Gospel Story Finder

After Halloween, people’s attitudes toward me changed, and questions about my faith evolved into peers asking me for advice about their own lives. To my surprise, friends and acquaintances who had gotten over the initial shock of learning that I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs and that I am waiting to have sex until I’m married turned to me for guidance specifically on those topics.

I found myself reassuring friends who were feeling pressured into having sex that they had the power to choose, encouraging some to go to the school counselor to talk about mental health and addiction concerns, and even consoling someone who made a mistake that would likely lead to expulsion. I was baffled by the way many of my peers could transition from mocking me to seeking my advice.

Over time, I understood that being completely confident, open, and vulnerable about who I was drew others to me who were seeking a judgment-free space and a listening ear.

I am grateful for two of the many important lessons I learned that year. The first is that healthy laughter can dissolve apprehension and contention and is an excellent way to unify people. The second is that choosing to be confident in who you are brings remarkable opportunities to help others that would have never come otherwise.

There were many times when I wanted to hide my religion and be known for something else. But having a sense of humor and vulnerability about who I am allowed people to get to know me as Matteo, not just someone with different beliefs.

My whole life I had heard about the importance of getting a patriarchal blessing. So when I turned 17, I started thinking about getting mine.
To me, it was kind of frightening. What if I didn’t hear anything I wanted to hear? What if there were no great promises for me? I worried about being prepared enough.
I decided that I needed to have faith and that all would be well. I prayed many times, was interviewed by my bishop, and set up an appointment with the stake patriarch to receive my blessing. Then I waited, while trying to prepare spiritually for this important date.
On the day I was to receive my blessing, I fasted all day. I thought I would have this super spiritual day, but Satan was working on me and I had a bad day at school. I was a wreck. I came home after school and paced the floor. I thought back to a fireside when a man and woman in our ward whom I admire told us how to prepare, suggesting that we pray for specific things we want to know.
I went into my room, knelt beside my bed, and prayed that Heavenly Father would tell me what he knew was best for me to hear. I asked that he take away my fears and calm my worried heart.
Everything turned out fine. In fact, it was a personal miracle. It seemed that the patriarch knew me so completely, even better than I knew myself. I knew he was speaking for Heavenly Father, and when he spoke, I felt the assurance that Heavenly Father did know me. He heard my prayers. He knew my name.
After the patriarch had finished speaking, I felt so good about myself. Nothing has ever given me such an awesome and indescribable feeling before.
Now I know why Church leaders are always emphasizing the value of a patriarchal blessing. When we learn the worth of something and pay the price to obtain it, we begin to better understand its value. For me, my blessing and the experience of receiving it was one of the best experiences of my life. I know that my patriarchal blessing will continue to guide me to fulfill its promises.

At age 18 I decided to leave the Church. For a time, leaving my Savior’s side did not seem to have any repercussions in my life. In my home country of Chile I was able to live comfortably on my salary. I felt I would always be able to finance my worldly lifestyle and could continue to ignore the promises I had made at the age of 14 in the waters of baptism.
I pursued this course for a few years, but then things stopped working out for me. Everything seemed to grow dark around me. I lost my job and had difficulty finding work. I had to do whatever kind of work I could just to survive. This should have made me wake up and find the path once again, but it didn’t.
Not long after this, my father passed away in 1998. Because I was the eldest son, a large part of the responsibility for taking care of my mother and younger brother fell on my shoulders. I bid farewell to my carefree lifestyle and came to realize that sometimes the Lord allows things to happen that we don’t understand until we see the end result.
I believe He allowed me to be drained economically to show me that the only way out was to pay tithing, which I did after returning to church and renewing my covenants. In this manner He patiently and lovingly brought me back to the fold.

“My name is Omar Interdonato,” the e-mail began. “I’m the son of Fiorella Italia. I hope you still remember her baptism.”
The mother, along with her oldest son and two teenage daughters, their grandmother, and their friend were eventually baptized. Following my mission, I kept in touch with the family, but until I received the e-mail, I had wondered what had happened to Fiorella, the daughters’ young friend.
“My mother has been faithful to the gospel all her life and in 1983 married a good Church member from the Messina Branch and got sealed in the temple,” her son wrote. “I was born in 1984 and my sister, Veronica, in 1987. We are all active in the Church. I served a mission in the Italy Rome Mission from 2005 to 2007, hoping to repay the Lord for all the struggles of two missionaries who decided to preach the gospel in the small town of Floridia!”
There were times during my mission when I wondered if the two years of sacrifice were worth it. But how great is my joy (see D&C 18:15–16) to learn that Fiorella’s life was changed forever because my companion and I made the decision to go forth and forget ourselves in the service of others on the island of Sicily.

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it started once when I was a bishop. A student sat across my desk from me. He talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they could be sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said something I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort. Finally, he asked if it were enough. And he said he didn’t want me to guess; he wanted to be sure.

About that time a kind priesthood leader took me aside and asked me if I had any questions. I said that I did, and I asked how I could know when a person has done what it takes to be forgiven. To my surprise, he didn’t give me a lecture on repentance or on revelation. He just asked some questions. They weren’t what I had expected. They were questions like these: “Does he attend all his meetings?”
“Yes.”
“Does he come on time?”
“Yes.”
“Does he do what he is asked?”
“Yes.”
“Does he do it promptly?”
“Yes.”
The questions went on that way for a few minutes. And all the answers were the same. Then he said “Do you have your answer?”
And I said, “Yes.”
And so somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a righteous priesthood bearer at its head. They have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he’d only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like sacrifice now.

A few weeks ago, I was visiting with an elder in the mission field. During our interview, I inquired, “Is your father a member of the Church?”
He said, “No.”
“Is your mother a member of the Church?” he was asked.
He responded with a smile, “Just barely.”
I said, “Did your father want you to go on a mission?”
He answered, “No.”
“Did your mother want you to go on a mission?”
“She really didn’t care whether I went or not.”
“Who influenced you most in your decision to go?”
Without hesitation he said, “I did. I’ve always wanted to go, and I knew I could make a success of it.”
I looked into this young man’s eyes and said, “From what I hear and what I feel of your spirit, you will succeed.” He is a determined individual, one who months ago might have said, “My dad doesn’t care. My mother doesn’t care. Why should I care?” This wonderful missionary knows the importance of going forward and has the courage to continue in the paths that lead to happiness. He admitted to me that he once was lost, but now he definitely knows where he is going and how to get there.

After years of inactivity, my father abruptly announced one day that we were going back to church. This met with some protest from me. Throughout my childhood I knew only vaguely of the Mormon Church. Basically I knew that there were rules against everything I was currently doing. I viewed the religion as a fanatical organization that demanded self-denial, something that my friends and I didn’t understand and wholly condemned. Besides, what would my friends say if they found out?
Finally my father and I agreed that I would just try going to church for a while and then if I decided against going any more he wouldn’t force me. Sunday came. I sat through sacrament meeting and Sunday School as if I were deaf. Then came Young Women. I sat in the corner of the classroom, arms folded, eyes glaring. (Later I found out that I had actually scared my adviser as much as I had hoped I would.) With that Sunday over I declared I would never go again! In order to avoid going the following Sundays, I claimed I had all kinds of illnesses, from a cold to tonsillitis.
Although I would have denied it at the time, I felt something that first Sunday we went back to church. I felt something from the adviser who really seemed to care about this strange new girl in her class. I felt something, too, from a Latter-day Saint schoolmate who took an interest in my spiritual well-being. From then on, every time I did anything wrong she would remind me that some obscure God was watching my every move. Somehow she convinced me to keep going to church.
Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted to have that feeling always in my life.

I may not have met him physically, but spiritually I feel I have. Whenever I read his inspired messages, I imagine him talking to me one-to-one with his hand on my shoulder. A First Presidency Message entitled “Life’s Obligations” (see Ensign, Feb. 1999, 2) helped me understand that although income is important, I do not need to be a multimillionaire to be happy. This message has brought me inner peace and satisfaction.
Encouraged also by the prophet’s counsel in that same message not to waste the great days of preparation for my future work, I decided to enroll in a computer engineering training college for one year. I was undertaking my one year of National Youth Service in Nigeria and resolved to use my time judiciously. At the end of the program, I knew how to repair and install computer systems. Now my first successful appointment after my year of service is based on my added knowledge of computer systems.

I grew up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, where there are a number of big canals. One hot summer day when I was nine years old, I was hurrying to finish mowing the lawn so I could go swimming in the canal with my friends. But before I was through, my mother came outside and told me that she didn’t want me to go swimming that day. Not long after Mother had talked to me, my friends came along and helped me finish my work. Then I disobeyed my mother and went to the canal with them anyway.
When we got to the canal, we floated on inner tubes and swam and had lots of fun. Even more fun was going over the check, a kind of dam in the canal. We would come floating along on our inner tubes and then drop over the check to be shot rapidly forward as the water fell with great force over it. After a short ride below the check, we would get out of the canal, walk upstream a mile or so, and float down again.
One time my friends went ahead, and as I walked by the check I thought, If it’s fun going over in an inner tube, it’ll be a lot more fun going over without the inner tube!
I left the inner tube on the bank and jumped in. But when I realized how swift the current was, I knew I had made a mistake. The force of the water propelled me over the check. And instead of coming up as we did on our inner tubes, I just kept going down deeper and deeper. I thrashed and churned and tried to get out, but I couldn’t. It seemed as though the devil had hold of my feet, pulling me down and laughing all the time. Soon my air began to run out.
I was desperate. I prayed with all my heart and promised our Father in heaven I would serve Him all of my life if He would just help me. I also told Him, before I passed out, that I was sorry for not obeying my mother.
When I opened my eyes, I thought I was in heaven. I could see some green branches and leaves and could hear birds singing. I watched the white clouds move against a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful. Thinking I had died, I closed my eyes again to thank my Father in heaven for bringing me to such a lovely place.
The next thing I remembered was water washing over my arms and chest. I opened my eyes and found that most of my body was in the slowly moving water of the canal, and my head was lodged on a large rock above the water on the bank. I was still alive! I closed my eyes and thanked my Heavenly Father for saving my life and promised Him I would always try to obey my mother.
Shortly after I climbed out, my friends came down the canal. They shouted at me and wanted to know where I had been. I only told them I didn’t feel like swimming anymore that day and that I was going home because my mother needed me.
I have always been sorry that I didn’t obey my mother that beautiful summer day in Idaho, but I am grateful that she taught me how to pray and to have faith in our Father in heaven. I know He hears our prayers.

A number of years ago our family moved to the beautiful little township of Basking Ridge, New Jersey. I was on a two-year professional development leave from BYU while I worked for a large firm headquartered in New York City. Our neighbor, the town historian, was surprised to learn we would be driving twenty-five minutes to attend the LDS Church when our township had three perfectly good and beautiful historic Christian churches.

After a couple of weeks in our new ward, the bishop extended a home teaching assignment to me to visit John and Nancy Ferderber. John was a retired business executive, and it looked to me like he was probably a former bishop. I was surprised to learn that he was not a member of the Church. His wife, Nancy, and children were members, and he had been very supportive of his children’s Church involvement, missions, and temple marriages. He even attended sacrament meeting with Nancy. John had also always been supportive of the youth and Scouting midweek activities. He shared his enthusiasm for sports with the youth, and he was the longtime Young Women basketball coach. He was particularly skilled at starting with Beehives and, through instruction and practice, turning them into ball players.

John described himself as a dry Mormon and said he always felt welcomed by the members but had difficulty accepting all that went along with being a Mormon.

I remember our early visits with John and Nancy. John was quite interested in the business reasons for our move to New Jersey. I explained that when we came on home teaching visits, in addition to catching up and finding out how they were doing, we would be sharing a brief gospel message. John agreed. However, I quickly learned that he knew the home teaching drill very well. One time my lesson apparently wasn’t brief enough, and before I was done he simply turned to my young companion and said, “How about that closing prayer?” which meant he had had enough for the day.

As we were teaching lessons of the Restoration, I asked John what his religious beliefs were. He said, “Steve, I’ll tell you. I was baptized Catholic. I wasn’t all that religious as a younger man, and now I choose to attend the Mormon Church.” Then he said, “So you see, Steve, I’ve already been baptized.”

I smiled and reminded him that we believed he would need to be baptized again by one holding the priesthood.

To which John said, “I understand, and maybe one of these days I’ll take care of that.”

Nancy, who had never given up hope, looked over at John and said, “What do you mean, one of these days? You are not getting any younger.”

A year or so went by, during which time the full-time missionaries checked in on John and reported back that he was the nicest man but was not ready to accept the gospel. He kept attending sacrament meeting and accepting our home teaching visits, and as long as it was good-natured, he let me talk of how someday he would be joining the Church.

Then John had very serious health challenges that required several surgeries. After we gave him a blessing in the hospital, John told us he had been impressed that this life is the time to carefully and seriously consider the things of heaven. He told me that if he made it through the surgery, he would commit to retaking the missionary lessons.

After the surgery he said he felt watched over and realized he had been granted another chance. There were health complications and months of recovery, and through it all John’s heart continued to soften. The prayers of his wife, children, grandchildren, ward members, and loved ones were heard, and he started to openly discuss the possibility, even the likelihood, of being baptized. Our two-year leave from BYU came to a close, and John’s health situation was such that he was still months away from being well enough to be baptized. We returned to BYU and promised that we would travel back to New Jersey for his baptism.

When he was ready that following October, John walked up to the full-time missionaries at church and asked them what he would need to do in order to be baptized in early November.

It was a beautiful service. Imagine the scene as John entered the baptismal font with a large group of loved ones standing by—including Nancy and his children and many grandchildren—who had prayed for this day for so many years. When John came up out of the water, he smiled and raised his hands in celebration, and then, spontaneously, there went out a loud cheer from all those beautiful grandchildren and family members. It is the first and only time I have attended a baptism at which such a loud and joyous cheer went out, but, under the circumstances, it was totally appropriate.

John and Nancy were sealed in the temple a year later, and that was more than ten years ago now. John said he was so pleased to fulfill the promise in Nancy’s patriarchal blessing that she would be married to an elder in the Church. Together they served as workers in the Manhattan New York Temple, and they have served two Church service missions. We are honored that John and Nancy are here with us today.

Joseph sat with a heavy heart, confused as to why he had been led to Nauvoo. His thoughts were soon interrupted by some passing townspeople talking about a meeting that everyone was invited to. A man named Brigham Young was to be the speaker.
Joseph stood up and asked a young woman about this meeting. She explained that the leader of the Church, Brigham Young, wanted to speak to everyone in town at the town hall. She pointed down the street to a large building.
The town hall was muggy from the afternoon heat and the large number of people packed into it. Joseph found a place near the back and sat down. A man stood at the pulpit and began to speak. Joseph knew this must be Brigham Young, for his burning heart told him that he was listening to a man of God.
Brigham Young began by thanking the people for coming. He then told them that he knew of their hardships and lack of money. But he said they must pay their tithing regularly so the temple could be finished, and that the temple should be their most important priority. He also told them that more food for the workers and more money for the building materials were desperately needed.
Joseph still had most of the $2,600 in the cans he had strapped around his waist—he had only spent a small amount to get to Nauvoo. As Brigham Young spoke of the need for money, the cans seemed to get heavier and heavier. But as the prophet spoke of the importance of the temple, Joseph’s heart became lighter and lighter. He knew why he had been guided to Nauvoo.
After the meeting, Joseph went straight to Brigham Young’s office and introduced himself. He told President Young about the missionaries, about the storm that almost drowned him, and about God leading him to Nauvoo.
Brigham Young then watched as Joseph unstrapped the belt from around his waist and rolled the gold-filled cans across the table. “I want to give myself and all I have to the kingdom of God,” Joseph said.
When Brigham Young opened the cans and saw what was inside, he was touched by Joseph’s sacrifice. The money would be enough to finish the temple. Brigham laid his hands on Joseph’s head and gave him a blessing. In the blessing he promised that Joseph and all his posterity would always have the things they needed if they remained faithful.
The temple was completed, and Joseph Toronto became part of Brigham Young’s family, later traveling with them to the Salt Lake Valley.

“When I was in my first year of college at Logan, Utah, I bought an old car for a hundred dollars. I was eighteen and thought that I knew all about driving. It was Christmastime, and my parents were living on a ranch in Wyoming. I picked up my two grandmothers and took them to my parents’ home for Christmas. We had a grand time there. When it was time to return to school, the weather had changed and the roads were treacherous. That morning as we were ready to leave, we held a family prayer in the living room. My father prayed that we would have a safe journey. After we had loaded my car with suitcases, blankets, tuna fish sandwiches, and a thermos bottle full of Postum, Dad walked out to the car and said, ‘I want to talk to you.’ We went over and stood by the fence. ‘You have a very valuable cargo,’ he said, nodding at my grandmothers. ‘I want you to promise me that if the roads are bad and it’s snowing when you get down to Lander, you won’t go over South Pass. I want you to take the long way.’

“I promised him that I would. My parents kissed us good-bye, and we were on our way. We had nice weather until we got to Riverton; then it started to snow. By the time we got to Lander, it was snowing pretty hard. I remembered my promise, so when we came to the intersection where you turn to go up the mountain, I made a conscious turn to go the long way. I remember thinking then that it was going to take us five hours longer to get to Utah. I knew the road, and I was absolutely certain that I had made the right turn. As we drove along, we were joking and laughing, although the snow was getting thicker. Then I saw a sign that read, ‘Historic Old South Pass City,’ and I realized that I had somehow become confused in the snowstorm and had taken the wrong road! I thought, Dad will be angry with me! I don’t know how this happened—it wasn’t intentional. I had only two choices: I could keep on going, or I could turn around and go back. By this time, we were at the summit, so I decided that we might as well keep going and that I would apologize to Dad later. As we came down the mountain, the snow stopped and the roads were clear. We drove to Logan and then to Malad without any problems.

“On my way to school the next day I happened to see the front-page headline of a newspaper: WORST BLIZZARD OF THE YEAR STRANDS HUNDREDS IN CENTRAL WYOMING. I bought a paper, and it was full of stories about people who had been stranded, lost, or killed on the road that I had promised to take. I realized that the prayer our family had offered had been answered. I knew that the Lord had gotten us on the right road, and I realized how He had protected us. I was never the same after that.”

Eighteen-year-old Brandy Smith of Decatur also loves music. She has been playing piano for eight years and recently won a music scholarship for college. “I love music and I love the words that are written to the Church hymns,” she says. “I love to play the hymns and to have people sing while I play. It increases my testimony.”
That love of the hymns took on an even deeper meaning when, for a three-month period, the Young Women organization in her ward provided weekly visits to Nell Whitt, an older sister who was dying of cancer.
“We would clean her house and spend time talking with her,” Brandy says. “Then we would sing hymns with her. She loved Church songs.” The hymns were sweet to Sister Whitt. They made her feel at home.
Finding peace. Feeling at home. Whether you live in Huntsville, Alabama, or anywhere else in the Church, those are things the gospel can provide.
The LDS youth in the Huntsville stake know their region has been through centuries of history. They also know they can cope with the present and be ready for whatever comes in the future. Not only are these teenagers at home where they live; they’re at home praying to their Heavenly Father, at home giving service, developing talents, and following the Spirit. And they’re confident that, whatever the future might bring, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ will see them through.
“Ask people what they think of when they think of Huntsville, and it would most likely be the space program,” says Chris Carlson, 14, of the Madison Ward. “That’s a big thing here. But I just think of Huntsville as my home. Besides,” he adds, “with the Church and with the gospel, anywhere you go can feel like home.”
And that can make Alabama, or any other place, a home that’s sweet indeed.

In our squadron I had a dear friend who was an outstanding football player. Years before, his team played in a New Year’s Day bowl game. Before a sold-out stadium and a large television audience, his team lost by a huge score. It turned out he and a few other members of his team had not kept the training rules. They paid a dear price. They had to live with knowing they were not prepared to play the big game; they had to live with the final score for the rest of their lives.
Years passed. Two members of this same football team were in my flight training unit. One was an exemplary, well-disciplined student and a model pilot who had learned his lesson well from the football game.
However, the other had not learned to listen to those with more knowledge and experience. When his turn would come to learn emergency procedures and to precondition his mental and physical responses so they would be automatic, even instantaneous, my friend would put his arm around the airman instructor and say, “Check me off for three hours of emergency procedure.” Then, instead of training, he would go to the pistol range or play golf or go to the officers’ club. But he never learned the emergency procedures.
On one occasion he was asked what he would do in an emergency. His answer: “I am never going to bail out; I am never going to have an emergency.”
On an evening mission a few months later, fire erupted in his plane, and it dropped below 1,500 meters, spinning in flames. Noting the fire warning light, the younger pilot who was with him said, “Let’s get out of here.” And with the centrifugal force pulling against him, the younger man, who had taken his training seriously, bailed out. His parachute opened at once and he slammed to the ground, receiving serious injuries. But he survived.
On the other hand, my friend stayed with the airplane and died in the crash. He paid the price for not having learned the lessons that could have saved his life.

When I grew up, I married Vicki and we had five children. We always taught them the importance of prayer. When our son Mark was about five years old, I walked by his bedroom one night. With the moonlight shining through the window onto his face, I saw that his eyes were open. So I went into his room and asked him if he had said his prayer.
“No,” he said. When I asked him why not, he answered, “Because I’m too little, and my life is too boring!”
I’m glad Mark said that, because it gave me the chance to teach him that no matter how old we are, or how exciting or unexciting we think our lives may be, Heavenly Father listens to our prayers. I believe there is great power in the prayers of innocent children. I know that the Lord loves little children, so their prayers are important to Him. If you ask your Heavenly Father for blessings, He will bless you.

I received just the other day a letter from a dear friend. Her name is Helen, and her husband’s name is Charlie. She writes as follows, among other things:
“Today Charlie and I spoke at our sacrament meeting. In my talk I related the advice you gave me when I graduated from Idaho Falls High School and had made plans to attend Ricks College. You told me that I should attend the Church College of Hawaii, where I would have a better chance to meet and marry a young man of Chinese ancestry.
“I took your advice and went to CCH, where I met Charlie and married him. We have been married 37 years and have five children. All of our five children have served missions. … Three of our children married in the Hawaiian temple. We have two single children, and we hope they will find worthy individuals to take to the temple soon. We have six adorable grandchildren and two more on the way.
“I have been blessed to have a faithful husband who honors his priesthood and has been worthy to serve the Lord as bishop, stake president, and mission president. It has been my privilege to support him in all his Church assignments. I have served as stake Relief Society president for almost five years.
“Today, as I count my many blessings, I could not help but think of what a great influence you have been in my life. I just want you to know that I followed your counsel, and because of that my life has been blessed abundantly. I thank you for taking the time to follow my progress when I left Hong Kong to come to America.”

The other night when I announced to my family that I was taking my adorable wife to see a certain GP (rated general admittance with parental guidance) movie, my thirteen-year-old daughter firmly stated, “Oh, Daddy, I don’t think you’d better take Mother to that show. It has some bad things you shouldn’t see.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because I’ve seen it, of course, and I just don’t think it’s the kind of show you ought to go to.”
“When did you see it?” I thundered.
Well, it seems that a neighbor had taken her daughter and mine to the GP-rated show.
After my family had given me my allotted time for stern words on the subject of permissive neighbors (my own children think I’m a strict neanderthal), my wife sweetly pointed out that I ought to be grateful that a thirteen-year-old girl would be concerned enough to warn me about a movie she’s seen that isn’t fit for her forty-eight-year-old father and his ageless wife.
That really set me off. If children are going to be that strict with their parents, how will we ever learn about life? Fortunately, in this age of tyrannical youth, my children still permit me to discuss such matters at family night, so the following Monday after our regular discussion I conducted a survey to find out just what my children think about today’s movies.
Meantime, in spite of occasional frustrations, I’m glad to have in this permissive age a strict thirteen-year-old daughter to regulate my own movie going. Other parents should be so lucky!

One day a nameless Spanish deaf-mute girl found a priceless statue behind a wooden panel in a church she was cleaning. From then on she played with the marble baby each day, and each day she loved it more.
How the girl and the statue changed the lives of the people in the village, as well as those who came from outside the village to view the long-lost treasure, is a story that can bring deep and thoughtful pleasure to all who read it.
The story is beautifully, simply, and powerfully written to appeal to all ages, but especially to older readers of the Friend.

When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I returned to Berkeley, California. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion by myself.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Was I going to be all alone here, too? I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. Furthermore, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony of the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to Brigham Young University. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The thing that held me back was the principle of eternal progression. “It just can’t be right.” I said, “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
I finally understood! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my heart and changed my life.

In addresses to Church members, Elder Uchtdorf has stressed the importance of knowing one’s eternal destination and always seeking to be on the right path. He recalled one flight when, as an airline captain, he was crossing the Atlantic in a Boeing 747 with 386 passengers on board. At one point he saw the contrails of two other jetliners ahead. Soon he was flying directly between the two jetliners, with one 2,000 feet (600 meters) above him and the other 2,000 feet below. “As we slowly overtook those beautiful aircraft,” he recalled, “my copilot mentioned how remarkable it was that because of true and accurate information entered into the navigation units at the start of our flights, all three jets were precisely on the same track, separated only by altitude. And we would continue to be so if the crews used identical navigational points leading to the same destination.

“As I have contemplated the truth of this statement and its application to our lives,” he continued, “I arrived at the question: Do we all know our destination, and are we on the right track? … Heavenly Father has prepared a flight plan for us that will lead us back to him” (“Happy Landing,” New Era, Mar. 1995, 4).