Gospel Story Finder

Ours was a very contented marriage as long as we left religion out of it, which was all right with both of us. Because of my extremely unhappy childhood, at eighteen I left home and church, marrying Norman, a nonmember, when I was twenty. And even though I was not living my religion, I do feel the Holy Ghost guided and protected me in my marriage. Norman was a fine man and, though strongly prejudiced against the Church, agreed to let me raise our children as Mormons. I never intended to set foot in the church again myself, but my spiritual roots must have been deeper than I knew.
We were not blessed with children for fifteen years, and then we adopted a baby boy; two and a half years later I gave birth to a son. When Douglas was three, I took him to Sunday School because I had decided that my children would be taken, not sent as I had been. I had no intention of getting involved; I just wanted our two boys to get a good religious background. One of my favorite sayings was, “My bad habits hurt no one but me, but if I ever accept a call in the Church I will live the standards fully.” I felt safe, since I never intended to accept a call. But when Steven was nearly three, I was called to teach the 3-year-olds group in Junior Sunday School. With great reluctance I accepted the call; Steven wouldn’t go to Sunday School without me, so I was trapped. And I began to live the Word of Wisdom and all other commandments to the best of my ability.
Gradually I discovered that the gospel was what I needed and wanted for my family. I gained a strong testimony, went through a very painful period of repentance, and dedicated my life to the Lord. In 1956 I received my patriarchal blessing and in it the comforting assurance: “If you are faithful and prayerful the Lord shall go before you and by his messenger shall prepare the way that in due time the righteous desire of your heart, and the prayer of your life, shall be answered, and all shall be well.”
What happiness I now knew! Yet it was not without its sadness, because my dear husband would have none of it. I was stubborn and I tried to force the gospel on him. I wanted him to understand and accept this wonderful thing that I had found. With me pushing and pulling, we came close to divorce in 1958.
This crisis completely humbled me and I spent a great deal of time in prayer, putting the matter in my Heavenly Father’s hands. I knew that there must be no more pushing and pulling, no more making my husband feel guilty that he did not attend church with us. And I began trying to make a truly happy home for him. I resolved to be an exemplary and loving wife in every way and leave him his free agency. Norman, being an honorable man, held to his agreement to let me raise the boys in the Church. This was admirable, because his deep prejudice had been there since childhood. My boys and I accepted every call to serve in the Church, and we always returned home with happy smiles and love for dad. We prayed for him, fasted for him, but above all, we loved him. He was always the head of the family.
I felt I must know the gospel well in order to answer any questions Norman might ask, so for fourteen years I studied diligently—and the more I learned, the more important the gospel became. I spoke of it to him only when moved by the Spirit, and many times I received definite promptings as to what to say and when to say it. To talk about these fourteen years in just a few sentences is not really enough. There were many setbacks and much heartache, but the boys and I never ceased to live the gospel.
In 1967 Norman elected to join a religious service fraternity, and I worried that this would be one more barrier to his conversion. Strenuously, I told my objections, telling him it would lead to further prejudice against the Church. When he said he was not prejudiced, I asked, “Are you tolerant enough to go to church with me?” He didn’t answer, but later that day he said that if I really wanted him to attend, he would. So he began attending the investigators’ class in Sunday School, and within a year he was also attending sacrament meeting. Of course, the boys and I were delighted, and we will be forever grateful to the ward members for the way they welcomed him and made him a part of the ward. But through that year I could sense a great struggle going on inside him. He questioned many doctrines. (Later, when we asked him what was most instrumental in his conversion, he said that his family meant more to him than anything else, and this church’s family orientation was a strong appeal. Second, he was unable to prove the gospel wrong, so decided it must be right.) I was also gratified that we were invited to many social activities in the homes of ward members, and Norman found that we could enjoy ourselves without the need for alcoholic drinks. He also supported both boys on missions and gave brief talks in sacrament meeting prior to their leaving.
But it was the inspiring words of Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve, given at the Relief Society conference in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1971, that gave me the courage to tell my husband how I felt about him joining the Church. Among other things, Elder Packer said:
“I have often said that a man cannot resist membership if his wife really wants him to have it, and if she knows how to give him encouragement.
“If you have faith enough and desire enough, you will yet have at the head of your home a father and husband who is active and faithful in the Church.
“Some who have long since lost hope have said bitterly, ‘It would take a miracle!’ And so I say, Why not? Why not a miracle! Is there a purpose more worthy than that?
“And I repeat, if your husband doesn’t feel at home going to church, then do everything you can to make him feel at church while he’s at home.
“Sisters, make the gospel seem worthwhile to them, and then let them know that that is your purpose.
“He needs to know, he needs to be told that you care about the gospel and what it means to you.” (“Begin Where You Are—at Home,” International Magazines, July 1972.)
Now an apostle of the Lord had told me to tell my husband what it would mean to me for him to accept the gospel. What a task! In our home the gospel was never mentioned unless my husband started talking about it first. I wept, trying to figure out how I’d ever be able to do it. Then I remembered the scripture, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10). I decided once again to fast and pray and trust in the Lord. It took me until January 1972 to find the courage to speak.
Then, one night, I asked Norman if he felt he could ever accept the gospel. He gave me a firm, but not unkind, no. Taking a deep breath, I told him how much the boys and I loved him, what a fine father and husband he had been; but, I said, he was unable to give me the thing I wanted most of all. Well, I had done it! An apostle of the Lord had told me to do it. Within six months of that night, after thirty-seven years of marriage, Norman was baptized. It was indeed a miracle.
Looking back on the months following that January conversation, I can see that many things happened to bring this about. Some friends from Salt Lake City gave Norman the book, No More Strangers by Hartman and Connie Rector, and challenged Norman to take his place at the head of his family and bear the priesthood. After our younger boy’s missionary farewell, where Norman spoke briefly, Norman’s Sunday School teacher challenged him to be baptized. Steven wrote letters of encouragement and asked his dad to read the Book of Mormon. Douglas also bore testimony to him. Though Steven had left a nonmember father behind in 1972, he returned in 1974 to find his father sitting on the stand as second counselor in the bishopric.

On this subject I feel to share a painful experience from my youth. As a 16-year-old priest, I was just beginning a part-time job as a radio announcer at a local station. After I offered a prayer at the sacrament table in our ward, a girl who was present told me I sounded like I was reading a commercial. Can you imagine the shame I felt? After 50 years that rebuke still stings. Brethren, remember the significance of those sacred prayers. You are praying as a servant of the Lord in behalf of the entire congregation. Speak to be heard and understood, and say it like you mean it.

Several months ago, when my wife and I were visiting another country for various Church assignments, I woke up early one morning and looked blearily outside our hotel window. Down below on the busy street, I saw that a roadblock had been set up with a policeman stationed nearby to turn cars around as they reached the barrier. At first, only a few cars traveled along the road and were turned back. But as time went by and traffic increased, queues of cars began to build up.

From the window above, I watched as the policeman seemed to take satisfaction in his power to block the flow of traffic and turn people away. In fact, he seemed to develop a spring in his step, as if he might start doing a little jig, as each car approached the barrier. If a driver got frustrated about the roadblock, the policeman did not appear helpful or sympathetic. He just shook his head repeatedly and pointed in the opposite direction.

My friends, my fellow disciples on the road of mortal life, our Father’s beautiful plan, even His “fabulous” plan, is designed to bring you home, not to keep you out. No one has built a roadblock and stationed someone there to turn you around and send you away. In fact, it is the exact opposite. God is in relentless pursuit of you. He “wants all of His children to choose to return to Him,” and He employs every possible measure to bring you back.

Our loving Father oversaw the Creation of this very earth for the express purpose of providing an opportunity for you and for me to have the stretching and refining experiences of mortality, the chance to use our God-given moral agency to choose Him, to learn and grow, to make mistakes, to repent, to love God and our neighbour, and to one day return home to Him.

He sent His precious Beloved Son to this fallen world to live the full range of the human experience, to provide an example for the rest of His children to follow, and to atone and redeem. Christ’s great atoning gift removes every roadblock of physical and spiritual death that would separate us from our eternal home.

Everything about the Father’s plan for His beloved children is designed to bring everyone home.

What do God’s messengers, His prophets, call this plan in Restoration scripture? They call it the plan of redemption, the plan of mercy, the great plan of happiness, and the plan of salvation, which is unto all, “through the blood of mine Only Begotten.”

The intent of the Father’s great plan of happiness is your happiness, right here, right now, and in the eternities. It is not to prevent your happiness and cause you instead worry and fear.

The intent of the Father’s plan of redemption is in fact your redemption, your being rescued through the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ, freed from the captivity of sin and death. It is not to leave you as you are.

The intent of the Father’s plan of mercy is to extend mercy as you turn back to Him and honour your covenant of fidelity to Him. It is not to deny mercy and inflict pain and sorrow.

The intent of the Father’s plan of salvation is in fact your salvation in the celestial kingdom of glory as you receive “the testimony of Jesus” and offer your whole soul to Him. It is not to keep you out.

Does this mean anything goes with regard to how we live our lives? That the way we choose to use our agency doesn’t matter? That we can take or leave God’s commandments? No, of course not. Surely one of Jesus’s most consistent invitations and pleas during His mortal ministry was that we change and repent and come unto Him. Fundamentally implicit in all of His teachings to live on a higher plane of moral conduct is a call to personal progression, to transformative faith in Christ, to a mighty change of heart.

God wants for us a radical reorientation of our selfish and prideful impulses, the eviction of the natural man, for us to “go, and sin no more.”

If we believe the intent of the Father’s all-reaching plan is to save us, redeem us, extend mercy to us, and thereby bring us happiness, what is the intent of the Son through whom this great plan is brought about?

The Son tells us Himself: “For I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.”

Jesus’s will is the benevolent Father’s will! He wants to make it possible for every last one of His Father’s children to receive the end goal of the plan—eternal life with Them. None is excluded from this divine potential.

If you are prone to worry that you will never measure up, or that the loving reach of Christ’s infinite Atonement mercifully covers everyone else but not you, then you misunderstand. Infinite means infinite. Infinite covers you and those you love.

Nephi explains this beautiful truth: “He doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world, even that he layeth down his own life that he may draw all men unto him. Wherefore, he commandeth none that they shall not partake of his salvation.”

The Saviour, the Good Shepherd, goes in search of His lost sheep until He finds them. He is “not willing that any should perish.”

“Mine arm of mercy is extended towards you, and whosoever will come, him will I receive.”

“Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you.”

He did not cast away the woman with the issue of blood; He did not recoil from the leper; He did not reject the woman taken in adultery; He did not refuse the penitent—no matter their sin. And He will not refuse you or those you love when you bring to Him your broken hearts and contrite spirits. That is not His intent or His design, nor His plan, purpose, wish, or hope.

No, He does not put up roadblocks and barriers; He removes them. He does not keep you out; He welcomes you in. His entire ministry was a living declaration of this intent.

Then of course there is His atoning sacrifice itself, which is harder for us to understand, beyond our mortal capacity to comprehend. But, and this is an important “but,” we do understand, can comprehend, the holy, saving intent of His atoning sacrifice.

The veil of the temple was rent in twain when Jesus died upon the cross, symbolising that access back to the presence of the Father had been ripped wide open—to all who will turn to Him, trust Him, cast their burdens on Him, and take His yoke upon them in a covenant bond.

In other words, the Father’s plan is not about roadblocks. It never was; it never will be. Are there things we need to do, commandments to keep, aspects of our natures to change? Yes. But with His grace, those are within our reach, not beyond our grasp.

This is the good news! I am unspeakably grateful for these simple truths. The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home. Of this I am a witness in the name of Jesus Christ, His Son, amen.

Two little stories give me hope. Two days after General Conference concluded I received this letter:
Dear Bishop Burton,
Our family has been saving for about a year to go to Disneyland. The children have never been, and it’s been fun for them to work on chores and help earn the money to go.
After learning about the hurricanes and devastation, particularly in Haiti, the children (ages 8, 7 and 4 years old) decided we should send our trip money to help.
There has been some concern from our 8-year-old that writing this letter is bragging, but I (the mom) felt that it makes it more personal and meaningful knowing the source, so to speak. Thank you for your love and service.
Love,
A family happily saving for Disneyland next year!
The anonymous letter postmarked from Snowflake, Arizona contained a bank draft for one thousand dollars.

In October 1983 I was attending a party in Rosario, Argentina, when to my surprise, I noticed a young lady reading a book. It was not just any book—it looked exactly like the one I had been searching for. Rays of light actually seemed to be coming from it, as if it were saying, “Here I am.”
The young lady had not been introduced to me, but I overcame my shyness and approached her. I glanced at the open book but could see nothing except the word Alma at the top of the page. My heart beat with excitement. It had to be the right book.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but could you please let me see your book?”
Again to my surprise, she started asking me questions.
“This book?”
“Yes, that book.”
“Do you know what book this is?”
“No. That’s what I want to find out.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in it.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Well—because. It’s very important to me.”
“But can’t you tell me why?”
I began to be exasperated. “If you don’t want to lend it to me, at least tell me the name of it.”
Again she said, “But tell me why! Why do you want to know what book this is?”
I realized I would have to explain. “I came to this country about two years ago,” I said. “I didn’t know a soul, so I spent a lot of time reading the Bible, reading it very conscientiously. The more I read, the more I became convinced that my church is in error. One day I fasted and prayed and asked the Lord if my church was the right one or if I should search for another.
“The Lord answered my prayer. I had a dream in which the Lord showed me a prophet named Joseph. I learned that he is somehow associated with the right church. The doctrine of that church is based on a book that is as important as the Bible. When I find it, I will find the true Church of Jesus Christ. The only thing I know about the book is its outside appearance and the one word I saw inside, the word Alma. I think it is the same book you have in your hand.”
Now the young lady was taken by surprise. She told me the book was the Book of Mormon, and understanding that my intentions were good, she at last gave the book to me. I glanced at the title. Then it was my turn to ask questions.
“Do the Mormons have this book?”
“Yes.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Several prophets who used to live on this continent.”
“Didn’t a man named Smith write this book?”
“No. By divine command he translated the writings found on gold plates.”
“Well, then! It is a real treasure!”
“It definitely is.”
My happiness was great. Even before I read the Book of Mormon, I was sure that it was true—and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church.
The young lady with the book introduced me to the missionaries. They soon gave me my own copy of the Book of Mormon.
Since I found it, the Book of Mormon has been my inseparable companion. When I read it, I feel comfort from pain. I find hope when I am discouraged, and I feel the love of God when everything seems futile.

My grandpa is my friend. Early one summer morning, he called me to see if I’d like to go catch minnows for my uncle’s large fishpond. Of course I wanted to!
Grandpa knew just the right spot at the park. We headed down the slope of the large ditch with our strainers and glass jars. I reached the water first and turned around to see him rolling down the steep slope. He had lost his footing and fallen.
I was afraid he was hurt, but Grandpa told me he’d be fine—he just needed to rest a few minutes. He said to go ahead and start catching minnows. But how could I do that when I could see that he needed help? I tried to help him up on his feet but couldn’t. I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to do. I knew that He would help me and Grandpa.
Grandpa was finally able to get up on his knees, and with a little help, tried crawling to the top of the slope. We’d crawl up two feet and slide back one, but slowly we reached the top and peeked over the ridge. I saw a man not too far away and ran over to ask him to help Grandpa. Even with the two of us tugging, Grandpa couldn’t get up. A park worker saw us and came to help, too, and we finally got Grandpa up on the grass.
The park worker wanted to call an ambulance, but Grandpa thought that if he could just get to his car, everything would be fine. He drove us to the emergency entrance at the hospital and told me to go inside and ask someone to come with a wheelchair.
I found a wheelchair but no one who could help, so I took it out to the car myself. Grandpa twisted and turned until he was able to sit in the wheelchair. I pushed him across the parking lot and up a ramp into the emergency room. It turned out that his ankle was broken and needed surgery.
From that time on, I have been Grandpa’s hero. But I know that I didn’t do it alone. Heavenly Father was with me all the way to give me the courage and strength to help my grandpa.

As Relief Society president, I felt overwhelmed by the needs and challenges some families in our little branch were facing. Times had been tough, and several members had lost their jobs.
Outside the Church, discouragement, sadness, and hopelessness could be seen in the eyes of many who were having difficulty providing for their families. Even children and youth exuded feelings of uncertainty and turmoil.
Branch leaders felt the need to carry a bit of hope and love to the most needy—something that could help people in our community feel that a loving Heavenly Father knew of their trials and was watching over them.
As Christmas drew near, we proposed inviting the poorest children in our community to a dinner. Branch members would hold fund-raisers, buy food from a fast-food chain, and prepare our meetinghouse to receive our guests. Everyone got involved, including the Primary children, young women, and young men.
We arranged for the fast-food chain to provide the food, and we contacted social workers to locate families with the greatest needs. The workers gave us a list of about 100 children, which was more than we had anticipated. Our spirits did not fail, but it seemed impossible to raise enough money to purchase food for that many children.
When the day of our dinner arrived, the branch president, accompanied by several deacons, took the funds we had raised and headed to the restaurant, wondering how we were going to feed so many children with our limited funds. They prayed as they went, thinking that maybe we should invite only the smallest children, divide the meals in half, or call off the activity.
When they reached the restaurant, the branch president put the money on the counter. That’s when their prayers were answered.
The restaurant manager looked at them and, with a smile, said the restaurant would be happy to contribute as many meals as necessary—at no cost! I cannot express the joy we all felt upon learning of this kind gesture, which allowed us to bring some cheer—and plenty of food—to a large group of needy children.
Thanks to the restaurant’s generosity, we were able to use the money that we had raised to purchase food and make food baskets for the neediest families.
From this experience we learned that no effort is in vain when we put our talents and good desires to the service of our fellow beings. Our testimonies were strengthened that the Lord opens doors after we do all we can.

This story reminds me of an experience I had when I was an undergraduate student here at BYU. Being at college can be a really exciting time, but I found that it was also really challenging. And my guess is that although our specific challenges may be different, you can relate to how hard it was at times. My last semester was probably my most difficult semester emotionally, and I felt as if the wind and waves of life might sink me. My mom had passed away the previous year, and though I did not recognize it at the time, I was experiencing depression. Nothing felt exciting to me, and life did not really feel worth living. Every day it seemed that the best I could do was just to go through the motions.

On top of that, I had just completed an internship working in an orphanage in Eastern Europe. After seeing so many young children abandoned and neglected, I had a hard time seeing how my classes were meaningful, so I did not attend class as much as I should have. And then, of course, I wondered why I was not doing as well as I wanted to on some of my exams.

I had chosen public health as my major, and I had thought that by my last semester I would know just what to do with my life. But with graduation only months and then weeks away, I realized that I was clueless—maybe more clueless than I had ever been. Of course I did what most any BYU student would do: I prayed for direction. I prayed and I prayed. And I felt absolutely nothing. I was so discouraged and afraid. I felt as if I were in that boat with the disciples trying to shake the Savior awake, only this time He kept on sleeping. Where was the peace, and why had He abandoned me?

Now, in hindsight, I can see that the Lord was wide awake and calming the storm. He sent a friend who gave me encouragement and advice as I was having a meltdown in the process of applying to master of public health programs. I ran into one of my favorite professors who suggested that I apply to a program I had never heard of before but that I ended up attending. Even though I could not feel the Spirit guiding me—maybe that was because of my depression, maybe because I was still learning to interpret how the Spirit spoke to me, or maybe because He wanted to empower me to work things out—I now see that He still inspired my logic and reasoning so that I could figure out the next steps.

Eventually my inner storms were calmed. The depression lifted. I had a wonderful experience in my graduate program. I now realize that figuring out what to do with your life is a lifelong process, but I have loved the path that the Lord has guided me on.

As the Brooklyn sailed for the Sandwich Islands (now Hawaii) to deliver some freight, just the right amount of wind filled the sails. The bright green peaks that rose over Honolulu announced another tropical paradise like the Juan Fernández islands. We pulled up next to the Congress, an American warship anchored outside the reef. Commodore Robert F. Stockton came aboard the Brooklyn and told us that the United States was fighting against Mexico in California.
“I can’t believe it!” Papa said, shaking his head over the distressing news. “For five long, weary months, we’ve traveled to find a peaceful place to live. Now we’re heading for a war, instead!”
“Maybe it’s one of those things that seem awful at the time but turn out to be good,” I suggested in an effort to cheer him up.
“I don’t see how it could be,” he replied, “but I hope that you’re right.”
Commodore Stockton urged the Brooklyn passengers to help defeat Mexico. He proposed that our men capture Yerba Buena, the small settlement on San Francisco Bay, in the name of the United States.
Papa wasn’t the only one who was concerned about the situation. As we assembled for prayers that evening, there was a lot of discussion about what we should do. After the leaders of the company heard all the opinions, studied the options, and prayed, they decided to stay with the original plan to go to California. The Saints would prepare to fight, in case it became necessary.

In 1816 the French physician René Laënnec was convinced that if he could listen carefully to the sounds made by his patients’ lungs and hearts, he would hear many clues to their conditions. But he found it difficult to isolate the swish of the lungs or the lub-dub of the beating heart. Many of his patients were so fat that the sounds coming from their chests were lost.
One day Dr. Laënnec was watching children play on a pile of timber. He saw one boy put his ear to the end of a long beam while another tapped on the opposite end. The sound traveled along the wood. At once Laënnec saw the answer to his problem. He hurried back to his hospital, took a paper-covered book, and rolled it tightly into a tube. To everyone’s astonishment, he then put one end of the tube to a patient’s chest and applied his ear to the other. As he expected, he heard the heart sounds clearly. Then he made little wooden “listening trumpets” on a lathe, and the stethoscope was invented.

I have three darling little granddaughters. One is five years old, and the others are three and one. The oldest is Amy Christine, but I call her Love-Love. The second is named Melissa. Her parents call her Missy, but I call her my Dolly. The third little girl whose name is Natalie Ann is so soft and cuddly that I call her Pinky.
Nicknames are fun, but I had an experience recently that caused me to think. Minnie, my wife, held Missy in her arms, gave her a big kiss, and asked, “Who’s my love?” and Missy answered, “Amy.” When it was my turn to give her a squeeze, I held her tight and said, “Who does grandpa love?” And Missy answered, “Your Love-Love.”
“Yes,” I answered and then asked, “and who else does grandpa love?” Missy replied, “Your Love-Bird,” which is an affectionate term I use for my wife. Missy did not think we loved her because we didn’t use love in her name.
After we compared notes, we realized that we had to do something special to let Melissa know that she was loved too. Now I call her my Love-Dolly, and my wife calls her Missy-Love. In the future, as our smallest grows up, we must be also careful to let her know that she isn’t just Pinky. We’ll choose another name for her that includes love so she also will know that she is loved as much as her sisters.
May I return to my granddaughter? Instead of just saying, “How’s my Dolly?” I now say, “How is grandpa’s Love-Dolly?” To hear the cries of joy when grandpa and grandma come to see them is worth waiting and working for. Try something similar with your friends and see if I’m not telling you the truth!

Although Adam likes to have fun, he can be very responsible. Once when Adam, Mandy, and their one-year-old brother, Thomas, were staying with their grandmother, she got very sick and had to lie down on the couch. Adam brought her a glass of water, as he’d seen his mother do. Then he knelt down beside the couch and said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father for help.
When he was finished, he knew just what to do. He brought his grandmother a pillow so that she would be comfortable and gave Thomas and Mandy some toys so that they wouldn’t cry. Then he called his mother, who was working at a nearby hospital. “Grandma doesn’t feel well,” he said. “Could you please come and help?”
Adam tried to keep his brother and sister occupied until his mother came to help. Then he said another prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father.
His grandmother felt much better by the time his mother arrived, but Adam wasn’t surprised. “I knew that Heavenly Father would hear and answer my prayer,” he said.

Of late, several of our leaders have spoken of the danger of trying to simultaneously worship the worldly god of tolerance and follow the true God’s teachings of right and wrong (see Dallin H. Oaks, “No Other Gods,” Ensign, November 2013). Perhaps I can add an illustration from my own classes. Back when I regularly taught world civilization courses, we would discuss the cultures found in ancient Mesoamerica. A small part of our time was spent discussing the violent rituals of human sacrifice that the Spanish conquistadors encountered there. As I tried to frame a discussion about these violent acts and their effect on cultural interaction, I often asked my students what they thought about the horrific rituals we were discussing. I found that if I asked about the ritual practice, it was quickly condemned. But if I phrased the question in terms of what my students thought about this element of ancient culture, I was lucky if even one student would speak negatively of it. My students had been taught so regularly and thoroughly that we must be tolerant of other people’s cultures that they could not bring themselves to say that human or child sacrifice was a bad element of culture.
Now, I believe the Bible is fairly clear on this point. A number of passages make it very plain that God finds this practice completely unacceptable. Yet too often my students could not quite commit to this gospel truth because it conflicted with the ideas of the world that they have been immersed in since their youth. Without realizing it, they had begun to struggle with trying to worship God and the ideas of the world at the same time. If they had a hard time condemning human sacrifice, I can only imagine what else the world had convinced them that they should not call wrong. The ways of the world were surely affecting their ability to fully see things the way God wanted them to. Insightfully, President Boyd K. Packer warned that the virtue of tolerance could become a vice in just this way (see “Covenants,” Ensign, November 1990).

“Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them standing by my locker in the ninth-grade hall. Was something wrong? Death, fire, disaster all flashed through my mind. I ran the last few steps toward them and breathlessly asked, “What’s up?”
“Hello, dear. We thought it would be nice if we came and had lunch with you today,” my mother said, smiling cheerfully as my dad nodded his agreement.
“What!” My anticipation quickly turned to a growing dread. “With all my friends? In the cafeteria and everything?” I stammered as my face flamed at the thought of the entire ninth grade watching my parents and me dine on the daily special of meatballs and macaroni. How horrible!
Despite my embarrassment, lunch in the cafeteria with my parents was fun. By the end of the hour, I felt a sense of pride as I listened to my friends and my parents discussing the big game coming up that weekend and our hard classes.
“We love you and thanks for letting us come,” Mom said, hugging me.
“We are very proud of you,” said Dad as he held the cafeteria door open for Mom. I watched them through the steamy cafeteria window and realized how much I loved them.
As I think about that lunchtime now, my feelings of embarrassment have faded, but the warm, loving feeling is still strong. My parents made a small sacrifice that day, an hour of time. Yet in that hour, they brought new meaning to the words, “We love you.” I knew they really cared.

For as long as I can remember, every time my mother came back from the temple, she would tell us about the peace she felt there. Throughout my teenage years, we had visited the temple in Johannesburg, South Africa, to do baptisms. Finally the time came for me to receive my endowment just before I left to serve a mission.
We traveled 900 miles (1,400 km) that day to get to the temple, and my mother spent much of the journey telling me about her experiences there. She talked about the things she felt and of her closeness to Heavenly Father. By the time we arrived at the temple, it was getting dark. The sky’s blue color faded into pink, then red, and finally black. The lights came on and lit up the temple’s beautiful white spires. As we walked around the temple in the cold night air, the golden statue of the angel Moroni glistened under a spotlight. The temple grounds were quiet and restful, undisturbed by the buzz of the city.
During the endowment session, I marveled at the incredible beauty of the Creation and the amazing plan of salvation. It made me long to see my Heavenly Father again. Now I understood what my mother had talked about so often—I felt completely at peace, as if I had come home. The session ended, and it was time to leave.
We were staying with my grandparents, and as we drove home with them, we saw that there had been a storm that evening while we were in the temple. I was amazed that I had not heard the thunder, rain, or wind while I was in the temple. In disbelief I stared through the car window at all the damage: electricity poles and trees had fallen down, road surfaces had been broken up or were flooded with water, and a few roofs had been blown off.
As I pondered the events of the evening, words came into my mind as the Spirit spoke to me: “Go to the temple often. It will be a refuge from the storm.”
I have been to the temple several times since then, and every time I go, I leave behind the troubles and difficulties of this stormy world and take shelter in the peace and comfort of my Heavenly Father’s love (see Isa. 4:6; D&C 115:6).

“Who does he think he is?”
That question seared through my mind like a hot coal and overshadowed everything else. I had just knelt down by my bed to say my nightly prayers when my new stepfather passed by my bedroom door and saw me kneeling there. He must have been deeply touched by the sight, because he felt impelled to come into my room, kneel down beside me, put his arm around me, and join me in prayer.
I wanted to rip his arm from my shoulders and shove him out the door. I didn’t consider the fact that he was just trying to be nice—making an effort to grow closer to me. At the time I felt like he was intruding on something very private. I’d thought before that he was trying to nose into my real dad’s rightful spot, and that he was coming between my Mom and me. Now it seemed he wanted to horn his way into my relationship with Heavenly Father. “Get out of here!” my mind silently shouted. I knelt there, seething in silence, unable to finish my prayer.
My feelings, although not charitable, were natural and typical of a teenager trying to adjust to a new parent. You would probably be surprised at the number of teenagers who have to make that adjustment. More than a third of the kids in the Church will likely grow up without both their natural parents in the home. They will either live in single-parent families, or will have a stepparent. And when that stepparent moves in, there are major adjustments to be made.
The New Era talked with teenagers in various parts of the United States to find out what helped them adapt to a new parent, and we’re passing that information along to you. Stepbrothers and stepsisters enter in, but for now, we’re focusing on the parent. Chances are that if you’re not currently dealing with this kind of situation, one of your friends is, and maybe this will help you help them.
“You’ve got to have a positive attitude about stepparents and not have this preconceived notion that they’re going to be mean,” says Nathan Black, 16, of Salt Lake City. “The story of Cinderella really didn’t do much for the stepparent image.”
Nancy Taylor, 15, of Richardson, Texas, agrees. “Trust in your natural parent’s judgment. If they thought their new husband or wife would be a bad influence in your home, they wouldn’t have married them. They love you. They don’t want to hurt you.”
As you can probably figure out from Nathan and Nancy’s statements, the first, and probably hardest thing to deal with when a stepparent moves in is the initial adjustment. They’re new to your family. They come from different backgrounds. They have different values, different personal styles, and they even eat different things from what you’re used to. “You don’t have a common past,” says Karis Wold, 17, of Gaithersburg, Maryland. “You don’t have the same experiences to laugh about.”
Then there’s the intrusion factor, and a little jealousy thrown in as well. Almost everyone who has a new parent move into their home feels these things to some degree. “A stepparent takes the place of the real parent in the home, and sometimes you feel resentful of that,” says Teri Black, 17, of Salt Lake City. “When one parent leaves, you become more dependent and closer to the one you’re living with. Then someone else comes along and gets most of their attention, and you feel like your stepparent is taking your real parent away from you.”
Karis and Teri both agree that patience is one of the most important factors in dealing with these initial problems. “You’ve just got to realize that everything is not going to be perfect from the very beginning,” says Karis. “Sometimes you have to put what you want aside and just wait. Perspective is important. You may have troubles now, but you have to realize that they won’t necessarily last forever. Sometimes you have to go with the flow and humor them.”
“You’ve also got to remember,” says Molly Parker, 12, of Beaverton, Oregon, “that your first impression of them is going to be different from your impression once you get to know them. You’re both trying to adjust at first. You’ve got to try to understand them, and then they’ll probably try to understand you.”
“And it’s important to watch the way you treat them,” adds Amy Rooney, 17, of Mesa, Arizona. “There’s a good chance that they’ll treat you the way you treat them. For example, one thing that a lot of stepkids say is, ‘I don’t have to do what you say—you’re not my real father!’ How would you feel if they said to you, ‘I don’t have to help you—you’re not my real kid’?”
That brings us to discipline, which is also a major cause of contention between stepparent and stepchild. You’re used to receiving a certain punishment for disobedience, and the stepparent dishes out another. You feel resentment because “that’s not the way my real dad did it.”
“Don’t compare your stepparents to your real parents, because, out of a sense of loyalty to your natural parents, the stepparent will always come up short,” says Chris Smith, 13, of Pasadena, California. He also offers this advice: “Just try to look at things from your new parent’s point of view. When they tell you to take out the trash, it’s not because they’re riding you. They just want the house to be clean.”
“At first I resented my stepdad when he disciplined my little sister,” says Nancy Taylor. “I felt he had no right to do that. But then my mom explained to me that Lindsey needs to learn what’s right and wrong—he wasn’t doing it to be mean, but to help her. That kind of applies to me, too. I had to accept the fact that he is the man of the house now, and what he says goes.”
Some of the people we talked to said their new parent was stricter than the parent they’d been living with, and others said the new parent was more lenient. But surprisingly enough, the general consensus was that kids were grateful to have set rules and set punishments for breaking them. Many times, when one parent is absent from the home, discipline breaks down, maybe because a single parent doesn’t have the support of a partner in administering it, or because single parents feel a need to ingratiate themselves with their children. Or perhaps, with a mom working again, she just doesn’t have the time. And then there’s the urge, with so many adjustments to be made, to just avoid any sort of conflict altogether. Whatever the case, most of the kids interviewed said they appreciated the discipline, and, although it took some time to get used to, it was better than having total freedom with no guidance.
Now, once the ground rules are set, there are all sorts of ways to become closer to your new parent. They’re not necessarily trying to take the place of your natural parent, but most will try to be your friend. How do you get closer to a friend? You do things together. You share things.
Joey Rossi, 16, of Dallas, Texas, shares his hobbies, like working on a computer, with his stepdad. Nathan Black likes to go to football and basketball games with his stepdad, who also goes to movies with Nathan’s sister Teri. Amy Rooney says her relationship with her stepfather grows when he helps her with softball or powderpuff football. Nathaniel Smith, 12, of Pasadena, California, got closer to his stepmother by letting her help him with his piano lessons and by listening to her etiquette tips, while his stepbrother Allen Doezie, 17, became better friends with his stepfather by going on Scouting trips with him.
In fact, the Church offers a lot of programs that can bring you closer to your stepparent. Aimee Crowther, 13, of Richardson, Texas, got a lot closer to her stepdad by going to a Daddy-Daughter party with him. Karis Wold says she really became close to her stepmother when they shared the experience of getting her patriarchal blessing.
And you know, asking a stepparent for help doesn’t hurt either. “At first it was hard for me to ask him to do things for me, like take me to the store and things like that,” says Nancy Taylor. “I didn’t want to impose on him, or make him think I was too dependent or anything. But the more I reached out to him, the better it got. The little things built up. Now I feel like I can share my problems with him, and he helps me.”
Another help that almost every person interviewed mentioned for bringing a new family close is showing physical affection. You’re not being disloyal to a natural parent by giving a stepparent a hug. You hug your friends, don’t you? “I remember one thing that really made me feel closer to my stepmom,” says Chris Smith. “I’d just gotten home from a trip, and she gave me a big hug—that made me realize she was really happy to see me. That was good.”
Being open with your stepparent, and rationally talking out your problems with them, will also held to break down barriers. Some people find it helpful to go to the natural parent, discuss the problem with them, and have them explain why your stepparent is acting the way he or she is. Many times your natural parent can help you understand.
Probably the biggest help for your family situation will come from your Heavenly Father. “I prayed a lot about it, and Heavenly Father really helped me understand what I had to do,” says Molly Parker. “He really helped me get close.”
Family problems are best kept within the walls your house, but there may come a time when it’s necessary to get outside help. In rare cases, sins like sexual or physical abuse may occur. While such matters may seem too grave for anyone to want to admit to, you don’t have to be subjected to that. In fact, it is your right not to suffer in that way. Seek help from your other parent, your bishop, your school counselor, or another family member outside of your home. You don’t have to shoulder that burden alone. You need help, and so does the person afflicting you.
In most cases, however, there are great advantages to having two parents in the home, even if one is a stepparent. “It’s great to have a Melchizedek Priesthood holder in your house,” says Allen Doezie. “Dad’s happier when he’s married,” adds Karis Wold.
And a lot can be learned from the adjustment process. Most people agree that getting used to a new person in the home helps you get used to new people outside the home better. It can also be a great aid in helping you get along with new missionary companions or a spouse, who will also have come from a different background.
Karis sums up most stepparent experiences with the following advice. “Just try to remember that they want everything to work just as much as you do. They don’t have all the answers either, but you can both try.”

A story of the honesty of one of my ancestors has made a great impact in the lives of thousands of people who knew him—and still echoes in the minds and hearts of our family members after 128 years. My great-grandfather Georg Wolf was the leader of a group of Hungarians who immigrated to Brazil in 1891. Upon arriving at the designated Brazilian port, the mayor of that city gave him two thousand réis (the local currency at that time) and some machetes. With those resources this small group of people expected to open a 60km way through the dense Atlantic forest, where they would find the piece of land granted by the government for them to settle.
The money given by the government did not have to be accounted for, as it was a grant. However, since it was not all used to buy the necessary supplies for the group’s journey and settlement, my great-grandfather decided to go back to the mayor and return the unspent portion. Everyone in the community was quite surprised, as this group was starting a new life from ground zero in a different land and the unused money could bring them much more immediate comfort in their travels. But being honest and having peace of mind was more important to my great-grandfather.
Years later, that settlement became a prosperous region of the country with subsequent great spiritual and temporal blessings that continue in the lives of thousands today—including my own family.
I learned from my great-grandfather’s integrity that there are special temporal and spiritual blessings that can only be obtained as we are honest with men.

Author’s Note: There were many more challenges for Elizabeth on the trek west. Elizabeth’s mother gave birth to a baby boy on the trail, and Elizabeth had to nurse her mother, tend the younger children, and do her mother’s chores as well as her own. Once Elizabeth was out washing when a sandstorm hit. She became lost and wandered for three days before she was found. Finally in October 1863, her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with little food or clothing. Later, Elizabeth married and became a mother in Israel as foretold. All the Lord’s promises to her were fulfilled.

Eight-year-old Annie spent a night at her friend’s house. When they finally settled down, their conversation turned to serious things. Were the scriptures true? They each asked Heavenly Father in their prayers and felt a strong witness from the Spirit that, yes, the scriptures are true. The next day Annie told her mother about that witness of the Spirit and made a commitment to start regular scripture study.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.” This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.