Gospel Story Finder

Sustaining him in the many challenges of life, including a long series of life-threatening illnesses, was the inner strength he received in his devotion to Church callings. Even as a boy, he felt an urgency to be about his Father’s business. While tromping hay for his older brothers one hot summer afternoon, he heard the bell for Primary ringing about a mile away. Ignoring his brothers’ insistence that he miss Primary and stay with his job atop the hay, young Spencer slipped off the wagon, unseen by his brothers, and was nearly to the meetinghouse before they discovered his absence.

A boy in my class is mildly handicapped. (I will call him Joe, not his real name.) He is a slow learner, and he stutters, so everybody thinks he is odd. One day at school when I sat by him, a mean boy thought he was being clever by picking on him. But I didn’t think it was clever at all. Joe went and told the teacher. When the teacher came over, I stood up and told her about other mean things that had been done to Joe that he had not told her.
This summer my mom was talking to his mom, and she told my mom that just about every day after school Joe came home crying. When she said that, it made me feel so good that I had been nice to him.
Lisa Miller, age 9Great Falls Fifth Ward

Today my cousin Janie moved to our neighborhood. She’s the daughter of Uncle Ben, who never had much to do with the rest of the family. She has red pigtails and buck teeth and wears glasses that look like the bottoms of pop bottles. I saw my friend Lola frowning at her during recess, and later Lola walked the long way around to avoid meeting her. That’s when I knew that I had a real problem.
You see, Lola is the most popular girl in my class. She has silky blond hair and blue eyes, and if you’re friends with her, everyone likes you and you get to go to her house and play with her dolls and eat chocolate ice-cream sundaes. I’ve been her friend now for two months. It’s been the best time of my life, and I don’t want it to end.
I avoided Janie the whole day, but when it was time to go home, she caught me as I was sneaking through the hedge behind the school building.
“Hi, Ginger,” she said.
“Hi,” I answered, peeking over my left shoulder. Lola was nowhere in sight.
“I haven’t seen you for a long time—not since we went ice-skating on the creek at Grandpa’s. Remember?”
I shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Do you think we could do that again?” Janie kicked at a rock with her toe.
I noticed that the ends of her shoes were scuffed and that there was a hole in one knee of her leotards. It made me wonder how I’d be dressed if I didn’t have a mom. “Maybe, sometime. I have to go home now,” I told her, then hurried away and left her standing behind the hedge with her hands clasped behind her back, looking at the ground.
Things went much better than I’d expected. I had been afraid that I’d have a terrible time getting rid of Janie and that she’d follow me around like a lost pup. She didn’t. She stayed away from me, and the only thing that I noticed was that every once in a while I would glance up and see her staring at me from behind those thick glasses. But she seemed fine, so I didn’t worry.
Then Sister Bates was sick one week and couldn’t teach our Primary class, and Brother Bates took over. He’s a stake missionary and always says things like “Feed my sheep” and “Love one another.” On this particular Sunday he told us a couple of stories and finished off by quoting what Jesus said in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” I thought that that sounded all right, but it was ridiculous to think that it applied to me and Janie. After all, I was very kind to her—I didn’t tease her or pull her hair, like some of the other kids did.
But then things changed for the worse. On Saturday morning Uncle Ben called. He had to go to Edmonton for the day, and he wondered if Janie could stay with us. “Of course,” Mom said. “Bring her right over.”
Now, Saturday morning is when I always go over to Lola’s to play with her dolls. She has every kind that you can imagine. I used to count them, but I gave up long ago because she keeps getting more and some of them look so much alike that you can’t be sure if you’ve already counted them or not.
When I put my sweater on that morning and headed for the front door, Mom asked, “Aren’t you taking Janie?”
“I guess so,” I mumbled.
By the time we were halfway to Lola’s house, I had worked out a plan: I would leave Janie standing on the corner, go up the block to Lola’s house, tell her that I wasn’t feeling well, and ask if I could please come back and play another day. Then I would go back and get Janie and go home again.
We got to the corner. “Wait here a minute, Janie,” I said. She had on a brown dress and gray socks and those scuffed black shoes.
“Will you be long?” Janie asked.
“No,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
As she watched me walk away, my feet got heavier with every step I took. “This is dumb,” I said firmly to myself. “I’m not doing anything wrong.” But my knees started to hurt. Then a lump began to grow inside of me, and it worked its way up to my throat till I could hardly swallow. I stopped. “You’re being silly,” I muttered to myself. “If you keep this up, you’ll ruin everything.” Then I turned around and cupped my hands around my mouth and called to Janie.
Lola answered the door. She was wearing a pink silk dress with ruffles on the sleeves and the neck and a ribbon around the skirt. Her hair was done in French braids, not a strand out of place.
I looked Lola right in the eye. “This is my cousin Janie,” I said. “We’ve come to play.”

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

I decided to stay close to home for college. I was excited to play the sport I loved at the next level while knowing my family would be in the stands watching and supporting me. I came from an amazing family, and my parents taught us the values and standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
But as a 20-year-old student-athlete playing football and living “the college life,” I abandoned those principles I was taught. I went to class and played football on the weekdays and then partied on the weekends, believing I had found true happiness. How wrong I was! But that is what Satan does—he makes wrong things so enticing that after a while they look right.
My life spun out of control in my third year of college. I was making poor choices and found out I was pregnant. My whole perspective about life shifted. It was no longer just about me, but about the baby I was carrying. The words in Alma 36:17–21 spoke directly to my soul because I felt so much godly sorrow and guilt for my choices, similar to how Alma felt.
The road through repentance can be hard and trying. I found it hard to admit that I was wrong and had made a mistake. Facing those I love and telling them I was pregnant was one of the scariest moments of my life. I also met with my bishop and had to face a disciplinary council, which ended with me not being able to take the sacrament for quite a while. I just wanted to run away and pretend this wasn’t real life. But it was. This was my new reality. I had a hard road ahead of me no matter what.
My family was disappointed in my choices, but they also loved me and wanted the best for me, just like our Heavenly Father. Many times I asked myself how He could forgive me after I fell short so many times. The answer I received every time was, because He loves me and wants me to return to Him. I knew I had disappointed my earthly parents, but the thought of how much I disappointed my Father in Heaven was gut-wrenching.
Still, I felt so alone and lost those first couple months of my pregnancy, unsure of where to go from there. As I began to pray more sincerely to Heavenly Father for guidance and help, I learned that I was never really alone. He was always there just waiting for me to seek Him. I had a drastic change of heart. I wanted to live a different life. I wanted to live for Christ. I wanted to be worthy to take the sacrament again. I wanted to be worthy of marrying in the temple someday, something that I thought was so far out of reach due to my mistakes.
It was then that I learned the true power of Jesus Christ as my Savior. I saw so many tender mercies from the Lord during those short nine months. I gained more faith than I ever had before in my life. It was that faith in Jesus Christ that allowed me to choose adoption for my sweet baby girl. The pain of placing my daughter for adoption was immense. But the joy I felt in helping another daughter of God get to her eternal family was even greater. I was changed for the better from that experience, as we can all be if we are truly sorry and repent—allowing the Lord to make us whole again.

Attending sacrament meeting for the first time was a real switch for Cesar. It wasn’t anything like the meetings he was accustomed to.

“There was a man carrying the bread and water trays. He was very busy fixing the microphone and saying hello to everyone. There were so many people there, I wondered if they would all fit in the church! It seemed funny that the man fixing the microphone was the bishop.

“It was also a real change to be in church for three hours; that seemed like a long time. I still remember that first Sunday School class. We talked about the birth of Jesus Christ, and I asked a lot of questions. After class, Betty’s brother, Isaac, helped me find the missionaries. I didn’t go to priesthood meeting that day; instead, I had my first discussion with the missionaries.”

That discussion led to more discussions during the week. By Thursday, he had had an interview with the bishop, and the following Sunday—exactly one week after his first attendance at Sunday meetings—he was baptized.

“It was pretty fast,” Cesar admits, “but by that time I had already read the Book of Mormon. Before meeting the missionaries, I had also read Doctrines of Salvation, Truth Restored, and The Miracle of Forgiveness. I had started reading Jesus the Christ. I felt I was ready.”

This story happened in Bolivia.
It was a hot morning. Thais and her friend Claudia talked and laughed as they walked across the soccer field. They had just finished gym class, and now they were going to math.
The younger kids were having break time. Thais watched them play.
Then she saw a little girl sitting alone on the steps. When they got closer, Thais saw that she was crying.
Thais waved for Claudia to come over to the little girl.
Claudia frowned and shook her head no. “We’ll be late.”
Before Thais could say anything, Claudia walked away.
Thais looked at the little girl. She was about five years old. Her face was hidden between her knees, and she covered her head with her hands.
Thais sat next to her. The girl moved away a little.
“Are you OK?” Thais asked softly.
The girl didn’t answer. Thais wasn’t sure what to say or do.
“Can I help you?” she asked next.
The girl shrugged.
“My name is Thais. What’s your name?”
Finally the girl looked up at Thais. “Nicol.”
“Why are you crying, Nicol?”
“Everyone teases me for being chubby,” she said between sobs.
Thais wiped Nicol’s face. “I’m sorry they said that. It doesn’t matter what people think.”
“They say I’m not pretty.”
“Well, I think they’re wrong!” Thais said with a smile. “You are very pretty and also very special. Did you know that?”
Thais thought of one of her favorite songs from Primary. She knew what to say now.
“You are a child of God,” Thais said, taking the girl’s hands.
Thais talked a little with Nicol. She explained how important Nicol was to Heavenly Father, her family, and many others who loved her so much. Bit by bit, Nicol began to smile.
After a few minutes, Nicol stood up and hugged Thais tightly. “Thanks!” she said.
Thais watched her new friend run away with a big smile. It felt good to help Nicol feel better and know how much God loved her.
Then Thais jumped to her feet too. I better run like Nicol or I’ll be late for math! she thought, smiling as she hurried to class.
Illustrations by Flavio Remontti

One of my pre-mission life goals was to graduate from college. While attending classes would have been difficult with my illness and the constant doctor appointments, my dad encouraged me to take online classes from Brigham Young University Independent Study. Not only was this an achievable horizontal goal, but I also realized that maybe I was capable of doing more pre-mission goals than I had previously thought possible.

One day at church, a sister walked up to my mom and said, “Do you know that Destiny can serve an online indexing mission?” This unexpected question was an answer to my prayers. I was able to serve the Lord for nine months as an indexing support Church-service missionary. This was a mission I could do!*
As I became better at managing my health condition, I began studying at a community college while doing my online mission. I was asked to teach mission preparation at the nearby institute. Teaching helped me realize that my enthusiasm for missionary work had not waned and that even my short mission had provided me with many experiences that could be valuable for my students.
After successfully attending a semester of college near my home, I moved to Utah, USA, to attend BYU. At first, I could hardly walk by the Provo MTC without feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. But I started volunteering weekly at the MTC and found that it was healing to meet the wonderful missionaries being sent to my beloved Hungary.
A Hungarian sister, Edit, who has prepared nearly 150,000 names for the temple asked me to take some of her names to the temple. It was a joy to do the saving ordinances for these Hungarians!
Serving a mission was my most important life dream and, understandably, I felt a loss when I came home earlier than anticipated. For a time, I struggled to talk about my mission. I had to work through feelings of failure. I had to learn how to judge the value of my mission by my desire to serve rather than the length. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, each of these steps toward meaning in my life also brought healing.
For years I was nervous that returning to Hungary would be difficult for me emotionally. When I eventually traveled there, it wasn’t until the second day that I realized that not only was I not feeling any pain, I was also feeling overwhelming joy to be back. I knew then that Heavenly Father had given me the opportunity to experience the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement. I now know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, all things will be made right in the end.
*Many early returned missionaries continue to serve as young Church-service missionaries. Meet with your bishop or branch president for more information.

Take for instance, Orson Hyde. Brother Hyde was a sales clerk in the village of Kirtland when he met Joseph Smith, the youthful prophet. It was to this unknown, unpromising young seller of buttons and thread and calico that Joseph, speaking in the name of the Lord, would say that he, Orson Hyde, was ordained “to proclaim the everlasting gospel, by the Spirit of the living God, from people to people, and from land to land, in the congregations of the wicked, in their synagogues, reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto them.” (D&C 68:1.)

This young man, this clerk in a village store, under the inspiration of that prophetic call, walked two thousand miles on foot through Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, and New York, “reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto” all he met.

I recall being in Orson Hyde’s home in Nauvoo, the comfortable home he left to travel to England and Germany and to visit Constantinople, [now Istanbul], Cairo, and Alexandria en route to Jerusalem where on 24 October 1841, he stood on the Mount of Olives and dedicated by the authority of the holy priesthood the land of Palestine for the return of the Jews. That was a quarter of a century before Theodor Herzl [1860–1904] undertook the work of gathering the Jews to their homeland.

When I turned 12, my beloved father, Moise Kouassi Avana, passed away, leaving behind my mother, my three siblings and me. I was devastated and did not anticipate the pain and emptiness his passing would leave in my life. I mourned my father every day, yearning for the truth about whether I could see him again, until I was introduced to the restored gospel by a fellow student, Laure, in high school.
In a religious debate with classmates, Laure boldly stated, “There is only one true Church upon the surface of the earth.” Intrigued, I approached her immediately, asking, “Where is this church you spoke about? I challenge you to accompany me there this Sunday to see if what you proclaimed is true”.
On October 3, 2010, the first Sunday of the month, I went and was warmly welcomed. I felt what I later recognized to be the Holy Ghost. Subsequently, I attended church multiple times, received teachings from full-time missionaries about the plan of salvation, and learned of the possibility of seeing my father again by embracing the restored gospel.
One day, I knelt in prayer, something I had never done, and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven. In response, I received a personal testimony that the Prophet Joseph Smith was truly called of God, and that the Book of Mormon is powerful evidence of the Restoration. This experience set me on the path of conversion, and on October 31, 2010, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I received the promise that I would be reunited with my late father if I kept my covenants and prepared to perform proxy baptism for him in the temple.
At the end of 2014, I read Doctrine and Covenants 31:2–3 that states. “I will bless you and your family . . . and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church.
“Lift up your heart and rejoice, for the hour of your mission is come; and your tongue shall be loosed, and you shall declare glad tidings of great joy unto this generation.”
I knew that I had to fulfill the priesthood duty by serving a full-time mission. I informed my siblings and my mother of my desire to serve. My mother initially opposed the idea and threatened to disown me if I left. Through prayer and fasting, she eventually relented. I was called to serve in the Accra Ghana Mission, and the promise of seeing my father again became a reality after he was baptized by proxy in the Accra Ghana Temple.
In 2016, one night while on my mission, after praying and falling asleep, I had a dream in which a tall man dressed in white, whom I couldn’t clearly see, appeared to me. As he drew nearer, I realized it was my father. His presence filled me with immense joy, and he imparted many teachings to me, instructing me to write them down. The next day, as I reviewed my journal, I found that much of what he had taught me was recorded therein. My joy was full of the truth that many of the things he shared lightened and eased my progress on the covenant path.
Upon completing my mission, countless blessings such as entering the new and everlasting covenant of marriage, serving in the missionary training center and the temple, and having an eternal family served as evidence of the fulfillment of the plan of salvation in my life, as well as in the lives of my wife and children. Being able to baptize my mother and seeing my older sister join the Church in the same year, 2023, attested to me of the truth that Heavenly Father always pours His blessings and fulfills the promises He makes to His covenant-keeping children.
I am grateful to the young boy, Joseph Smith, who without hesitation, prayed to a loving Father in Heaven. That prayer led to the reopening of the heavens and brought on earth the gift of the restored gospel to all of God’s children, which gospel turned my heart to my parents. I am looking forward to being sealed to them for eternity. I know that Heavenly Father loves me and has made all truths available to me and to the rest of my brothers and sisters through the Atonement of His Only Begotten Son, even Jesus Christ. These truths and blessings in my life are the anchor of my testimony and my faith in the Lord. I know without any doubt that the Book of Mormon is true, and we have a living prophet, chosen by God, on earth.

“Today we are going to learn a new song,” Sister Reid announced. “It’s called ‘Baptism.’ Everyone close your eyes and listen to the music.”
I closed my eyes and relaxed in my chair. The pianist started playing a melody that sounded soft and graceful, like flowing water. Then Sister Reid started singing: “Jesus came to John the Baptist, in Judea long ago, and was baptized by immersion in the River Jordan’s flow.”
I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away before Mom could see, but it was too late. Mom was the Primary president, and she always saw everything. I saw Mom look at me and smile sadly. She knew why I was crying.
After church, my little sister, Julie, hummed the song the whole ride home. I stayed silent.
“Do you want to color with me?” Julie asked when we got home.
I shook my head. “Maybe later. I’ve got to do something first.”
I found Dad in the living room. He was sitting in his favorite chair with a book open on his lap. He liked to read while Julie, Mom, and I went to church.
I took a deep breath. “Dad?” I said. “Can I get baptized?”
Dad closed the book and asked me to sit by him.
“Oh, Sadie. We’ve talked about this. My answer is still no,” he said.
“But I really want to!” I said. “I turned eight a few months ago, and I’ve thought about it a lot. I know the Church is true, and the longer I wait, the more I know I want to be baptized.”
Dad shook his head. “I still think you’re too young to make such a big decision. But you know I love you.”
“I know,” I said. I knew Dad wanted what was best for me. He just didn’t think I was ready to make this choice.
I ran to my room and bowed my head. I prayed harder than I ever had before. “Heavenly Father, I really want to be baptized. Please help Dad understand.”
At first nothing happened, but I stayed on my knees. The melody of “Baptism” ran through my mind. After a while, I didn’t feel so sad. Instead, I felt peaceful inside. I started thinking about all of the things I could do, even though I couldn’t be baptized yet.
I could keep praying and keep going to Primary. I could be an example for Julie, and maybe I could even ask Mom to fast for me next week.
The peaceful feeling stayed with me as I headed down to dinner. I didn’t know when, but one day I would be baptized. And it would be worth the wait.
Six months later, two days before her ninth birthday, Sadie’s dad gave her permission to be baptized.

The snow was falling hard as I slowly drove up the hill. If I could just get to the top, I thought, I could make it home safely. But as I negotiated a curve, I saw a downhill car swerving out of control and coming straight at me. I had time only to scream before the impact, and then I blacked out.
I had no sense of how much time had passed when I tried to open my eyes. The snow bit at my face as it blew in through a shattered side window. I struggled to remember basic information, like where I had been going before the accident. Alone and frightened, I cried out from the throbbing pain in my shoulder and chest. I pleaded with Heavenly Father that my injuries wouldn’t be too extensive and that I would be all right.
A few moments later I felt a hand holding mine. Instinctively, I grasped it. I opened my eyes and saw a man in a black coat and hat standing outside my crushed car. He said his wife had seen the crash from their home, and he came to see if he could help. He held my hand and told me I would be OK.
I tried to ask the man if he was a Latter-day Saint, but all I could whisper was, “Can you give me a blessing?”
He said yes and then reached through the broken window and placed his hands on my head.
I don’t remember what he said. But I remember thinking that I would be all right because I had received a blessing. I felt peace and comfort.
When the ambulance arrived, I lost track of the man. A few hours later I left the hospital with a broken rib and many bumps and bruises but no serious injuries.
That morning I had prayed that I would travel in safety, and at first I thought Heavenly Father hadn’t answered my prayer. But I soon realized that He had and that He had not left me alone. My prayer was answered through a willing priesthood holder who lived just a few steps away from the site of my accident, an accident which could have left me in a much more serious condition.
I wouldn’t recognize the man’s face if I passed him on the street. I wouldn’t remember his voice if I heard him say hello. But I am grateful for this stranger who was worthy and willing to administer a priesthood blessing when I needed one.

Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.

One day during my senior year in high school, a strong feeling came over me that my grandfather wanted to see me. So after school I got a notebook from my locker and walked over to Uncle Jacob Cline’s house, where grandpa had been staying since grandma’s death.
When I arrived, grandpa was sitting up in bed. “Come in, Ray,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He wanted to tell me the history of his family, and I was to write the information down. I knew then why I had brought my notebook along with me. Over the next hour, he told me the history of his family four-generations back—names, dates, places, and stories. When he finished, he laid his hand on my shoulder and said very quietly: “Ray, I give unto you a charge to preserve this information, for someday you will need it. And when that day arrives, you will hear my voice and know now is the time, and this is the reason.”
I felt a shiver go down my spine and a warm feeling in my chest as my eyes remained riveted to the penetrating eyes of grandpa. I promised I would, even though I had no idea why I was writing down or preserving the information. Grandpa died two weeks later.

An example of this would be Dick Hammer, who came to Utah with the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression. He met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened Dick’s Café in St. George, Utah, which became a popular meeting spot.
Assigned as home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne, a friend of mine. Since I knew Dick Hammer as well, having printed the menus for his café, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”
The reply would generally be, “He’s coming, but slowly.”
When Willard Milne and his companion visited the Hammer home each month, they always managed to present a gospel message and to share their testimonies with Dick and the family.
The years passed by, and then one day Willard phoned me with good news. “Brother Monson,” he began, “Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years.” There was a catch in Willard’s voice as he conveyed his welcome message.
Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.
I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged as his home teacher for such a long time?”
He replied, “No, it was worth every effort. As I witness the joy which has come to the members of the Hammer family, my heart fills with gratitude for the blessings the gospel has brought into their lives and for the privilege I have had to help in some way. I am a happy man.”

From the time I was born, the gospel has been a part of my life. My parents taught me right from wrong, all three of my brothers served missions, and my family was active in the Church. I was active too, or at least I went to church every Sunday. I wanted to believe, but I didn’t have a testimony of my own. I didn’t think I would ever find the truth for myself—but I’m glad I did.
In August of 2000 I submitted my mission papers. Not long after, I was invited to attend Education Week at Brigham Young University with some friends. I had been praying for a testimony of the Book of Mormon for a long time, and I was starting to get discouraged. Sometimes I even felt like Heavenly Father wasn’t listening to me. I decided to go to Education Week, hoping that I would receive an answer to my prayers about the Book of Mormon.
During my week at BYU I had many wonderful experiences. However, I still didn’t feel I had received an answer to my prayers. I remember wishing there was a phone I could just pick up and use to call Heavenly Father. I didn’t know what to do differently. I felt like my prayers were sincere. I had read the Book of Mormon all the way through. I read my patriarchal blessing over and over, and I was working on repenting of my sins. I could not figure out why Heavenly Father was not answering me.
Thursday afternoon found me in a large lecture hall. I was listening to a speaker whom I had already heard several times during the week. The speaker closed his remarks with his testimony. My eyes were riveted to the man as he spoke. He finished his testimony, and he closed with amen. No one moved. I looked down at my hands, which were holding my Book of Mormon. The most comforting feeling I have ever experienced fell over me. I felt the Spirit’s gentle affirmation that the Book of Mormon is true.
That testimony has never left me. I carried it into the mission field, and it carried me through my mission. I am so grateful for our Heavenly Father, who loves us and listens to us. He answered me. It was in His own time, but He answered me. I knew the truth.

When Spencer was a deacon, his duties included gathering fast offerings, which at the time were often fruit, flour, and vegetables. His father lent him the horse and buggy, and Spencer took the responsibility very seriously.
Spencer: The other boy hasn’t shown up. Well, the job still has to be done.I’ll just have to do it alone.
Spencer went on to become the secretary and then president of his deacons quorum.

When I was called to the Relief Society general presidency six years ago this month, President Hinckley counseled me: “You bring a peculiar quality to this presidency. You will be recognized as one who represents those beyond the borders of the United States and Canada and, as it were, an outreach across the world to members of the Church in many, many lands. They will see in you a representation of their oneness with the Church.” He gave me a blessing that my tongue might be loosed as I spoke to the people.
President Hinckley, I want to bear witness to the Lord before you and this congregation that your counsel and your blessing have been literally fulfilled.
I do not speak Korean or Spanish or Tongan. But when I received my assignment to go among the Relief Society sisters and their priesthood leaders in lands where those languages were spoken, I was filled with a great desire to speak to them in their own language. I drew strength from President Hinckley’s words of comfort and blessing. With the help of the Church Translation Department and good coaches who spent hours working with me, I was blessed to deliver my addresses in Spanish, Korean, and Tongan as I went among those people. I could feel the Spirit carrying my words to their hearts, and I could feel “the fruit of the Spirit” (Gal. 5:22) bringing back to me their love, their joy, and their faith. I could feel the Spirit making us one.

Photograph courtesy of Allie Bradford
I received my mission call in January to the Cape Verde Praia Mission! I’m really excited about my mission, but I was just as excited to be able to go through the temple and receive my endowment.
Both my bishop and my stake president reminded me that the temple is not merely a stepping-stone to the mission. The covenants I make in the temple are literally vital for my salvation; a mission is not.
I prepared to go to the temple by focusing on my baptismal covenants, reading the booklet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, reading my scriptures daily, and praying a lot. I felt like I was about as prepared as I could have been, without actually knowing specifically what was going to happen.
I feel like I’ve been preparing for my endowment my whole life. I wasn’t really nervous about it, even though I still didn’t know what to expect. I had my parents, other family members, and temple workers escorting me the whole time, so I was never alone.
Before I went to the temple, I got the same advice from a lot of people: Don’t worry about trying to learn or remember it all the first time, don’t stress about the symbolism, and don’t worry if you don’t understand everything; just focus on feeling the Spirit. That’s just what I did, and my first time in the temple was a very good experience. The Spirit was so strong.
The things that happen in the temple are different from the way we worship outside the temple. But the Spirit is the same, and that’s the most important thing. When we’re worthy and prepared to be there, we can truly feel God’s presence in His house. I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to receive my endowment and make those important covenants. I look forward to going back again and again.
Allie Bradford, 20, Utah, USA

I hate how nervous I get at piano recitals. I practiced hard, but …
Cassie’s a lot younger than I am, but she’s so much better. And I’m next after her. Yikes!
Later, at home.
I guess I did OK. But I’ll never be as good as Cassie. Maybe my lessons are just a waste of money.
Cassie does have a special gift. Someday she might be better than your teacher. But—
Not everything is a competition. I know you like making music. And we enjoy it too. When you were playing, your dad’s head was back and his eyes were closed.
Yeah, he does that in church sometimes too.
Well, he was smiling. And tapping his fingers. He was enjoying it, and so was I.
Just do your best, and you’ll enjoy your gift too.