Gospel Story Finder

Other experiences I had as a boy taught me that the Holy Ghost can help us stay close to Heavenly Father. I had a friend named Ralph who was a few months older than I was. We went to school in a one-room redbrick schoolhouse, and Ralph and I would walk there together. One day we talked about his recent baptism and confirmation. He told me how clean he felt when he was baptized. I asked him what it was like to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, and he said, “It’s like a voice that whispers in your ear, teaching you the truth.” I never forgot Ralph’s explanation. I wanted to have what my friend had.

Later, after I was baptized and confirmed, I attended a banquet where President George Albert Smith was invited to speak. After the banquet, my dad and I stood in a long line to shake President Smith’s hand. When my turn came, President Smith looked down at me, took my hand, and spoke to me. I don’t remember what he said, but I will never forget how I felt. The Holy Ghost testified to me that he was a prophet of God.

I am grateful for the Holy Ghost. When we obey the commandments, the Holy Ghost dwells with us. He purifies us and teaches us the truth, and this helps us stay close to our Heavenly Father.

Stakes in the Ogden, Utah area performed a service that not only delighted thousands of visitors to Temple Square in Salt Lake City during the Christmas season, but brought joy to dozens of children in Israel. The Young Women made stuffed dolls dressed in the native costumes of nations throughout the world. The dolls were tied with wide red ribbons to Christmas trees in both the North and South Visitors’ Centers on Temple Square. Each girl researched the country her doll was to represent and tried to make the costume look as authentic as possible. She then attached a note with her name and address to the doll.
After Christmas, the dolls were transported to Israel where they were given to Arab orphans in Bethlehem. When the first doll was delivered, a small girl wearing glasses named Ikhlass received it. She clung to her new doll throughout the day, taking it with her as she played, ate, and slept.

The pressure. That’s something else these boys are forced to deal with, and at a very young age they’re learning some amazing things. Steven was ecstatic about landing the lead role in a professional production of Amahl and the Night Visitors, until he heard his understudy sing. His voice was like silver. “Oh Mom!” Steven said, with tears in his eyes, “He’s so much better than I am! He should have my part.” It was then explained to Steven that the boy who was singing had grown too big for the lead, and Steven’s part was secure.

Steven decided right then and there that he would be very nice to his understudy and treat him without jealousy or malice. Steven knew how that felt, because he’d been treated poorly as an understudy before. This decision turned out to be better than Steven ever expected. His understudy in Amahl was Andrew, and now they’re the closest of friends.

“What a place for a reunion!” I tell myself the moment I see the cabin. When my grandparents retired they sold a perfectly normal house and bought this place in the woods near a very cold lake. They said it had room for everyone, so we should all come here for a reunion.
The cabin had been a simple A-frame at one time, but the previous owners kept making additions as if they were afterthoughts. Additions were attached to additions. I can’t believe my grandparents bought it. Even more unbelievable is the fact I’m in a car with my family, and we’re driving up to it, and we’ll be living here for the next three weeks.
As the car stops, I hear the noise, a kind of roar full of shrieks and bangs. My cousins. They come rushing out, leaping at us with their arms wide open, smothering us with hugs before they go running down the hill toward the lake.
Let me explain the family connections here. My grandparents have six children. The oldest is my dad. Now he’s moved into the cabin along with my mom and the two biggest suitcases. That leaves me (I’m 15), my brothers (13-year-old twins), and my little sister (who’s 10), standing with our bags in the dust. We’re staring at The Cabin when Sarah and Marleen come to help us. Sarah is my dad’s brother’s wife, the mother of six kids. Aunt Marleen is Dad’s youngest sister and is due to have a baby next month—her first.
Sarah and Marleen help us carry in our stuff. Once inside we see Grandpa and two of Dad’s brothers playing a computer game. As I approach the stairs I hear the wall of sound coming again and count as 18 cousins—all kids—rush past me and up the stairs. My grandmother stands in the kitchen doorway, hardly noticing the mob.
I am directed to the loft, which is much coveted by all but reserved for me since I’m the oldest grandchild. But I’m not convinced that’s where I want to be spending my nights. So I go to the basement to see if there are any spare rooms. That’s where I find four mattresses spread on the floor, with little girls’ clothes everywhere. Perpetual slumber-party-city. I’m doomed.
“Marti! Wanna see a caterpillar?” It’s my six-year-old cousin, Erin.
“Nah,” I say, turning back to the stairs. “I’ve seen lots of them, thank you.”
I discover a room loaded with books that’s kind of between floors. I’m looking at the books and thinking maybe I could move in when I hear a thundering sound above me. I look up to see the room is just under the staircase. That would be like living under a freeway overpass. Anyway, the room is soon overflowing with boys and their sleeping bags.
“Aunt Rebecca (that’s my mom) told us to use this room. She’s gonna use the one we were in. Isn’t this neat?” My cousin looks around at my brothers and his other male counterparts. They seem to be in agreement; they are staking out their individual territories.
So I head upstairs to find all the rooms there are taken by at least two people, some by four or five. Will I ever have a quiet moment for the next three weeks?
I go downstairs to explain my dilemma to my grandma, but she’s nowhere to be found. Grandpa tells me she went on a walk with Deenie, my little sister.
“Anything I can do for you?” I ask Grandpa, who is playing a computer game.
“Well …”
Grandpa pushes the pause button on the computer and turns around to look at me as he takes my hand. I think he knows I need to talk.
“Too bad we can’t do that with life,” I say, pointing to the button he’s just pushed.
“Unfortunately, life can’t be paused,” he says. “That’s why we have pause buttons on computers instead.” He squeezes my hand. “Now what’s troubling you?”
“I’m supposed to sleep in the loft, and I don’t really want to stay there because it’s all open and everything and everyone will see me and I’ll see everyone else and it’ll be all noisy and everything and …” My voice begins to sound like Minnie Mouse’s.
“Well, the only problem is there are lots of cousins who want that loft.” As if to emphasize the point, we hear a bang and then we hear several cousins running into the back bathroom.
“Are you willing to take whatever room is vacated? Even if there are other cousins there?”
Not exactly, I think. I want a room to myself. But just about anything would be better than the loft.
“Okay,” I declare.
“Then it’s set. Just wait and see.”
That night at dinner, my grandfather announces there will be a contest for the loft. A spontaneous cheer erupts, and I spill my spaghetti on my jeans.
“After dinner,” Grandpa announces, “we’ll all go down to the lake and skip rocks. Whoever is the best rock skipper will get the loft.” This declaration is followed by more cheers.
The rock skipping winner ends up being Tamara, Aunt Sarah’s 12-year-old. I’m amazed the boys didn’t out-skip her, but I think they’re too excited about being all together in the library room. I don’t skip any rocks. I just watch. When the contest ends, we all end up eating gooey cake that adds yet another interesting color to my jeans. And then I’m moved in with my six-year-old cousin, Erin.
I have doubts about abandoning the loft. Erin is constantly asking me questions. “Marti, what time does the sky turn blue? Why is your hair brown? Do fish sleep?” When Erin isn’t asking me questions, she’s staring at me. And when she’s not asking and not staring, she’s telling long involved stories about her day—tales of hiking, catching crayfish, and finding a dead bird. The next day is more of the same.
I’m relaxing on the beach soaking up some rays. Serious stuff. “Marti, come see,” she calls.
My answer is always the same: “Later. I’ll look later.” I then return to my book and/or tan. I’m hoping she’ll give up on me and give me some peace and quiet. Erin is soon joined by Deenie, and they approach me in tandem. “Marti. Row us to the island, pul-eeze! Pretty please?” Maybe I can find a place to hide. But they always manage to find me.
One day everyone is going for a walk around the lake together. I immediately see it as a chance to be alone at last. “Don’t you want to come with us, Marti? Are you sure?” Grandpa practically pleads with me. I say I’m tired and think it would be nice to be alone for a while.
Finally everyone leaves. And it’s great. The peace and quiet is all I had hoped it would be, except that it doesn’t last long enough. When everyone comes back, they’re all licking ice cream cones.
“Marti,” Erin exclaims, “we saw this really big bird that flew right down over us!”
“It was a bald eagle,” Jonathan says. I’ve never seen him look that excited about anything other than football.
“Yeah, it was so awesome,” adds Adam. “It flew right over our heads and then dove to the lake and grabbed a fish—right out of the water!”
“Probably the trout I’ve been hoping to catch all summer,” Grandpa says.
That night, I’m trying to pretend I’m asleep, but Erin starts talking to me anyway. “You missed it, Marti,” she says solemnly.
“Missed what?”
“The eagle.” She looks at me as if I’ve committed a crime.
It’s obvious I’m not going to get to sleep anytime soon, so I go outside on the deck where I find Grandpa looking through his telescope. I know he’ll make me look at some planet, so I go into the kitchen to get my yogurt. One problem. Someone has already eaten it.
“Honey, look,” Grandma says, holding up my jeans that are miraculously clean again.
“Yeah, great,” I say.
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“Someone ate my yogurt.”
“Oh, we’ll get you some more.”
“And it’s so noisy here. All the kids are running around until late. Why do you let them?”
Grandma sits down and motions for me to do the same. “Honey, it’s summer and you kids all have so many rules all the time. This is a time to relax; to get to know each other. All you cousins don’t see each other that much. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if we all stayed up playing and enjoying each other’s company.” Grandma stops for a moment, then focuses back on me. “Course, your moms would never allow that, staying up all night.”
Just then, Adam bursts into the kitchen. “Grandpa says come and look. He found Venus!”
Grandma jumps up and follows. I venture back to my room. Erin is already asleep, and I drift off to the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in days. But when I wake up it’s strangely quiet. I look at my watch and see it’s nine o’clock. How could it be this quiet? Erin’s bed is empty. I panic and run down the stairs, putting on my robe as I go. No one’s there.
“Anyone here?” I call out.
“Up here, Marti.” My grandmother calls me by name and I feel a chill. I enter the bedroom to see everyone there. Some have tear-stained eyes. My grandpa is in bed, sleeping peacefully. I think I must be having a strange dream. Then Mom says, “Grandpa died in his sleep.” That’s all she manages to say before she begins to softly cry.
Then my tears come out so fast they take me by surprise. “No!” I hear myself say, and I sink down on the carpet between Deenie and Erin. “I didn’t even look in his telescope.” It’s a strange thing to say, but everyone seems to understand.
For several days everything is like some kind of numb dream.
“He’s here,” Grandma says. “I can feel him nearby, loving all of us.”
“Yeah, he is,” Erin says, “except it will be a long time before I can give him a hug again.”
Four days later, after the funeral is over, we start to laugh and share all our memories. I surprise myself to see how I can cry so hard and laugh so hard in the same day.
Then I walk around the lake by myself. I see the eagle snatching another fish. “That’s my grandpa’s fish!” I yell, and realize my heart is beating rapidly just at the sight of the diving eagle. I look up at the sky. It looks bigger than I’ve ever seen it before, and there are pink clouds on the horizon. I say “Thank you” aloud to my grandfather for all he’s taught me.
And I thank my Heavenly Father, for the pink clouds, the eagle, one cousin named Erin, and the big sky that’s whispering “eternity” to me personally. I speak to my grandfather. “You’re right. Computers have pause buttons because you can’t pause life. I should know. I’ve been trying to pause mine.”
My heart is full of so many things, and they all translate to love. I pick some tiny flowers on my way back up the hill. I see Adam on the front deck examining the telescope.
“Think you could find Venus tonight?” I ask.
“I’m gonna try.”
“Let me know if you do.”
Erin looks at me curiously. I hand her the flowers, and she holds them close to her nose. She seems to be pondering deep thoughts for a long time. Then she raises her head and says, “Grandma said I can make chocolate chip cookies for dessert tonight. You wanna help me?”
“Sure.” She holds my hand in one of her small hands, the flowers in the other, and she escorts me to the kitchen, squealing enthusiastically, “Grandma, look at these beautifullest flowers!”
I don’t even flinch.

Illustration by Kevin Keele
The smell of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies started filling the house. Nathan caught the scent and ran as fast as he could toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Mom was pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven.
“You made cookies!” he said. He couldn’t wait to taste one. Mom’s cookies were the best.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Some are for us, and some are for Michael. I want to send him a care package.”
Nathan nodded in excitement. Michael would be so happy to get a box of Mom’s cookies out on his mission.
“Awesome idea! Can I put something in the care package?” he asked.
“Of course,” Mom answered.
Mom handed Nathan a cookie. He thanked her and started nibbling on the treat—so tasty!—while heading to his room. He wanted to search through his things for the best gift to send.
It had to be just right. Wrapping little presents and giving them to friends and family was one of Nathan’s favorite things to do. Sometimes he’d draw a picture and wrap that. Other times he’d give away an eraser. You never knew when you might need an eraser.
Nathan kept thinking as he finished his cookie. Would Michael want a small toy? Maybe. How about a nice pen? Possibly. A pen could be useful to a missionary.
Then his eyes landed on a two-inch flashlight that could fit right in your pocket. Any missionary would love such a cool flashlight. It would be the perfect gift! Nathan wrapped the flashlight and took it to Mom, who slid it into the care package.
A few days later Dad gathered the family. “I have some news,” he said. “Michael’s mission has been hit by a hurricane.”
Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. That sounded bad! Was Michael OK?
Mom held up a hand. “He’s fine. Nobody has to worry. The worst that happened to Michael was that the power went out. But I want to tell you something he said in his letter.”
Nathan let out a sigh of relief. Michael wasn’t hurt. But still, a hurricane! He leaned forward, listening closely.
“Michael said that our care package arrived about an hour before the storm hit. He said he appreciated the cookies.”
Nathan smiled. He knew Michael loved Mom’s cookies almost as much as he did.
“But then he mentioned something else. The flashlight he keeps in case of an emergency was packed deep in a closet. He wasn’t able to find that flashlight when the power turned off and everything went dark.” Tears started forming in Mom’s eyes as she continued. “However, that wasn’t such a big problem for Michael. Does anybody want to guess why?”
Nathan thought for a second. Then a smile spread across his whole face. “My flashlight!”
Dad nodded. “Yes, Nathan. The flashlight you sent your older brother was the only light he had during that big storm. He was so grateful you sent it.”
Nathan thought about how scary it would be to go through a hurricane without any light. He was so glad he’d been able to help his big brother. Nathan felt warm inside, happy that he’d made a difference.
Now all he had to do was figure out what to send the next time Mom put together a care package!

That’s what I was able to do with a friend, someone whom I considered to be the most beautiful, confident, and intelligent young woman I knew. We’d been friends for years, but it wasn’t until high school that I discovered she had an eating disorder. One day during a psychology class, we had an entire lesson on eating disorders—why and how people become consumed by them. During this lesson my friend was unusually quiet and looked uncomfortable. That’s when I first began to suspect her “internal dispute,” as we later referred to it.
After that class, I began to notice that my friend’s normal behaviors were not so normal—things like her lack of appetite, her comments about how she looked fat, or the constant facade of perfection she was trying to keep up. I became really scared for her and decided to fast and pray for her—I didn’t know what else to do.
Eventually, the Spirit told me I needed to talk to her with great love. I did the best I could and fasted and prayed that I would know what to say to her. When I finally talked with her about my suspicion of an eating disorder, we both cried as she admitted to having one. She told me she knew she was struggling and didn’t know how to help herself—or if she even wanted to change. I was so surprised that she didn’t deny having an eating disorder. The Spirit was definitely with us during that conversation. With the assistance of parents and counselors, we found help for her. And through those efforts, she’s now healthy again.
Helping her rediscover her worth was one of the best things I’ve ever had the opportunity to do. I knew she has great worth. She is an extremely special person—she just forgot how much worth she has. I wanted her to see herself the way Christ sees her, and along the way she showed me that I needed to do the same for myself.

Rex couldn’t tie his shoes by himself like Hector Pembroke next door or eat all his string beans or pronounce the name of the mailman—Mr. Stanislaus—or say short prayers. Rex thought all of Heavenly Father’s creatures needed to be blessed, and so he blessed all those he could think of—lions, tigers, bears, elephants, skunks, mice, dogs, and cats. Speaking of cats, what four-year-old Rex especially couldn’t do was run as fast as old Percival did every time Rex wanted to hug him!
But Rex didn’t mind all these things he couldn’t do, because sometimes he had a feeling that he could be anything or anybody, anywhere or anytime he wanted. Rex’s stuffed panda, Freddy, knew about his feeling, for Rex told him everything. What It was, Rex wasn’t sure. Did It have a name, he wondered. He couldn’t see It or touch It or smell It. He didn’t know if It was round or square or had any shape at all. It went to bed with him and Freddy and woke up with him in the morning. Rex was sure that something that special just had to have a name! He asked Freddy one night. But Freddy only stared, like he always did.
One day when Rex just couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself any longer, he talked to his mother and asked her if It had a name. Rex’s mother smiled. Then she put down her work and got a pencil and a big piece of paper and wrote down
I - M - A - G - I - N - A - T - I - O - N.
Rex could hardly believe his eyes! That was the biggest word he had ever seen. In fact, it looked and sounded big and strange enough to be a grown-up word. And what’s more, it looked harder to say than Mr. Stanislaus.
After his mother explained what the big word meant, Rex could hardly wait to use his i-m-a-g-i-n-a-t-i-o-n again. First, he imagined that he was Wonderman. He could save the whole world! And he would have if Mother hadn’t told him that the world would have to wait until after his nap to be saved. Rex yawned and nodded. After all, saving the world was no small undertaking, and even a super hero needed his rest.
After his nap Rex helped Dad pull weeds in the corn patch, but he was really Jungleman. The stalks of corn became an African forest. And it was Jungleman who bravely explored its dark depths, ready and alert for danger.
To Rex, an earthworm easily became a large and deadly snake and Percival became a ferocious lion. But even if Rex couldn’t catch Percival (the ferocious lion), he could chase him out of the garden (jungle), leaving his backyard (Africa) peaceful and safe once again.
Sometimes when Rex became tired of saving his friends in the jungle, he put on the green cape Mother made him and turned into Birdman. In less time than it took old Percival to roll over, Rex could make the change, then all at once the grass beneath his feet became the tops of trees far, far below as Birdman flew daringly among the pirate cloud ships that sailed wildly by in the ocean of a blue summer sky.
Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, Rex’s bath water became fierce ocean waves and Rex became the prophet Nephi, who could calm the savage sea.
There were times, though, when Rex put his i-m-a-g-i-n-a-t-i-o-n to rest—happy times when Dad would hold Rex on his lap and tell him about the sun and the moon and the little creatures. He also liked the times mother bandaged his knee if his green cape didn’t work very well and he fell down. Rex enjoyed the special times when he went with his parents to church and got to shake hands with Bishop Berry.
Rex felt important because he was important. His dad and mother often told him that he was the finest boy in the whole world. Then Rex would think, It’s just as much fun to be myself as it is to imagine I’m someone else.

“When I was a new bride, … I was invited to a lunch for all of the Relief Society sisters in my ward who had read either the Book of Mormon or a short Church history book. I had become casual in my scripture reading, so I qualified to attend the luncheon by reading the short book because it was easier and took less time. As I was eating my lunch, I had a powerful feeling that though the history book was a good one, I should have read the Book of Mormon. The Holy Ghost was prompting me to change my scripture reading habits. That very day I began to read the Book of Mormon, and I have never stopped. … Because I started reading the scriptures daily, I have learned about my Heavenly Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and what I need to do to be like Them. …

In 1986, President Ezra Taft Benson promised the Saints that the power of the Book of Mormon would begin to flow into our lives the moment we began a serious study of the book (see Ensign, November 1986, page 7). Inspired by his promise, my wife and I decided to start reading the Book of Mormon with our family.
At the time we had four children, ages six months to six years. At first, we were able to read only one column each day. With 531 pages and twice that many columns, the book seemed like a never-ending undertaking.
Despite, or maybe because of, how slowly we read, we made every effort to read each weekday. Our children were eager to please—often waking us to start reading. Although we missed very few days, it took us more than six months to read 1 Nephi.
By this time our two oldest children were able to read a few words by themselves. As we slowly made our way through 2 Nephi, including quotations from the writings of Isaiah, we were growing as a family in spiritual as well as other ways. We added a daily devotional time and another child to the family. Dirty diapers and cries of hunger often interrupted our reading, but each day we would finish our allotted column no matter how long it seemed to take.
About the time our oldest turned 11 years old, we started reading at an accelerated pace—one page per day. As we neared the middle of that year, we received word that the Alberta Temple would be rededicated the next spring, an event our family had been looking forward to. We did some calculating and found that if we continued reading at the same pace, we would have one chapter of the Book of Mormon left to read on the day the dedication would begin. We planned to travel the 1,200 kilometers to attend this event, rise early that morning, and drive to the temple grounds to read the last chapter.
The morning of the dedication dawned bright and clear. The temple grounds were beautiful, and we sat down behind the old stone monument as we prepared to read.
The Spirit seemed to be with us more strongly than usual as we finished the chapter and concluded the volume of scripture. It had taken us about five years to complete reading it. We each took a turn praying for confirmation that the Book of Mormon was indeed the word of God. We didn’t see any angels or hear voices, but we did feel the calm, peaceful, loving presence of the Holy Ghost. Tears filled our eyes as the Spirit testified to each of us of the truthfulness and sacredness of the Book of Mormon.
We gave thanks for the opportunity we’d had to become closer to the great prophets of the Book of Mormon and for the blessings that we had received through reading their words—blessings of increased faith, strength in the face of adversity, and greater love and tranquility in our home. Indeed, we had received the blessings a prophet of God had promised us.

Elisa’s mom pulled the car up to the curb near the movie theater, and Elisa jumped out onto the sidewalk. There were already dozens of people in line. Luckily, she saw her friend Tracy waving from near the front.
“Have fun!” Mom handed Elisa some change. “Call me if Tracy’s mom isn’t here to pick you up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Elisa said, shutting the car door.
It was Elisa’s 12th birthday, and she and Tracy were going to a movie that they had been waiting to see for months. Elisa saw the movie posters displayed outside the building and started to feel excited. She patted the ticket money in her pocket.
“I’m glad I got here early,” Tracy said. “The line is already getting long, and the movie doesn’t start for another 20 minutes.”
Finally they reached the ticket window. The list of ticket prices was displayed above the cashier’s head.
“One child’s ticket, please,” Tracy said, telling him the name of the movie they wanted to see. She handed him her money and he slid a ticket under the glass.
Elisa stepped up next. “I’m getting a ticket for the same show.”
He slid a child’s ticket toward her and she put her money under the glass. Then she realized she shouldn’t have done that. The sign above his head said “Children 3–11 $3.75. Adults 12 and older $5.00.”
She was supposed to pay the full price, but the man had already pushed forward her change and was helping the next person in line. “Oh, well,” she thought. “It’s no big deal, right? I just barely turned 12.” Elisa pocketed the change and walked into the theater behind Tracy.
“This is perfect,” Tracy said as they found some seats in the middle. Elisa nodded, but she was thinking about what had just happened at the ticket booth.
“So, happy birthday!” Tracy said, smiling. “I’m so glad we can celebrate together. Are you still going to have a birthday party next weekend?”
“What?” Elisa was picturing the sign above the cashier’s head.
“The birthday party—are you having it?” Tracy repeated. “I can’t wait until I turn 12. I’ll be able to go to girls’ camp with you in July.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Elisa said. “We’ll share a tent together.”
“I’m going to miss activity days,” Tracy said, “but turning 12 will be so cool. Do you already feel more grown-up?”
Elisa felt less grown-up at that moment. She wasn’t sure what to do. “I guess so,” she said. The uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.
“You’ll have to tell me about our Young Women’s class so I can be prepared,” Tracy said. “I don’t want to feel silly at my first activity.”
The theater lights dimmed and music started to play. Elisa wanted to go back to the ticket booth, but she thought the cashier would think she was being foolish. “It’s only a matter of 24 hours, right?” she reasoned to herself.
The movie previews started, and Elisa and Tracy sat back to enjoy the movie. It was great—just what they had hoped it would be—but Elisa couldn’t forget what had happened at the ticket booth. She hadn’t been honest.
When the movie was over, they waited in the aisle for a few minutes while everyone filed out. Elisa stared at the red carpeted wall, barely listening to Tracy rave about the movie. Elisa knew what she had to do. As soon as they stepped outside the theater, she turned toward the ticket window.
“Um, I need to take care of something at the ticket booth.”
“Ticket booth? Are you going again?” Tracy laughed. “It was good, but—”
“No, I just have to fix a mistake.” Elisa stepped toward the ticket booth.
“Wait, Elisa,” Tracy called. “My mom’s here. We need to go.”
“I’ll hurry,” Elisa called back to her. She walked quickly to the front of the line and approached the window.
“What movie?” the cashier asked.
Elisa slid her ticket stub under the glass. “Well, I just saw this movie. I bought the ticket before it started.”
“Do you want to see it again?” He looked puzzled.
“No, I paid the wrong price,” Elisa said nervously. “See, I paid for a child’s ticket, but really I’m 12 and I should have paid the full price. Today’s my birthday.”
“So?”
“Well, I should have told you I was 12, because the price is different.”
“Look, I don’t care,” he said, laughing at her. “Just forget about it.”
“Well, I didn’t tell the truth and I should have,” she said again. It didn’t feel funny to her.
“What’s the problem?” the manager asked, stepping into the ticket booth. Elisa explained to her what had happened.
“I want to pay the extra money,” Elisa said again.
“Some kids try to sneak in without buying a ticket at all.” The manager shook her head, smiling. “You can keep the change. Consider it a birthday present for being honest.”
“Really?” Suddenly Elisa did feel grown-up. She walked toward Tracy with a big smile on her face.
“Did they fix their mistake?” Tracy asked.
“No, it was my mistake,” Elisa said, “so I fixed it myself.”

In the past eight months in the Philippines, I have heard many testimonies of the blessings of the gospel. Speaking at the dedication of his ward chapel, a Filipino bishop expressed his gratitude for the gospel message that came into his life about 10 years ago. He described how it rescued him from a life of selfishness, excess, and abusive practices and made him a good husband and father. He testified of the blessings that had come to him from paying his tithing.
Speaking at a leadership meeting, a counselor in a stake presidency who is a lawyer and community leader said: “I can declare to the whole world without mental reservation that the greatest thing that ever happened in my life is my becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It … made a great difference in my life and that of my family, even if I feel there is more that I should learn and apply in my life. The Church is indeed a marvelous work and a wonder.”

Two weeks after my 16th birthday my family moved to North Africa. This was not my idea of fun, and I suspected my parents of plotting the entire thing just to make me miserable. The driving age in Morocco is 18, so I wouldn’t be getting a driver’s license, and the school I would be attending had no newspaper or track team—the two things I enjoyed doing. Worst of all, in my junior class at the international school, there were 11 girls and only 3 boys. It was going to be a long year.
At home I had a big group of friends. We went to church and acted like we were doing what was right. But on the weekends we went to parties together, and we sometimes did things I knew weren’t right. I felt torn apart, wanting to keep myself clean, but also wanting to prove that I could do what I wanted. That feeling hadn’t gone away when we moved.
After we’d been in Morocco about a week, I started to make a few friends. My new friend Amy wasn’t a member of the Church, but she was different. She didn’t just pretend to do what was right; she did it. She didn’t seem to have anything to prove. Angie and Lisa, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the wrong things that they did. There is no legal drinking age in Morocco, and they took advantage of it. They were having a party at Lisa’s house that weekend, and I was invited.
After my first day of class at my new school, I met the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.
“Are you Rebecca?” he asked as he walked toward me. My heart was beating loud and fast, but I managed to say yes.
“I’m Tony. I hear you’re a Mormon.”
I nodded, wondering what this was all about.
“Are you a real Mormon?” he asked, “or do you just go to church because your parents make you?”
I fumbled with my backpack and said, “I don’t know.”
“Well, when you figure it out, let me know,” he said. Then he left.
I didn’t go to the party at Lisa’s house that weekend. My mom said she needed help unpacking, so I stayed home opening boxes and hanging up clothes.
After I had worked for a while, I stopped my chores and told my mom that I needed a break. I went outside to think.
I walked outside the wall around our house where there was a dusty dirt road that shepherds walked down every morning and evening, taking their sheep and goats to pasture. I soon came to a field where garbage had been burned. A tangerine peel lay in the road, and I angrily kicked it into the grass. Why do I have to be here? I wondered. Why does anything ever have to change? Why does life have to be so hard?
I thought about Tony and his question. What did he want me to say? Am I a real Mormon? Who do I want to be? Would he ever think about dating me if I said I was a real Mormon?
As I turned the corner to go back home, I saw something that made me stop. Across the street, in the middle of an empty field, stood a beautiful little tree. It was not much taller than I was, and its leaves and branches were thin and delicate.
I looked at that tree for a long time. I thought about the parties I had gone to in the States and the things I had done. I thought about the choices I needed to make and about who I wanted to be. I thought about standing alone, sort of like that tree.
It was two weeks before I talked to Tony again. He found me serving refreshments in the school gym on parents’ night. Because parents were invited, wine was being served along with soda and punch.
“So, Rebecca, I brought you a drink,” Tony said. “A toast to a new school year.” He held out a plastic cup half filled with wine.
My heart started pounding again.
“No thanks, Tony. How about a doughnut?”
“No thanks? I bring you a drink, and you don’t want it? Why? Are you afraid your parents will find out?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid you won’t be a real Mormon? Don’t worry, no one in your church will find out.”
I looked down at the table and then up at Tony. “I am a real Mormon. This doesn’t have anything to do with my parents. I just don’t want to.”
Tony looked disgusted. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “We could have had fun together.” He dropped the cup into the trash can and walked off. I watched him go and then leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh.
I didn’t have many dates that year, although Tony let me know that if I changed my mind he’d be happy to take me out. But I had a great year anyway. Amy and I got to know some of our Moroccan neighbors, and although we didn’t speak French or Arabic very well, we had a good time laughing together. I went to the prom that year with my brother (he turned out to be a great dancer).
It’s not easy feeling left out, but I felt so good about my decision to be a “real Mormon.” I felt more happy and peaceful than I had in a long time.
I was learning to stand alone.

I knew I needed to go to the temple. I lived only a short car ride away from the nearest temple, yet I hadn’t been in months.
One night, I was reading Elder Neil L. Andersen’s talk from the October 2022 general conference. A sentence stood out to me: “As we enter the temple, we are freed for a time from the worldly influences crowding against us as we learn of our purpose in life and the eternal gifts offered us through our Savior, Jesus Christ.”1
I wanted to feel free from the world. Struck with a burst of determination, I scheduled an appointment to do proxy initiatories.
On the day of the appointment, I came home from work feeling tired and grumpy for no reason. I wasn’t in the mood to go to the temple.
But I remembered my past desire, even if I didn’t feel it in the moment. I went back out to my car and started driving.
Twenty minutes later, the temple came into view.
Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, my desire returned. The temple was the place I needed to be that night. I had to hold back more tears so I wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
The temple is a place of refuge from worldly influences and the struggles in our lives. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to “establish a pattern of regular temple attendance.”2 As we do, we’ll enjoy the blessings of returning again and again to the house of the Lord.
Here are just a few of the blessings I noticed from attending the temple that day:
When I attended the temple that day, my bad mood was lifted. It was replaced by “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).
The peace we find in the temple comes directly from God. We can connect to God anywhere through His Spirit, but the temple is set apart for us to commune directly with the Lord.
President Nelson taught: “[The temple] is His house. It is filled with His power. … I promise that increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”3 Attending the temple allows us to feel God’s power. That power can come as revelation, as clarity of mind, or as a feeling of comfort.
Beyond feeling peace, I also remembered the covenants I had previously made. As I acted as proxy in the initiatory, I focused on the words of the ordinance. Those words reminded me that God would give me strength and would help me persevere through my trials.
When we return to the temple, we remember the promises we make to God and the eternal promises He makes to us.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “We do not build or enter holy temples solely to have a memorable individual or family experience. Rather, the covenants received and the ordinances performed in temples are essential to the sanctifying of our hearts and for the ultimate exaltation of God’s sons and daughters.”4
While we receive personal blessings in the temple, we should also remember the work we do for the dead. When we perform proxy ordinances, they are for the salvation of those beyond the veil.
The names of the people I helped were provided to me by the temple. I didn’t know any of the women I stood as proxy for that day. But I felt the sacred power given to them through the initiatory ordinance.
Our temple attendance helps further God’s plan for His children. In our own small way, we are participating in the work “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). Elder Bednar taught, “As we become anxiously engaged in this sacred work, we are obeying the commandments to love and serve God and our neighbors [see Matthew 22:34–40].”5
For those of us who live near a temple, it may be easy to forget the blessings that come from temple attendance. As President Russell M. Nelson has promised, “Increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”6 For those who live far from a temple, it may be hard to fit temple visits in our schedules. But the power of temple attendance is constant, and the blessings are real.
As we spend more time in the temple, we can find rest from our challenges and our hurt. We can commune with God and be part of His great work—for our own souls and the souls of all His children.

My classmates and I were staying overnight at Tanyllyn Lodge in the Welsh mountains as part of our sixth-form geography field trip. I was glad that my friend Louise and I were assigned to share a room.
It took us a while to get ready for bed. We took turns using the one tiny sink in the room and the even tinier mirror. Our clothing for the next day had to be set out along with our hiking boots and thick socks. Louise finished her preparations before I did and climbed into her bed.
When I had finished doing everything except saying my prayers, I hesitated beside my bed. Louise was not a member of the Church and had no idea I prayed each night.
My first instinct was to slip into bed as she had done and feign sleep while I silently prayed. But I anticipated two big flaws with that decision. First, I knew Louise would start talking to me and I would never make it through my prayer uninterrupted. Second, I was a little daunted by the next day’s grueling agenda and needed the comfort of a fervent prayer on my knees.
I vacillated in indecision for a few minutes, then turned to Louise and told her I was going to say a prayer. She looked a bit startled, but before she could say anything, I knelt at the end of the bed, bowed my head, closed my eyes, and offered a silent personal prayer. She was still watching when I rose.
There was a rather awkward silence as I crawled into my bed. As I anxiously searched for something to say, Louise said, “Sian, do you do that every night?”
“Yes,” I replied.
There was a slight pause, then the question, “What do you say?”
I was surprised. I had never really considered the possibility of someone not knowing how to pray. I told Louise I began my prayers by addressing our Father in Heaven. Then I thanked him for blessings I had received, asked him to help me, and closed my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ.
There was another pause, and during the silence I felt my heartbeat quicken. Before I lost my nerve, I asked her if she would like to pray with me.
“Okay,” she said, with curiosity in her voice. “What do we do?”
We knelt together by the side of the bed, and I said a prayer aloud. When it was over, I asked her how she felt.
She smiled shyly. “Well, you’ve given me something to think about.”
I don’t know what Louise’s thoughts were as we lay in our beds afterward. Mine were thoughts of gratitude. Lying there in the dark, I felt the Spirit confirming to me that we do have a Heavenly Father who loves us and listens to our prayers. I hope Louise felt it, too.

Now that I had a testimony of the restored gospel, what about my ministry? I still had 10 months left in my contract as a minister. After much prayer and counseling with God, I decided to complete my service. For the next 10 months, I continued to share traditional Bible truths, but when possible I added the perspective of the restored gospel. People resonated with those truths, and my little flock grew from 20 to nearly 150.

I would like to thank you very much for the article “Bowl ’em Over” in the September 1984 New Era. The eager anticipation shown in the photos of the youth brought back many fond and exciting memories from over a year ago when I was in my last year of seminary.
I remembered how our little seminary group studied for long hours almost every time we met (once each week) to be the best scripture chasers in our district (the Dubois District in the Pennsylvania Pittsburg Mission).
At the end of the year, Kelly, Amy, and Debbie Starner, Jody Johnson, my sister Dona, and I fulfilled our promise that we had made to our wonderful teacher, Sister Betty Adams. We won the championship blue ribbons as the best team. Amy and I were the top male-female chasers in the district.
The great love we shared at each Super Saturday, the competition, and the other activities brought us all a little bit closer to each other and the Lord. I’m very grateful for those special occasions that touched my spirit, helping me in a time when I was struggling for a real testimony of my own.

I can honestly say that I’ve never really had a father. Although he is still alive, I have never had the opportunity to get to know him.
My memories of my father are restricted to his coming home unexpectedly one night, after we had not seen him for some time, and my mother crying. All I really remember about my father is his absence.
My feelings towards my father gradually turned into utter confusion and dismay when his behavior caused my mother a near breakdown. I was in the hospital one day trying to comfort her, and my father came to see me. By that time, he was living with another woman. Somehow I found enough courage to ask him if he would consider coming back to live with his family. He simply laughed nervously and said, “No, it is too late.”
There is a tremendous emotional handicap that comes with the absence of a father. Although my mother showered all her love on me, I could not help feeling betrayed.
I could not live with such a feeling forever. The first change occurred when I joined the Church. As a member, I realized I had to find it in my heart to forgive my father. But my sentiments were still shrouded in ambivalence. Forgive him of what specifically? I never hated him or wished him ill. But I was still angry. I felt sorry for him and distressed at the choices he had made. My mother, although not a member of the Church, asked me to include him in my prayers and ask that the Lord might take care of him. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
As I learned more about the gospel, it seemed to make matters worse. When I learned the importance of the priesthood, the blessings that come when it is exercised properly in faith, it made me sad. Why didn’t I have a responsible priesthood holder in my family to go to in times of trouble?
But a change was already in progress. I began to see the world and the people in it in a completely different light. I shunned bad habits and tried to live the way the Lord wanted me to. I found great comfort in prayer. For I now finally realized I had someone in whom I could confide all my problems, my joys and little triumphs. It was a feeling that completely overwhelmed me, made me feel important. I knew He was listening.
I realized that I did indeed have a Father, that I literally was His son in the spirit. It filled my heart to know that there was someone willing to lend a helping hand to sustain and encourage me. I was given a great gift—the feeling of belonging. I was not alone. I knew the world to be literally filled with my brothers and sisters, all sharing a common Father. Sometimes I would sit in a bus or a tram, look at the people in front of me, and think, I know something wonderful and long to share it with you. We are related.
What the Lord gave me was strength, peace, and fulfillment. He made me see why a concept like forgiveness is truly all-encompassing and powerful. To think that the Lord had forgiven me of my sins and transgressions at my baptism. And by sincere repentance I can still be forgiven. It was clear that I did not deserve this privilege if I did not find it in my heart to forgive my father. I learned that in spite of his habits and conduct, I should honor him and try to find a way to help him instead of silently condemning him.
It’s been a long, hard climb, and I cannot say that I still do not long for the physical presence of my earthly father. But I know now that he needs help. And through prayer, work, and example, someday I may be able to help him truly realize that he, too, is a son of God.

Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.

And finally, I recently hit a point of exhaustion I’d never felt before. My friends, family members, and even coworkers had been opening up to me about their current challenges, and the more they opened up to me, the more I would try to take on what they were struggling with. I was hyperfocused on that idea of “fixing,” and I felt powerless to do so.

So when that song came on at work, tears instantly flooded my eyes as I stopped typing and listened to the music. It was all I could do to mutter a small prayer: “Heavenly Father … I’m exhausted.”

Then God, in His loving grace, answered my prayer by patiently teaching me. These words instantly came to my mind: “You’re exhausted because you’re trying to be the fixer. And that is what I sent my Son to do.”

I felt incredibly humbled in that moment. I’d been trying to do a job that was never mine to do in the first place.

As Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Sometimes, the natural man or woman in us makes us think that we have been called to ‘fix’ other people. We have not been called to be ‘fixers’ of others, and we have not been called to lecture or to scorn. We have been called to inspire, to lift, to invite others, to be fishers of people, fishers of souls so they receive the opportunity to be spiritually healed by Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.”1

I’ve learned that because of the world we live in, we will constantly be with people, including ourselves, who are imperfect. And living in an imperfect world means that we will all experience challenges in this life, including difficult things that are beyond our control. That’s why God sent Jesus Christ—so He could help us.

Heavenly Father reminded me that day in my office that it wasn’t my job to heal my grandma. I wasn’t to blame for my friend’s death by suicide. And it certainly wasn’t my role to take on all the burdens and weaknesses of those around me.

Let us remember the Savior “descended below” all things (Doctrine and Covenants 122:8) because He is the Master Healer.

That’s a truth I’m continually learning to hold on to when I feel that need to solve everyone’s problems. I now strive to allow the Savior to guide and teach me.

Our simple mandate from Him is to “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8), which entails loving, supporting, listening, comforting, praying, fasting, forgiving, and serving. We can do that as we turn to follow the Savior. And as we let Him offer His healing hand to us and to those we love, our burdens will truly become light.

“They even showed us their new lime-green fire engine,” recalled Andrea Owens, Laurel class president.
The Laurels in the Wichita Kansas First Ward thought it would be a good idea to get to know the firemen in the area near the ward house. Because they know firemen spend a lot of time in the station, they chose to prepare a “goodie box” for the men.
The girls called ward members and asked them for copies of the Ensign, New Era, Book of Mormon, and other magazines or books that they might have on hand. Each girl contributed a batch of her favorite cookies. The magazines and cookies were delivered in a gaily decorated box.
Six members of the class and their adviser walked to the station during activity night. Andrea explained a little about the Church and the Young Women program. The firemen returned the favor by giving the girls a tour of the station and their equipment.
“The firemen were happy to see us,” added Andrea. “They asked us to come back any time. And we asked them to come quickly if there was ever a fire at the church!”

The youth of the Tucson Arizona East Stake have great taste in clothes. They also have something much more important—a strong commitment to Church standards. They youth received a lot of attention when they put on a local fashion show that not only displayed modest fashions, but demonstrated their love for the gospel.
The fashion show came after the young women and young men in the stake spent a year preparing and building community support for their efforts to promote modesty. More than 4,000 community members signed a petition encouraging stores to provide more modest clothing options, and more than 500 attended the fashion show, which was held at the stake center.
The youth met varied responses as they took the petition around. “I went to a public library to get signatures,” says Sydni Dunn, 13. “One woman I asked even started to cry because she so appreciated what I was doing.”
Not everyone cried when they heard about the petition; some people laughed. Wallis Rothlisberger, 15, says, “Some people said it was no use to try to influence fashion, and what did we think a bunch of teenagers could do anyway.” But, she adds, “I was actually surprised at how many people were supportive and commended us for our efforts.” Wallis explained to people that the petition did not mean that Latter-day Saints are trying to impose their standards on others; they only want local retailers to increase their selection of modest clothing.
The theme for the stake’s fashion show was “Discovering the Beauty Within.” Ward and stake leaders worked with the young women and young men to make the show a success. The youth were also joined in their efforts by several girls of other faiths.
In the show, the Laurels modeled, and the priests were ushers and escorts. On the runway the young women wore clothes from their own closets to show others it is possible to find modest, stylish clothes without spending purse-loads of money.
As the youth prepared for the show, local newspapers and TV and radio stations interviewed many of them and their leaders. “The fashion show was a blast,” says Ed Rothlisberger, 17, who spoke to the media. “I felt we were being an example—a light on the hill for Tucson.”
Ed helped get petition signatures and escorted some of the girls in the fashion show. So did Sam Rogers, 17. He told the media: “Girls think they have to wear certain clothes to interest us, but they don’t. I just like to see girls dressed modestly.”
Besides the petitions and the fashion show, the youth and their leaders also set up a Web site called “Modesty Turns Heads.” It includes helpful resources, like a link to For the Strength of Youth at www.lds.org and information on how others can get involved in promoting modest dress standards.
“After doing so much work to promote modesty in our community, I have come to recognize that I am not weird or out of fashion for dressing the way that I do,” says Lindsay Orton, 17.
The youth in Arizona and Illinois found strength in banding together for the righteous cause of modesty in dress. Ariel Lewis, 15, from Tucson, says, “Every time I told someone why I wanted them to sign the petition, it strengthened my testimony that modest clothes really matter. I stood stronger for what I believed in. This experience has really strengthened me.”