Gospel Story Finder

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip. I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so that these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said that I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there might be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained.
I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several missionaries from these areas in the field for their entire missions.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate their funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?”
I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning but that there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting while other things are important.
Later the bishop said that he had talked to the young people and that they wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. He asked if they could bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation and if they could have the picture and an article put into the news.
I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”

Grandpa rolled down the window of the car and called, “Take good care of Casper for us while we’re gone, Chadwick.”
“I will,” Chadwick promised.
He waved as Grandpa and Grandma drove away. He scratched Casper’s neck. “See you later, boy. I’ve got to go to school now.”
Chadwick shut the gate and hurried off to school. When he reached home that afternoon, Chadwick went next door to his grandparents’ house to feed Casper. After the dog finished eating they played “chase the stick” until they were both panting.
“Chadwick,” Mom called. “Suppertime.”
Chadwick ruffled Casper’s fur. “I’ll come back to say goodnight,” he promised.
He ran up the steps and into the kitchen. “Casper and I have been having a lot of fun together! He likes me.”
Mom smiled. “Hurry and wash for supper,” she said. “We’re waiting for you.”
After supper Chadwick watched his favorite TV program. When it ended, he jumped up quickly. “I better check on Casper,” he declared.
“You played with him a long time,” Mom said. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“I promised Casper I’d see him before I went to bed,” Chadwick insisted.
Mom sighed. “All right, but be back in ten minutes,” she said firmly.
Chadwick raced down the sidewalk and into Grandma’s yard. Casper wagged his tail happily.
Chadwick checked the water dish. Then they both flopped down beside the doghouse. They were too tired to play and it was awfully dark by now.
Chadwick put his arm around Casper’s neck and gazed into the darkness at his grandparents’ house. “I better go,” Chadwick told the dog. “I’ll be over with your breakfast in the morning.”
After carefully shutting the gate behind him, Chadwick glanced up at the house. He gasped! Then he bounded toward home, opened the back door, and ran through the kitchen.
“What in the world’s the matter?” Mom asked in alarm.
“Grandma has a ghost,” he choked.
Mom stared. “Did you hear someone?”
He shook his head. “It didn’t make any noise but it was watching me from the window.”
Dad came into the kitchen carrying the evening paper. “What’s this about a ghost?”
“I saw it, honest.” Chadwick gulped. His throat was so dry he could hardly talk.
Dad looked puzzled. “Couldn’t be a prowler. Casper would alarm the whole town if a stranger tried to go in there. But maybe I’d better check anyway.”
“It’s not a man, Dad, at least not a real one,” Chadwick insisted.
Dad just smiled and went out the door.
Soon he was back. “Nothing seems to be disturbed. The doors are all locked and the windows are closed,” he said.
“You think I only imagined it,” Chadwick muttered.
Dad patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Grandma and Grandpa have never mentioned a ghost. Maybe it stays out of the way when they’re home. It could be a caretaker-type ghost when they go away.”
Chadwick knew Dad was teasing him. Chadwick smiled at Mom and Dad. He didn’t feel quite so scared now. Maybe he had let his imagination play tricks on him.
The next morning he felt foolish when Dad asked, “Want me to take Casper his breakfast?”
Chadwick shook his head. “Ghosts don’t come out in the daytime, do they?” he asked.
“Well, none that I’ve ever known,” Dad answered. “But then, I haven’t known many ghosts.”
Chadwick looked up at the window before he opened the gate, but he saw nothing there. He gave Casper fresh water and food. The dog was too busy eating when Chadwick left to even look up.
That afternoon whenever Chadwick went to see Casper, he looked at the window half expecting to see something there. But each time the window was empty.
Just before bedtime that night, he walked slowly toward the door. “I have to say goodnight to Casper,” he explained.
“I’m sure the dog is all right,” Mom said kindly. “You don’t have to go unless you really want to.”
Chadwick shook his head. “I promised to take good care of him. It’s my responsibility.”
“If you hurry you can probably catch up with Dad. He went to check the house just a minute ago.”
Chadwick ran down the sidewalk, but Dad was out of sight. He walked slowly around the house. When he reached the gate he peeked up at the window. There was something there! Just then Dad turned on the light in the kitchen. The ghost began to twitch and wiggle.
Chadwick screamed and ran toward the back door. “Dad, Dad,” he shouted.
Dad opened the door wide. “Chadwick! What’s wrong?”
“I saw it again, Dad. The ghost was going right toward you,” Chadwick cried frantically.
Dad sighed. “Let’s turn on every light in the house. Maybe we can find this ghost of yours.”
Chadwick trembled in fear. He followed closely behind his father. They went through the house, turning on the lights as they went.
Chadwick jingled the windchimes hanging from a curtain rod. “Funny place for Grandma to put her windchimes,” he said.
Dad glanced at them. “They could probably be broken on the porch if the wind started blowing very hard. I suppose she thought of them as she went out the door.”
They turned off the lights and went back outside. Dad locked the door. Chadwick checked Casper’s water dish. Then they turned toward home.
Chadwick glanced back over his shoulder. He clutched his father’s arm tightly. “There it is again!” he whispered. Then he began to laugh. “The windchimes! It’s nothing but those crazy windchimes with the streetlights shining on them.”
Dad chuckled. “And so another ghost is laid to rest.”
“You knew all the time that there wasn’t any ghost, didn’t you, Dad?” Chadwick asked.
Dad put his arm around Chadwick’s shoulders. “Well, let’s just say I had some mighty strong doubts. But everyone should meet a ghost at least once in his lifetime!”

During my last semester of college, I felt that I should start looking for a job in my field of study, which was education. I planned to work part-time as an elementary school teacher. By then, my children had already grown up.
To prepare to enter the workforce, I enrolled in one of the Church’s self-reliance courses to help me find a job. When I arrived for my first class, I was the only student there. The teacher was a gentleman with an American accent eager to serve others. During our lessons, he explained principles of the gospel that would help me develop faith in the Lord and act in faith.
It took me two hours to travel to the Church’s self-reliance center in São Paulo, but I showed up for class on time every week. I took the course seriously because it was important to me.
At the end of the course, however, I couldn’t find a teaching job. Nevertheless, I told my instructor that I was confident the Lord would bless me and that it wouldn’t take me long to find work. I studied for the tests I needed to take in order to compete for a schoolteacher position, and I started attending a self-reliance course on how to start a business.
Immediately after I took the tests, I hurried to my stake self-reliance class. I told everyone there how prepared I had felt for the tests—thanks to my studies and my self-reliance courses.
Finally, I got the job I wanted. I felt immense happiness, and I was grateful to be able to pay tithing and offerings to the Lord. During my second self-reliance course, the Spirit prompted me to take EnglishConnect 2 and begin postgraduate work.
I felt greatly blessed by this guidance from the Lord in making such important decisions in my life. I know He keeps His promises and that if we keep His commandments, He will bless us temporally and spiritually with the things we need to prosper (see Mosiah 2:41).

My high school graduation was from a small Methodist boarding school in Thomasville, Georgia. I had enjoyed school very much and was hoping to continue my education at Berry College in Rome, Georgia. However, I was facing an uphill struggle to obtain the necessary funds for tuition, books, housing, and other expenses. My parents and family were not in a position to help me, and I made only a limited amount as a waitress during the summer. It was at this time that I received a surprising letter from the Women’s Division of Christian Service of the Methodist church. They offered to put me through college if I would fulfill a two-year mission for them as a teacher after graduation. I was deeply touched and astonished by their offer and wanted very much to accept. A few months earlier this would have seemed like an answer to my prayers, but now I wasn’t so sure.
I thought of every reason why I should accept the offer. My future would be secure, my dreams of a master’s degree in art would be realized, and I could devote my time to studying without having to worry about working. Was there really a difference in serving a mission for the Methodist church instead of the Mormon church? Weren’t they both Christian churches? My friends and teachers were encouraging me to take the offer. Their concern for my future was genuine, and I appreciated their love—I didn’t want to disappoint them. My personal desire to say yes to the Methodist church was strengthened by my fear of facing my friends if I did not.
“How could I turn down this offer?” I asked myself. But a still small voice, much quieter than the voices around me, whispered, “How can you accept it? How can you live a lie?” I realized then that if I accepted I would have to keep secret the fact that it was not the Methodist church I desired to serve. I could not use their support to achieve my goals. They were such wonderful people, so generous in their nature. The voice was right. How could I? I could not. My decision was made, and I had to find the strength to face it no matter how unrealistic it seemed to my friends. I wrote the council and explained that I was a Mormon, and though their offer was something I would never forget, I could not accept it. They answered my letter, expressing appreciation for my honesty with them, and wished me luck in my future endeavors.
Since then, through a lot of hard work and help from many people, I have graduated from Brigham Young University with the art degree I so much wanted. I was privileged to enjoy several teaching assistantships there plus the companionship of some of the greatest people I’ve ever known. When faced with similar decisions since then, I’ve reflected back on this experience of standing against the advice of friends and loved ones and listening instead to the whispering of one small voice that only I could hear. I have learned that no matter how great the problems and pressures or how difficult the decisions, Heavenly Father is always there to guide us.

All my life I had been taught that the Church was true. When I decided to gain a testimony of my own, I thought I needed to approach things from a different angle than my teachers and friends did. So I asked: What if the gospel is not true? What if my well-meaning friends and parents have been misled? What if the Book of Mormon is a work of fiction? What if there is no living prophet today and families aren’t forever?
As such questions filled my mind, darkness clouded my thoughts. I felt as if doors were closing inside me, and for an entire day I wandered around in a depressed stupor of thought, thinking and acting unkindly toward others.
The next morning I realized I was getting nowhere. Then I remembered a seminary lesson I’d had on prayer. I knew that in Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 [D&C 9:7–9] there were some guidelines on getting answers. As I read these verses, I could see that I had asked the wrong questions. When I studied my questions out in my mind and in my heart, I sincerely believed the things I had been taught were true. So I prayed again, this time asking if my beliefs were right: Was I really a child of God? Was there a celestial kingdom? Was the priesthood the power of God?
Light replaced darkness. The Spirit confirmed that my belief was not in vain. I felt as if doors were being flung open, and I could see things more clearly.
I gained a desire to serve and to share my testimony. The Lord had heard and answered my sincere prayer. Now I know for myself that what I had believed all along was really true.

Being a member of the Church provided spiritual blessings, of course. But it also gave me some wonderful friends. Around the time of my baptism, several young men my age began coming to church, and we formed a very close-knit group. We started attending every meeting and activity together.

When I was 17, I left my city to go to college. Three of my friends decided to go to college in the same city, and we lived together. This was a great blessing because we could support and protect each other. We encouraged each other to go to church. We also had home evening among the four of us, and sometimes we invited other students who were members of the Church. All of those years at the university, we strengthened each other. Forty-five years later, those young men are still my best friends. Although we live in different parts of the world, we are always in contact. All six of us served missions.

“Please hurry, Mom, we’re going to be late!” Matthew said as he carried his science project to the car. As Mom opened the car door, Matthew very carefully placed the bright blue poster and experiments in the backseat.
On the ride to school Mom said, “Matthew, I’m very proud of you for the hard work you did.”
“Thanks, Mom, but do you think there’s a chance that maybe … just maybe … I could win first place?” Matthew asked.
Mom smiled. “I’m sure all the other students worked hard on their projects too and the judges would love to give each one a blue ribbon.”
“But, Mom, only one person can get the $15 prize in physical science, and I sure hope it’s me! I know just the skateboard I want to get,” Matthew said excitedly. “With the prize money and what I’ve saved, I’ll have enough to buy the skateboard.”
When they got to school, Mom helped Matthew inside with his project. Matthew quickly saw that there was more competition than he had anticipated—the gym was full of projects for earth science, animal science, plant science, and physical science.
As Matthew and his mom walked down the long aisles between tables, they found a project that caught Matthew’s attention. “This is Aaron’s,” he said. The project was on leukemia, a disease Aaron was battling. “Aaron wears a baseball cap every day, and sometimes he sits out during P.E. instead of playing with us,” Matthew said. He could tell Aaron had worked really hard to get so much information and pictures for his project.
A voice came booming over the loudspeaker instructing students to report to class.
“Wish me luck!” Matthew said to his mom as he turned and waved good-bye.
The judges were to make their decisions after school, and then there would be a program later that night to present the prizes in each category. The day seemed long, but the time finally came.
As Matthew and his mom approached the school that evening, one of his friends called out, “Hey, Matt! I think you won!”
Matthew beamed. “Mom, do you think that’s true?” He pulled his mom faster and faster toward the gym. When they walked in, people stood all around his project. Matthew ran up to the table. There, hanging on the corner of the poster board, was the biggest blue ribbon he had ever seen.
“Matthew, you did it!” Mom exclaimed.
Matthew was so excited he didn’t know what to say. His friends patted him on the back and congratulated him. Then he remembered Aaron. He ran to see if Aaron had won in his category, and pinned to his project was another big blue ribbon!
As the program began, an announcer said, “In one week, there will be a benefit dinner for Aaron to help him raise money for medical expenses. Everyone is welcome. Any donations will be appreciated.”
Then one of the judges started naming winners. “From the physical science category, the winner of the $15 prize is Matthew!”
The judge held the check up high as Matthew made his way to the front and accepted it. He couldn’t wait to show it to his mom.
“Do you know what I want to do with this money?” he whispered to her.
“Yes,” Mom said. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow to get that skateboard.”
“No, Mom,” Matthew said. “I want to give this money to Aaron.”
Surprised, Mom looked down at Matthew. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Matthew was so excited that he barely heard the announcement of the last award. “The Best of Show goes to Matthew,” the judge called. Matthew jumped from his seat again and ran to get the beautiful plaque.
The next week, Matthew went to the benefit dinner with his mom and placed his prize money in the fishbowl of donations. On the way home, Mom said, “Matthew, that was a very kind, unselfish thing you did.”
Matthew smiled. “It felt better to give it away than it did to win it.”
That night he looked up at his bulletin board as he lay in bed. Hanging next to his favorite baseball card was his big blue ribbon and plaque for Best of Show. He knew that each time he saw them, he would remember how it felt to make a small difference. He would think of his friend Aaron and hope that a cure for leukemia would be found.

Brigham is an example of faith and courage. When he was three years old, he became very ill with leukemia, a cancer of the blood, and had to endure a painful treatment for two years. As he did, doctors discovered that he also had another disease, one that he cannot be cured of. It causes great pain, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, after doctors gave him a very painful treatment for his cancer, Brigham told them “thank you” through his tears.

Eliza moved to Kirtland to join the Saints for a time and taught school. When she returned to her family’s home at the end of the term, her old friends and neighbors asked about the “strange people” with whom she associated. “I was exceedingly happy in testifying of what I had both seen and heard,” she later wrote. Eliza determined to change her life and live permanently with the Latter-day Saints. Her conversion deepened even further in 1837 when she lived with Joseph Smith and his family. Again, she observed. “I had ample opportunity of judging his daily walk and conversation,” she recalled. She saw much more than the miraculous events of the Kirtland Temple dedication—she saw the life and relationships of a prophet of God. “The more I made his acquaintance, the more cause I found to appreciate him in his divine calling.”7

The familiar 10-hour drive from southern California to Utah should have been uneventful. The roads were clear of snow, and I was awake and alert. But I didn’t expect a 57-inch TV to suddenly appear in my lane. It had fallen from a pickup truck in front of us. I swerved, but not in time. We had hit the TV, and now I was struggling to get control.
My best friend, brother, and little stepsister were all in the car. My brother in the backseat woke up and started shouting that we were fine, but with the car still spinning, I wasn’t so sure.
Eventually, we came to a stop in the median. It was only then that my stepsister woke up, confused and in shock. There was nothing around us but empty, black desert and an occasional semitruck whizzing by. The four of us sat in silence for a moment, realizing we were still alive. None of us knew what to say or think. Then my best friend asked, “Should we say a prayer?” The idea was a welcome relief. The Spirit was the only thing that could calm our nerves at that time. We bowed our heads and thanked our Heavenly Father for preserving our lives. We asked Him to comfort us and help us to get home safely. My fear and shock from the accident wore off and I felt calm.
A police officer and the driver of the pickup came over, relieved to find everyone okay. The impact from the TV alone could have been fatal, even without the added danger of spinning. The car was damaged but drivable, and we got home safely. It amazes me to think of how much worse the outcome could have been. I am so grateful for my safety and the safety of my passengers. Before and since then, we start every long car trip with a prayer. I’m grateful that we can call on the power of the Lord to watch over us. But even with this added protection, accidents may happen. And if they do, we will have the Spirit to comfort us.

Salote:
Two years after our son Esa died of lung cancer, our daughter Esalynn died of meningitis. In the temple, I felt a strong prompting to speak with a senior sister missionary there who also lost two children years earlier. She told me, “If you make your home a holy place, you can feel your children’s presence there.”
That has become our goal. Everything we do is to make our home a holy place. We want to feel them close.
We don’t know how to parent children beyond the veil. But if we do our best to live righteously, we believe they will feel our efforts. In our family devotionals, we welcome Esa and Esalynn by name.
In our home, even when we have a disagreement, we try to resolve it quickly. We want our home to stay a holy place as much as possible. As we’ve done so, we have all felt hope and healing and love.
Sakiusa:
The experience of losing Esa and Esalynn has ultimately brought our family closer together. We counsel together with our other children. We attend the temple as a family. We live our lives as simple as possible and choose gratitude every day. As we talk about what it means to be sealed as a family in the temple, that sealing becomes alive in us. And through all of this, we do feel the presence of our children.
One of the first things we did to make our home holier was to start reading the Book of Mormon daily. At first, we shared Book of Mormon stories with pictures for our younger children. Then we added videos. Now we’re reading more from the Book of Mormon. I can testify of the power of the Book of Mormon.

In 1829 Joseph Smith, with the help of his scribe Oliver Cowdery, finished translating the Book of Mormon.
Oliver, the Lord is pleased with us.
Now we just need to publish this great book.
Joseph and Oliver went to Palmyra, New York, and spoke to Egbert B. Grandin, a printer.
We need 5,000 copies of this book as soon as possible.
It will cost $3,000. Since you want so many copies and this is such a big book, it may take me over a year.
Several months later Mr. Grandin became worried that Joseph would not pay. He stopped the printing of the Book of Mormon until he could be sure. Then Martin Harris gave Joseph some money.
I mortgaged my farm to pay for printing the Book of Mormon. That should put Mr. Grandin at ease.
That’s wonderful, Martin!
Mr. Grandin had a new press that made the printing process much faster than earlier presses.
Mr. Grandin, we’re almost finished, and it has been only seven months!
I don’t completely understand how.
Once the Book of Mormon was published, the Lord commanded Joseph to organize the Church. On April 6, 1830, about 60 people met in the home of Peter Whitmer Sr.
Welcome, brothers and sisters.
The members sustained Joseph as the prophet and took the sacrament.
Though the Church started out with just a few members, Joseph later told some brethren in Kirtland about its destiny.
It is only a little handful of priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.

In high school I tried rowing. It sounded easy enough—sit in a boat and move the oar blades to go fast on the water. I had no idea what I was in for.
For a while, I couldn’t keep the boat balanced, and my use of the oars caused me to stop instead of sail smoothly on the water.
Over time, I changed how I balanced the boat and handled the oars. I slowly made other changes and improved—often without realizing. Then rowing became fun! I loved the soothing motion of rowing as I glided quickly and quietly across the water.
I had to make changes if I wanted to get better at rowing. Only then could I experience the joy rowing offers.

Church members had survived every hardship endured by other citizens of their country. For example, Elfrieda (Frieda) Glasnerová Vanecková, a Jewish convert baptized in 1932, spent two years in a concentration camp, as did her husband and two sons. On the day she was freed, Frieda had been scheduled for execution. When President Toronto found her recovering in the hospital, she wept with joy to see him. Eleven members of her extended family had perished at Auschwitz. Now she had been reunited with someone of her faith. Her two sons were later baptized.

Until the white man came and explained that he was a collector of fossils, agates, and semiprecious stones for an eastern museum, Black Otter had not realized that these colorful rocks might have value. The man laid out many rock specimens to show the various stones he was seeking. “I have not come to cheat you,” he said. “These samples are not as valuable as diamonds and rubies, but I have brought brass and iron pots, good hunting knives, and metal fishhooks to trade.”

The man looked disappointed when nothing was offered. The tribe was very poor. The people wore many necklaces but they were fashioned of drilled bone, claws, or hard seeds, not colorful stones. The specimen hunter saw how the Indians admired the trade goods when he began to pack up. Their fishhooks were thick bone ones that allowed many fish to escape. Now he selected a large and small metal fishhook for each brave and presented them as gifts.

Black Otter had stayed back in the crowd, timid about approaching the white man. But he had watched his mother’s eyes that kept returning to the largest cooking pot. It was made of black iron with legs and a hook for hanging over a fire. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and laid the smallest of his three rocks near a similar specimen. Black Otter’s rock was clearer and gave off more colors in the sunlight.

The man examined the stone, then he smiled and offered a skinning knife and a small mound of fishhooks in trade. His smile faded and he sighed regretfully when Black Otter pointed to the iron pot. “I’m sorry, but your crystal is not worth that much,” he said. The youth felt that the man was being honest. He obviously wanted the rock.

The white man caught his breath when the Indian boy pulled out the two larger stones. When the deal was finished, Black Otter owned the pot, a razor-sharp hatchet, two fine knives, one for hunting and the other with many blades that folded into the handle, and a mound of fishhooks. Such sudden wealth stunned his parents. They’d never expected to own such things.

Black Otter was disturbed by the envious looks on the faces of his tribesmen. The youth did not want envy to set his family apart from the rest of the tribe. The price of jealousy could mean the loss of their friendship. “If I bring many stones, will you return with tools and utensils for all my people?” Black Otter quietly asked. The man agreed to return with a larger supply of trade goods, and so the youth had set out to search for the beautiful cavern.

When Farid was 14 years old, he thought he knew what he wanted in life, and religion wasn’t a part of it. He told his family he didn’t want to attend any church.
He had a full life in the beautiful city of San Pedro Sula, Honduras. His favorite activities were music, dancing, soccer, volleyball, swimming, and hiking. He spent most of his time reading philosophy books and hanging out with his friends. Farid was working toward a career in medicine, and he just wanted to enjoy life.
Farid said he was a selfish 14-year-old—he only thought about himself. “I didn’t care about my family or their needs,” he says. “I would fight with my cousin a lot.”
Then one Sunday, Farid’s life took an unexpected turn. While he was bored at home, his friend Isaías texted him and asked if he wanted to go to his church with him. That was the first time Farid visited The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then Isaías invited him to attend seminary, and he loved it so much.
“I felt something in my soul that told me that I was in the right place, with the right people, and the right church,” says Farid.
Soon after he attended seminary for the first time, he joined the Church. And soon after that, he started noticing some unexpected changes in himself.
Farid says, “I went from an immature 14-year-old who only wanted to be rebellious, to a young man with eternal perspectives. My family noticed, too.”
Farid stopped fighting with his cousin. Instead, he now tries to find ways to serve him such as making him lunch, cleaning his room, or asking him if he needs help. But in spite of the positive changes in Farid’s life, some of his family members were upset when he first joined the Church.
“I never let their comments change my opinion about the Church,” says Farid. “I am very grateful that my faith never stopped. Instead, it grew more and more. My family now accepts my beliefs because they’ve seen my example and how I’ve changed.”
There have been other big changes in Farid’s family as well. His mom is now taking lessons from the missionaries, and she wants to be baptized!
“Heavenly Father promises us that when we put in the effort, we will receive blessings,” says Farid. “But He has His timing. It has taken almost four years for one member of my family to want to get baptized. It hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve been tempted to think that the Church is false. But when I’ve asked Heavenly Father about the truthfulness of the Church, I’ve received my testimony, which keeps me strong.”

In 2018, following an 18-year absence from the Church, I felt prompted to have our three young children blessed. Following their blessings, I experienced recurring thoughts to find the Savior and that something bigger was coming on the horizon. Slowly—and painfully, I might add—Jason, with our children, joined me in a journey back to the Church starting in early 2019. With encouragement from friends placed along our path by God, we took baby steps in gentle progression toward the Savior. We did this through small, incremental goals over a two-year process.
Come 2021, my conversion to the gospel felt sturdy. I was committed to prayer, scripture study, and attending virtual church during COVID to propel my ongoing transformation. Yet I still didn’t have the power of God that was required for my specific life circumstance. I was struggling with ongoing mental health concerns, battling to maintain sobriety from substance abuse, and dealing with other life struggles out of my control—all during a season of relentless traumas resulting from the pandemic. I was determined to handle it myself, but in truth, I required the Redeemer—I literally needed to be saved!
Our prophet’s words that Jesus Christ was with me as I faced these mountains offered hope.
“Everything good in life—every potential blessing of eternal significance—begins with faith. Allowing God to prevail in our lives begins with faith that He is willing to guide us. True repentance begins with faith that Jesus Christ has the power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us.”3
I had faith in the Savior but wasn’t sure how to connect with His power. I wanted to take the sacrament and be in the temple. Both were out of reach during this time of disappointment, grief, white-knuckled sobriety, and home seclusion.
Over time, even with frequent prayer, I couldn’t cope on my own another day. After another family cancer diagnosis, this time for my spouse, I relapsed and reached for alcohol in desperate escape. I hit my lowest point ever, but all I wanted was to be near Christ. I felt hopeless in my imperfect faith, believed I had sinned terribly, and thought God was disappointed.
At this heartbreaking point, I exercised my last ounce of faith to surrender my will to God. I needed access to His power through the priesthood. I couldn’t move forward on my own.
So in meek faith I requested a priesthood blessing.
Knowing my struggles, friends felt inspired to bless me with renewed capacity and counsel. Through the Spirit, I was told that all my progress hadn’t been lost and that I should seek professional resources in support of my mental health struggles. Most important, I was blessed to realize the healing power of my Savior, that Jesus and God would make up the difference as I put forth my effort with a deepened faith in Them.
Hearing specific priesthood promises gave me hope that God’s power would now set me on a healing course.
“Faith will always propel us forward. Faith always increases our access to godly power.”4
With renewed faith in Jesus Christ, I found that the priesthood blessing—given in His name and by His authority—provided the springboard I needed. I reached for my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to strengthen my connection to Them daily. I made immediate and significant progress. God placed resources to support my mental health struggles. Daily preoccupations with alcohol were eradicated. I immersed myself in wholesome media and deep gospel education, honored the Sabbath, improved my language, talked of the Savior throughout each day, and created a sacred space in my home for prayer.
Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler, by Heinrich Hofmann
I now understand that the Savior is my advocate, my friend, my champion, my encourager, and my healer through His atoning gift of love. This was my game changer in connecting with Him. He helped me reprioritize, leaving behind the cares and habits that weren’t serving my soul. Miraculously, as I’ve made prayer and spiritual habits more meaningful, I’ve received personal revelation! I accept increased guidance from the Spirit for how my family can keep moving toward Him.
“He works miracles today, and He will work miracles tomorrow.”5
Since April 2021 conference, these promises have proved true as I’ve helped my family faithfully follow God’s path. The heavens are opened, and miracles have been showered upon us:
Fear is replaced with safety through the healing power of Jesus Christ.
I’m blessed with influence to bring a more nurturing presence to our lives.
The Holy Ghost is present in our home. Our children delight in daily scriptures, family prayer, Christian music, and pictures of Jesus and temples.
My husband, Jason, has been baptized, holds the Aaronic Priesthood, and is preparing to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Preoccupations with unhealthy escape have lessened. My past self, doing her best at the time, would reach for chemicals to cope. Now I come in prayer for strength.
I have received my temple endowment and now attend the temple regularly. Jason is preparing to receive his endowment, and our goal is to be sealed as a family sometime in 2022.
Our birth son is grown, has been accepted to pre-med but has decided to serve a mission first, and is enjoying the relationship between our two families.
Mindalyn (right) with her birth son, DJ, and his adoptive mother, Stacy, on the day DJ received his temple endowment.
Family photographs courtesy of the author
In an ongoing process, I’m in programs to address mental health, where God has shown His hand throughout.
Despite ongoing trials of family deaths, layoffs, cancer, and sobriety, I now realize that I have access to God’s tenderness through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The promises of power through priesthood blessings strengthen my life exponentially.
Mercifully, I’ve grown a sincere relationship with my Savior and Eternal Father.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power.”6
How generous and true is this prophetic teaching from President Nelson! I used to think the gospel was complicated. I’ve now learned through experience that even with imperfect faith, I have access to His divine power, which will move our mountains of trials—what a gift!
Mindalyn with family and friends outside the Redlands California Temple.
It’s crystal clear that God and Christ love me. They see each of us as worthy for rescue! As we desire to reach for Him, the Savior’s grace is sufficient for all. I’m grateful for our living and cheerfully loving prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, and the heavenly revelation he shares with us. He is God’s prophet on earth. Following our prophet’s teachings has changed my life forever. I share my witness from experience that “faith is the power that enables the unlikely to accomplish the impossible.”7
The gospel of Jesus Christ is one of power, of grace, of love! What is required from me is continued desire to reach for Them and show up with my imperfect offerings. Christ, through His Atonement, will make up the difference.
The author lives in California.

The next day, Sunday, in testimony meeting they sat together, sang the opening song with great enthusiasm, and then with quiet reverence and a special depth of feeling blended their voices in the sacramental hymn. When the priesthood leader turned the time over to the audience for testimonies, the girl stood up.
““I love my dad and mother,” she began, then stopped, brushed a tear away with the back of her hand, cleared her throat, and continued. “I haven’t always been able to say that. When I was about thirteen, I had a problem and went unexpected to my father’s office. He is president of a large corporation. Upon being told that he was too busy to see me, I rushed home, flung myself upon the bed, and cried. Mother, hearing my sobs, came into the room. ‘Daddy doesn’t love me!’ I blurted out through the tears. ‘Why do you say that?’ Mother asked. Then I told her what had happened. Nothing more was said, except my mother firmly declared that Father did indeed love me, and I was not to think otherwise again.
“The next day while at school I received a call from my father’s private secretary. ‘Could you come to the office at 4:00 o’clock today for a visit with President ____________?’ and she named my father. I was thrilled, and the appointment was set. At 4:00 o’clock I was ushered into my father’s office with as much pomp and ceremony as the richest client. There, my father told me to sit in a brand-new chair located next to his desk. Then he said, ‘That is the chair. Whenever you have things bothering you, come and sit in that chair, and I will drop whatever I am doing and listen to and help you, because I care about you more than I care about anything in this world except your mother and your brothers and sisters.’ And you know,” the girl said, wiping more tears from her eyes, “he never once broke his promise.”

These records had special meaning to me—my grandfather Andres Sanchez had saved them from destruction during the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s. I grew up knowing his story, but my connection with it became evident only as I began my search for the records. Although I never knew my grandfather, I felt his spirit as I read these names and dates. Together we had become a team that made it possible to provide temple ordinances for more than 10,000 of our ancestors.
Andres had been a good man and a leader in his village. He was the father of five. Though not a wealthy man, he had a good trucking business and was considered a man of means.
But his was a turbulent time in the history of Spain. The Spanish Civil War brought starvation and destruction to much of the nation. Politics became the most common topic of discussion among the people. In all other periods in the history of Europe, this quiet village had been spared from the ravages of war, even during World War I. But now the enemy was coming. Andres named his new baby Libertia as an outward expression of his convictions.
Everywhere the invaders burned the churches and killed the church leaders in an effort to stifle opposition. In defiance, Andres and a few of his good neighbors secreted away the sacred artifacts and records from the little village church. He did this knowing that the consequences could be devastating for himself and his family. He made a choice and stood by that choice with conviction.
Eventually the enemy came to his village. The name of Andres Sanchez was discovered, and he was dragged into custody. As a result of his actions at the little village church, he met a fate of torture and deprivation. Andres’s business and property were confiscated and his family left destitute as beggars. Andres’s health weakened under the deplorable prison conditions, and after a short while he contracted tuberculosis. He was released to his family two weeks prior to his death.
The Lord did not forget the efforts of one man and a handful of brave friends who loved Him and sacrificed their very lives for these records. Years later the records were microfilmed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As I progressed through high school, the first section was my norm. So I became a little lazy and didn’t practice any harder than I needed to in order to stay in a top spot.
Each year there was an All-State band event where every school selected the best player of each section to be a part of a large multi-school band. It was an honor to be selected, but I forgot that fact. I took it for granted when I was selected and showed up one year on performance day having only glanced at the music. I’d had the ability to master the music, but it would have actually taken some work—work that I hadn’t put in.
I knew I couldn’t play the music very well this year, but I’d been to All-State in previous years and knew how it worked: because I came from the first chair section in my school I would be placed in the first chair section in the All-State band. I wouldn’t be much good to the band this year, but I could fake my way through the day and have fun.
The air was abuzz with excitement as the band students gathered. Then the room grew quiet as the band director stepped onto the podium. What he said next concerned me.
“Instead of grouping everyone based on your position at school, you will try out for the seat in your section. You will play the music you have prepared for a judge, and he or she will place you in your appropriate seat. You do not have to try out, but if you do not, you will automatically be placed at the bottom of the last section.”
My lack of preparation landed on my chest like a pallet of bricks. The music was hard this year, and I had not practiced. I knew how awful I would sound in front of the other first chair section members if I chose to try out. But if I didn’t try out, I would be placed at the bottom of the last section. In all fairness, I can now admit that I deserved to be at the bottom of the last section. However, at that time I was prideful and could not bear to be in the last section. Even if I hadn’t practiced, I knew I was first section material and decided that I would be in that section no matter what.
At the last moment, as the first section clarinets were going to the tryout room, I hurried to join them. One by one, each clarinetist played. My heart sank when it became clear they’d all practiced. Then it was my turn.
In my pride, I put the clarinet to my mouth and proceeded to embarrass myself as I played. I did not have to imagine the amused looks of my fellow clarinetists and the rather horrified look of the judge when I finished. The judge kindly said nothing, but his thoughts were clear enough when he placed me in the last chair in my section.
My stubbornness had kept me in the section I thought I deserved, but it was no victory. I couldn’t hold my head up or participate freely in the other students’ excited conversations during the breaks. I was a fake among the genuine. There was no way I could convince them that I actually belonged with them. They had heard me play.
“I’m really quite good,” I wanted to say. “It’s just that I didn’t practice.” But I never said it because I knew what their response would have been: “You should have practiced like we did.”
I knew that when it came right down to the performance, my potential didn’t matter—only the current skill that I’d developed did.
The saving grace of the day was that I learned clearly and deeply the meaning of hard work and preparation. I saw a connection to the parable of the ten virgins. I had arrived at All-State without oil, so to speak. I could not borrow from the skills of the other clarinetists. I now know that each minute of every day is the time to prepare—especially in the aspects of life that really matter.