my painting. That is as it should be. His young fingers and mind respond more readily than mine do.

Two or three weeks later, as we walked to school, I decided to be bold and ask Jarom something that had been bothering me. “Could I ask you something?” He glanced at me. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
He chuckled. “You’re the one who wants to ask the question. I don’t have to promise anything. But I doubt I’ll get mad,” he added cheerfully.
“Why do you always sleep in seminary?”
Looking away, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “What makes you think I always sleep?”
“The snoring’s a dead giveaway,” I teased him. “At least you don’t drool.”
“Actually I listen. Sometimes.” He grinned. I mean, I’m not hanging on every word or anything like that. Half the time I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.”
“Then why do you come?” I burst out, exasperated. I caught myself. “I didn’t mean it that way. I like you to come.”
He seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought you were interested in Rhett Torbett, not some guy who stumbles in off the street.”
I laughed. “He’s only interested in really gorgeous girls. I don’t qualify.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused playfully, nudging me with his elbow.
I could feel a pink shade of embarrassment warm my cheeks. I looked away. “Why do you come to seminary? Seriously.”
He thought for a long time. “It’s the last thing I promised my mom,” he said softly. “She was dying, and I didn’t even know what I was promising her.” Without looking at me, he asked, “Does that sound dumb?” Before I could respond, he added, “She wasn’t Mormon but had wanted to be. That was right after she married my dad. He didn’t want her to. She regretted that.”
“And she named you after one of the missionaries?”
He nodded. “Mom and Dad got divorced when I was seven. I don’t know where he is. He just took off.” He shrugged. “Mom used to talk about the Mormons. She said she felt something with the missionaries. She probably figured I’d feel something in seminary.” He shook his head. “I haven’t. I can’t even get a good sleep.”
“Don’t judge the Church on our seminary class. What Sister Batson is teaching is true. Listen instead of sleeping. It’ll make a difference.”
Even before class started the next day, Rhett was cracking jokes and cutting other students down. Jarom leaned over, smiled wryly, and whispered, “This isn’t the day that’s going to make a difference.” He put his head down.
“It’d make a difference if you did something too. That’s why your mom made you promise,” I retorted warmly.
That day the class was a disaster. Rhett and Randy both sang loudly off key during the devotional hymn. Rhett muttered wisecracks through Cindy Mason’s spiritual thought while Randy snickered his approval. They even laughed in the prayer. It didn’t matter how Sister Batson pleaded and reasoned with them; they wouldn’t cooperate. Halfway through the lesson the two of them started laughing out loud after making a rude comment. I wanted to walk over and slap them both.
“Torbett,” a voice barked, “shut up or get out.” Startled, I turned to see Jarom glowering at Rhett.
Rhett’s laughter faded. “What’s it to you, Wade?” he sneered. “Did we wake you up from your morning nap?”
Slowly Jarom pushed up from his desk and strolled stiffly to where Rhett sat. Rhett stood up, prepared for the challenge while Sister Batson and the rest of us held our breath. “If you don’t want to listen,” Jarom said in a low, cold, cutting voice, “get out so somebody else can.”
“All you do is sleep, Wade. Isn’t that rude? Have you been listening?”
Jarom considered the accusation. “All right, I won’t sleep and you shut up.” They glared at each other. Jarom returned to his desk, sitting up in his chair. The rest of the period was quiet.
“Thanks for what you did back there,” I ventured as we left the church. I bit down on my lower lip. “I’m sorry what I said about your promise.”
He shrugged. “It was true. Rhett was right too.” He grinned. “Now I’ve promised Rhett I’ll stay awake.” He looked at me. “Why do you Mormons have to do this seminary thing so early in the morning?”
“You Mormons?” I asked. “You’re Mormon but don’t know it yet.”
“Fat chance.”
Seminary changed after that. A few days later Rhett started to get out of hand. Jarom grumbled from the back, “I’m still awake, Torbett.”
I don’t know when I started liking Jarom as more than just a friend. Maybe the first day. But the more I was around Jarom, the more I liked him. I didn’t date much, so it was nice to have someone to hang around with. One lunch hour he asked me to the Iron Man’s Ball, a dance sponsored by the school’s weight lifting club.
After I accepted, I began to wonder how I’d explain Jarom to Mom and Dad. They’d always taught me to date LDS guys. I decided on a subtle strategy.
“Do you ever go to church?” I asked him one day.
“Not that I remember. Why?”
“Why don’t you?” I quickly added. “You’d like it.”
He grinned. “I don’t think I’d fit in.”
“Come to a fireside. There’s one Sunday.”
“Fireside? What the heck’s a fireside?”
I laughed and explained it to him. “My dad’s our bishop, and he’s giving the talk. He’d be impressed if you showed up.”
Sunday evening I was nervous, not sure how Jarom would come dressed. He showed up in a pair of white Levi’s, a pale blue dress shirt, and a tie. And he had shaved.
“Mom and Dad, this is Jarom Wade.”
Dad shook his hand warmly. “Jarom’s a good Book of Mormon name.”
Before Dad could ask him anything else, I explained, “Jarom’s the one I’ve told you about, the one who settled our seminary class down.”
Before Mom and Dad could ask any personal questions, I hurried Jarom out of the house. But things started unraveling at the fireside. Dad spoke about the last thing I wanted Jarom to hear—dating! And he managed to say all the wrong things, talking hard about not dating before you’re 16, not dating nonmembers, no steady dating, and on and on. It’s not that I disagreed with Dad. I just didn’t know if Jarom would understand.
After the fireside Jarom drove me home. As he helped me out of the car, he asked, “Do you want to go for a walk?”
We were both quiet for the first half block. Jarom was the first to speak. “Your dad made sense tonight.” He chuckled. “I finally understood something that a Mormon was teaching.”
“He says what he thinks,” I said, blushing in the darkness.
Jarom didn’t answer right away. “He doesn’t know I’m not Mormon, does he? I guess my name and my going to seminary threw him off.” I stared ahead, suddenly nervous. “But you knew it would, didn’t you?”
“I haven’t lied about you, Jarom,” I came back defensively.
“But he’s thinking one thing, and I’m thinking something else.” He hunched his shoulders. “I shouldn’t take you to the Iron Man’s Ball.”
“Jarom, Dad didn’t say that,” I spoke out, feeling hurt.
“I want to go,” Jarom said softly. “You’re probably the first girl I’ve really wanted to go with. But I have to be fair to your dad too.” He pondered a moment. “I don’t have much, Brookley. Mom’s gone. I don’t know where Dad is. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I don’t have much money. But I can still say I’m honest. I can still make a promise and have it mean something. Mom taught me that. That’s why I get up every morning and sit through your Mormon seminary. Because of a promise.”
When we walked back to the house, Dad was just pulling into the driveway. He jumped out of the car, spotted us, and invited us into the house so we could get out of the heat. We sat in the living room and talked with Mom and Dad while some of the younger kids hung around a bit. I could tell Jarom felt awkward and wanted to speak but wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Mr. Reeves,” Jarom finally said, rubbing the palms of his hands on his thighs, “I liked your speech tonight.” He shifted uneasily on the sofa.
“Bishop Haroldson probably gives you the same speech in your ward.”
Jarom glanced at me, then at Dad. “I don’t know Bishop Haroldson. I’m not Mormon.” I could tell Mom and Dad were surprised. “With a name like Jarom, you probably figured I was. And I go to seminary.” He looked at his hands and explained briefly how he’d ended up in seminary and how he’d agreed with Rhett to stay awake and listen. “I know how you feel about Brookley going out with guys like me.”
The room was quiet while Dad thought. “A promise means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Jarom nodded. “Do you believe what you hear in seminary?”
“I haven’t had a chance to really process all of it. It’s still pretty new. I don’t disbelieve it.”
“Will you make another promise?”
“Depends on the promise.”
“Keep listening to Sister Batson. With your heart and your ears.”
Jarom considered the request. “I don’t know that I’ve ever listened with my heart. I’m not sure I know how.”
Dad smiled. “I don’t think somebody makes promises like you’ve made without listening to his heart.”
Jarom considered that a moment and then nodded once. “You have my word then.” He took a deep breath and stood up. He held his hand out to Dad, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Now I guess I better head home and get to bed or I’m going to have a hard time staying awake in seminary tomorrow.”

I began college at age 18. After a short time, however, I transferred to another university and changed my major. My new university was only a couple of hours from my home, but I found myself terribly homesick and discouraged, wanting to give up and return to my family. Yet I knew if I did, I would be abandoning my chance to earn a degree.
One weekend not long after the school year began, all of my roommates went home for a visit. I knew that if I went home too, I would not return. I couldn’t even call and speak to my family for fear I would break down and not be able to focus on my studies. I had been praying for the strength to overcome my homesickness, but now I was praying to know whether I should even remain at school and complete a degree.
Early that Sunday morning as I walked slowly across the quiet campus on my way to church, I wondered how I could stay at school when I missed my home and family so deeply and couldn’t overcome my loneliness. But what would I do if I left school?
When I arrived at church, the previous ward had just left the chapel. I entered, hoping for a moment to pray for direction. As I found a place to sit and slowly moved onto the wooden pew, I noticed a printed program from the previous sacrament meeting. There on the front of the folded paper were the following words: “Perhaps the most valuable result of all education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not.”1
At that moment I knew what I needed to do. The Lord had answered my prayers in such a simple way, but I could not deny that it was an answer just the same.
It wasn’t long after that Sunday that my loneliness and discouragement left. As a result, I enjoyed my remaining years in school. I gained a degree, lifelong friends, and a stronger testimony by following the promptings of the Spirit.
Now, more than 25 years later, I still recall that answer to my prayer, and I use those same words from that sacrament meeting program to commit myself to difficult tasks. I have shared my experience with close friends and family in hopes that they too might gain strength in difficult times.
I know the Lord cares about our feelings and everyday choices, and I know He answers our sincere prayers.

Hsieh’s road to that goal was long and arduous. He attended a Catholic seminary in Wuhan for four years. Then he studied at a Catholic university in the capital city of Beijing [Peking]. A year later, the communists took over the city, and Hsieh escaped to Shanghai, where he attended the Aurora Jesuit University. When the communist forces invaded Shanghai, he moved to the Catholic seminary in Hong Kong. Then, because of the political situation, the seminary was transferred to Macao. While there, Hsieh was ordained a priest in the Catholic church.
Following his ordination, he was assigned to Rome, Italy, where he studied Italian, Latin, and law for four years. Next he moved to Paris, France, where he studied French, Greek, Hebrew, English, Spanish, and German so that he could better understand the original texts and the various translations of the Bible. He wanted to learn all he could about the Savior.
Finally, in 1967, Hsieh’s original desire to teach his people about Jesus Christ became a reality. Cardinal Yu Ping, president of Fu Jen Catholic University in Taipei, invited him to become a member of the faculty as a professor of philosophy and French. In this assignment, Hsieh began to share his growing testimony of Jesus Christ.

Each of us has his own way of remembering. At Christmastime I take delight in visiting the widows and widowers from the ward where I served as bishop. There were eighty-seven then, just eight today. On such visits, I never know what to expect, but this I do know: visits like these provide for me the Christmas spirit, which is, in reality, the Spirit of Christ.
Come with me, and we’ll together make a call or two.
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.
Let’s hurry along to Redwood Road. There is a much larger home here where many widows reside. Most are seated in the well-lighted living room. But in her bedroom, alone, is one on whom I must call. She hasn’t spoken a word since a devastating stroke some years ago. But then, who knows what she hears, so I speak of good times together. There isn’t a flicker of recognition, not a word spoken. In fact, an attendant asks if I am aware that this patient hasn’t uttered a word for years. It makes no difference. Not only have I enjoyed my one-sided conversation with her—I have communed with God.

Illustrations by Adam Howling
In Chile, in order to go to college, you have to take a university placement test. I wanted to study engineering at a university that was far from where I lived. It would be very expensive, so my goal was to get the highest score possible on the placement test so I could earn a scholarship for outstanding exam scores.
I knew where and what I wanted to study, and I knew what I would have to do to make it happen. I started preparing for the test. I studied, read, and reviewed the material, but on the practice tests, I still wasn’t getting the score I needed. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer and asked Him for greater intelligence and to enlighten my understanding so I could reach my goal. I prayed for this daily for an entire year. I went to special preparation classes at my school, and I enrolled in classes at an institution that was geared toward preparing for the exam.
I kept up my daily scripture study, and I never missed a day of seminary. I fulfilled all my Aaronic Priesthood assignments and never studied on Sundays, no matter how desperate the situation was. I knew Sunday is the Lord’s day, and I wanted to respect it in the way my parents had taught me. I knew I couldn’t afford to deprive myself of the blessings Heavenly Father had for me, especially when I most needed them. Despite all this, I wasn’t getting the score I needed on my practice tests.
My family and I prayed and fasted, and my dad gave me a blessing. With this spiritual preparation and my other preparation, I took the test. Not only did I end up with the score I needed, but I exceeded my goal, scoring one of the highest percentages possible in the math section. I received the scholarships and benefits I needed, and I was able to study at the university I chose.
From the time I was young, I learned that if I did everything I could and took care of my spiritual responsibilities first, then Heavenly Father would bless me. Things might not always work out the way we expect them to, but God will take care of us. I know it’s only with His help that all things are possible.