Gospel Story Finder

I knew a young woman who was taught the gospel and who wanted to join the Church but who was having trouble with the Word of Wisdom. She used cigarettes and coffee, and the thought of never having another cigarette or cup of coffee in her whole life overwhelmed her. One of the missionaries told her to try it for just one day and then just one more day. She found that by living it a day at a time she could make it, and she was soon baptized. The same would be true in changing any bad habit for a good one.

One day my friend Foxx came over to my house. At night, my family reads the scriptures and prays together. Foxx is not a member of the Church, but I asked him if he’d like to join us in doing those things and he said yes. After we read the scriptures and prayed, Foxx told us his favorite Bible story. I felt good because I was being a missionary. I am going to ask him if he can come to church with me someday.

Nancy jumped down the steps of the school bus and ran into the house.
“Mom, guess what happened—I got first place in the class spelling bee! Now I get to compete in the spelling bee for the whole school!”
“Oh, Nancy, that’s great!” Mom said, giving her a big hug.
Nancy took her backpack to her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she lay back on her bed and grinned. With two weeks to study the list of words her teacher had given her, there would be plenty of time to study for the school spelling bee.
As the competition approached, Nancy started to get a little nervous. But she studied hard and won the school spelling bee. She even got her picture in the newspaper! But Nancy knew the hardest work was still to come.
Now Nancy had a month to study for the district-wide spelling bee. She kept the spelling list in her pocket and studied the words every chance she got. She had done everything she could to be ready, but she was still nervous.
The morning of the spelling bee, Nancy woke up with a sick feeling in her stomach.
“I don’t feel so good,” she told Mom.
“Do you think it could just be that you’re nervous about the spelling bee?” Mom asked.
Nancy nodded. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered.
Mom gave Nancy a hug. “I think you should say a prayer,” she said.
Nancy returned to her bedroom, knelt down, and asked Heavenly Father to help her feel better. She remembered that she had studied hard and was well prepared. She asked Heavenly Father to give her the confidence she needed. She felt better as she ended her prayer and stood up.
Mom drove Nancy to the spelling bee and smiled at her whenever Nancy looked out into the audience. After five rounds, only two spellers were left: Nancy and another girl. Nancy approached the microphone, her heart pounding.
“Can you please spell the word camouflage,” the woman giving the words said.
Nancy felt her courage fail as she realized this was one word she didn’t know.
Hesitantly, she began. “Camouflage. C-a-m … o-f-l-a-g-e. Camouflage.”
The woman’s quick shake of the head let Nancy know she had spelled it wrong. Hanging her head, Nancy returned to her seat, barely listening as the last girl spelled the word correctly. The audience began to clap, and Nancy joined in, but inside she felt like crying. That same sick feeling returned to her stomach.
Then Nancy remembered her prayer from that morning. Still sitting on the stage, she whispered, “Please help me be happy, Heavenly Father. I did my best, but I’m so sad. Please help me be OK with not winning. Please comfort me.”
Slowly, a peaceful feeling spread through her. A smile inched onto her face. She stood and put out her hand to the winner, giving a hearty congratulations.
Afterward, Mom wrapped Nancy in a hug. “Nancy, I’m so proud of you. You did fantastic. Are you OK?”
Nancy nodded. “Yes, I’m OK. I asked Heavenly Father for comfort, and I feel good in my heart.”
“I’m glad you remembered to pray,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father will always be there for you.” She winked at Nancy. “I think you learned a lot more today than just how to spell the word camouflage!”

She chooses the plate the way a painter selects a canvas. She wraps several flavors of Mediterranean olives in carefully selected slices of dry sausage, and does the same with salad greens. She places four types of cheese in the foreground, with an oriental ladle holding a sauce made of fruit and mustard. As her personal signature, she adds an apple, carefully cut and sculpted into the shape of a swan. The swan is a symbol with deep meaning to her.
When Lya was a young girl growing up in Tehuacan, Mexico, she saw a food magazine that inspired her. “On the front cover was a beautiful white swan carved from jicama (an edible root) and on the back was an exquisite turkey made from pieces of watermelon and other fruit,” she says. “I can still remember the artistry of those sculptures. The image of them stayed in my mind, and a voice inside me said, ‘Someday, you will make one of those.’” It wasn’t until years later, in a professional cooking class, that Lya was trained to carve a swan exactly like the one she had seen so long before.
Today, Lya is fulfilling her lifelong dream to serve others (literally) by preparing beautiful, nutritious food. In Europe and the U.S. she counsels cooks about the quality of their meals, prepares fancy dinners at gourmet restaurants and in people’s homes, and also teaches cooking and nutrition classes. She is known for the excellent food she prepares and the way she presents it. “Food is art,” she says. “Having it look good is part of having it taste good.”
But getting where she wanted to be has not been, shall we say, a piece of cake.
“My parents wanted me to be a doctor,” she says. After counseling with them and praying, she finally agreed she would study nutrition. That would allow her to be around food and yet still be involved in a medically related field. After college, she began work as a nutritionist in Mexico City. She loved the working environment and the people, but she still longed to be a chef. After giving the job a fair chance, she counseled with her parents again and mapped out a new plan.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to guide me,” she says. “Then I did all the research I could about culinary schools.” She saved money, studied English as a second language, then enrolled in a cooking school in London, England. That opened up the opportunity for her to also have apprenticeships—if she would work without pay. She did and gained experience as well as forming friendships with several of the top chefs in the world.
“Working without pay was hard,” she says. “I had to cater private dinners on the side to pay my way through school.” She also found a job at a restaurant equipment company in France, preparing meals and demonstrating professional ovens. For a year and a half, between school and work and various apprenticeships in two countries, her days were filled with long, hard work. “I had to pay the rent, and I had to pay for transportation, but I always had food because I was always allowed to eat in the restaurants.”
She also kept her standards high. “Living the Word of Wisdom was less of a challenge than some people might think,” she says. “For example, when people invited me to have a glass of wine, which is a big part of the restaurant business, I explained that I don’t drink alcohol. They respected that. And when people would party or suggest immoral activities, I would explain that my standards were different. We were colleagues at work, but I didn’t hang out with them in places that would bring me down.”
Lya and her husband, who is also a chef, offer this advice about careers: “Find something you love doing and that you’ll want to do for your entire life. Set goals and work hard, then pray, be humble, and follow your heart.”

“It’s a neat day for a crosscountry tour to Clear Falls!” exclaimed Randy.
“The snow’s great,” agreed his older brother Tom.
“Looks good to me,” said Randy’s friend Boyd.
Turning back to their car they pulled their skis and poles from the trunk. “I’m glad we waxed our skis last night,” said Randy. “Did you wax for powder conditions, Boyd?”
“Yeah, mine are doing great,” said Boyd as he tested them on the light, powdery snow.
Tom bent over to adjust his bindings and secure his gaiters. The colored tubes of sturdy nylon around his ankles would help keep snow out of his shoes.
Boyd handed canteens and day packs to Tom and Randy. They had packed matches in waterproof containers, goggles, a small candle, compass, pocketknife, extra mittens and socks, snack food, and a small first-aid kit.
“Every time I go on an all-day outing I pack all this stuff,” said Boyd disgustedly, “but I’ve never had to use it.”
“In this kind of terrain and weather, it’s not safe to take chances,” said Tom emphatically. “It’s clear and sunny now, but we have to be ready to meet any kind of trouble.”
Boyd nodded. “Which way to Clear Falls? This is my first time in this area.”
“We’ll cross this field and head toward Twin Peak. The falls are at the base of the peak. It’ll take us about three hours to get there,” explained Tom.
The three boys set out, their skis gliding smoothly and quietly. After traveling uphill for a couple of hours, they rested by a snow-covered stream. “It sure is peaceful here,” said Boyd as he sat on a bark-stripped log.
Tom reached into his pack and pulled out a plastic bag. “Who wants some gorp?”
“I do!” said Randy and Boyd together.
“What did you put in it this time?” asked Randy.
“Raisins, peanuts, coconut, dried fruits, and bits of candy,” replied Tom.
They ate a couple of handfuls of gorp, sipped the cold water from their canteens, and relaxed a few minutes. “Are you guys ready to go?” asked Boyd anxiously.
The others nodded. Then they all put on their skis, checked the bindings, and set off toward Clear Falls.
After skiing a short distance, they stopped abruptly when Tom said, “Look! There’s a skier heading this way.”
“I wonder where his partner is,” said Randy. “It’s not safe to ski alone.”
“Hello!” called Boyd.
The man looked at them in surprise and skied toward them. “I didn’t know there was anybody else in this area. I’m heading toward Summit Ridge by way of Left Gully.”
But the gulley’s a common avalanche trail, Tom thought. “You can see the sunballs rolling down the slopes from here. There’s a lot of loose snow because of the afternoon sun. It wouldn’t take much to set off an avalanche,” he cautioned.
“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Boyd. “We’re heading for Clear Falls.”
“It’s a neat place,” added Randy.
“Thanks, but I’m going to stick to my route,” said the man, and he skied away.
“What are we going to do?” asked Randy. “We can’t force him to stay away from Summit Ridge.”
The boys reluctantly turned away from the retreating skier. But as they moved forward slowly, they kept glancing over their shoulders toward Summit Ridge, trying to keep the foolish skier in sight. His bright orange day pack looked like a small dot against the white snow. “He’s almost in the middle of Left Gully,” said Randy quietly.
Just then they heard a roaring sound from the direction of Summit Ridge and knew what was happening before they even turned around. “Avalanche!” whispered Boyd hoarsely.
Although no one mentioned it, they knew their own lives could be in danger from other slides that might be set off from the main slide. While Randy tried to watch and listen for secondary slides, Tom and Boyd turned back toward the main avalanche. Its initial force spent, the snow billowed high into the air as it swept into Left Gully.
After several seconds, Boyd yelled, “I see some orange on the north side of the gully!”
Three pairs of eyes strained as they tried to follow the orange spot sweeping downward—sometimes on top of the snow and sometimes below its surface.
“It’s stopping!” they all cried together.
“Remember where you think the orange stopped. I think it’s safe enough to check now,” directed Tom.
The boys skied quickly toward Left Gully, and in less than five minutes they reached the avalanche trail. Breathing heavily, Randy gasped, “I hope the man made an air space for breathing when he went under.”
“It’s a good thing the snow is light and powdery instead of wet and slushy. The air space won’t seal as quickly. Take your hands out of your pole straps. If another avalanche starts, we don’t want anything to drag us under. If we get caught, try to stay on your back and keep an uphill swimming motion,” said Tom. “Boyd, where did you see him last?”
“To the right where that pine tree stood.”
They glanced at the splintered remains of the tree. The avalanche had bent or shattered everything in its path. “Where did you see him last, Randy?”
“About ten feet below where Boyd saw him.”
“The same area where I saw him,” replied Tom. “Let’s start there. Turn your poles upside down so we can probe.”
They quickly removed their skis and began searching for the buried skier.
“How long has it been?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.
“Almost nine minutes since the avalanche began,” answered Boyd.
They shouted, then listened carefully as they searched, hoping to hear a noise from the buried man.
“I found a ski!” called Boyd excitedly.
Several minutes went by as the boys searched slightly uphill.
“I’ve found him!” Boyd said as he pointed to a gloved hand he had uncovered in the snow.
The boys dug frantically to uncover the skier.
“Is he alive?” asked Randy when Tom uncovered the man’s face.
Tom quickly checked. “He’s breathing OK. Looks like he made an air pocket. He has a bad cut on his head, though.”
“No sign of compound fractures,” said Boyd.
Tom bandaged the victim’s head wound while Boyd and Randy quickly treated him for frostbite and shock.
The man began to rouse and tried to lift his head. “Oh! My head,” he groaned. He looked at the three boys in surprise, then relief. “How did you find me?” he asked weakly.
“We’ll tell you later. Right now, we need to find out how badly you’re hurt,” said Tom.
After more questioning and checking, the boys were satisfied that the man wasn’t too badly injured. “Looks like we’ll be able to get you out of here ourselves,” said Randy. “It would take four or five hours for a rescue party to reach you.”
Tom glanced around warily. “We’ll have to get out of the area as soon as possible. Another avalanche could start anytime.”
The boys hastily constructed a stretcher from their ski poles and jackets and carefully started down the snowy trail. Several hours later, after slow and difficult travel, they finally reached their car.
“We’ll soon have you taken care of,” said Tom. “I’ll bet this has been a pretty painful trip for you.”
“It has. But it would have served me right if you’d left me up there in that snow hole when I didn’t pay any attention to your warning about an avalanche. I’m grateful to you, boys.”
“I can’t believe it’s still Saturday,” said Boyd. “So much has happened since morning.”
“It’s a Saturday we’ll never forget,” Randy added.
“And neither will I,” said the injured skier quietly. “Thanks to you.”

Last summer we took our family to the San Diego Zoo, the largest zoo in the world. Our twelve-year-old son, Craig, had never been there, and he was delighted with the variety of birds and reptiles and other animals. But the part of the zoo that especially interested Craig was the area where the lions and the tigers were kept.
It was a sunny day, and the big cats were all fast asleep. My son thought that they should be up growling and stalking around. All the people there seemed to think so too. They were clapping their hands, shouting, and whistling. But their noise didn’t wake up the animals at all. So my son nudged me in the ribs and said, “Dad, give them your whistle.” I have a very, very shrill whistle, and, to please my son, I whistled as loudly as I could. But the lions still didn’t move.
Then I said, “Craig, listen to this.” I imitated the quiet growl of a tiger. Grrrrr!
Those lions perked up their ears and started moving about. The yelling and whistling hadn’t even disturbed them, but the quiet growl of the tiger reached through all the noise of the crowd. I put my arm on Craig’s shoulder and said, “Now you can see why Heavenly Father speaks to us in a still, small voice in such a noisy world.” We’ve referred back to that experience at the zoo a number of times.

One day in January 2010 my world was flipped upside down. My younger sister was diagnosed with cancer. I could not believe it. How was it possible? My sister was only 14 years old and very active. She was part of the school show choir. She loved softball and basketball. How could she have cancer?
Not too long after that fateful day, I found myself home alone. I felt completely overwhelmed and lost. My comfortable life had been shattered. Cancer is a scary thing, and I had no idea how to deal with it.
As tears coursed down my cheeks, I felt the need to pray for some form of comfort or peace.
Shortly after finishing my prayer I heard a knock on the door. Answering it, I found my Young Women leader standing on our porch. She took one look at my tear-stained face and asked what was wrong. More tears filled my eyes as I told her about Madey’s diagnosis.
When I finished she simply said, “You’re the reason why I’m here.” She then told me to get my shoes on and to come with her.
I spent the next couple of hours with her and her grandson eating ice cream and talking. I told her about all that had been going on and how lost I felt. We talked about cancer and the possible treatments. When she brought me home, I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had since learning that my sister had cancer.
Sadly, my sister eventually lost her battle with cancer. But my Young Women leader’s visit taught me a lot. Since that day I have come to recognize that I am never alone. Friends and family are there to assist, but more importantly, my Heavenly Father is always ready to listen to and help me. I am so grateful that He is there and that He answered my prayer that day, starting with a sensitive Young Women leader.

I would like to close with an experience that occurred recently.
For three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old and plays on the school football team) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body block on me, in professional style. The last time he did this, in my effort to avoid the attack, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and found my right elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely lost my patience, and I scolded him for making me his tackling dummy.
His response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a big time trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”

José Gonçalves da Silva suddenly awoke to people calling his name. It was dark, and he had no idea where he was.
“I was asleep when the bus rolled,” José recalls of the early-morning accident in January 2008. “Nobody could find me because I was in the back of the bus covered with luggage. Some of the brethren finally located me as they began to gather up the suitcases.”
When the bus driver lost control on a narrow stretch of winding road in southern Venezuela’s dense rain forest, José and other Latter-day Saints from Manaus, Brazil, were approximately halfway through their three-day trip to the Caracas Venezuela Temple. José suffered only minor injuries, but several brothers and sisters had to be hospitalized.
“It’s time you quit going to the temple,” concerned family members told José, who was 80 when the accident occurred. Undeterred, however, he declared: “I need to go to the temple. If the Lord allows it, I will return.”
He immediately began saving money for his fourth trip to Caracas, which he made in early 2009. For Brother Gonçalves da Silva, the 40-hour bus ride is easy compared to the three trips he previously made to the São Paulo Brazil Temple. For many years, the São Paulo Temple, located thousands of miles southeast of Manaus, was the closest temple to this city of two million people in the northern state of Amazonas. Then, in 2005, Manaus became part of the Caracas Venezuela Temple District.
During those years of traveling to São Paulo, “we would take a boat here in Manaus and spend four days getting to Pôrto Velho,” the capital of Rondônia State, José says. “Then we would take a four-day bus ride to São Paulo. My wife is not a member of the Church, and when I went to the temple for the first time in 1985, I went alone. I spent the night at the bus terminal in Pôrto Velho because I arrived late and there was no bus. The next morning I headed for São Paulo. It was a nice experience, but I arrived a little tired.”
He then spent three full days serving in the temple before making the eight-day return trip home. It takes him a year to save enough from his pension to cover the costs of traveling to the temple.
“It is a sacrifice to go, but it is worth it,” says Brother Gonçalves da Silva, who has done much vicarious work for his family. “I felt a special joy the day I was baptized for my father, when someone was baptized for my mother, and when I represented my father as my parents were sealed. It was a wonderful opportunity. All my brothers and sisters are gone now, but I have done the work for them during my temple trips.”
José believes that the sacrifice inherent in traveling so far to the temple will help Latter-day Saints in Manaus be grateful for the day a temple is dedicated there. “I am excited for that day,” he says.
Manaus had one small branch with 20 members when José joined the Church in 1980. Since then he has seen the Church blossom there to nearly 50,000 members living in eight stakes.
“When the announcement came in 2007 that a temple would be built in Manaus,” José says, “I wept for the great joy I felt, and I prayed that the Lord would allow me to live long enough to see the groundbreaking,” which occurred a year later. Now he prays that he will live to see the temple completed and his wife baptized so that they can be sealed.
“We don’t know when we will die, but we should be prepared and happy when that time comes,” Brother Gonçalves da Silva says. “I’m looking forward to returning to the presence of my Father in Heaven and my Savior, Jesus Christ. Being in the temple helps me prepare for that day.”

At the Missouri River they transferred to a small steamboat. It arrived near Council Bluffs very late at night, and passengers and baggage were unloaded helter-skelter in the darkness. At daybreak the weary travelers located their scattered luggage, then assembled at the Church’s emigration campground. There they were organized into companies of tens, fifties, and hundreds by Church emigration agent Joseph W. Young. William, being a military veteran, was named captain of the guards.

Wagons and teams had to be readied, baggage loaded, food supplies purchased and packed, and teamsters trained. While this outfitting was underway, the camp was struck by a violent storm with high winds, torrential rains, and vivid lightnings. Cattle broke loose and stampeded, doing great damage. Lightning killed at least two Saints and badly injured several others. Floods washed gullies ten feet deep in places. During the storm William, as captain of the guards, was called on to help a sister give birth under a collapsed tent—and both mother and son remained his lifelong friends in Utah. The company needed two or three days to recover from the storm, and many Saints never found boxes and bags washed away by the flash floods.

Despite the cost of the trip, Brother Mateo; his wife, Altagracia; and three of their children were sealed in the temple in 2001. Since then they have sacrificed to save enough to visit the temple at least twice each year.
The work and the sacrifices, both physical and spiritual, are worth it to Brother Mateo.
“It’s not hard when you know what the purpose is,” he says. “We’re fighting for something more sublime than wordly things.”

We later learned that Mac was a prayer cat in more ways than one. I discovered this one afternoon when I couldn’t find my list of spelling words. I needed it to study for a big test the next day, but it wasn’t in my backpack or with my schoolbooks. I was frantic. I came out from looking under my bed and saw Mac watching me.
“What do you want?” I said irritably. “It’s not time for family prayer. Go away, you silly cat.”
Mac just sat staring at me. As I looked at him, I remembered that I hadn’t prayed.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “This is probably the perfect time for a prayer.”
I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to help me find my spelling list. When I finished, I felt Mac brushing his head against my arm. I sat down and scratched behind his ears. Then I remembered! On the way home from school I had taken my list out to practice the spelling words with my friend. Quickly I felt in my coat pocket and found the list.
“Thanks, Mac,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me that any time is a good time for prayer.” Then I knelt again and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me.

I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.

For teenagers life can never be all hard work. The Utah Boys had fun on the trail too. One day they “caught a string of fish.” Another time they “had a family swim in the Platte.” One morning Zeb and one of the men “crossed the river and found plenty of chokecherries and currants. After satisfying our own appetites we filled our hats and pockets.” In recrossing the river “we got ducked several times, but we hung on to the fruit.” Back at camp they shared the berries and “finding breakfast ready, we ate heartily.”

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

When I was growing up in Lehi, Utah, USA, my family had a garden large enough that we rotated the corn and potatoes every year. One day my father told me to weed the corn while he weeded the potatoes. As I worked my way down a row of six-inch-high (15 cm) corn, I found a solitary potato plant growing larger and more beautiful than any of the potato plants on Dad’s side of the garden. I called to him and asked, “What should I do with this?”
Dad barely looked up. “Pull it.”
Believing he hadn’t realized I was pointing to a potato plant, I objected, “But Dad, it isn’t a weed. It’s a potato.” Again, without looking up, he said, “Not this year. This year it’s a weed. Pull it.” So I did.
Since then I have often pondered the wisdom of my father’s words. I have come to realize that obedience is not just making a right choice but making a right choice in the right season. When I consider all the things Heavenly Father would have me do in this life, doing them at the right time seems as critical as doing them at all. For instance, serving a mission, dating, getting married, having children, gaining an education, and beginning full-time employment are right choices. Yet when people do these good things in the wrong order, the consequences are often disastrous.
King Benjamin taught that we should “see that all … things are done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Faith also includes trust in God’s timing, for He has said, ‘All things must come to pass in their time’ (D&C 64:32).”1
I believe Satan deceives us by convincing us to do the right things in the wrong order: sexual intimacy before marriage, dating before age 16, becoming a parent and then getting married, and so forth. The greatest commandments of God, when compromised or polluted, become plants grown out of season—weeds. When I have been tempted to justify doing the right thing in the wrong season, I have been grateful for my father’s important lesson: “Not this year. This year it’s a weed. Pull it.”

I felt the effects of these barriers most when I was a teenager, but through those experiences, I learned so much about what it means to trust Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
In high school, my parents were friends with one of my teachers. This teacher was a practicing Christian in another denomination. At the time, I was the only member of the Church in my class, and many classmates and teachers already had some speculations about the Church of Jesus Christ and its members.
This particular teacher had very strong negative opinions about my faith, which made things complicated because she was a family friend.
For one, I was often sleepy in her class because I got up early to go to early-morning seminary, which made her concerned that I was going to fall behind in my schoolwork. She also put me on the spot and challenged me with a lot of complicated doctrinal questions that I didn’t know how to answer. She even gave me school assignments to read anti-Church literature! She tried her hardest to persuade me to step away from my faith.
This was a challenging time for my faith. Why, when I was trying to stay close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, was staying faithful causing challenges and hardships in my life? Wasn’t I supposed to be blessed for keeping the commandments and sacrificing sleep to go to seminary?
Instead, my grades were slipping, my faith was dwindling, and my relationships with my teachers, my family, and Heavenly Father were suffering.
For a while, I started to wonder if living the gospel was worth it. I started skipping seminary and soon felt my faith fading. It seemed easier to just give in to what the world around me was pressuring me to do.
I continued to pray to Heavenly Father for guidance and understanding. Despite the deep confusion and frustration that I felt about my situation, something in my heart continued to hold on to faith. I talked to faithful friends and confided in peers from church about what I was experiencing, and I was encouraged to talk to my seminary teacher about my struggles.
She responded with compassion and encouraged me to continue attending seminary with a hopeful heart. She promised me that I would see blessings unfold if I kept holding on to faith and trusting that the Lord had much in store for me and would consecrate my challenges (see 2 Nephi 2:1–2).
So, despite the challenges I was facing, I chose to trust.
After a while, I felt my attitude shift. Instead of focusing on the hardships I was facing, I focused on the gratitude I felt for the gospel. I started to focus on the blessing of my family, my divine identity, and the eternal truths of the gospel. And eventually, I came to the knowledge that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are aware of my circumstances and were always standing with me in those moments when I felt like I was standing very much alone.
This changed everything.
As I continued putting my trust in Them, keeping the commandments, repenting daily, and doing the little things each day to connect with Them, I felt my foundation of faith deepening and strengthening.
And as I did, a miracle did happen.
After avoiding any conversations about faith with my teacher for a while, one day when she approached me with questions, I felt ready to answer them with my renewed faith. I kindly asked her if she had ever visited one of our church meetings or read any of the Book of Mormon. When she said no, I felt inspired to bear my testimony of simple truths.
I told her that you can never know if something is true without experiencing it or searching for answers yourself. I explained that I knew the gospel was true because I had worked for those answers and felt in my heart that they were true. I invited her to do the same, and from then on, our relationship was much more peaceful.

Rita Jeppeson and her visiting teacher have become good friends as they meet and share gospel conversations. But their visits also include playing word games together, which helps Rita’s aging mind stay sharp. Because her visiting teacher has learned what Rita needs and enjoys, they both look forward to each visit. Rita knows that they are friends and that the visit is not just an obligation. There are so many things sisters can do during a visit, such as taking a walk together or helping a sister with her chores.

On a Sunday in August 2014, as I sat in the compound of our residence reading a book, I noticed a group of people my age being led by someone older in white shirt and ties approaching me. There were about seven of them, and I felt uneasy. I soon realized that the men who stood in front of me were the young men of my ward, being led by the quorum president.
All I wondered was what they were doing there. They were very happy to see me. They told me they had missed me and that the Lord needed me in His fellowship. They spoke to me about passing the sacrament and other youth activities. They then encouraged me to come to church.
I had not been active in the Church for about two years since my baptism in 2011, and I felt I had lost my path in the things of the Lord. Throughout all those times, I felt there was nowhere to look for help, nor anyone to extend a hand of assistance and that there was no turning back for me. I always had the desire to return to the Lord but often felt it was too late. When I arrived at church for sacrament meeting the following Sunday, I felt both shy and ashamed, but everyone greeted me lovingly with smiles. It was then I realized that the Lord had just used the selfless hearts of my fellow young men in a reactivation effort as a wake-up call to return one of His lost sheep to His fold.
I am filled with gratitude for the noble and selfless men out there, like the young men who visited me on that day, who are also putting in all their efforts to call upon other members who have fallen away from the faith. Indeed, He remembers His children, wherever they may be. Today I am at the point of completing my mission, having been used as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bring many to the light of the gospel. It has been such a wonderful experience for me and I am grateful I heeded the call to return to church.

They split the ward, and I feel like part of me has been amputated. I still can’t believe this is happening. Things at home and at school have been so crazy lately, and now I have to face being in the new Tierra Bonita Ward instead of the Lancaster Third Ward.
Doesn’t the Lord know how hard this is going to be? Doesn’t he understand that all my friends will be in a different ward? I’ve grown up with them. I can’t imagine going to church and not being with them. How could anyone take their place? This just isn’t fair.
The new ward is so small. There are no girls my age, and no young men. I don’t know any of the people, and it’s not going to be easy to make new friends. I miss my ward and all my old friends already. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wish things were back the way they were. I can’t handle this!
Two years ago today I wrote that entry in my journal. I remember how devastated I was when the ward split and I found myself in a ward full of strangers. I thought my life was over. I wanted God to intervene and change things back to the way they were, but he didn’t. And now I’m glad.
At the time, I was too upset to realize that the Lord wasn’t doing this to hurt me. He knows what’s best for me even if I can’t always see things his way. Now I’m really thankful that I’m in this ward. The leaders and teachers are wonderful and have helped me in many ways. What would I do without Diane, my Laurel adviser, and all the other young women? With them behind me, I know I can do anything. I was meant to be in this ward!
Most of all, I’ve grown to appreciate the Lord and the decisions his leaders make. Next time, I’ll have more faith in their judgment. Happy birthday, Tierra Bonita Ward!