Gospel Story Finder

In 1980, I was a fourteen year-old kid living in Moses Lake, Washington. May 18th of that year was a Sunday. At about 10:00 that Sunday morning, my dad noticed an enormous bank of very strange clouds approaching from the west. Soon the whole family was in the front yard, taking pictures and describing to one another those very unusual clouds. Oddly, the clouds kept moving, but it didn’t start raining.
It didn’t rain because those clouds were not what they appeared to be. A phone call from a neighbor informed us that 150 miles to the west, Mount Saint Helens had erupted. We were looking at a volcanic ash cloud. As those now ominous clouds approached the eastern horizon, it became increasingly and dramatically dark. Although it was not yet noon, there was soon only a thin line of daylight left in the east. When the falling ash blocked out all the light of the sun and even the lights of the closest houses, a pleasant spring morning became sudden, unnatural night.

Let me take you back to my hometown. When we left Moses Lake a few minutes ago, an ash cloud had turned a spring morning into frightening darkness. Throughout a very long night, volcanic ash fell from the sky. We awoke to a hazy, completely grey world in which everything was smothered in several inches of pulverized stone. The cloud was gone, but months of work to remove the ash from lawns, roofs, and roads lay ahead of us. It was long, hard, and gritty work. There was much to do to return things to something like a normal condition, but please note that it didn’t stay dark forever. The sun came up on a different and damaged world, but the sun came up.
You may even now find yourself in the shadow of your own frightening ash cloud. If you do, please remember that you can chase that darkness away with the light of truth. I promise you that the sun can come up again in your world too. However, when the light returns, don’t be surprised to find that there is long, hard, and gritty work yet to do. The exhausting work we had to do to deal with tons and tons of volcanic ash took its toll primarily on our arms and backs. As you struggle to recover from the fallout of darkness in your life, you will find yourself laboring primarily with your knees and your heart.

Some time ago I went through a period in which I was plagued with many personal problems and felt that I had nobody to help me solve them. I was attending church regularly but had not been successful in finding solutions to my difficulties. Fear often overcame me, especially during the night. I was very unhappy.
One day when I was feeling particularly distraught, I tried to get in touch with the mission president. On another day I had a strong desire to reach the President of the Church. I thought if I could just speak with or write to him, he would give me the answers I sought.
While in this troubled state of mind, I attended a session of district conference in Cúcuta, Colombia. I found the answer I needed during a talk by the mission president. When President Canals asked, “When is the last time you had a spiritual experience?” I realized that I had been so preoccupied with trying to find someone to help me solve my problems that I had forgotten the Savior’s call to draw near unto Him (see D&C 88:63). In my rush to find a solution, I had forgotten the Being who had power to give me peace in my afflictions and to answer my prayers.
That very day I started the process of drawing nearer to my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I told Heavenly Father of my fear and anguish, and I prayed in the name of Jesus Christ that I might have His Spirit to be with me. I dropped all of my burdens at the Savior’s feet, remembering His promise: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
I still don’t have all the answers to my personal problems, but I have received strength and comfort. I have also received impressions that if I live a righteous life, keep the commandments, and serve the Lord with all my heart, He will help me solve my problems or give me strength to endure them (see Mosiah 24:14).

A mother of seven, Margaret Swensen Lifferth emphasizes that parents need to be present for the small moments in the lives of their children. She recalls a time when one of her children, age four, came crying into the house after a disagreement with his playmates. “I just pulled him onto my lap and said, ‘What can we do?’ We figured out that he could take a plate of cookies to his friends, and the problem was solved.
“It is the small moments like these that are really the teaching moments, that set the example of how our children are going to address the world,” she says.

Benson, where are you? It’s time for bed.
I don’t want to go to bed.
Why not?
Because there is a ghost in my room.
There is not a ghost in your room.
Are you sure?
I promise.
Dad, what is the Holy Ghost?
That’s a good question.
The Holy Ghost is a member of the Godhead. His job is to help us feel what Heavenly Father wants us to know and do.
Is He scary?
No, the Holy Ghost isn’t scary at all. We don’t see the Holy Ghost, but we feel Him near. He helps us feel happy.
All right, now close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep. I love you.
I love you too. And I think I feel the Holy Ghost.

“Everybody needs to look their very best tomorrow,” Mrs. Santos called out in a sing-song voice. “Tomorrow is picture day!”
Whispers and giggles spread around the room. Everyone seemed excited about picture day. Everyone except me. I felt a knot in my stomach.
At recess, all my friends wanted to talk about was what outfit they were going to wear for school pictures. With each thing they mentioned, the knot in my stomach got bigger.
I didn’t have any of the pretty things they talked about. How could I look beautiful if I didn’t have anything beautiful to wear?
The next morning I dug through all my drawers and decided on a red and white striped shirt and my denim skirt. I had two flower hair clips, but one had a broken petal. My shirt had a little yellow stain on it. Maybe it wouldn’t show. My skirt was faded, and my shoes were scuffed. Nervous butterflies joined the knots in my stomach. I worried and worried all the way to school.
When I got to school, I ran to the washroom, hoping no one had seen me yet. Hot tears ran down my face. I quickly wiped them away when I heard footsteps.
“Are you OK?” It was Mrs. Santos. “A couple of your classmates said they saw you run in here and thought something might be wrong.”
I didn’t say anything as I stared down at my shoes. A question bubbled up inside of me.
“Are you disappointed in me?” My voice cracked.
Mrs. Santos put her arm around my shoulder. “Why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Well …” I sniffed and tried to think of how to say what I wanted to say. “You said to look your very best for picture day. And …”
I slowly traced the stain on my shirt with a fingertip.
“I don’t have anything pretty,” I continued. “My clothes are kind of old.”
Mrs. Santos was quiet for a minute. Then she gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Let’s have a look and see what we can do.” She lifted my chin so that I was looking into the mirror. “Hmmm. You know what I see?”
“What?” I asked.
“I see a special girl who looks sad today,” she said, “and who forgot to wear her prettiest feature.”
I stared at Mrs. Santos. What was she talking about?
“Try a smile, and then let’s take another look,” Mrs. Santos said.
I gazed in the mirror. Slowly the corners of my mouth turned up.
“You aren’t beautiful because of what you wear or the way you look. You are beautiful because of who you are,” Mrs. Santos said. “Your happy personality always puts a smile on everyone’s face.”
I tilted my head and watched my smile grow bigger and bigger. I started to feel the knot in my stomach loosen. Mrs. Santos was right. My smile was the best!
I looked down at my shirt—the yellow stains, the scuffed shoes. Who cares? I was a child of God, and it wasn’t my clothes that made me. They didn’t matter. I looked in the mirror again. My teeth sparkled as my grin stretched out.
“Ah! There it is,” Mrs. Santos said. “Picture perfect!”

I love to feel the Spirit. It’s a feeling I can confidently say I recognize now.

But that took work. Where I grew up in the north of England, it was often hard to place myself in an environment that allowed me to feel the Holy Ghost. There are so many great young adults there who grew up in the Church, yet it was sometimes difficult to align our behaviors with the doctrine and truths we knew in our hearts.

For a long time, I attended church on Sundays but felt frustrated and sad knowing that the things the Spirit was communicating to me were not getting through to others whom I love and care for.

However, I’m learning the importance of making room for the Spirit in all areas of my life and helping others do the same.

After graduating from secondary school, I faced a lot of difficulties. For example, there are lots of activities and conferences for young adult members of the Church where I live. But after these activities, some young adults would go to clubs or places that weren’t aligned with our values.

That shocked me!

Drinking alcohol and clubbing are common here, but I didn’t expect friends I sat by in church to do those things too.

I was confused.

Seeing friends make these decisions made it really hard to know who would help me stay spiritually strong. Eventually, because I saw others living the gospel casually, I was led away from the gospel too. I wasn’t going to church or praying, and I was doing things I shouldn’t have been doing.

But one day, when I was feeling particularly miserable, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him my feelings. I told Him I wanted the Church to be true and I wanted to understand His commandments, but it was so hard to even consider standing alone. But I told Him that if I could find reassurance of the truths of the gospel, I would listen and put my heart into living it again.

A few days later, I felt a distinct spiritual impression that I needed to serve a mission.

The thought really came out of nowhere. But I could feel the Spirit nudging me in that direction. I knew that preparing for a mission would enable me to remember my testimony, to rebuild my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and to rely on my own faith—not anyone else’s.

And that was my desire.

So, I started to change. It took a lot of spiritual work. I had to stop hanging out with certain friends, I broke up with the person I was dating, and I had to replace my bad habits with better ones. I worked with my bishop and relied on Jesus Christ’s enabling power to help me move forward.

Before my mission, I didn’t understand commandments and covenants. My friends were treating these blessings like burdens, and I had started seeing them that way too. But after serving a mission and rebuilding my faith, I now see covenants and commandments as blessed responsibilities that help me maintain divine, direct connection with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—every day.

Sometimes it makes me sad that others don’t see the exquisite blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. At times, I just want to shake them by the shoulders and remind them of the miracle their covenants are! I want them to realize what the Savior can enable them to do and become!

But while I can’t control others, I can keep my testimony strong. I can know when to step away from some people’s influence and also know how to be a good influence on them.

I think that is what brought me back after I struggled with my faith: remembering the love of my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I know I wouldn’t have gone on a mission if I hadn’t asked Heavenly Father for divine direction in a time of deep confusion. As much as I wish I hadn’t had to go through those painful experiences, I learned so much about repentance, about Heavenly Father’s perfect love, and about the importance of prioritizing good relationships (especially with Him and our Savior) that keep us connected to the Spirit.

Despite the hard parts, rebuilding my faith in Him was worth everything.

“We were so scared. We didn’t know if you’d like us,” said an anglo leader.
“I’ve never known a lot of Lamanites before, and I am proud to be one,” said a Lamanite participant.
The thoughts were being voiced at a testimony meeting concluding a five-day girls camp for Lamanite girls from the Southwest Indian Mission. Also participating were Anglo girls and leaders.
“Sometimes brownskins and whiteskins in our area don’t have the nicest of feelings toward each other,” said a participant, “so we looked forward to this camp so that we could make sure bad feelings didn’t happen in the Church, where we have a real commitment to respect and love each other.”
Besides spirits’ being lifted—many Lamanite girls thrilled at being among the tall fir trees, mountain peaks, and cold streams outside of Farmington, New Mexico—some conversions occurred, and friendships flowered all over the place. It was a worthy goal—elimination of prejudice—and in this instance, a superb way to accomplish it.

I liked the story in the April 1977 Friend called “A Better Way,” and I would like to tell about the missionary experience our family had.
When I was eight years old, we moved to Fountain Valley, California. Since we had some friends who were Mormons, Mom and Dad wanted to learn about the gospel. So when the missionaries knocked on our door, Mom asked them to come back that night when Dad was home. They did. The feeling was so good that evening that we asked the missionaries to return.
Later on Mom, Dad, and I were baptized, and a few weeks later my little sisters were blessed. Then my older sister was baptized. A year later my dad died of cancer. About a year after his death our family was sealed together in the temple.
I am really thankful that we have the gospel in our home.

A true story from the USA.
Lucas and Lexi are brother and sister. They like to work and play together.
Lucas is blind. This means he can’t see well. Lexi has a clubfoot. This means her foot is twisted, and it’s hard to walk. Lucas helps Lexi walk when her legs get tired. Lexi reads to Lucas when his eyes get tired. They like to help each other.
Lucas and Lexi like playing on the playground. Lucas helps Lexi if she trips and falls. Lexi helps Lucas if he can’t find the monkey bars.
Lucas and Lexi like playing board games. Lexi reads the rules to Lucas. Lucas helps Lexi figure out her next move.
Lucas and Lexi like music. Lucas likes to play the piano. Lexi likes to sing. Sometimes Lucas plays the piano while Lexi sings.
Lucas and Lexi like helping each other. Lucas sometimes helps Lexi make her bed. Lexi sometimes helps Lucas pick up his toys.
Lucas and Lexi like reading scripture stories. They like learning about Jesus Christ and how He helped others. Jesus loved those He helped.
Lucas loves helping Lexi, and Lexi loves helping Lucas. They love Jesus Christ and want to be like Him. Jesus loves Lucas and Lexi. He loves that they help each other.
Watch a video about this story here!
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

Shortly after President Kimball became President of the Church, he assigned me to go into the vault of the St. George Temple and check the early records. As I did so, I realized the fulfillment of a dream I had had ever since learning of the visit of the Founding Fathers to the St. George Temple. I saw with my own eyes the records of the work that was done for the Founding Fathers of this great nation, beginning with George Washington. Think of it, the Founding Fathers of this nation, those great men, appeared within those sacred walls and had their vicarious work done for them. President Wilford Woodruff spoke of it in these words: Before I left St. George, the spirits of the dead gathered around me, wanting to know why we did not redeem them. Said they, “You have had the use of the Endowment House for a number of years, and yet nothing has ever been done for us. We laid the foundation of the government you now enjoy, and we never apostatized from it, but we remained true to it and were faithful to God.”

These were the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and they waited on me for two days and two nights. . . .

I straightway went into the baptismal font and called upon Brother McCallister to baptize me for the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and fifty other eminent men. [Discourses of Wilford Woodruff,sel. G. Homer Durham (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946), pp. 160–61]
These noble spirits came there with divine permission—evidence that this work of salvation goes forward on both sides of the veil.

I was shy and lacked confidence as a sophomore in high school in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Then my life began to change dramatically one Friday afternoon. I attended a football pep rally. It was the typical high school rally: a jam-packed auditorium, a speech or two, lots of yelling and shouting.
As I sat near the back of the auditorium watching the players and cheerleaders, I realized more than ever before that I wasn’t part of their social group and probably never would be. The only thing that kept me from feeling totally dejected was the feeling that my current position didn’t mean that I couldn’t excel at something.
Somewhere during my walk from the pep rally to home I realized that I needed to do something better than anyone else at East High School. My self-image needed this shot of excellence. It was just a simple decision involving no drum rolls, no trumpets, no crowds, and no big buildup.
At this pivotal point in my life, the Holy Ghost touched me and directed me to the Book of Mormon. Being “directed” was a new experience in my life, but it felt so easy and so right. I went straight to our bookshelf when I got home and dusted off Mom’s old hardback edition of the Book of Mormon. As I sat down, I decided that I would learn more about the Book of Mormon than any other person in my high school. I read all of 1 Nephi during that first sitting.
Some of the words on those pages were difficult for me, and I didn’t learn much from that first reading. But I had started toward my goal, and that was immense progress. I felt good inside as I closed the cover. I knew I was doing the right thing. My goal and those feelings launched me on a never-ending path of gospel study and represented the beginnings of a testimony. As time passed, I read more and more from the Book of Mormon, and I began to understand more of what I read. I don’t know if I achieved my goal to learn more about it than any other person at my high school, but I do know what reading it did for me and for my feelings of self-worth.
The spiritual security I found in the Book of Mormon was a haven. I had increased my understanding of eternal truths. And if I couldn’t excel academically, athletically, or socially, it was all brought into realistic perspective by those eternal truths.

As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop. I asked each of them: “Are you going out with anyone who is not a member of our church?”
Susan said, “I go out with Bill. We know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston, Texas, after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.

That fall, Joseph’s parents traveled south to Harmony. Nearly two months had passed since Joseph left their home in Manchester, and they had heard nothing from him. They worried the summer’s tragedies had devastated him. In a matter of weeks, he had lost his first child, nearly lost his wife, and lost the manuscript pages. They wanted to make sure he and Emma were well.
Less than a mile from their destination, Joseph Sr. and Lucy were overjoyed to see Joseph standing in the road ahead of them, looking calm and happy. He told them about losing the confidence of God, repenting of his sins, and receiving the revelation. The Lord’s rebuke had stung him, but like prophets of old he wrote the revelation down for others to read. It was the first time he had ever recorded the Lord’s word to him.
Joseph also told his parents that Moroni had since returned the plates and interpreters. The angel seemed pleased, Joseph recounted. “He told me that the Lord loved me for my faithfulness and humility.”
The record was now safely stowed in the house, hidden in a trunk. “Emma writes for me now,” Joseph told them, “but the angel said that the Lord would send someone to write for me, and I trust that it will be so.”7

“Today is the worst day of my life!” Becky cried as she ran straight to her room. A few minutes later, Mom came in. “What happened at school today, Becky? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Mom, it’s just horrible,” Becky said. “You know how hard I’ve been working on my community service project for school?”
“Yes. The children at the shelter will really appreciate the extra help with their homework and the used books you’ve been collecting,” Mom said.
Becky nodded. “Well, a little while ago I told Elisabeth about my project. She was having a hard time thinking of one, so I thought it would help her get her own idea. But today, when she presented her project, it was my project idea! I’m supposed to present mine tomorrow, and everyone will think I copied her!”
“I’m sorry, Becky. I bet you really feel bad.” Mom hugged Becky tightly.
“I feel worse than bad, Mom. I feel so mad. I thought she was my friend! How could she do this?”
“That is a hard question. What do you think?”
Becky frowned. “Sometimes it seems like it’s more important to get a good grade or have people think you are cool than to be honest. I don’t think Elisabeth even feels bad at all. Maybe I should copy someone else’s project, too. Or maybe I should embarrass Elisabeth in front of the whole school!”
“You wouldn’t really want to do that, would you, Becky?” Mom asked.
Becky buried her head under her pillow and moaned. “No.”
“Why?” Mom asked.
“In Primary we learned about the six Bs that President Hinckley taught. One of them was to be true. Sister MacArthur said that meant that we should have integrity—that we should do what’s right, no matter what,” Becky said.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Integrity means you are incorruptible—that no one can make you do the wrong thing.”
“Nobody’s incorruptible, Mom!” Becky exclaimed.
“I don’t know about that, Becky. The scriptures teach us about some people who were. One of them was Job. Even though he lost his riches, his health, and even his family, he said, ’Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.’* His example showed that no matter what happens, you still have control over the way you respond.”
“Are there any other examples?” Becky asked.
“Well, yes. Helaman’s stripling warriors are known for their courage and strength, but did you know that the scriptures also say they were true at all times?**“
Becky sighed. “I want to be like that. But I still don’t know what to do about my project!”
“The answer may not be an easy one,” Mom said, “but if you ask, Heavenly Father will help you.”
That night and the next morning, Becky stayed a little longer on her knees in prayer. Even though she wasn’t sure what she was going to do, she had a calm, peaceful feeling inside.
When she arrived at school, she saw Elisabeth standing alone by the drinking fountain. Becky took a deep breath and walked toward her.
“Hi,” Elisabeth said uneasily.
“Hi. Can I talk to you about the service project?”
Elisabeth’s face turned red and her jaw tightened. At first she looked like she might run away, but after a minute she looked up at Becky. “Um, Becky, I’m sorry for copying your idea. My grandma is a school librarian, and she sent me a whole box of books that her school didn’t need anymore. I thought about how great the books would be for the kids at the shelter. I guess I just got carried away, and before I knew it, I turned it into my project.”
Becky had to admit that Elisabeth had brought in more books than she could ever have collected on her own.
“But now I don’t have a project,” Becky said. Just then, the bell rang.
“Maybe you still do,” Elisabeth said as she grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her towards class.
Elisabeth started to cry a little when she told Mrs. Taramoto that she had copied Becky’s project. Becky thought it took a lot of courage to admit what she had done. Elisabeth said she had an idea how to help Becky with her presentation, so Mrs. Taramoto let them have a little extra time before lunch to make a plan.
Usually standing before a lot of people made Becky nervous, but this time she wasn’t very anxious at all. After she explained that she and Elisabeth were going to work together on their service project to create an entire library for the shelter and a homework tutoring center, several children came up to her and asked if they could sign up to be homework helpers or donate some books to the shelter library, too.
The following Sunday in Primary, Sister MacArthur asked the class to think of songs that could represent each one of President Hinckley’s six Bs. Becky and Elisabeth raised their hands at the same time. “Army of Helaman,” they both said. As she sang, Becky thought of the stripling warriors and how they worked together. She also thought of how they were true at all times. She smiled and sang a little louder. It felt good to know she could also be true, no matter what.

Then came the first Sunday in March. I’ll never forget that day. Just after Sunday School Bishop Edwards asked me if I could come to his office an hour before fast meeting for a little talk. Well, I know the bishop doesn’t just call people in for a little talk for no reason. I wondered what I had done—or what I was going to do. But I did tell him I would be there.
At three o’clock I found myself stepping on the rich blue carpeting of the bishop’s office and then staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, instantly knew everything about me. I had known Bishop Edwards for a long time. He had been my Sunday School teacher when I was in junior high school and had been bishop now for a couple of years. I hadn’t known him as a bishop too well since I spent many Sundays in my student branch at school. But now, as I looked at him, I knew what a wonderful man he was and the great power he represented.
After a few minutes of small talk about school, family, and whatever, he got to the point of this meeting. “Today as I looked over the congregation, my eyes rested on you,” he said intensely, “and as clearly as we have been speaking to each other, a voice said to me, ‘That girl needs to go on a mission.’” I was stunned! That was the last thing I expected him to say. Me? On a mission? His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I can see by your expression that you didn’t receive the same inspiration. It must come as quite a surprise. But it’s something you don’t have to decide right now. You think about it and be sure to include your parents and the Lord in your decision. Just let me know when you’ve found your answer.”
A few moments later I walked out of the door, and the fluorescent lighting of the hall hit me with the reality of the situation. I figured in two years I’d really be an old maid. But two years might give Allen time to join the Church on his own. It would give me a chance to find myself. And most important, it would be a chance to get closer to the Lord and serve his children more than I had ever done, I found an empty room and knelt in prayer, asking my Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. When I stood, I felt a certain calm, even though I still didn’t feel that I had a positive answer.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

Allow me to share the true story of Alex, a quiet, thoughtful, and bright young priest. One Sunday, Alex’s bishop found him alone in a classroom in a state of great distress. The young man explained how painfully difficult it was for him to attend church without his father, who was not a member. Then he tearfully said it would probably be better for him to leave the Church.
With genuine concern for this young man, the bishop immediately mobilized the ward council to help Alex. His plan was simple: to keep Alex active and help him develop a heartfelt testimony of the gospel, they needed to “surround him with good people and give him important things to do.”
Quickly the priesthood brethren and all the ward members rallied around Alex and expressed their affection and support. The high priests group leader, a man of great faith and love, was chosen to be his home teaching companion. Members of the bishopric took him under their wings and made him their closest associate.
The bishop said: “We kept Alex busy. He ushered at weddings, ushered at funerals, assisted me at graveside dedications, baptized several new members, ordained young men to Aaronic Priesthood offices, taught youth lessons, taught with the missionaries, unlocked the building for conferences, and locked up the building late at night after conferences. He did service projects, accompanied me on visits to elderly members in hospices, gave talks in sacrament meeting, administered the sacrament to the sick in hospitals or in their homes, and became one of only a very small handful of people that I could totally rely on as bishop.”
Little by little, Alex changed. His faith in the Lord increased. He gained confidence in himself and in the power of the priesthood that he held. The bishop concluded: “Alex has been and will always be one of my greatest blessings in my time as bishop. What a privilege it has been to associate with him. I genuinely believe that no young man has ever gone into the mission field more prepared by his priesthood service.”9

I recently decided to try a new recipe: a bûche de Noël. A beautiful, swirly chocolate cake.
During the first few minutes of mixing, my lump of dough looked nothing like the example I was following. “This is not working out,” I said. And as the tedious task of mixing wore on, I also wondered, “Is all this work even worth it?”
After some redoes and a lot of patience, I tried a new bûche de Noël recipe. There were several moments when I thought it was going to fail, but in the end, it turned out fantastic!

When I was a young mother with a two-year-old son, I lived for a short time in Santa Catarina, Brazil, and knew very few members of the Church there. I lived in a growing but remote neighborhood, so there weren’t many neighbors close to my house.
One day I began to feel ill and quickly became dehydrated. Soon I couldn’t even get up to take care of my son or go to the nearest telephone on the street to call my husband. I began to pray, but with each attempt to get up, I felt weaker.
It wasn’t long before my visiting teachers knocked at my door. They recognized immediately that they had been guided by Heavenly Father to find me. They prepared a remedy for me, helped me with my son, and washed the dishes. Then they told me that they had walked for quite a while to find my house and had thought about giving up, but the Spirit had told them not to.
By the time they left, I was already feeling better. Before they left, we said a prayer together.
They probably don’t know how much they helped me and nurtured me spiritually with their example of kindness and promptness in listening to and heeding the voice of the Spirit.

One Sunday morning, as we were going to church, our son, Steven, who was about 6 years old at the time, noticed that some young people were playing soccer in our street. He said to himself, “I wonder why these people are playing soccer on Sunday while they should be attending church?” It was obvious our son knew that Sunday is a special day when we are required to do certain things, and therefore, we are expected to stay away from other things. Steven knew that Sunday is the day of the Lord and that we must keep it holy.

When I think about being encircled, I think of being wrapped up in a warm blanket. I have many blankets in my home that have been lovingly made and given to me. I have blankets from friends, blankets from my sister and sister-in-law, blankets from my mom, and blankets from my grandma. My grandma made this blanket when I was very young, and I used it all growing up. When I learned that my grandma passed away on Thanksgiving morning of 2010, I sat down on my couch and wrapped myself in this blanket. As I did so and cried, I felt my grandma’s love, support, kind words, and her great testimony encircle me.