Gospel Story Finder

I was halfway up a climbing wall, completely stuck. Moments earlier, I had been on the ground, chatting with friends and waiting in line. Although I’d never climbed a wall like this before, I hadn’t been nervous or concerned. Within a matter of seconds though, everything had changed. I now clung desperately to handholds, my progress stopped by inexperience and fear.
Only moments before, when the man ahead of me slipped in his own ascent and descended slowly to the ground, I readied myself to climb. As I strapped on the safety gear, my friend Kent tapped me on the shoulder. “Liz, I’ve been watching the climbers and studying the wall. I know how to get to the top. Take your first step with your left foot and grab high with your right hand …” Kent’s directions were detailed, like driving instructions, but I just nodded without really paying attention. The wall didn’t look hard. I was sure I could do it on my own.
Disregarding Kent’s instructions, I grabbed holds right in front of me and followed the course that seemed to offer the least resistance. Climbing quickly, I took three fairly easy steps, and then … nothing. The next handhold was out of reach, and I couldn’t find a toehold. I was only 10 feet up, and my options had entirely disappeared.
Cutting through my predicament, I heard Kent’s voice from below. “Liz, I told the instructor that you are a first-time climber. He said you can start over. Come down and begin again, this time with your left foot.”
I quickly descended, thanked the instructor, and started again. This time I listened to Kent’s instructions as he directed me up the wall. Following the course he charted, I climbed, stretched, and maneuvered my way up. Nearing the top, I made a sickening discovery. The bell that from below had appeared easy to reach was actually located on an overhang.
“Liz,” Kent called, “you’re going to have to jump up to grasp that handhold to the left of the bell. With your left hand on that hold, you’ll be able to ring the bell with your right. You can do it, Liz.”
Was he crazy? If I jumped for the handhold, I would be airborne for a split second. And if I could grab the handhold by the bell, my feet would be left dangling in the air.
As I felt my fingers slipping, I realized that I needed to trust Kent’s directions. He could see the entire wall. He had watched others before me. He knew this was the only way for me to succeed. I resolved to follow his instructions and trust my guide. Jumping high, I grabbed the left handhold and reached for the bell. I’m not sure which I heard first, the bell up high or the cheers down below, but both assured me that I had succeeded.
On the climbing wall, I was given permission to try again by an understanding instructor. In life, we are given the ability to try again by an even more understanding Savior. If we repent of our errors, heed the counsel of those He has called, and keep striving upward in faith and hope, each and every one of us can reach the top and ring the victory bell.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
G. “What’s the Word of Wisdom?” Tasha asks. “It’s kind of like a health code,” you say. “It teaches us to not smoke, drink coffee, tea, beer, or wine—stuff like that. And to not do drugs.”
Julie pipes up, “It teaches us to eat fruits and vegetables and grains—you know, healthy things.”
“So do you two go to the same church?” Tasha asks. When you both nod, she looks down. “I don’t go to church, except when I visit my grandma. What do you do at your church?”
“Well,” you answer, “we have Primary every Sunday. It’s kind of like Sunday School in other churches. We have a lesson and learn about Jesus Christ. We sing songs, too, and have a lot of fun. Oh, and we have special activity days every so often.”
“Yeah,” Julie chimes in, “it’s all really neat! Would you like to come with us this Sunday?”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“We always do,” you tell her. “I’m always glad I do—it just feels right, somehow.”
Tasha shrugs. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to dress up. Sure—I’ll ask Mom if I can go.” (The End)

President Heber J. Grant once heard Bishop Millen Atwood preach a sermon in the Thirteenth Ward, “I was studying grammar at the time,” he said, “and he made some grammatical errors in his talk.
“I wrote down his first sentence, smiled to myself, and said: ‘I am going to get … enough material to last me for the entire winter in my night school grammar class.’ We had to take … four sentences a week, that were not grammatically correct, together with our corrections.
“… But I did not write anything more after that first sentence—not a word; and when Millen Atwood stopped preaching, tears were rolling down my cheeks, tears of gratitude and thanksgiving that welled up into my eyes because of the marvelous testimony which that man bore of the divine mission of Joseph Smith, the Prophet of God. …”
He continued: “Although it is now more than sixty-five years since I listened to that sermon, it is just as vivid today, and the sensations and feelings that I had are just as fixed with me, as they were the day I heard it. …
“… the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had, when proclaiming the Gospel, and not the language. … I have endeavored, from that day to this … to judge men and women by the spirit they have; for I have learned absolutely, that it is the spirit that giveth life and understanding, and not the letter—the letter killeth” (Improvement Era, Apr. 1939, p. 201).

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Saturday morning at the Cooper house
Don’t tell me Matt and Dad are still sleeping. I thought I was the lazy one on Saturdays.
Oh, they’ve already had breakfast and left. They went to see Matt’s new friend, Franco.
He has a new friend already? That’s not fair. I haven’t found any new friends yet. I wish we hadn’t moved!
We’ve only been here a week. Just give it time. You made lots of friends at your old school. You’ll make friends here too.
Remember, if you want to have a friend …
I know, I know. If you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Meanwhile, at Franco’s house …
Hi, I’m Josh Cooper.
I’m Hector Delgado.
Some of these rocks are really cool. What’s this one?
That’s a geode. Lots of them are hollow, and some have awesome crystals inside. My dad says geodes are like some people—not much to look at on the outside, but pretty cool inside.
If they’re like people, are any of these rocks musical?
What do you mean?
Because then we could have a rock concert!

Sister Beck: Last week I was shopping with my granddaughters. I noticed a sales clerk watching our fun. Later I gave her a pass-along card. She told me, “I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying to take charge, and I don’t know how.” So we talked. My closing comment to her was, “If you want this when you’re my age”—and I pointed to my little granddaughters—“you have to be really careful what you’re choosing now. The choices I made at your age determined who I am now.”

Katya listened to the sounds of the train. The iron wheels rolled with a fast, rhythmic music: clackity, clackity, clackity, clack.
The train moved quickly toward the big city of Moscow, toward the airplane that would take Katya to her new home. Soon she would be flying away from Russia, away from her school and her friends, away from her orphanage, and language, and—and everything she had always known.
Her new parents sat beside her on the train. As her new mama asked her a question in English, the interpreter translated. “Are you hungry, Katya?”
“Dah (yes),” Katya said in her quietest voice.
Her new papa pulled out a package of crackers from his travel bag. They munched in silence, their eyes meeting from time to time. Whenever Katya looked up from her cracker, she found her new mama always smiling at her. So far, their only “words” to each other were smiles and nods.
Katya wanted to ask all kinds of questions, but she was afraid. How long will it take me to speak and understand this new language? She wondered. Will my new brothers and sisters like me? Will the children in my new school make fun of me?
Through the window, the villages seemed to race by. She smoothed the skirt of her new dress, then hugged her doll closer. Filled with all her fears, she started crying softly.
She felt her mama’s hand move gently onto hers. Katya watched while her mama pulled a small tape recorder from the travel bag and turned it on. The music was gentle, and when the singing began she was glad to hear that the words were Russian.
“Ya Gospodnia dietia (I am a child of God).” She had never heard such ideas. The song continued, “And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear.”*
As Katya listened to this new song—with its ideas she had never before thought about—the words seemed to melt through her, slowly finding their way to her heart, until she felt as if her whole self, inside and out, was covered with a warm quilt.
As the music continued, she smiled at her new parents and they smiled back.
The new song had chased her fears away.

The responsibility of communication is not alone on the shoulders of parents. The youth also have a responsibility to contribute love and strength to the family organization.
I recall a stage play that recently was made into a movie. It dealt with parents whose only child, a son, returned from military service. The father and son had never been close. It was a situation in which both father and son loved each other but were unable to find ways to express themselves, and therefore hostilities arose because each thought the other did not like him. It was a breakdown of communication.
But now the son was home from the army, and things were different. The father and son began to establish a whole new relationship. The high point of the play came when the boy said to his father something like this:
“Dad, I always resented you when I was younger because you never told me that you loved me, but then I realized that I had never told you that I loved you either. Well, Dad, I’m telling you now: I love you.”
For one electrifying moment the father and son embraced each other as the pent-up love and appreciation of years came flooding out. This probably would never have happened had the son not realized that he was as guilty of lack of expression as his parents.
Loren C. DunnConference ReportApril 1969, p. 22.

Like Nephi, I was born to parents who taught me the gospel. My family had scripture study and family prayer daily. I listened as my parents testified of Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and each principle of the gospel. Because of these experiences, I never doubted that the Church was true.
But at a certain point, despite being taught the gospel and learning from the good examples of my parents, I realized that while I did not doubt the Church was true, I also did not have a burning testimony of its truthfulness. And although I had dreamed of going on a mission my whole life, I knew I would need to know for sure that the gospel was true.
Shortly before turning 18, I started to attend a ward missionary preparation class. I also started to keep a journal.
One day in the missionary preparation class, we had a lesson I will never forget. The subject was “The Book of Mormon—the Heart of Missionary Work.” The teacher showed us a video with young people throughout the world bearing their testimonies of the Book of Mormon and the experience of one young man who was undecided about going on a mission until he asked of God.
The teacher then asked us to bear our testimonies. The Spirit could not be restrained. I realized that the Book of Mormon had blessed my life. However, I also realized I had never prayed and asked God about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon or about Joseph Smith’s First Vision.
Several days later I was reading the Book of Mormon and decided to put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moroni 10:3–5). I knelt down and poured out my soul to God. I didn’t know how the answer would come or when I would receive it, but I trusted that He would make these things known unto me in His own time.
When I stood up, I felt a desire to write in my journal. I opened my journal and read the last entry, which was from the previous Sunday after my missionary preparation class. When I read my own words, which described how I had felt, a peaceful feeling came over me that took possession of my whole body. With great certainty I felt in my heart the words, “You already know; you already know.”
I knelt down again and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. I had received an answer that confirmed what I had believed my whole life.
Now I can boldly testify that Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son and that the Book of Mormon is true. Knowing that I knew, I was able to serve full-time in the Peru Piura Mission. On my mission, I saw how the Lord answers the prayers of all those who humbly seek the truth. And for this I will always be grateful.

For many years, I dreamed of serving a full-time mission. But when I returned home after university graduation, I saw how badly my family needed me. My father’s health was challenged, and the family needed financial help. As the eldest of four children, I felt I should stay home and help. Heavenly Father blessed me with a decent job. Though it didn’t pay much, it was enough to get by.
Whenever I was asked about serving a full-time mission, I answered that I would. Every time I said this, however, my mother would look at me with a mixture of excitement and sadness in her eyes. I knew that if I asked to go, she would say yes and quietly keep in her heart her apprehension of losing family income.
A few years passed, and a worthy priesthood holder asked me to marry him in the temple. I said yes, and we were later blessed with three children—two girls and one boy. One of our greatest joys was when our son left for his mission. A spirit of comfort and peace filled our home. It seemed to me that a portion of my longing to serve a mission had been filled.
I was excited when my eldest daughter said she also wanted to serve a mission. Every week in the mission field, she sent me stories of her work. Her testimony inspired me and filled me with the missionary spirit. I prayed for missionary opportunities every day.
One day, I was inspired to ask a friend through a private message on social media if she would be interested in meeting with the missionaries. She said, “Yes!” I filled out an online referral form on LDS.org, and soon the missionaries began to teach her. In three months she joined the Church. Her children followed a few months later. As the Spirit directed me, I invited other friends to listen to the missionaries. When my daughter came home, I too felt that I had completed 18 months of missionary service.
Heavenly Father knew the desires of my heart and what was best for my family and me. I am grateful He granted my desire to serve as a missionary, which had dwelt in my heart for so long.

My grandfather, Fa’alogo Tovia Fa’alogo, was a convert to the Church. Early in life he learnt about God and Jesus Christ while he was a member of the Congregational Christian Church. He passed away in 1960 aged 84, before I was born. I learnt about Grandfather from my father who took care of him, assisted by his siblings and family, until he passed away.
Grandfather learnt about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ from two missionaries. In his search for the truth, he came to know for himself that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the kingdom of God on earth and that Joseph Smith was the Lord’s revelator, the instrument through which the gospel was restored. This he believed with all his heart. In time Grandfather was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, office of elder.
In 1959, grandfather gifted to the Church, by way of declaration, part of the land belonging to the Faalogo (paramount chief) family title in the village of Paia, Savai’i. The declaration (pulefaamau) was published as required by law in Samoa’s national newspaper, called ‘Savali,’ in September 1959. The declaration was subsequently approved and registered by the Samoa Lands and Titles Court.
Part of the declaration published was “this piece of land has been set aside for religious matters and an area is made available as an access road to it for use by the congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-days Saints, that they may use it every day as needed by that Church for religious matters.” (“ua tuueseina atu e ia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau Lotu ma le avanoa o se ala e ui i ai ia aoga i le aulotu a le Ekalesia a Iesu Keriso o le Au Paia o Aso e Gata Ai ia faapea ona latou faaaogaina mo aso uma lava . . . e mana’omia pea ai e lena Ekalesia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau lotu.”) Since that time, the Church has used that land for religious matters. It now has a ward worshipping there, using the chapel, teaching areas, a cultural hall and a playing court.
I believe Grandfather knew what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints stood for and that it added great value to what he already knew about God the Eternal Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. His desire, as I learnt later, was not only to please and show his love for God but also for his family, village and community to be blessed, as well as those who may come to live there. He loved God, he loved the Church, he loved his family, and he loved his village and country. He gave up something good for something much, much better. He lived as he believed.
At the time of the declaration there were only three generations of his family in the Church, now there are six; many of them reside in foreign countries with their growing families, who serve the Lord in numerous capacities. They continue the legacy he left behind—to encourage their family to keep the two greatest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and to love thy neighbour as thyself (see Matthew 22:37, 39).
Lastly, I learnt that when Grandfather made the declaration, well before a temple was ever dreamed of in Samoa, to my mind he was essentially practicing the law of consecration. That law we have come to know so well in our temple worship and in the scriptures—knowing that the earth and all it contains belongs to God, the Creator of heaven and earth. To return a portion of it for the establishment of His kingdom seems not a sacrifice but an acknowledgment of God’s love and an expression of greater appreciation for the people and the world around us. I know Grandfather saw the hand of God touching him and his family whilst he was still living.
Grandfather reminds me of Father Lehi, when he partook of the fruit and desired for his family to do likewise, to taste of the goodness of it and to hold fast to the iron rod (See 1 Nephi 8). I am eternally grateful for Grandfather’s faith in exercising his agency to choose the right when he heard the restored gospel message and accepted it, and then he did let the consequences follow, as in the words of Choose the Right:
Choose the right when a choice is placed before you.
In the right the Holy Spirit guides;
And its light is forever shining o’er you,
When in the right your heart confides.
Choose the right! Choose the right!
Let wisdom mark the way before.
In its light, choose the right!
And God will bless you evermore.1
Grandfather’s family and village have been abundantly blessed because of his faith and trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and because of the righteous choices he made.
I pray that as we celebrate the birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ during this festive season, that we may honour His name in all that we do, just as our forefathers have done, to bless the rising and future generations, that they may come to know Him as the Saviour and Redeemer of the world, and that we all may confess Him to the world, and that He may confess us to the Father.

When I was a recent convert and living in Colombia, a very special family from my ward invited me to family home evening. It was the first time I had attended home evening, and the spirit of love and faith I found there surprised me.
Once everyone had gathered together, we had a prayer and then shared what we had done during the past week. After we talked, we had an activity.
With the lights turned off, we wrote certain phrases onto colored paper hearts. When we had all finished, we turned on the lights and displayed what we’d written. Some had done not so well, some terribly, and others like me wrote with much difficulty; I think my writing was the worst of all. Of course, the lesson was very clear: when we don’t have the light of the gospel in our lives, everything looks dark, is distorted, and difficult.
This lesson reached me deeply. And in the years since that day, I have tried to ensure my life has taken a course filled with gospel light especially so that I can be an example to my children.
Dina del Pilar Maestre, California, USA

Let me give another example from these very valleys:
Some time ago I was assigned to a conference in northern Utah in June. As I drove through Cache Valley on Saturday, I was struck by the beauty of that peaceful green valley. I marveled at the temple in Logan—such a serene, peaceful beacon in so many ways. As I continued north on that clear summer day, I was impressed with the green fields so rich with a variety of crops. I particularly noticed the great number of alfalfa fields and the constant activity in nearly all of them. What a pleasing sensation it was to smell that freshly mown hay and to see the straight rows and the orderly cutting of those meticulously groomed fields.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road at the top of one of the hills and got out. I found myself absorbed right into that beautiful valley. As far as I could see was a whole panorama of the same activity in every direction—hay being mowed and stacked and hauled.
I finally drove on to the stake where we had a wonderful conference.
My parents live in southeast Idaho, and since I was already more than halfway there, I decided to drive up Sunday afternoon to visit them before returning home.
So, after conference I started north through the rest of Cache Valley. Within a few miles I was in Idaho, but the scenery and feeling were just the same. I again became absorbed in the beauty of the green fields and the smell of fresh hay all around. Again, I stopped at the top of one of the hills and got out and looked as far as I could in all directions. It was just as beautiful—if not more so—than the day before. “Yes, even more beautiful,” I thought, “but why?” The sun and sky and the clouds and the fields were all the same. Why this deep feeling that this sight this Sunday afternoon was even more beautiful than the day before?
What was the difference? I noticed in the distance a small LDS chapel and a few cars starting to pull up to it. Then it struck me, rather peacefully but very effectively: “There is the difference. No one is mowing or hauling hay today.” I looked as far as I could and saw hay fields everywhere, tractors stopped, mowing machines idle, and trucks resting in the fields, but no one working—for it was the Sabbath and this was Cache Valley and these were largely good Latter- day Saint people.
As I continued north, I saw everywhere hay to be cut and stacked and hauled and equipment and weather to do it, but no man or woman in the fields. The people of this valley were observing a higher law, and the Sabbath was being kept holy in Cache Valley.
I went by dozens, even hundreds, of farms with machines waiting in the fields—left Saturday evening by God-fearing men waiting for Monday to come and the whine of activity to resume. I wondered to myself, “Will someone break this spell, will someone be out in his fields working?”
Each time I rounded a corner or came to the top of a hill, I would look and look and then breathe a sigh of relief—no one working.
I went farther and farther north, realizing I was near the end of this beautiful valley. “Would anyone break the spell? Could it be a whole valley so dedicated to God that no one would work on the Sabbath?” The suspense became almost unbearable. Each curve I rounded or each hill I came over found me looking in almost fearful anticipation, then smiling as the same peaceful scene continued.
Finally I came to the last curve and the confluence with the main road that marked the end of Cache Valley. I looked and looked, but all was peaceful and quiet. I was so excited, I pulled the car over, got out, and in almost a Toyota-like jump I raised my hands and shouted, “You did it, Cache Valley. You did it! I have traversed your length. You didn’t know I was looking, but you did it—not one field being mowed, not one tractor at work, not one truck hauling. You did it!” (I recognize that I had been through only the northern end of the valley that Sunday, but it was still Cache Valley.)
I instinctively looked heavenward and said, “Did you see that? Did you see Cache Valley this Sunday afternoon?”
Even though I didn’t hear anything, it was as though I sensed a response saying, “Yes, we know. We see everything.”
I had such a joyful feeling—almost ecstasy—as I drove north to a wonderful meeting with my parents before returning home.
For some time after that, I couldn’t get that Sunday afternoon off my mind. I kept feeling, “You have observed and witnessed something very special, something truly significant: an entire valley keeping His Sabbath holy.”
It caused me deep reflection then and many times since, but like so many things it was moved further and further to the back of my mind with the press of many current problems. Winter came, and for all intents and purposes it slipped from my conscious memory.
I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked onto a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.
Oh, my dear brothers and sisters, there is power in keeping the Sabbath day holy—power to help others as well as ourselves. If we would have God’s blessings and protection as individuals, as families, as communities, and as nations, we must keep His Sabbath day holy.
May we all live that someday, someway, somewhere, somehow, as we face that which is very serious, we may be able to say, “Hold, hold, hold”; and, when challenged as to why (even by ourselves), be able—through obedience and the confidence of the Spirit—to say in our own way, “For I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon,” I do humbly pray in the name of our Savior, who lives. I know he lives, even Jesus Christ, amen.

As a child, Isaiah John attended the Pentecostal church with his mother. At a certain point, he went to live with his brother in Monrovia. He continued attending the Pentecostal church after his move. One day he met a missionary who asked him about his beliefs and then asked him if he would be willing to visit The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Isaiah agreed. Right away he noticed a difference that he liked and that felt good. Isaiah began taking the lessons and prayed about what he should do. He wanted to do the right thing. He was baptized in October 2018. Isaiah was so happy to be baptized and confirmed. He was grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost.
His mother came to visit and asked Isaiah if he was still going to church. He said “Yes, but not to the Pentecostal church”.
Isaiah said he will never forget what she said to him: “Brother Isaiah, do you know that the Church you are going to is a perfect church that has embraced the gospel of Jesus?”
He replied, “Yes, mom, I love the Church” and he explained that at church they talk about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, and they teach how to live. Before she died in 2022, she told him to continue attending his church if he knew it was true, which made him very happy.

One night as I lay sleepless, feeling discouraged and very much alone, I remembered a scripture in John where the Savior had promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless. I turned on the light, reached for my Bible, and opened it to chapter 14. At the end of verse 26 I paused, then reread that verse [John 14:26]: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things.”
Those words provided the first ray of hope I had felt in months. My husband, Glenn, was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s disease, for which there is no known cure. Alzheimer’s disease affects the central nervous system which, over a period of months or years, decreases one’s mental and physical abilities.
Glenn was a fine and righteous man before he became ill. We had looked forward to many happy years of church service together and the opportunity of serving a mission. But as his condition worsened, Glenn was forced to quit all activities that required him to think. He gave up his church callings, he quit reading, quit doing the things he liked to do, and even quit watching television. Eventually he even began to get lost when he was out walking and could no longer go anywhere alone.
Unable to keep himself busy, Glenn became restless and continually depended on me to do something with him or take him somewhere. I spent all my time with him.
The problems of caring for my husband increased steadily. Alzheimer patients often become difficult to take care of. Glenn began to refuse my help. It became impossible to reason with him, because by then he had lost the ability to talk and understand language. Our days became long struggles of getting through washing, dressing, shaving. My feelings were divided between impatience—even anger—and deep compassion for my helpless husband. In spite of all the problems, I wanted to care for him myself. But I needed to learn how to care for him, and I knew I needed more help that I could get from any other earthly source. I did not know how to help him until I read that passage of scripture in John.
I had never thought of the Holy Ghost as a teacher. I had prayed continually for the strength to care for Glenn, but up until then I had relied on my own wisdom. Now a scripture showed me the way to go beyond my finite capabilities. My heart went out to others in similar circumstances who must provide constant care for the sick or the elderly. I hoped that they could come to know of the divine help available to them if they would just reach out.
Since that sleepless night when I was guided to read the Savior’s loving words, I have turned to the Lord for help, and the Holy Ghost has been like a living presence by my side, comforting and teaching me how to care for my husband. Although Glenn behaves mentally and physically like an infant now, I am at peace. My heart is not troubled by the present, nor am I afraid of the future. I know the Holy Ghost will comfort and guide me. My life has meaning. I am serving the Lord by caring for one of his helpless children.

“Class, I have a surprise for you,” Mrs. Taylor said as she walked to the front of the room.
Evelyn looked up from her test, grinning. There was a big “A+” at the top.
“You all did so well on your tests that tomorrow we’ll watch a movie as a reward,” Mrs. Taylor said, writing three movie titles on the board. “Here are the options we can vote on,” she said over everyone’s cheers.
Evelyn bounced in her seat, trying to see what the titles were. The first two movies were some of her favorites. She leaned over to her friend Katy. “Which one are you going to vote for?”
“Definitely number three,” Katy said. “My parents wouldn’t let us watch it at home, so I never got to see it.”
Evelyn looked at the board again and saw the name of the third movie. Her heart started to pound. Evelyn had heard of this movie, and she knew it was one she wouldn’t feel right about watching. What if her class voted for it?
“Who would like to vote for option one?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
Evelyn stretched her hand high and looked around. She bit her lip nervously. Only two other people were voting.
Mrs. Taylor made tally marks on the board. “Option two?”
Evelyn’s heart sank. Only three hands went up.
“And option three?”
Fifteen hands shot up. Evelyn slumped down in her seat, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. How could she get out of watching that movie if everyone else wanted to?
When she got home, Evelyn went straight to her room and let her backpack fall to the floor with a heavy thunk. The sick feeling had stuck with her the entire day. “I wish I actually could be sick,” she thought. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to school tomorrow.”
Evelyn pulled her test out of her backpack and stared at it, clutching it in her hands. “The movie was supposed to be a reward, not a punishment!” she thought, angrily crumpling the test up and stuffing it under her bed. Tears welled up in her eyes. She knelt by her bed and started to cry. Then she started to pray. She choked out a few tangled sentences, asking Heavenly Father to take the problem away, but after a while her prayer changed. “Please help me to make this better. I don’t want to see a movie that will make me feel bad, and I hope that my friends and teacher will understand.”
Evelyn finished her prayer. The trembling, sick feeling had disappeared. She didn’t even feel afraid anymore.
Jumping to her feet, Evelyn raced out of her room to find Mom. She had an idea.
The next day, Evelyn walked into class. In one hand she held a note from Mom explaining how watching the movie would make Evelyn feel uncomfortable. In the other hand she carried three of her favorite movies. Evelyn handed the note to Mrs. Taylor and watched her read it.
“Thank you for letting me know how you feel,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“My mom says it’s OK for me to go sit in with another class while the movie is playing,” Evelyn said. “But I also brought some other movies in case everyone would like to watch one of them instead.”
Mrs. Taylor smiled and reached for the stack of movies. “A movie is not much of a reward if we can’t all enjoy it,” she said.
Mrs. Taylor wrote the new titles on the board. “Class, I’d like to vote again on the movie for today. I have some new options for you.”
Evelyn went and sat at her desk, happy she wouldn’t have to miss out on the class reward. But the best reward of all was knowing that Heavenly Father had taken away her fear and given her courage to do what was right.

Over 25 years ago, while serving as bishop of the Aix-en-Provence Ward and working for Seminaries and Institutes, I met Sophronia, who had come from Tahiti to study in France. She was a young adult with solid gospel knowledge, having grown up in the Church. It was therefore disconcerting when she came into my office to announce she would no longer be attending church. I hoped it would be temporary but, indeed, she carried out her wish, and I never saw her again. For more than 20 years, Sophronia led a life distant from the gospel.
In 2024, when my wife and I arrived on our mission in Tahiti, we were delighted to see her again—and even happier to learn she had returned to the Church two years earlier. She shared what prompted her return:
“You have to know that throughout my time away from the Church, I kept my testimony of the gospel and had a deep desire for my daughter, Kahaili, to grow up as I had—in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted her to know that God lives, that He loves her, and that He has a plan for her to return to live with Him and her family if she kept His commandments. Yet I didn’t want to return to church myself. Quite contradictory, wasn’t it?
“Kahaili occasionally attended meetings with my mother, but this sporadic attendance wouldn’t adequately prepare her for baptism. In 2022, when Kahaili was six and a half, I realized we only had a year and a half to prepare. I say ‘we’ because this process meant I would have to become involved personally, not relying on my mother or anyone else.
“I asked her, ‘Kahaili, do you want to be baptized when you turn eight?’
“Without hesitation, she replied, ‘Yes, Mom, I want to be baptized!’
“Her enthusiasm amazed me, and in that outpouring of fervor, I found the courage to make the sacrifice and return to church.
“We attended that first Sunday alone. But soon after, my husband, Cyril (although not a member of the Church), joined us, feeling his place was with us. When Kahaili expressed her desire for her father to baptize her, I responded with a forced smile, ‘Well, ask your daddy. You never know!’—not believing for a moment it could happen. Her father replied, ‘If I can, my daughter, I will.’”
The Lord then intervened in Cyril’s life. His conversion came through reading Ether 12:4: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
This scripture about hope becoming an anchor resonated deeply with Cyril as he recalled nearly drowning in the Tuamotus lagoon years earlier. While he was fishing, his boat had drifted away when its anchor came loose. Despite swimming desperately to catch up, he grew exhausted. Miraculously, the boat’s anchor caught on a coral formation, stopping the boat so he could reach it. Cyril still describes this as a miracle that saved his life.
Like a rebirth, Cyril was baptized on March 28, 2024—his 50th birthday. The following month, he baptized Kahaili. The crowning moment came on April 12, 2025, when Sophronia, Cyril, and Kahaili were sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. We had the privilege of attending this sacred ceremony.
I share this story to testify that there is always hope when family members stray from the Church. Even if it takes a quarter century, through faith in Jesus Christ, a miracle is always possible.

A caravan is like a camper or RV.
One Easter holiday I went to Scotland with my mum, my two sisters, and my grandparents. We stayed in a caravan just a few metres away from a large field with trees and some friendly horses. Every day my sisters and I would go and feed the horses. It was fun. Mum didn’t mind because she could see us and knew we were safe.
One day, though, I went on my own to the play area, which was quite far from our caravan. Mum had told me to never go there on my own, but I went anyway.
When I finished playing, I started back towards the caravan, but I didn’t know which way to go. All the caravans looked the same. I walked all over the place but could not find my way; every way seemed to be a dead end with bushes. What I did not know was that my mum and granddad were looking all over for me and getting worried.
After a while I was very frightened, so I thought to myself, I should pray to my Heavenly Father. After I finished my prayer, I knew I had to go through the bushes. I pushed through them and could see the trees up ahead and knew that was where the field and horses were. I knew I was near the caravan and ran as fast as I could. I said another prayer thanking my Heavenly Father for showing me the way back.
When I got back, my mum and granddad were still looking for me. They were so pleased to see me. They hugged me, and I told them what happened. They were cross because I had gone away but very happy I had prayed when I was lost and afraid.

I remember an incident in my home growing up when my mother’s sensitive spirit was affected by a physical indulgence. She had experimented with a new sweet roll recipe. They were big and rich and yummy—and very filling. Even my teenage brothers couldn’t eat more than one. That night at family prayer my father called upon Mom to pray. She buried her head and didn’t respond. He gently prodded her, “Is something wrong?” Finally she said, “I don’t feel very spiritual tonight. I just ate three of those rich sweet rolls.” I suppose that many of us have similarly offended our spirits at times by physical indulgences. Especially substances forbidden in the Word of Wisdom have a harmful effect on our bodies and a numbing influence on our spiritual sensitivities. None of us can ignore this connection of our spirits and bodies.

Take 60 young men and women from the Emerson Second Ward, Paul Idaho Stake, get them singing, and what do you have? Not only lovely music, but a unified ward, too. In an activity that 100 percent of the ward’s young people participated in, they presented a sacrament meeting of music and talks. Most of them had never sung in four-part harmony before, and the ward’s 35-mile boundaries made it difficult for some to attend rehearsals, but it was well worth the effort. “I think Heavenly Father really helped us to sing our best,” said Paula Gibbons, one of the singers. “I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.