Gospel Story Finder

“Wow, what an army!” Jamie’s eyes were big as he excitedly knelt next to the small trenches and plastic men Brady was playing with.
“Yeah,” Brady said, grinning proudly. “I’ve been digging these trenches for an hour, wondering where you were.”
“You should’ve called. I was helping Mom sort some books for her bookstore. She got an order in yesterday.”
“You always have your nose in a book, you bookworm!” Brady knew that Jamie didn’t mind his teasing. Jamie was the best reader in the third grade and proud of it.
Jamie started plowing in the warm dirt with his hands, and soon he was busy building trenches too. Books were forgotten as the boys worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was Mr. Morris’s lawn mower next door and Brady’s loud sneeze when he stirred up too much dust.
“What’s your general’s name?” Jamie asked, pushing a lock of hair back with a grimy hand. “I think that I’ll call mine General Lee.”
“Mine’s General Moroni,” Brady said without looking up. He moved a plastic man in uniform into position at the front of the battle line.
“Moroni? What kind of name is that? Lee was a famous general. I’ve read a lot of history books, and I know a bunch of real cool names. There’s Alexander the Great and MacArthur and—”
“I like Moroni.” Brady looked up then. His green eyes quickly skimmed Jamie and his trench progress, then moved back to his own work. “Moroni was the best.”
“You mean there was really a general named Moroni? I’ve never heard of him.”
“Yeah, there was. He once fought the Lamanites, or Indians, but only when he had to. He liked to live in peace.”
“He fought against Indians? Was he a cowboy?” Jamie had read a lot of cowboy stories too.
“No, he was a Nephite.” Brady smiled and proudly held up the plastic man. “He was strong and brave, and he made his own flag and everything.”
“Who told you about him?” Jamie was curious now. He didn’t know anything about Nephites or a general named Moroni.
“My Primary teacher. Dad and Mom told me a lot more about him too.” Brady had asked Jamie to come to Primary when his friend first moved in several months ago, but Jamie had said no. He liked to read on Sunday.
“They tell you stories like that in Primary? I thought it was just prayers and Bible stuff.”
“Oh, sure, we have those things. But we also have the Book of Mormon, and it has a lot of neat stories in it.” Brady could see that Jamie was interested. He had put down his men, and his hands were still. “Do you want to come to Primary with me next Sunday?”
“Nope.” Jamie bent his head and started digging extra fast. He wasn’t going to let Brady trick him into going to church. Nobody mentioned Moroni again while they played.
On Saturday Brady and Jamie went exploring at the old ballpark. They kicked a soccer ball around for a while, played “hut” in the overgrown bushes, and climbed up on the old rock wall that bordered the east corner of the park.
“Hey, look!” Brady hollered. He spread his arms wide and lowered his voice dramatically: “Behold, I am Samuel the Lamanite. …”
Jamie asked, “Who are you talking about now?”
“Samuel the Lamanite. He once preached from a high wall that surrounded the city because the Nephites had chased him out of the city.”
“Why did they chase him away? I thought that Moroni was a Nephite and that Nephites were the good guys.” Jamie scratched his head and lay back on his elbows. He squinted his eyes half-shut and watched Brady gesturing from the wall.
“Yeah, Moroni was a Nephite when the Nephites were righteous. But Samuel was preaching to a bunch of Nephites who were wicked. He told them to repent and quit doing wrong. So they chased him from their city. That’s when he climbed up on the wall and preached from there. The Nephites shot arrows and stuff at him, but they couldn’t hit him. Neat, huh?”
Jamie didn’t answer for a minute. He palmed the soccer ball and passed it from one hand to another. “Another Primary story, right?”
“Yeah. I think that Samuel was great, and he didn’t give up easily.”
Brady didn’t ask Jamie again to go to Primary with him. They played soccer until the sun got too hot, then rode their bikes back to Brady’s for lemonade. Mom even let them make a tepee in the backyard.
Three weeks later was Jamie’s birthday. He got a new fishing pole from his dad, a mitt from his older brother, and a book about trains from his mom. Brady gave him some building blocks that snapped together just like the huge set that Brady had received last Christmas. Brady knew that Jamie would like them. The next day they played for hours with the blocks, making trucks and buildings and even a huge tower.
When Jamie had made his tower secure, he ran to his closet for a plastic man. He put him on top of the tower and grinned mysteriously at Brady. “Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” asked Brady. He wasn’t paying much attention to Jamie, because he was busy linking his ship together with some yellow blocks.
“King Benjamin.” Jamie paused to give it emphasis. “I built a tower for King Benjamin.”
Brady looked at the tower. It was sturdy, tall, and magnificent. “Wow!” Brady whistled through his teeth. “Nice job!” Then a puzzled expression replaced Brady’s smile. “But how did you know about King Benjamin?”
Jamie smiled a smile that covered his whole face, the kind he wore when he hit a home run. “Mom got me a copy of your Book of Mormon. We’ve been reading it together. I really like the story of King Benjamin.”
Brady left his ship and went over to study the tower. “Wow! A tower for King Benjamin.”
“You know,” Jamie said, “I like Moroni too. The missionaries told us about him. I can see why you used him to lead your army. I can’t wait till we get to that part in our reading. He was the best.”
Brady agreed. He didn’t have to ask Jamie if he wanted to come to Primary on Sunday. He knew that he would.

Last summer my Primary teacher taught us that we should be getting ready to be baptized. She gave us each a paper to take home. It said that after I am baptized, if I try to be good, repent when I make mistakes, and remember Jesus Christ, that Heavenly Father will forgive me when I do something wrong. I put the paper on our fridge so that I would remember.
One day I wanted to climb the trees in my front yard. Mom and Dad asked me to wait for their help so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t want to wait, so I climbed up by myself. It was fun until I fell out of the tree. I was hurt, but I didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad that I hadn’t waited for them, so I lied. I told them that I fell off a little fence in our yard. They asked if that were true, and I said, “Yes.”
When I went in to eat lunch, I saw the paper on the fridge. I felt bad that I had lied. I told Mom that I had really fallen out of the tree. I also said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for lying and said that I would do better. I felt good inside after that.

Another night someone preparing for a dance noticed that hotel waiters were behind schedule replacing tablecloths and refilling saltshakers for the next day. Despite the language barrier, he made it clear that he and his friends would like to help, and soon the chore was completed. “We’re all brothers,” one of the volunteers told the headwaiter. “We should help each other.”
“Brüder (brothers),” the waiter said, nodding his head in agreement, and he smiled as he reached over to shake hands.

In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

Karen pulled the twine off the bale of hay and hung it on a fence post.
“You do that pretty well for a shorty,” said Josh as he dropped the last bale by the manger.
“I could do the whole job by myself if I wanted to,” Karen snapped. “And if everyone weren’t in such a hurry to read scriptures before breakfast, I would too.”
“Oh, don’t get your feathers all fluffed up,” Josh said with a grin. “What’s the matter, don’t you like stories about the Nephites and Lamanites?”
“I just don’t see why I have to work so hard at studying scriptures. I’ll never be struck down by an angel for preaching against the Church like Alma the Younger. And I sure hope I’ll never be burned at the stake like Abinadi.”
Josh sat down on a hay bale, took off his gloves, and shook out the leaves and chaff.
“You’ve got to apply the scriptures to your own life,” he said. “Take the story of Abinadi: the Lord is just showing us how important it is to speak up for the truth, even if we get into trouble for it.”
“I suppose you’re right as usual, big brother,” sighed Karen.
“Of course I am,” agreed Josh good-naturedly. “You can understand your own problems a lot better if you see how people in the scriptures acted.”
“Well, we’ll never make it back in time if you sit there holding down that bale all morning,” said Karen, pitching a forkful of hay to the waiting cows. “I bet I can feed these cows and be in the house before you can get the calves fed.”
“All right, Shorty, you’re on,” Josh said, pulling on his gloves. “See you later.”
“Don’t call me Shorty!” shouted Karen. But Josh was already over the stackyard fence and gone.
Karen worked so quickly that she was soon feeling warm in spite of the cold wind. She was tempted to stop and take off her coat, but she didn’t want to waste any time.
The sun eased over the hill and shot spears of light into the ragged clouds. A flock of blackbirds sailed into an elm tree, where they flapped and chattered to each other.
Karen tossed the remaining hay into the manger. Most of it landed on the cows’ heads since they were too hungry to move out of the way.
The shortest path to the house was through the barnyard. But the melting snow and the thawing ground had left knee-deep manure that was soupy and smelly.
Karen thought about taking the long way around the barn, but finally decided to walk the pole fence that divided the barnyard from the holding corral. Last summer she had walked along the top of the fence until she could almost run without tripping. But during the winter the snow and ice had made the fence so slippery that she had not tried for several months. But this is an emergency, she thought. Besides, the ice is gone so I won’t slip.
The going wasn’t easy. She was not very nimble in her heavy boots, and her winter coat made it difficult to maneuver around the fence posts. She spread out her arms to balance herself and watched each step—left, right, left, right. It’s too late to turn back now, she decided.
Suddenly the treaded sole of her boot caught on a knot in the wood. Karen grabbed wildly at the air and then landed on her back in the oozing barnyard.
“Eeeyuck!” she groaned, staggering to her feet and flipping some of the soggy manure from her hands. “Talk about stinking to high heaven,” she grumbled.
The barn steps were only a few yards away so she waded through the muck and went inside. No one was there. Gary, her younger brother, must have finished setting up the milkers and gone to the house.
Karen turned on the hose that was used to clean the barn after milking. The water was cold, but at least she could wash off most of the guck before she had to go to the house.
I wish a big hole would just open up right here and swallow me, thought Karen as she hosed off her jeans. I won’t even be able to get on the porch like this. Everyone’d smell me coming. They can probably smell me right now!
But no one except Josh was on the porch when Karen opened the door. “Don’t laugh or I’ll clobber you,” she hissed.
Josh was almost too amazed to laugh—almost. “You fell into the manure,” he chuckled. “What are you going to do now?”
“Just once would you be a little sympathetic and give me some help?” Karen pleaded.
“All right,” said Josh, taking off his coat. “Lay your dirty clothes inside the doorway and I’ll put them in the washer.”
Karen pulled off her boots and stepped behind a screen. She put her clothes on a chair and wrapped herself in one of Dad’s big coats.
“One more thing, Josh. Check and see if there is anyone in the bathroom. I’ll watch through the door. If by some miracle it’s empty, then give me a wave.”
Josh gingerly picked up the clothes and walked down the hall to the laundry room. As he passed the bathroom, he glanced in. A miracle must have happened because he signaled that it was empty.
Karen hurried through a shower and shampoo. She wondered what her brother would tell the family about her being late.
Josh met Karen as she came out of her bedroom. “You’re in luck,” he said. “Dad had a flat tire coming up from the lower field. He’s late, too, so no one will ask any questions.”
Soon the family gathered in the living room to read from the Book of Mormon.
“Let’s see,” said Dad. “We were reading Alma, chapter seven, where Alma is speaking to the people of Gideon. Mother, I think it’s your turn to read. Start with verse twenty-one, please.”
“And he doth not dwell in unholy temples; neither can filthiness or anything which is unclean be received into the kingdom of God; therefore I say unto you the time shall come, yea, and it shall be at the last day, that he who is filthy shall remain in his filthiness.”
Karen looked up from her book and saw Josh watching her. He nodded his head and gave her a wink.
“… And may the Lord bless you, and keep your garments spotless, that ye may at last be brought to sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the holy prophets who have been ever since the world began, having your garments spotless even as their garments are spotless, in the kingdom of heaven to go no more out.”
Mother finished the chapter and Dad explained: “Jesus has shown us the way to live while we are here on earth. If we follow His path, it will lead us back to our Father in heaven. But if we make a mistake, we are not forced to stay out of the kingdom and away from our families. We have been given the promise that if we do all we can to correct the wrong, our elder Brother, Jesus Christ, will forgive us and help us to return.”
Karen felt a peace come into her heart and a new understanding as she knelt by the couch for family prayer.

I would like to use a short version, as I remember it, of the famous Hugh B. Brown parable to illustrate submission. When he was young, President Brown had a nice yard in front of his home with a lawn, flowers, shrubs, fruit trees, and shade trees. There was a currant bush he had carefully trimmed to be in an attractive shape and to produce the best fruit. Noticing that it had started to branch out again, he went for the pruning shears. As he approached the currant bush, he seemed to hear it say, “Oh please, Mr. Gardener, don’t cut me back, I’m just getting started and I want to be big like the shade trees.”
President Brown responded, “No, my little bush. I am the gardener here and I have planted thee to be a source of fruit and an adornment in this part of my garden, and I am going to prune thee back to size.”
Many years later President Brown was a full colonel in the Canadian forces in France in World War I. He could see the possibility of an illustrious military career. He wanted to become the first LDS general since Book of Mormon times. He was competent and well prepared. The next vacancy as a general should have been his, but when the vacancy occurred, he was called in by his superiors and told, “We are promoting someone else over you.” In effect they were saying, “There has never been a Mormon general in his Majesty’s Royal Forces and there probably never will be.”
He retired to his quarters, crushed with disappointment, and knelt in prayer asking fervently, “Heavenly Father, why couldn’t my prayers have been answered? Haven’t I lived up to my covenants? Haven’t I done everything I was supposed to do? Why? Why?”
And then he heard a voice, an echo from the past, saying, “I am the gardener here. You were not intended for what you sought to be.” Humbled, President Brown then prayed for humility and patience to endure the pruning and to grow as the Lord would have him grow.
I translated that story for him on a tour of South America. He told me afterwards, “Bob, I know if I had continued in that direction I would never have developed the way the Lord wanted me to so I could eventually serve him as an apostle and in the First Presidency.”

To illustrate this point, let me briefly tell you about four missionaries that served in the Taiwan Taichung mission. Brother and Sister Zheng and their family of six children live in Taidong on the east coast of Taiwan. When Sister Hoer and I first arrived in Taiwan, one of the older sons, Elder Zheng Shan, was serving in the mission. We remember Elder Zheng Shan very well because once when he stood to bear his testimony in the mission home, suddenly the entire house moved. The walls shook and lights swayed back on forth. We were amazed at the power of his testimony, until we realized we were in an earthquake (one of many that we experienced in Taiwan).

Elder Zheng's sister, Zheng Mi had just started her mission - and she could shake the walls with her vibrant spirit- even when there was no earthquake! Elder Zheng Xuan was the third member of the family to serve in our mission while we were there. Imagine our joy when we learned that Zheng Jing, the youngest sister in the family had been called to the Taiwan Taichung mission. I am not sure if I have ever heard of four children from the same family all serving in the same mission under the same mission president!

Sister Zheng Jing was scheduled to begin her mission in January of last year, however, before she could start, she was discovered to have brain cancer. I thought for sure that she would not be able to serve her mission, but she called me and said, "President, please don't cancel my call -- I will be ready soon."

For five months, Sister Zheng struggled through three complicated and difficult operations, then unexpectedly, she called one day and said she had obtained a doctor' signature to serve her mission. When we welcomed Sister Zheng into the mission, she had no hair. She removed her bandana and proudly showed us her bald head, crisscrossed with stitches. She explained that the sunken appearance of her head was because a piece of her skull had been removed to allow easy access for surgeries and was now being kept in a refrigerator so it could be re-inserted later.

We also learned that she was still on chemotherapy! Once a month, she must travel to the capital city of Taipei and obtain her chemotherapy drugs. I asked the parents if they would like me to make an exception to the rule about missionaries seeing their parents, so they could help their daughter each month at the hospital. "Oh no," they said, "now that she is on her mission, we are putting in our application to serve a couple mission so we won't be there anyway." Sister Zheng is a great example of "youbanfa." Even with brain cancer, Sister Zheng was determined to serve her mission, no matter what the obstacles. She knew if she did all she could do, the Lord would do the rest. Sister Zheng and her family had faith - and they exercised faith by action.

Several weeks ago I returned to my old high school for the first time in years. I was visiting a stake conference that was being held in the school’s auditorium. As I walked down the halls, a flood of memories began to pour into my mind. I remembered exactly how I felt when I attended high school as a young woman—insecure, unsure of myself, self-conscious, and so, so desirous to fit in. I went into the auditorium. Again a flood of memories came to mind. I was familiar with every detail of that auditorium. Only one thing had changed—me.
That day I had the opportunity to stand on the stage as I had done in high school many times as a student officer. I even saw some of my former classmates in the audience—some I had dated! But this time, instead of conducting an assembly, I had the privilege—there in my high school auditorium—to “stand as a witness”6 and bear my testimony of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
Young women, make sure your relationships with others are such that 40 years from now, you will not be embarrassed. No amount of peer pressure, no acceptance, no popularity is worth a compromise. Your influence on the young men will help them remain worthy of their priesthood power, of temple covenants, and of serving a mission. And who knows? Forty years from now, you may even have one of them walk up to you, there in your high school auditorium, and thank you for helping him remain worthy to fulfill his priesthood duty to serve an honorable mission. And who knows? You may even receive a letter from one of those young men’s wives, thanking you for the influence you had on her husband and their future family clear back in your high school days. Your choices matter. Your choices now not only affect you, but they also affect others. They are of eternal significance. Be not moved!

Then, suddenly, Pedrito became ill again. His temperature was dangerously high, and his parents took him back to Guayaquil. The doctors told them that he would have to remain in the hospital at least five days. They also told the Cantos that if Pedrito were to live, he would have to undergo open-heart surgery right away.

But to everyone’s surprise, Pedrito was well enough to leave the hospital the next day.

Back in Quevedo, the welfare services missionaries helped the Cantos apply for help with the cost of the surgery. The doctors told the Cantos that they would have to go to the United States or Brazil for the surgery. But a member of the Church, who had recently had a family member operated on for a similar problem, told them about another doctor—Dr. Oswald Bonilla, a heart specialist in nearby Quito.

Although his calendar was full for several months, Dr. Bonilla agreed to see Pedrito in two weeks. But complications kept Dr. Bonilla from seeing Pedrito immediately. Sister Cantos had been taking a tailoring class so that she could earn money to help pay some of their medical bills. As the day for the appointment with Dr. Bonilla approached, she learned that her final examination was scheduled for the same day.

Dr. Bonilla graciously postponed the appointment for another two weeks. This time, a bus strike kept them from meeting with him. Finally, after six weeks, they stood before Dr. Bonilla.

Electrocardiograms, x-rays, and many other tests revealed that Pedrito was too weak to endure surgery. “It will take at least eight or nine months to build him up sufficiently,” Dr. Bonilla told the worried parents. The doctor ordered another series of tests.

Three days later, just before Pedrito was taken in for the new tests, two young men in white shirts and dark suits told Dr. Bonilla, “We would like to give the child a blessing.” “You have five minutes,” the doctor said, and he left the room.

Later that afternoon he whistled in amazement. The test results showed such a remarkable improvement in Pedrito that Dr. Bonilla decided to schedule the surgery immediately.

“It was worse than we thought,” Dr. Bonilla told the parents and the elders and sisters who had waited with them during the five anguish-filled hours of the surgery. “You keep praying, though, and Pedrito will live.”

Pedrito did live. He recovered rapidly. Soon he was running and playing like any other little boy. And Pedrito’s struggle for life has wrought other miracles. Dr. Bonilla and his assistant, Dr. Lopez, were touched by this display of faith and by the miracle they saw when the elders administered to Pedrito. They decided not to charge for the surgery.

Many of Sister Cantos’s family have accepted the gospel, and members of Brother Cantos’s family are anxiously waiting for the missionaries to come to a remote area where they live so that they, too, can be taught the gospel.

I have always been ambitious about education and leap at every opportunity. One year in high school, I took courses at the local community college through a program funded by my school. I really like computer science, and I was excited to take a computer programming class so I could learn more.
When I got my schedule from the college, I realized that my programming class was at the same time as my Young Women activity every week. I tried to ignore it at first and tell myself that education was encouraged by the Church and that I was doing the right thing. As the time for classes to start drew nearer, I felt more and more uncomfortable about taking the class. When the time came that I had to tell my Young Women leader that I wouldn’t be making it to any of the activities, she sounded devastated. She told me that I would be sorely missed, and she would do anything to help me.
After talking to her, I felt bad that I thought the class was more important. When I got home, I went to my room and looked at the goal board I had made for Personal Progress. I had written on it, “If you want something, you’ve got to prove it.” I read my scriptures with that in mind and came across Mosiah 2:21. I realized I had to prove that I was going to serve God and not myself by letting my desires get in the way. I cancelled the class the next day. I had a wonderful year of Young Women activities, and I was able to set a higher priority for the Church in my life. I know it was the right thing to drop that class, and I am really glad that I did.

I will never forget the first time Jeff tried to kiss me. We were standing in the entryway of my home when my mother unexpectedly walked into the room and caught him in the act. Jeff, being the fast thinker he is, said, “Hi, Sister Terry. Pat and I were just trading gum.”
Later my mother, in retelling the incident to my father, said, “Jeff’s confidence in a difficult situation amazes me. The fact that he can think that fast on his feet will certainly ensure his success.”
My father smiled at me and said, “Confidence is a great blessing to anyone who has it. But Jeff is also smart enough to know what to have confidence in. Both of you need to remember that your greatest strength and surest success will come through humility and dependence upon the Lord.”

I remember the day my father died, my mind was somewhat in anxiety and turmoil. I returned home, sat in my favorite chair, and picked up the scriptures. I read a little, then closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye I saw my father as a young man, and he was dressed in white. Although he had never become a member of the Church, I knew I would see him in the resurrection and, furthermore, I had seen him as he would appear. My mind was at peace again. When we rely on the Lord, we can have fulfillment of his promise, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). He is “The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6).

I met my husband when we were both EFY counselors. I was impressed by his strong testimony and the way he taught and interacted with the youth.
When we started dating, we felt like the Lord expected something from our relationship. As our relationship progressed, however, he became more insistent in the way he showed affection. I started suspecting he had difficulties with pornography, but when we talked about it, he denied that he had any problems with it.
We started setting stricter rules to protect ourselves. When he proposed, I accepted and things got better—until one day when, once again, he started insisting on showing me he loved me in ways that made me uncomfortable.
I still had my suspicions about his pornography use, so one day I told him about one of my mission companions who had struggled with pornography before her mission. I did my best to sound understanding, loving, and nonjudgmental, because she truly is a good person. I then asked him again if he had a pornography addiction, and he finally told me he did.
At first, it was hard for me to talk to him and look him in the eyes. My feelings were almost unbearable because I felt that the Lord had told me that this man could be my eternal companion. But even though I was hurt, I knew I needed to work toward forgiving him, and I felt prompted to not give up on our relationship.
I prayed a lot and studied talks about forgiveness and pornography use. I read a lot of articles and testimonies of married people whose spouse had struggles with this poison. As I read, I felt the Savior’s love for me and my fiancé, and I received another confirmation that this man was truly my eternal companion. I also learned a different aspect of the Savior’s Atonement—how He can heal a repentant soul (my fiancé’s) and a bruised heart (mine).
An important factor in our journey was talking to my fiancé’s bishop. His guidance helped us to heal and grow closer as a couple. He was very patient when my husband relapsed, and his Christlike, loving example inspired and helped me to forgive and work through this problem with my fiancé.
For a while, it was so hard for my fiancé to see me suffer because of his choices that he almost didn’t want to marry me anymore! But after working together for months for him to be clean, he finally felt that both the Lord and I had sincerely forgiven him.
Eventually, we got married, and our relationship is now stronger than ever. This experience has helped us not be ashamed to talk to each other about our problems. And although he is no longer involved with pornography, we still remain very attentive and accountable to each other.
If your relationship is being poisoned by the effects of pornography, know that it’s possible to forgive. It’s possible to continue to love each other and work together to find solutions and overcome it. We are all entitled to the healing of the Savior’s Atonement. We have to accept that we are hurt and that only with the Savior’s help can we be fully healed.
Every person’s story is unique, and every relationship is unique. For some people, ending the relationship may be the right thing to do. But I hope our story can help others in similar circumstances. Because I received that confirmation from the Holy Ghost, and with the help of the Savior and His Atonement, I was able to forgive my fiancé and continue our relationship. I know that it was the right choice for me.
If you’re facing a similar situation, prayerfully consider your current circumstances and what the future could potentially hold. If you receive confirmation from the Spirit that continuing your relationship is the right thing to do and you feel confident, know that with effort from both of you and reliance on Heavenly Father, your relationship can work.
My husband is a wonderful man, and I love him more than ever! I can’t thank the Lord enough for helping us heal and making it possible for us to get married. The Lord has helped us grow together as a couple that is ready to face whatever He has planned for our lives together.

A year ago at Flagstaff, Arizona, a special banquet for Eagle Scouts was held. There were 1,150 Eagle Scouts. John Warnick, the director of Mormon Relationships, invited all those who would commit to go on a mission to stand. All 1,150 stood.
Later, one of the young men, a Catholic boy, went to the bishop and said, “I am not a Mormon, and I committed to go on a mission. What do I need to do?”
The bishop said, “Let’s talk to your parents.” During the visit with the family, it was decided that the family should hear the discussions. The family, including the Eagle Scout, are all members of the Church now.

I had an experience a few years ago that emphasized the importance of this process. A friend came to my office with a problem. He told me that he had studied art in college and then pursued a career in that field, which included a couple of teaching positions. It was while he was the director of an art museum that he finally realized that his profession was not going to provide him with enough money to support his family. He thought he had solved his problem by taking a job in the advertising department of a large company. But two years later the company fell on hard times, and he was laid off. He came to ask for my advice. I suggested a book for him to read. I didn’t see him until three years later when we met at a high school reunion. He thanked me for all my help. When I questioned him, he explained that he had read the book and completed the self-assessment. Based on that information, he decided he would really enjoy working in business, and he took a job selling life insurance. That job gave him a better income, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. He felt good about the service he was providing. Now I’m not saying that selling insurance is better than being an art director. I’m saying that understanding yourself is important in making career decisions.

“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”

I remember very well sitting in a seminar on biblical studies at an eastern university many years ago. One of the things that stands out in my mind is our discussion of the canon of scripture. For at least two hours the instructor had emphasized that the word canon—referring, of course, to the biblical books that are generally included in the Judeo-Christian collection—was the “rule of faith,” the standard against which we measure what is acceptable in belief and practice. He also stated that the canon, if the word meant anything at all, was closed, fixed, set, and established. He must have stressed those words at least 10 times as he wrote them on the blackboard over and over.

I noticed in the second session on this topic that the instructor seemed a bit uneasy. I remember thinking that something must be wrong. Without warning, he stopped what he was doing, banged his fist on the table, turned to me, and said: “Mr. Millet, will you please explain to this group the Latter-day Saint concept of canon, given your people’s acceptance of the Book of Mormon and other books of scripture beyond the Bible?”

I was startled. Stunned. Certainly surprised. I paused for several seconds, looked up at the blackboard, saw the now very familiar words under the word canon,and said, somewhat shyly, “Well, I suppose you could say that the Latter-day Saints believe the canon of scripture is open, flexible, and expanding.” We then had a really fascinating discussion!

In 1885, a young woman named Margaret Gordon was living with her family in a tiny village in Ontario, Canada. Her father had moved his family to Canada from England and managed to find a job teaching school in that remote place. Margaret, then 19 years old, corresponded with some LDS cousins in Utah. They sent her a copy of the Book of Mormon. As she read it, she felt a powerful spiritual witness that what she was reading was true. She was sufficiently moved that she began sharing her witness with the other members of her family. Eventually her father, the last hold-out, agreed to move the family to Utah, where they joined the Church. Margaret never faltered in her testimony and spent a lifetime of remarkable service on the frontiers of the western U.S. and Canada, building the Kingdom of God.21
Her testimony of the Gospel, and especially of the Book of Mormon, was irrepressible. As an old woman in her 90s, she hauled two, young great grandsons into her little bedroom where she read the Book of Mormon with them aloud, and explained it, and testified of it, verse by verse, over the course of many weeks. It may have seemed a fool’s errand at times, because the little boys squirmed and laughed at the strange names in the book. But the light of her testimony was strong. It shone brightly on the seedling testimonies of the two boys. My brother and I were changed forever by that experience. To each of us, a testimony of the Book of Mormon is an anchor to our faith.

We are counseled to seek learning and gain education for several purposes, but one of them is to involve ourselves in a love for and a knowledge of great books. And we ought to be born again a great many times as a consequence. You are involved with a large number of great teachers and important philosophies that will also help you to be born again.

One of the most pleasant and productive experiences in my life happened in 1943 as the Japanese war was taking place. I heard Dr. Adam S. Bennion give a lecture on the value of great literature. You can sell the idea of the value of great ideas to anyone. That is, we all believe that we should be acquainted with great human thought. But almost everyone gets away from its benefit by saying that he doesn’t have time to read. To get away from this objection of not having time, Dr. Bennion said, “Suppose that you were going to be a prisoner in a Japanese concentration camp for the next four years and you could take with you the works of any ten authors. Which would you take, and what would you expect to get out of them?” That is, what are the values of great ideas, of great literature? His idea was to take the ten authors you would most like to resemble and then exhaust each one in turn. That is, you would read every thought and consider every idea that a particular author had ever recorded; you would rethink his every idea. The psychologists say that when you run an idea through your brain, it makes a little groove or engram. If you run through your mind the kind of ideas that went through the mind of Shakespeare or Emerson or the apostle Paul or Moses or Jesus of Nazareth, then your brain will tend to respond as their brains did.

From someplace I got the courage to make the start. I guess Shakespeare comes fairly close to the top of most people’s lists of great authors. So I got out Shakespeare’s 37 plays, his sonnets, and his poems and went to work. Reading them was pretty difficult at first. I read very slowly and perhaps not very comprehendingly. Shakespeare wrote a long time ago, and there were many things that I did not understand. I had to reread some things several times, look up their meanings, and ask people about them. But finally the clouds began to part, a little bit of the sunlight began to come through, and I had a tremendous experience with Shakespeare. Shakespeare looked with clearer insight into human life than do most men. He said his purpose in writing was to hold the mirror up to life, to show virtue her own image and scorn her own likeness. He said, “I your looking-glass will be and will modestly discover to yourself qualities which you yourself know not of.” I had a great uplift as I read his speeches and his arguments for success. And as he pictured life in miniature with his great characters acting and reacting upon each other, I was intellectually born again—a great many times. Each time we discover some inspiring thought, we can be changed, and changed for the better.

Permit me to illustrate this point. A young man of faith practiced diligently and became a champion swimmer. He excelled to the point that scholarship offers from many universities were extended. One by one he turned them down. His father asked, “Son, why won’t you accept one of these free-ride scholarships?”

“I can’t,” the boy answered. “I’m going on a mission. It would not be honest for me to accept one and then drop it before the year is gone.”

Angrily the father shouted, “How foolish can you be? You are throwing away an opportunity of a lifetime!”

“I am sorry, Dad,” the boy added respectfully, “but I take seriously what the Lord said about his coming again. And, when he does come, I don’t want to be found in the swimming pool practicing the backstroke.”