Gospel Story Finder

“Hey, Sofía! Wanna go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”
Sofía felt her cheeks turn red. She didn’t know what to say. Kyle Thornton was one of the cutest and nicest boys in the seventh grade, and here he was asking Sofía to the dance! Sofía knew she shouldn’t date until she was 16, but part of her really wanted to go. It would be so much fun! And besides, the dance was at school, so meeting Kyle there wouldn’t exactly be a real date. …
But Sofía didn’t feel super comfortable with the idea.
“Um … can I tell you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem.” Kyle smiled and walked to class.
After school, Sofía’s best friend, Ashley, ran up to her. “I heard Kyle asked you to the dance!” she said. “That’s so great!”
Sofía shrugged.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Ashley asked.
“Well, my family is going to make cookies and take them to a care center that day,” Sofía said. “I’m probably going to go with them.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ashley said. “You can do something with your family any day. This is important, especially since Kyle asked you!”
Sofía knew lots of girls liked Kyle. What would they think if she said no? But how could she tell Ashley she couldn’t date yet?
“I gotta go,” Sofía said. “Mom needs me home right away to watch the twins.”
“OK,” said Ashley. “Let me know what you decide.”
When Sofía got home, Mom gave her a quick hug before hurrying out the door to go visiting teaching. Sofía and her eight-year-old twin brothers, Mateo and Leo, spent the time building block towers and cities.
As she played with her brothers, Sofía thought about the dance. All of her friends were going. She thought about Kyle and smiled. It would be fun being at a dance with him. But she knew what the prophets had said—kids shouldn’t date before turning 16. She wanted to be obedient. As fun as the dance might be, Sofía knew what she had to do.
At school the next day, Sofía saw Kyle in the hallway. She took a deep breath and walked up to him. She had practiced what to say all morning.
“Thank you for asking me to go to the dance with you,” she said. “But I can’t go.”
“Why not?” Kyle asked, his smile fading.
“I’m not going to date until I’m 16,” Sofía said. “But we can still be friends.”
Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “OK. I guess I understand.”
They said goodbye, and Sofía walked to class. She hated seeing Kyle so sad. But she also felt OK about her decision.
On Friday after school, instead of picking out an outfit and doing her hair for the dance, Sofía frosted heart-shaped cookies with Mom and Dad and her brothers. Instead of going to the school gym, Sofía went to a care center to pass out the cookies.
In the main room at the center, Sofía noticed a piano in the corner. She knew several Primary songs by heart, so she asked her family to sing along while she played. People sitting nearby clapped at the end of each song. When she and her family finished singing “A Child’s Prayer,” Sofía saw that several people had tears in their eyes.
“Thank you!” one lady said. “That was even better than the cookies! Will you come back?”
Sofía smiled. “Of course!” Maybe she could even invite her friends and Kyle next time.

When Elder Richard G. Scott was young, his father was not a member of the Church. His mother was a member, but she didn’t go to church very often. When Richard turned eight years old, he didn’t get baptized. Then his Grandma Whittle came to visit.
Grandma Whittle was a very good example. She helped Richard and his brothers learn how important it is to be baptized and go to church. Soon Richard and his older brother were baptized.

When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.

In another ward, the Relief Society sisters organized to help an ill woman while her husband was out of the home. She was a native of Thailand whose English language skills were limited. She had a disease that attacked every organ of her body. The sisters learned to operate the respirator. They bathed her, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, cleaned her house, and prepared meals as well. I heard this woman cry words of gratitude for the love and patience of those who served her.

Once I was asked to meet an older couple returning to the Church. They had been taught the gospel by their parents. After their marriage, they left the Church. Now, 50 years later, they were returning. I remember the husband coming into the office pulling an oxygen tank. They expressed regret at not having remained faithful. I told them of our happiness because of their return, assuring them of the Lord’s welcoming arms to those who repent. The elderly man responded, “We know this, Brother Andersen. But our sadness is that our children and grandchildren do not have the blessings of the gospel. We are back, but we are back alone.”

Amid the suffering in Winter Quarters, Brigham received word that a mob of about a thousand men had attacked the small community of Saints still in Nauvoo. About two hundred Saints fought back, but they were defeated in battle after a few days. City leaders negotiated for a peaceful evacuation of the Saints, many of whom were poor and sick. But as the Saints left the city, the mob harassed them and ransacked their homes and wagons. A mob seized the temple, desecrated its interior, and mocked the Saints as they fled to camps on the other side of the river.28
When Brigham learned about the desperation of the refugees, he dispatched a letter to Church leaders, reminding them of the covenant they had made in Nauvoo to help the poor and assist every Saint who wanted to come west.
“The poor brethren and sisters, widows and orphans, sick and destitute, are now lying on the west bank of the Mississippi,” he declared. “Now is the time for labor. Let the fire of the covenant, which you made in the house of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable.”29
Though they had sent twenty relief wagons to Nauvoo two weeks earlier and had little food and few supplies to spare, the Saints at Winter Quarters and neighboring settlements sent additional wagons, ox teams, food, and other supplies back to Nauvoo. Newel Whitney, the presiding bishop of the Church, also purchased flour for the impoverished Saints.30
When relief parties found the refugees, many of the Saints there were feverish, ill-equipped for cold weather, and desperately hungry. On October 9, as they prepared to make the journey to the Missouri River, the Saints watched as a flock of quail filled the sky and landed on and around their wagons. Men and boys scrambled after the birds, catching them with their hands. Many recalled how God had also sent Moses and the children of Israel quail in their time of need.
“This morning we had a direct manifestation of the mercy and goodness of God,” wrote Thomas Bullock, a Church clerk, in his journal. “The brethren and sisters praised God and glorified His name that what was showered down upon the children of Israel in the wilderness is manifested unto us in our persecution.”
“Every man, woman, and child had quails to eat for their dinner,” Thomas wrote.31

Peter Burt was born in 1949 in Napier, New Zealand, and grew up in the nearby city of Gisborne. He was only 14—a student at Lytton High School—when his family suffered a devastating loss: Peter’s father died from a fall while painting their family home.
“Losing my dad at such an early age was absolutely tragic,” he recalls. What made the experience more heartbreaking is that, growing up atheist, he had no concept of an afterlife. Years later, Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s (1926–2004) general conference messages helped Peter understand how profound his grief was at the time. “A resurrection-less view of life produces only proximate hope.”1
With no knowledge of God or His plan, Peter remembers, “My philosophy of life was, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Thankfully, I now know better—infinitely better!”
Peter studied at Victoria University in Wellington, and to support his education, he worked holidays back home at the Gisborne Refrigerating Company. There he met a fellow employee who was a devout Christian. “He was different from the other workers around us,” Peter says. “He was very firm in his belief in a Supreme Being. It got me interested enough to buy a Bible and begin to read it.”
The words of the Bible affected Peter so much—he just knew that this book was true—but it also raised many unanswered questions. “I was definitely seeking more knowledge,” Peter says. Still, he wasn’t interested in joining any church.
Peter earned his bachelor’s degree and then married Frances Mary Costello in 1970. The couple moved to Auckland so Peter could gain a diploma from Ardmore Teacher’s College. Shortly after that move, he was approached by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I agreed to meet with them because they seemed like nice people,” Peter remembers, “but I wasn’t interested in their religion.” Still, when the missionaries left copies of the Book of Mormon for him and Frances, they read it. “That same Spirit came upon us as when I read the Bible,” Peter says. “We just knew that it was true.
“When the missionaries came back, we said, ‘Well, we believe the Book [of Mormon] is true. What do we do now?’ That is how we came to be baptised.”
The couple have been active members since they joined the Church in 1972, “and what a wonderful journey it has been!” Peter says. The “patient, kind and loving people” in the Auckland South Stake’s Papakura Ward helped them adjust to their new lives as Latter-day Saints, and when they returned to Gisborne at the end of that year, they joined Gisborne’s 2nd Branch in the Poverty Bay District.
In 1976, Peter, aged 27 became the branch’s president. When the district became a stake, he began a 9-year calling in the stake presidency, then nearly 10 years as the stake president. In that time, he and his wife, Frances, welcomed five sons into their family and were blessed to raise them in the gospel. In 1985, Peter chose a different career path—he spent the next 24 years as a beekeeper until his retirement in 2009.
“One of the highlights of our Church membership was our decision to serve a full-time mission,” Peter says. Called to the Quezon City South Mission in the Philippines, they were sent to the island of Mindoro. “It was a wonderful experience, which we will always remember, especially for the faith and humility of the people there.”
When they returned to New Zealand, the Burts sold their Gisborne property and lived in a caravan for a year before settling in Taup?, because it is a nice town and central to where their sons and families lived. Peter served as the Taup? Ward’s elders quorum president until the Rotorua Stake conference in mid-2023, when he was called as patriarch.
Looking back, Peter recognises the hand of God guiding him towards the gospel of Jesus Christ and a life that he could have never imagined. “I now know that it was the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the truth.”
As a newly called patriarch, he earnestly prays that he’ll be able to help other members find that same divine guidance through special, personalised blessings from our loving Heavenly Father.
“I will do my very best to fulfil [this calling] with the respect and responsibility expected of me by the Lord . . . It is such a huge honour and privilege. I am almost overwhelmed by the responsibility . . . but I have faith to believe that whom the Lord calls, He qualifies.”

What would you do if you were really good at karate and other kids made fun of you? Would you use your skills to get back at them? Maybe teach them not to pick on you anymore?
Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

One of my (many) pet peeves is when pedestrians take their sweet time on the crosswalk, texting and chatting on their phone. I sit in the car rolling my eyes and saying “really people?!” I find myself revving the engine, staring them down, and thinking not so good thoughts. My heart starts to race and I’m sitting there imagining myself (just like in the movies) following through on my negative thoughts. One day I made a choice to be patient, and if you know me well, you’ll know…It takes a miracle! On that morning, I prayed to Heavenly Father and literally asked for ‘more patience’. Bad idea! I have never in my life encountered so many challenges in one day. I was tested to the hilt on the very virtue that I had prayed for. I could only imagine Heavenly Father shaking his head saying, “You asked for it, girl!” Regardless of the challenges, on this particular day I decided that no matter what I was going to be nice, pardon others faults, blah, blah, blah. I also made a choice to be patient while waiting at the cross walk for God’s children to cross the street as they texted and chatted on their phones. As I sat there watching, and consciously making an effort to be empathetic and compassionate (believe me, it took every fiber of my being) I noticed my heart wasn’t racing and I felt calm.

Things were ok. When we remove our expectations of how our brothers and sisters should be – everything changes. When we choose to sing, and play the harmony melody, we choose to let God be the Mistral of our symphony. We choose to make our opus, His.

For a first profile, I mention Jose Garcia from Old Mexico. Born in poverty but nurtured in faith, Jose prepared for a mission call. I was present the day his recommendation was received. There appeared the statement: “Brother Garcia will serve at great sacrifice to his family, for he is the means of much of the family support. He has but one possession—a treasured stamp collection—which he is willing to sell, if necessary, to help finance his mission.”
President Kimball listened attentively as this statement was read to him, and then he responded: “Have him sell his stamp collection. Such sacrifice will be to him a blessing.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face, this loving prophet said, “Each month at Church headquarters we receive thousands of letters from all parts of the world. See that we save these stamps and provide them to Jose at the conclusion of his mission. He will have, without cost, the finest stamp collection of any young man in Mexico.”

Military basic training was tough, especially spiritually. I was surrounded by foul language and bad influences. Prayer and priesthood blessings gave me power to endure, but I longed to have more than personal prayers. Having served a mission, I knew the power and unity that can come from praying with a companion. Unity was one thing our group of about 56 airmen definitely lacked.
Three weeks into basic training, we were still struggling to get along and work as a team. Approaching the junior officers, I requested permission to hold a nightly prayer meeting for anyone who desired to come. Surprisingly, they not only agreed but also supported the idea.
Six airmen came to the first meeting. After taps and lights out, we used a flashlight to read a few verses from the New Testament that related to the challenges we were facing. We then said a prayer, asking that we could have the Spirit of God with us and that we could be grateful for the things we had.
Gradually, more airmen began attending our meeting. Soon our numbers had increased to 15. Sometimes we read Bible verses; other times we read from the Book of Mormon. Each evening anyone who wanted to pray was given the opportunity.
As I had hoped, our prayer meetings had brought unity to our group. But they did more than that: they strengthened us as individuals and helped us turn to our Heavenly Father.

I was not a member of the Church as a child. It wasn’t until I was an adult and a businessman that I was baptized.
My father was also a businessman. He was very worried when I joined the Church. He said, “You don’t drink alcohol anymore. That will be hard in meetings where everyone is drinking together.”
But I wasn’t worried. I decided that when someone offered me alcohol, I would say, “No, thank you.” Then I would order something else.
Years went by, and I did this many times. After a while, my coworkers noticed. If I was offered alcohol, they said, “Mathias doesn’t drink. Bring him something else.” More and more of them stopped ordering alcohol too. “I don’t want any either,” they said.
Once, some visitors came to a meeting. They were the only ones drinking alcohol.
They asked me, “Why isn’t anyone drinking alcohol? Are they all members of your church?”
“No,” I said.
I didn’t preach to my coworkers about the Word of Wisdom. I was just firm in my beliefs, and they noticed my example.

War on the European front had ended in May 1945. But months later, even though Christmas was approaching, the dreary nightmare of years of hate and destruction still stretched a shadowy hand over much of Europe. Austria’s city on the Danube, Vienna the beautiful, lay largely in ruin.
Prized public monuments like Saint Stephen’s Cathedral, the Opera, and the Burgtheater were virtually destroyed. In the city where the Strausses played their waltzes, where Mozart and Beethoven performed The Magic Flute and the Eroica Symphony, where the Fine Arts Museum housed the Hapsburg collection of paintings by the old masters, it was a time for starting over.
It was also a time of want. Food and clothing were scarce, water purity uncertain. Nearly 270,000 Viennese were homeless. Bombed out buildings hovered like specters over potholed streets. And Vienna was a city divided, with Allied forces each patrolling the areas under their jurisdiction. People didn’t venture out at night; there was still a lot of fear in the air.
A number of Latter-day Saints were stationed in the American sector. Local Church members made contact with us and invited us to attend services they were organizing, which we did with joy. We were happy to see them and glad for the fellowship. As Christmas approached, we Americans wrote home to our families and suggested they send us food and other presents we could share with our fellow members of the Church.
A plan was laid out so that all of the Austrian members would have servicemen visit them to celebrate Christ’s birth. Captain Gibson and I were assigned to spend an evening with the branch president’s family, over in the Russian sector.
Captain Gibson had been there before, but I had not. As we crossed the bridge over the Danube, I was impressed that the damage on the eastern side of the city, which included much of the port area, was particularly heavy. Vacant ruins gave no indication of street names or house numbers. There were no street lights to help us find directions.
After several minutes, however, Captain Gibson said, “Stop here. Pull over to the side,” and I did.
He leaned out of the jeep, cupped his hands around his mouth, and clearly, firmly whistled the Primary song, “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.”
We waited. The dark, empty street was terrifying. I had misgivings about being in the wrong location. I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know if we’d ever get back.
Then, across the street and three floors up, shutters on a window opened. In soft, clear notes that sweet little tune was whistled again, and when I heard it my fears evaporated. It was the response we’d arranged ahead of time. We were to whistle a Church song and the members were to whistle a response if everything was okay.
A minute later we heard footsteps, then saw the branch president’s daughter running across the cobblestones, accompanied by a trusted neighbor. They opened a gate to an inner courtyard, and we pulled the jeep in off the street. They closed the gate behind us and locked it.
The daughter’s excitement was apparent. She nearly danced up the three flights of stairs, where we met her parents and another daughter. We looked around the meagerly furnished apartment. Though the family was in dire circumstances, it was, after all, Christmas Eve, and the table was set for dinner.
It seems strange to say we feasted on salmon loaf and artificial orange drink, but feast we did. And more than food, we feasted on love and companionship. We feasted on the knowledge that God’s son was born into a weary world to bring it hope and light. We feasted on the firm belief that with war’s end the gospel would again be preached in Europe and that the Saints would again be free to gather and worship.
We sang the songs the Saints all sing, hymns and Christmas carols. The family gave us each a handmade Christmas card. We gave them some food and clothing. Together we knelt in a prayer of thanks, and then Captain Gibson and I returned to our quarters, enriched and strengthened.
That was 40 years ago, and the horrors of postwar Europe seem long past and far away. Vienna is once again the beautiful city on the Danube, where Saint Stephen’s, the Opera, and the Burgtheater, all rebuilt, stand as monuments to man’s commitment to overcome the bombs and flames of war.
Even now, though, whenever I hear “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—especially when it’s almost Christmas—my mind floods with memories of a dark street where a gentle whistle reminded me that wherever the Saints gather, there is always faith, rejoicing, fellowship, and hope.

On a beautiful Sunday morning in the fall of 1841, my great-grandfather, William Minshall Evans, then sixteen years of age, was walking down the streets of Liverpool, England, on his way to church. Suddenly he heard singing that thrilled him beyond anything he had ever heard before. He followed the sound down an alley and up some rickety stairs into a room where a few people were holding a meeting. John Taylor, who later became President of the Church and who had a beautiful tenor voice, was the singer. The song he sang was so beautiful that William remained to hear the sermon.
Upon returning home, William was reprimanded by his elder brother, David, for being absent from his accustomed place in the choir. When asked to give an account of himself, William replied, “I have been where you should have been and I shall not be satisfied until you all hear the wonderful truth I have heard this morning.”
Before long, William and David were converted to the gospel, and then helped convert other members of their family. Three of the brothers and their parents emigrated to Utah between 1848 and 1850. William’s mother died of cholera in Kanesville, Iowa, and her husband was so brokenhearted that he had no desire to continue on to Utah and so returned to England.
The boys experienced all of the hardships and trials of those early pioneer days, but remained true and faithful to the gospel. William had twelve children and passed on a great heritage to his posterity.
I never sing the hymns of the Church without remembering that it was the singing of a hymn that opened the door to the gospel for my family and made it possible for me to enjoy all the blessings that have followed.

In the military service during World War II, I associated with some fine young men of great promise. But little by little, I saw some of them turn from the decent, God-fearing qualities of Dr. Jekyll and revert to the baseness of a Mr. Hyde. For some, it began by drinking coffee because the water was foul, and the water decontamination pills had such an unpleasant taste. The coffee led some to take an occasional drink of beer. Every soldier serving overseas was allocated a ration of cigarettes and an occasional bottle of whiskey, which were worth considerable money.
President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) once gave this advice: “If you cross to the devil’s side of the line one inch, you are in the tempter’s power, and if he is successful, you will not be able to think or even reason properly, because you will have lost the spirit of the Lord.”4 Some soldiers stayed on the safe side of the line and never experimented with nor trafficked in these addicting substances, even though they were given to us free. But others would sample the cigarettes or alcohol as a diversion to the challenges of the war. A few were even drawn away into immorality, believing that the stress of war justified lowering their standards and letting the Mr. Hyde side of their personalities take over.
After the war, those who had become addicted to tobacco, alcohol, and immorality found that they could not readily shake off these bad habits. The young men who had started out with such potential crossed that line inch by inch, robbing themselves and their families of the promised happiness and experiencing instead divorce, broken families, and heartaches.
Those who never lowered their standards did not succumb to these addictions. They came through that stressful period of their lives stronger and more prepared to lead productive, exemplary, and happy lives as faithful fathers and grandfathers of righteous families. They have also served as honored and respected leaders in the Church and in the community.

I never thought I would love a mountain. But I’ve grown to love the mountain overlooking Brigham Young University. My roommate, Josh, suggested we run the face of Y Mountain for exercise. The idea seemed a little ambitious, but we had been friends since high school, and I was not about to turn down his challenge.
At 6:00 A.M. Josh and I stumbled out of our beds, tired, groggy, and a little unsure of exactly what lay ahead of us. The trail to the top includes 11 switchbacks; sometime after the second, your body wants to go into shock—muscles cramp, lungs nearly collapse—and the steepest part of the trail is still to come.
To say the first time up the mountain was hard is an understatement. It was the cruelest form of punishment—slow and deliberate. We were not as fit as we had thought. We ran as fast as we could and then, when we could take no more, we stopped to rest. Slowly we made our way to the top.
The first few times, Josh and I stuck together. But after a few times up the mountain, it became a competition. Josh pulled ahead, and I doubled my efforts to keep up. Josh ran until he was tired, and I ran until Josh stopped. No matter how hard I tried, he beat me to the top every time, not by much, but he still beat me.
I tried harder, but I still couldn’t get closer. Josh continued to run until he was tired. But when he stopped, I pushed myself to keep running and try to narrow the gap. My time improved, but I was not satisfied because I had never won.
Once, after struggling and sweating my way up the mountain, I caught up to Josh. I asked him to slow down so I could stop and catch my breath. He replied that he could not slow down because if he did, “there would not be anyone to push you to become better.” Although I doubt his motives were altruistic, there is truth in what he said.
The steepest and hardest part was at the end. I was always exhausted by the time I reached the last switchback. It did not matter how fast I ran; Josh, as usual, was ahead of me. Still, I tried to keep the gap between us narrow even as the trail got harder. Josh ran just as hard to keep the gap wide.
Hard work and discipline were rewarded at the finish line. I could finally stop and rest. But often as I came over the hill, with the finish line in sight, I saw Josh scaling farther up the mountain. And I felt compelled to follow. When I finally caught up to him, I mentioned that it is perfectly acceptable to stop at the finish line. His reply was always, “You have to keep pushing yourself.”
After another running experience, I apologized to Josh for slowing him down. He replied, “You didn’t. You kept me going.” While his reply was not totally unexpected, the lesson I learned was. It was then that the “push and pull” of Y Mountain began to sink in. All this time I had thought that Josh had been pulling me up the mountain by refusing to let me stop and rest. But I realized that in my stretching and straining up the mountain, I had pushed him as well.

Following the dedication on Thanksgiving Day, three more dedicatory sessions were held. Then on Sunday morning a special and, to my knowledge, unique meeting was held in the temple for children. About 235 children attended. No dedicatory prayer or hosanna shout was offered. Instead, President Grant led the children in singing “Who’s On the Lord’s Side?” Then he asked the children to raise their hands if they were on the Lord’s side. Every child’s hand was raised.

Imagine this scene. Hundreds of children in the temple, surrounding the prophet, singing “Who’s on the Lord’s Side” and then responding to his invitation with uplifted hands. In the other meetings the temple was dedicated. In this meeting the children dedicated themselves in the temple.

My parents were born in the Philippines, but both of them had Chinese ancestry. Like almost everyone else in the Philippines, they embraced the predominant faith of my native country. So, our family enjoyed a healthy mix of different family, ethnic, and religious practices and traditions that influenced our daily lives.
When my parents joined the Church, little did they know that they were embracing yet another set of values and traditions—even the gospel culture, based on the plan of salvation, God’s commandments, and the words of living prophets. Over time, as our family strived to fully embrace the gospel, my parents discovered that some of our well-loved traditions were not consistent with gospel culture. It became apparent to them that they needed to make a choice.
And so began the difficult undertaking of weeding our family of traditions and cultural practices that were contrary to gospel culture. You could just imagine the immense pressure they received from family and friends to hold on to certain traditions even though they were contrary to the gospel.
I am so grateful that my parents exercised faith and chose to keep their covenants. It was a long and difficult process. Even when I left to live on my own, they were still working on it. Although our family was still not perfect, we had come a long way. This experience taught me that embracing gospel culture simply meant keeping our covenants.

One month ago I turned 13, and my mom wanted me to start reading the New Era, so I started looking through some old copies. In the April 1973 issue I read an article called “Becoming Saviors on Mount Zion,” which explained that we should never stop giving—not gifts of money but of service to others. All my life my sister had helped me and I had never helped her. Just then she walked into the room and said she had to get the dishes done in half an hour and that she was too tired to do them. Right then I told her I would do them, but of course, she wouldn’t let me do them alone; she had to help.
In the last month my sister and I have become very close. We have been sneaking around helping each other and doing our work together. You know, it’s a lot more fun helping someone. Before it was just me trying to keep the commandments, but now it’s both of us. My sister has told me how much she appreciates me bringing her closer to the Lord. I don’t think it was me so much as it was the New Era.
Name Withheld

At one community event he and Sister Faust attended, a leader of another faith criticized the Church. Sister Faust recalled, “I became steamier and steamier as he went on, but Jim just listened patiently. Afterwards, he went up to this man and said, ‘Now, Reverend, if you feel that way, we must be doing something wrong. I’d like for us to have lunch together so that you can let me know what your concerns are.’ They did, and the two have been good friends ever since.”