Gospel Story Finder

Two years ago, the Lord touched my dear mother’s heart, which helped her decide to receive the ordinance of baptism. I had waited for that day to take place for almost 35 years. In order for her to make that decision, many members of the Church truly ministered to her as Christ would. One Sunday, she felt she should go to church. She followed the prompting. While she sat on the front row and waited for the sacrament service to begin, a four-year-old boy stood in front of her and looked at her. She greeted him with a smile. The little boy left her presence abruptly and walked back to his own seat, which was on the other side of the row where my mother was seated. This little boy picked up something from his seat and came back and handed my mother a hymnbook and walked back to his seat. My mother noticed a hymnbook was placed on every other chair in the chapel. She could have easily picked one up from the chair next to her. However, she was very impressed with the boy’s innocent act of kindness, which he had learned in his home and at church. It was a tender moment for her. She had a strong impression that God was inviting her to come and follow the Savior. She felt she should be baptized. This little boy did not seek recognition for what he did, but he simply did his best to live the word of God and to love his neighbor. His kindness created an important change of heart in my mother.

Peter Lehmann remembers being made fun of in citizenship classes in school. Everyone knew he was a Mormon. “In fact,” he says, “they probably knew more about my life than I did. We were watched. I think my family had a red dot on any record we had in any government office. We belonged to the Mormon church. We had seven sons. We were a different family.”
Michael Lehmann recalls: “My parents tried to raise me in a way that I wouldn’t talk about certain topics in public. They taught me to be careful in case I was near somebody who might have installed microphones or something like that. You never knew who to trust.”
In those conditions, people either dropped away from the Church completely, or they clung to it—and each other. It was a place where faith grew despite the surroundings. And, as President Spencer W. Kimball said, faith precedes miracles.
Most of the miracles were quiet ones: healings and the blessings that come from paying tithing and living the Word of Wisdom. And there was the miracle of developing and keeping a testimony in such a place.
Michael: “When I started going to school, I had a hard time with it because my parents told me about God, but everybody around me—students and teachers—tried to tell me there was no God at all.”
Peter: “In citizenship classes in school we were taught atheism as official policy. They made fun of religion in class and said if you belonged to a religious organization, you were working against the government. The government was more or less worshiped.”
Parents taught one thing; society often taught the opposite. Like LDS teens everywhere, the Lehmann brothers had to find out for themselves. “We had a really good home,” Peter recalls. “I kind of recognized the importance of doing what my parents wanted me to do. Still, with all of the experiences I had in school—people and teachers gave us a hard time and wanted me to get up and deny God—I said to myself, ‘We’re doing all this stuff. Why? There’s got to be something.’ I got on my knees and said, ‘I want to know for myself. I want to have the feeling in my heart.’
“I prayed and studied the Book of Mormon, and I got a testimony at that time, a little testimony that grew.”

As Brett Baker turned his blue 79 Mustang up the highway and headed for Island Park, the snow, which had been falling most of the day, came down in large, heavy flakes that stuck tenaciously to the windshield and frustrated the wipers’ attempts to keep the glass clean. With Christmas just a week away, it was obvious that dreams of a white Christmas would soon be a reality. This storm had already dumped several inches in the valleys, and much more had fallen in the mountains where he was headed. He wished that the Mustang’s rear tires had more tread.
The car’s headlights strained to pierce the cold, white night but managed only to reflect off the millions of flakes seeming to fire into the car like so many tiny missiles. The constant bombardment made Brett feel a little dizzy as the car pushed through the storm. He squinted over the steering wheel and leaned forward to improve his vision. Suddenly another set of headlights flashed dimly around a bend ahead. Brett realized he was too far to the left, almost straddling the middle of the road. He reacted suddenly, pulling the steering wheel to the right. The back of his car began to slide. He jerked the wheel again to correct the spin, and suddenly he was in the deep snow along the side of the road. The taillights of the other car disappeared into the night. Brett shifted down and attempted to pull back onto the road, but as soon as he released the clutch, he knew he was stuck.
“Who’s going to be out on a night like this,” he muttered to himself as he wet his lips and gunned the engine again, listening and feeling his rear wheels spin in the soft snow next to the road. He glanced at his watch—seven-fifteen.
Suddenly out of the blackness came the muffled grumble of a snowplow with its yellow lights flashing. The huge truck with the hungry blade in front stopped next to Brett’s Mustang. The driver rolled down his window and called out to Brett, “You need some help?”
Brett nodded and shouted up, “Yeah.”
“I’ve got a chain.”
Moments later Brett was stomping his feet next to his car, which was now on the road and pointed up the hill again. “Thanks, Mister. I’d have never made it without your help.”
“This is one mean night to be out on the snow. Why would anyone be out in this kind of weather if he didn’t have to be?” the driver of the snowplow growled at Brett as he picked up his chain and threw it into the cab of his truck. “You don’t live up here, do you?”
“I promised a friend I’d drop by tonight.”
The driver shook his head. “If it were me, I’d call on the phone.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
The man shook his head again.
“Thanks for getting me out,” Brett mumbled.
“You still going up the mountain?”
Brett nodded.
The older man smiled. “Pull in behind me then. You can follow me to the summit.”
The rest of the way Brett kept his eyes focused on the taillights of the snowplow ahead of him. It was slow going, but he felt more secure.
Just beyond the summit, a small cafe and service station were still open. The snowplow pulled in. Brett pulled up next to the truck, climbed out, and called to the man, “Thanks again. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
“Probably not,” the man grinned. “You staying the night here?”
Brett shook his head. “I just came for a visit. I have to be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment. Going down is going to be worse than coming up.”
Brett shrugged.
The man laughed and nodded, “Yeah, I know, you have to visit a friend.” He squinted against the onslaught of snow. “Well, I’ve got some work to do up this way. I’m planning to be back here at the cafe around nine-thirty and get a bite to eat before the place closes. I’m going to pull out of here a few minutes before ten. If you want to follow me down the hill then, you be here. I won’t wait for you.”
“Thanks,” Brett called out, feeling relieved. “I’ll try to make it.”
It was another three miles to Jeff’s place. The going was slow and a bit hazardous, but Brett was determined. He drove slowly and steered his car over the snow-covered roads. His muscles were stiff and tense as he gripped the steering wheel and fought to keep the Mustang on the road. He knew if he slid off the road now, there would be no one to rescue him. The strain of the last two hours of slow driving had taken its toll. A dull, pulsing pain was beginning to hammer in the back of his head.
Brett spotted the mailbox first and then saw the dim lights from the house up the driveway through the trees. One look told Brett that he would never get the Mustang up that driveway. He parked the car along the road, pulled his coat around him, and then pushed out into the night’s storm. He trudged through the snow the 200 yards to the Bakers’s front door.
By the time Brett reached the front steps, huge flakes of snow clung to his clothes and hair. He stepped up onto the small porch, stomped his feet, and knocked firmly on the front door.
Within moments the door flung inward and Jeff’s mother was standing in the doorway. “Brett!” she gasped. “Come in out of that weather. You look like the abominable snowman.”
Brett grinned sheepishly, stomped his feet again, and stepped inside. Sister Baker closed the door behind him. “Let me take that coat and then you get in there in front of the stove. You must be half frozen. How in the world did you get here? I thought they might close the road.”
Brett handed Sister Baker his coat and moved into the family room in front of the wood-burning stove that was glowing warmly. Brother Baker was there watching TV, and Jeff’s two sisters came in from the living room and said hello.
“I can’t believe you came in this storm,” Sister Baker exclaimed when she had hung up his coat. “Nobody thought you’d come tonight. Not with the snow and all.”
“Nobody but Jeff,” Brother Baker corrected. “He said you’d come.”
Brett smiled wanly and ducked his head. He swallowed at a lump in his throat and felt a mist form in his eyes. The Bakers were like family to Brett. When they had lived in St. Anthony, Brett had spent almost as much time at their place as at his own. Those visits had become more infrequent since Brother Baker had returned to his old job with the forest service at Island Park, but distance had not diminished Brett’s feelings for these people.
“How’s Jeff?” Brett asked gently, afraid of the answer.
There was a moment of silence, and then Sister Baker spoke softly. “Oh, he gets real tired. He has his good days and bad, but somehow he manages to keep his spirits up.”
“What does the doctor say?”
Sister Baker avoided Brett’s eyes. She straightened some magazines on the coffee table. “He isn’t too encouraging,” she said, just above a whisper. “But we keep hoping.”
“Things will work out,” Brett insisted.
“That’s what we keep telling ourselves.” Sister Baker heaved a sigh. “You will stay the night, won’t you?”
“Can’t. I promised Mom and Dad I’d be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You can’t drive in this kind of weather.”
“I drove here. Besides, once I get down the mountain I’ll be all right. The guy driving the snowplow said he’d wait for me at the cafe if I’d be there before ten. I can follow him down. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay. We’d love to have you.”
Brett nodded. “Is Jeff so I could see him?”
“He’s in his room. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”
Gingerly Brett tapped on the bedroom door. There was a weak call to come in, and Brett pushed the door open. The only light in the room came from a small reading lamp perched on a small nightstand next to the double bed. On the other side of the bed was a bookshelf, crammed with books and magazines. The walls of the room were covered with posters and pictures.
“You made it!” Jeff’s weak voice called out as Brett stepped into the room. “I knew you’d make it.”
Brett froze momentarily, shocked by the sight. He smiled, but he felt sick as he saw his friend’s pale yellow, emaciated frame lying under the blankets. Most of his hair was gone, his eyes were large and sunken, his cheeks thin and wasted. He had never been able to picture Jeff as anything but vibrantly alive, and yet here he was a mere shell of his former self.
“How’s it going, Jeff?” Brett finally managed to stammer. It was obvious that he was shocked and taken back.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Jeff shrugged. “I don’t worry much about haircuts anymore.” He motioned for Brett to pull up the only chair in the room and to sit down next to him. “I’m sorry about the way I look. That’s what happens when you don’t play football.” He smiled faintly to ease his friend’s discomfort.
Brett fought to recover. “We’ll have to get you a ball and some pads and get you out on the field then.”
“I’d love it,” Jeff laughed.
For the first time, Brett realized how serious Jeff’s illness was. Oh, he’d been told. The deadly chances had been explained to him, but he had refused to accept anything so pessimistic. Jeff would pull through; he just knew it. When Jeff had been forced to forfeit his scholarship to Ricks, Brett had assured him that he’d still play. He just needed time to rest up. He could beat this illness.
“I missed you this fall,” Brett spoke, groping for something to say. “We had a good quarterback, but nothing like you. I couldn’t read his mind.”
Jeff reached for a scrapbook next to his bed and handed it to Brett. “You did all right for yourself,” he grinned. “Everything that was ever written about the Rick’s football team this fall is in this scrapbook. And your name shows up in nearly every article. I loved it.”
Brett thumbed through the pages, glancing at pictures and articles he’d never even seen before. “Where’d you get all this?” Brett asked amazed. He recognized some of the articles as those he had sent to Jeff himself, but many others were new to him.
“That was the only way I could be there with you,” Jeff answered simply. “It was a fair substitute. But now I want to hear everything from you. I want the good stuff, how you felt, what it was like to play college ball, all the stuff they don’t write about.”
“I could go on all night.”
“I want you to go on all night. I’m not going any place.”
For the next hour the two laughed, talked, reminisced, joked, and teased. As the minutes ticked away the two young men forgot the ominous, uninvited guest who haunted the room, who clung to Jeff Baker, slowly choking the life from his deteriorating frame.
“I brought something for you,” Brett finally said. “For Christmas.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything for Christmas.”
“I tried to think of a Christmas present, something you could really use, but nothing seemed just right.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” Jeff muttered, looking embarrassed. “Your being here tonight is all the gift I wanted.”
Brett shook his head. “I brought something else.” He pulled an envelope from inside the sweater he was wearing and handed it to Jeff. Jeff took one look at the return address, and his face exploded into a smile. “It came!” he burst out. “Your mission call came.”
Brett smiled broadly. “I’ve had it for almost a week now.” Brett’s cheeks colored. “I was going to wait until you filled out yours, you know, like we’d planned.” He shook his head. “Then I got to figuring that maybe I’d better get on out there and show you how things should be done.”
“Well, where you going? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you came in?”
Brett grinned and shrugged.
Jeff glanced down at the envelope once more. He studied it a moment and then looked up at his friend. “You haven’t even opened it?” he suddenly rasped.
Brett nodded his head. “I couldn’t. Not without you. I figured that was something we had to do together.” Brett looked down at his hands. “At Thanksgiving when I was made an elder, I thought of you. I was wishing that you were there. I made up my mind then that when the call came, I wanted you to open it up. I wanted it to be your call too.”
Jeff smiled and handed the envelope to his friend. “Well, go ahead and open it then. I can’t wait to know where you’re going.”
Brett didn’t take the envelope. He shook his head. “No, I want you to open it.”
Jeff hesitated, studying his friend for a moment. “But you should open it. I mean, this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Brett nodded. “That’s why I wanted you to open it. I wanted you to have the very best.”
“Are you sure?” Jeff asked, his voice faltering just a little.
Brett nodded. “Positive.”
Jeff held the unopened envelope in his hand for a moment and then, carefully, he tore open one end of it and with shaking hands pulled the letter out. He looked up once at Brett before he studied the contents. Brett nodded encouragement to him. For several moments Jeff read; then he looked up and wet his lips.
“Where?” Brett asked with excitement.
“Would you believe you’re going to Bolivia?”
“Bolivia?” Brett asked, startled. Jeff nodded. “I’m not even sure I know exactly where that is. It’s in South America. That’s about all I know.”
“There’s an atlas on the desk. Grab it and let’s take a look.”
The two thumbed through the atlas until they had found the right map. They studied it with excitement, asking each other questions that neither could answer.
“I’d never thought of Bolivia,” Brett grinned. “I wonder what it’s like?”
“Probably the best mission in the world.”
“Bolivia!” Brett called out, laughing and jumping to his feet. “Hey, bud, I’m going to Bolivia. When do I leave?”
“March 3rd,” Jeff smiled, glancing down again at the letter.
“Hey, kid,” Brett laughed, “you’re going to have to get well soon. I may play football without you, but I won’t go on my mission alone. If you’re not out there within six months, I’m coming back for you.”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. “Thanks for letting me be part of it,” he said softly. “If I don’t get another thing, this will be my best Christmas. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”
“You’re going to get better, Jeff, you hear me?”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. For a moment the two didn’t speak, and then Jeff swallowed and said, “I used to pray all the time that some kind of miracle would happen. That’s about the best cure for leukemia, a good miracle.” He wet his lips and shook his head. “I used to be scared. I didn’t want to think about the future. And then I thought of both of us. I thought of all the crazy, fun things we’ve done together. We had some good times, and the best thing of all is that I’m not ashamed of any of that. We could have never done anything really bad. We were always sort of square with the Lord. Right now that means a lot to me. I’m not scared anymore, Brett.”
“Don’t talk like that, Jeff.”
“You have a lot of time to think when you’re laid up like I am. I used to worry about all the things I wasn’t going to get to do.”
“Jeff, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I want you to hear it. I want to say it. Because if I can say it, it isn’t going to be so hard to do.” He swallowed. “I’m square with the Lord, Brett. Thanks for letting me be part of your mission to Bolivia. But I know that Bolivia isn’t the only mission. And I figure that maybe we’re going to go on this mission together after all.”
For a long time the two friends were silent. Their eyes filled with tears, but there was a quiet, comforting calm in the room.
It was almost ten when Brett pulled into the small cafe at the summit. The snow was still coming down. The huge snowplow was parked out front, its engine running. Brett pushed open the glass door to the cafe and stepped in. The highway worker was at the counter finishing a piece of pie. He looked up as Brett stepped in. “You made it back. I was wondering if you would. It’s a beast of a night out there. You sure you want to brave that road?”
Brett nodded.
“It will be at least two hours to St. Anthony from here with the roads the way they are. I’ll bet you’re wishing you had chosen a different night to stop by your friend’s place.”
Brett shook his head. “No, I was just thinking that even if I had had to walk I would have come and not regretted it.”
The driver pushed his plate away from him and shook his head, perplexed. “That must be some friend of yours.”
Brett nodded slowly and turned for the door, and as he stepped into the snowy night, he thought of Jeff and he had no regrets.

The sacrament provides a time for a truly spiritual experience as we reflect upon the Savior’s redeeming and enabling power through His Atonement. A Young Women leader recently learned about the strength we receive as we strive to thoughtfully partake of the sacrament. Working to complete a requirement in Personal Progress, she set a goal to focus on the words in the sacrament hymns and prayers.
Each week, she conducted a self-evaluation during the sacrament. She recalled mistakes she had made, and she committed to be better the next week. She was grateful to be able to make things right and be made clean. Looking back on the experience, she said, “I was acting on the repentance part of the Atonement.”
One Sunday after her self-evaluation, she began to feel gloomy and pessimistic. She could see that she was making the same errors over and over again, week to week. But then she had a distinct impression that she was neglecting a big part of the Atonement—Christ’s enabling power. She was forgetting all the times the Savior helped her be who she needed to be and serve beyond her own capacity.
With this in mind, she reflected again on the previous week. She said: “A feeling of joy broke through my melancholy as I noted that He had given me many opportunities and abilities. I noted with gratitude the ability I had to recognize my child’s need when it wasn’t obvious. I noted that on a day when I felt I could not pack in one more thing to do, I was able to offer strengthening words to a friend. I had shown patience in a circumstance that usually elicited the opposite from me.”
She concluded: “As I thanked God for the Savior’s enabling power in my life, I felt so much more optimistic toward the repentance process I was working through and I looked to the next week with renewed hope.”

DJ walked out of the church building with the other kids who had come to the Saturday activity. They’d already had a lot of fun. He couldn’t wait to see what was next.
Brother and Sister Jones led the group to the back parking lot. A bunch of plastic chairs were set up in a really weird arrangement—not in rows at all.
“So,” Brother Jones said, clapping his hands together and smiling, “who wants to try our obstacle course?”
DJ’s hand shot up. Awesome! He loved obstacle courses! This one looked kind of easy, but that was OK. It would still be cool.
Sister Jones nodded to DJ, then turned to the other kids. “You’ll all have a chance,” she said with a smile. “But I’m afraid it’s not as easy as it looks.”
She pulled a blindfold from her pocket.
DJ stared at the blindfold, then back at the chairs. This was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought.
“Don’t worry, DJ,” Brother Jones said. “You’ll have help. Who would like to be DJ’s helper?”
This time his friend Sam’s hand went up first. Sister Jones sent Sam to the other side of the obstacle course. “OK, Sam, your job is to tell DJ how to get through without running into any chairs. If he needs to go left, right, back, or forward, you tell him. Understand?”
“Yup!” Sam said.
Brother Jones placed a hand on DJ’s shoulder. “DJ, listen closely to Sam’s voice. If you bump into a chair, you’ll have to take three steps back and keep trying. Ready?”
“I think so,” DJ said. It still sounded fun, but he was starting to wish he hadn’t volunteered first. He’d probably bump into at least two or three chairs.
Brother Jones tied on the blindfold. “Good luck!”
“OK,” Sam said. “Walk forward three steps.” DJ started moving his feet. It felt so strange, walking in the dark like that.
“Now another two steps,” Sam said. “Yeah. Now one more. Good. Now turn left.”
As DJ kept dodging the chairs, he started feeling confident.
“Turn right,” Sam said a minute later. But DJ didn’t listen right away. He thought for sure he remembered a straight path right about there. He could get through faster if he kept going the way he was headed. He took a step or two without turning.
“Wait,” Sam said. “I said turn right!”
“I will in just a—” DJ bumped right into a chair. It slid across the ground. Oops …
“That’s OK,” Brother Jones said. “Just back up and try again.”
DJ felt silly. He should have listened to Sam. He carefully backed up three steps.
This time Sam talked him all the way through without another bump. The other kids clapped as DJ took off his blindfold and gave Sam a high five.
Sister Jones pointed at the chairs. “Our lives can be like this obstacle course,” she said. “It’s not always easy to see problems on our own. But we have a helper too. Can anybody tell me who that helper is?”
Shayla raised her hand. “The Holy Ghost!” she said.
Brother Jones nodded. “Exactly. He can help us avoid hidden dangers. Now who’s next?” All the other kids raised their hands at once.
DJ decided right then that he would always listen to the Holy Ghost. He knew then he would be safe from hidden dangers.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

Illustrations by Jennifer Tolman
Dear Journal, Jarom wrote as he sat at the kitchen table, I’m getting really excited about going on a mission. Did you know I can now go when I turn 18? That’s only eight years away! I can’t wait!
Jarom kept writing about how much he looked forward to his mission. His younger sister Taran was also writing in her journal. Kelcey, Ben, and Alyssa drew pictures in their journals instead. They were still too young to write.
I used to be kind of nervous about the idea of leaving home to go on a mission, Jarom wrote. But now I know better. A mission is going to be great. I wonder where I’ll go.
He kept writing about his future mission. Every Sunday his whole family wrote in their journals for 15 minutes as part of Family MTC—their family’s own “missionary training center.”
They’d already done their 15 minutes of personal scripture study. Jarom knew that was important too, even if it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the scriptures confused him. But he kept doing his very best. And Mom and Dad could always answer questions when he got really stuck.
Journal time, though, was always one of his favorite activities. He especially liked when they shared journal entries with each other.
“OK,” Dad said. “Time’s up. Ready for class time?”
Everybody cheered. Class time was fun. They each picked favorite articles from the Friend to teach the rest of the family. Jarom chose a baseball story he found—he loved baseball, after all. And his younger brother, Ben, couldn’t wait to tell about a boy who tried building the biggest block tower in the universe. Everybody had something to share.
The 15 minutes zoomed by with favorite stories. That meant only one thing was left.
“It’s time for family devotional,” Mom said.
Jarom grinned. Family devotional usually meant watching Church videos on the computer. The whole family loved those videos. They sometimes couldn’t decide which videos to watch for the 15 minutes. There were so many to choose from.
“Can we watch the one about the scorpion again?” Jarom asked before they even made it to the computer. “Please?” The video about the scorpion showed how Elder Patrick Kearon of the Seventy learned to obey his parents and avoid dangerous things.
“We just watched that last week,” Dad said with a laugh.
“I know, but it’s awesome!”
“I want to watch ‘The Coat,’” Kelcey said.
In no time at all, it seemed, Family MTC was over for another week. And yes, they’d gotten to watch Jarom’s favorite video again. Sooo awesome, Jarom wrote really fast in his journal.
Then it was time to get ready for church. Jarom grabbed his scriptures and headed for the door.
He remembered a couple months ago when they started Family MTC. At the time he didn’t really know what to think of it. Would it feel like one more hour of church? Sometimes three hours felt like a long time already.
But he was surprised by how much he loved Family MTC. Going on a mission was one of his big goals in life. He knew what he had to do to be ready. Learning as a family made it that much more fun.
Besides, if it meant he got to watch the scorpion video a few more times along the way, well that was just fine by Jarom.

I sat at the kitchen table with a stack of Ensign magazines, skimming through the pages and hoping to find a story that would help my sister with her talk. An hour into my search, the pile of magazines had dwindled and so had my enthusiasm. Although the pages were filled with valuable messages, I hadn’t found anything to use. Then it occurred to me: I never prayed for help.
I immediately bowed my head and offered a prayer. Then I went back to searching. Before I prayed, I’d mostly looked in the short stories, but now I delved into other articles. In one of those articles, I found a story that would help my sister!
As my sister left the room, Ensign in hand, I offered a prayer of gratitude. I know Heavenly Father helps when I ask. I just need to pray.

Not many young women set a turkey trot race as their goal—but Debbie and Lori Wright of the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, did. They decided to accept the challenge of running the 4.25-mile race with their Laurel adviser, Lorraine Gaufin. Since neither of the sisters had raced before, they set up their own jogging schedules, trained on their own, and even got matching T-shirts with “Lorraine’s Laurels” printed on the back. The race was long enough to discourage them. It wasn’t the easiest goal they’ve ever achieved, but they ran a good race, They both finished the course, and Debbie brought home a turkey she won in the post-race drawing.

Susan seemed afflicted with a similar ailment. But hers came when she looked in the mirror.
“Oh my gosh, I look so awful. Other girls have bad hair days—I have bad hair seasons. Why can’t I be thin, tall, blonde, and from Sweden? Is that asking too much?”

And here’s Susan, back in front of the mirror, but with a new attitude:
“Wow, that ribbon Mom gave me really does look good with my hair! It matches my dress, too. Maybe Jennifer would like one. It would look really good with the T-shirt she wore to Young Women last week. Whoah! Look at the time! I’d better hurry. I promised I’d make my famous Swedish meatballs for Mutual tonight!”

Before school let out for the summer, the club members put their muscle into helping a local care center for abused children store its stock of winter clothes and unpack its summer supplies. The club also spent a creative afternoon making scrapbooks for children.
With so much planning and organizing, everyone in the club became better team players. Carrie and Rebecca contributed service ideas from their youth group while Victoria found other service opportunities in the community. “The club helped me learn how to let other people share their ideas and do things their way,” Rebecca reflects. “I’ve learned how to better interact with others.”

“This past year Christmas was very special to me. It was completely different from past Christmases. This year I engaged in helping many people during the pandemic.
“Though we couldn’t attend church or participate in some of our normal Christmas activities, helping others was still uplifting and made me feel the joy of Christmas. My family exchanged gifts with each other. We also made delicious food and served it to many of our friends of other faiths.
“I took the Light the World initiative diligently and served people. Doing so brought me peace and great happiness. I know Heavenly Father loves me and all His children. I know that Jesus Christ came to this world to love and to save us.”
Ruthwik V., 14, Bengaluru, India

Rob: You usually don’t realize you have a problem until you are in so deep you can no longer see the light. That’s what happened with me. I was curious and justified my involvement with pornography by reminding myself that guys at school were involved with it too, and it didn’t seem like a big problem for them.

Rob: Curiosity turned to interest, and interest developed into a strong habit. Soon I was addicted. I would get home from school, go straight to the computer, and be there for hours. My social life suffered. So did my schoolwork, family ties, and—most important—my spirituality.
At the very time I most needed the promptings of the Spirit in my life, I was less and less able to feel anything. Life became a constant struggle against depression.
My soul hungered, and the only thing I fed it offered no nourishment. I would get discouraged with myself, so I would delve into pornography to feel better. But the pornography would upset me even more.

Rob: Through all those years I attended church, but I was mentally inactive. I kept going to church so I wouldn’t upset my parents. But I knew the lifestyle I was caught up in was wrong. I noticed a change in my own countenance day by day, year by year. I became calloused and hardened. I found myself lying to my parents, my bishop, everyone around me. Inside I was going through personal turmoil and spiritual torment.

Rob: I humbly bowed before the Lord in tears and pleaded for strength beyond my own. Night after night I prayed, and finally I knew I had to talk to my bishop about it. That was the hardest part—admitting to someone else that I had a problem. I kept thinking I could handle it myself and no one would ever have to know. I wanted it to be something just between God and me. But I finally matured to a point where I realized that was impossible. I approached my bishop and began a long and difficult repentance process.
Repentance may be difficult, but it is also comforting and filled with hope.
Speaking of those who struggle with pornography, one bishop says: “Help is available. The repentance process is just that—a process. It takes time to break negative patterns, and each small victory must be acknowledged, reinforced, and celebrated along the way. Sometimes those I have worked with still struggle, but at least they are not hiding anymore. They have begun to build a support system. They have realized they don’t have to face this challenge alone.”
A former bishop explains: “Besides my own family, I don’t think I loved anyone in my ward quite as much as I loved those who came to me with broken hearts, seeking forgiveness and peace. They cared more about what the Lord thought of them than what any person thought. I respected their courage and desire to make things right. I shed tears over them. I rejoiced when they were clean and whole again. And afterward I never looked at them as former sinners—only as beloved brothers and sisters.”
“Trust in the Lord,” counseled Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “He knows what He is doing. He already knows of your problems. And He is waiting for you to ask for help” (“Trust in the Lord,” Ensign, May 1989, 36).
I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and to understand the Atonement. The Savior gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.
It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.
The best way to avoid a problem with pornography is to stay as far away from it as possible. But if you are struggling with pornography or any unworthy habit, please talk to your bishop or branch president. He loves you, he will be discreet, and he can help you put the power of the Atonement to work in your life. With the help of the Savior and His servants, you can gain the strength you need. You can become clean and confident and worthy in every respect.

Some years ago I went for the first time to the Salt Lake City Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the size of the building, but even more by the inspiring presence of the General Authorities who were gathered there.
During my childhood, many of the Brethren had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each General Authority visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on that April day many years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was attending conference with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest increased when President David O. McKay announced that the next speaker would be Elder Benson. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over 1.8 meters tall. He was a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed calm and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. One of Elder Benson’s young daughters leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’? Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed in prayer.

When my parents divorced, it was hard on my siblings and me. It took several years for me to forgive my father. I had to study the scriptures and pray with all my heart. I even talked to a counselor. Then I prayed to understand my dad. My eyes were opened, and I understood him, and it helped me heal. I was able to forgive, and I was freed from the chains that had held me down for so long. I know that the Savior’s Atonement is real. The Lord loves us and will never leave us comfortless.
Name withheld

When I was in my last year of Primary, a wonderful older lady named Marth Christensen was our teacher. She helped us learn the Articles of Faith. To this day I still know the Articles of Faith because of what I learned in Primary. We visited Sister Christensen’s home often. It was always a wonderful experience to be there. She taught us cooking skills, and we made cookies and candy. Sometimes we took the treats we had made to somebody who was homebound. The examples of wonderful teachers taught me to serve.

I made my way to Church College of Hawaii, a university owned and operated by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now known as Brigham Young University–Hawaii Campus, CCH is where I found my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and made the pivotal decision to become a member of His church.
CCH is also where my typing skills helped me to earn a bachelor of science degree in business education, with a minor in secretarial sciences. I also picked up a teaching certificate, and for my first job after university, I became the typing teacher.
I taught typing and various business-related subjects at the Church-owned high school in Pesega, Samoa, and then at Kahuku High when I returned to Hawaii a few years later.

A handsome young man, obviously a football player, told of how his testimony had been strengthened through association with fine, faithful friends, most of them a year older than he. Graduating from high school and soon to be separated from one another, they had a “last fling” together, a visit to the lovely grounds of the Provo Temple. Then they went to a quiet spot where in the late evening hours 12 future leaders of the Church bore their testimonies of the divinity of the gospel and expressed their love for one another.

President Brigham Young turned to Henry Grow for help in transforming his vision for the Tabernacle into reality. A convert to the Church and a native of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Brother Grow was a bridge builder with the skills necessary to take on such a task.
Plans were made, and in 1863 construction began.
Unable to acquire many common building materials, workers recycled materials and used local resources to build the Tabernacle. Lumber was harvested from local canyons, excess stone was taken from the Salt Lake Temple construction site, leftover military equipment and wooden oxen shoes were transformed into nails and washers, glue was created by boiling animal skins, and plaster was created from local limestone and enhanced with animal hair for strength.
Considering the materials available at the time, the Tabernacle truly was built with faith and ingenuity.
Four years after construction began, conference was held in the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle was officially dedicated in October 1875, after the completion of the interior.

As soon as I turned 12, I received my first temple recommend. I’ll never forget that first temple experience. The peace I felt was so unique. Though my home in southern Taiwan was four hours from the temple, I decided to go once a month on our stake temple day. I went even if no one could accompany me.
Soon I started inviting my Church friends to go with me. Though they didn’t show much interest at first, now they go every month. Many people in the ward also started going to the temple. Now no matter how often our ward plans a temple trip, many people come—more than our stake has ever seen before.
Soon after my decision to attend monthly, my family decided to go every month. Even if we have tests at school the day after our temple day, my family and I attend regularly. I’ve been frequently attending the temple with my family for seven years now. The temple is the house of the Lord, and we know the importance of going to the temple.
Chi-Yun Liu, Tainan, Taiwan