Gospel Story Finder

Every year it was the same. They drove from their home in Ohio to attend the family reunion in Utah, stayed a few days, then drove back again.
By the time Bryan was 17, he thought he was bored with it all. He pleaded with his parents to let him stay home and work, but they said it just wouldn’t be the same without him. So he came to yet another family reunion.
The reunion was held at his grandparents’ farm in northern Utah. Their family was given use of a camp trailer that an uncle who lived in town had made available for the reunion.
The morning after they arrived Bryan got up early and watched families as they went about the business of making do. The farmyard looked like it had been invaded by a band of gypsies. There were trailers, tents, and camper-trailers everywhere. Inside his grandparents’ home, kids were sprawled asleep on the floor in every room.
There was a girl his age sitting under a tree reading a book. He recognized her from the reunion two years ago but couldn’t remember her name.
He walked up to her. "Hi. We must be cousins, right?"
She looked like she’d made up her mind to have a miserable time at the reunion. "Do we have to be?"
"Well, this is a family reunion, which means that you’re either a cousin or an aunt. But if you’re an aunt, why haven’t you been sending me Christmas presents every year?"
"Because I’m not Santa Claus."
This was going to be a little tough.
"I see that you and I share the family nose," he said. "How’s it been working for you?"
She was still trying to be grumpy, but Bryan caught a faint smile. "Not very well today," she said. "Usually I can smell a rat."
"Hey, I’m the future of America."
"That’s it. I’m moving to Canada."
He studied her face. "Where did you get your eyes? They’re supposed to be blue. Yours are brown. Are you an imposter?" He sat down next to her. "What grade are you in?"
"I’ll be a junior," she said.
"I’ll be a senior, so I’m older and wiser." He patted her on the head. Then, trying to sound like one of his uncles, he added jokingly, "You know, I remember you when you were just this high."
She closed her book with a smile. "I’m not going to get much reading done with you around, am I?"
"Not much. But, hey, talking to me is a lot better than reading a book. My name’s Bryan. What’s yours? You weren’t at last year’s reunion. How are we related?"
"I had to work during last year’s reunion. My name is Kim. I’m your mother’s Aunt Ruth’s granddaughter if you want to locate me on your family group sheet."
"Aunt Ruth—is she the one who makes fruitcakes for Christmas and sends ’em out to everyone in the family?"
"No. That’s Aunt Melba. What do you do with yours? We store ours in the freezer for a year and then throw it out."
"We usually give ours to the home teachers."
"And they keep coming?"
He paused. "Let me guess—you weren’t too thrilled about coming to the reunion."
"Right. All I ever do at these things is stand around and watch my chubby uncles make fools of themselves playing softball. Two days of that is enough to drive anyone crazy."
"This year you’re in luck. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her to a standing position.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"On a family reunion search for adventure."
"Why don’t we just go in Grandma and Grandpa’s house?" she replied. "It’s getting hot out here already, and there isn’t a lot of shade."
Inside the house he pointed to the fruit room just off the kitchen. It smelled of mildew.
"They say there’s a teenage girl buried in there," he spoke eerily. "She died when she was 16. Sometimes at night she walks the halls crying out for a driver’s license. It’s so sad."
Several younger cousins, still lying on the living room floor trying to wake up for the day, looked around to see who was waking them.
Kim giggled. "Quit teasing," she whispered. "Why did you drag me in here anyway?"
"I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, you dragged me in, didn’t you?"
"You’re crazy."
"I suppose that’s a possibility." He walked to the fruit shelves and looked around. "Want to try some peaches canned ten years ago? They’ve been known to cause insanity."
They found a stack of old magazines, some going back 40 years. He set up a couple of rickety folding chairs and talked her into glancing through them with him.
A few minutes later they went back into the kitchen for some cookies and two glasses of milk.
"This will spoil your supper," he said.
"If last night’s supper is anything like what it’ll be tonight, I hope it does."
They began to show each other interesting things they were reading.
"Look at this girl," he said, showing her a picture of a fashion model.
"Woman, you mean," Kim corrected. "What about her?"
He checked the cover to find out when the magazine was printed. "Now she’s 46 years old. I wonder if she ever looks at this picture and gets depressed because she doesn’t look this way anymore. Or if she ever has any regrets."
"What kind of regrets?"
"About how her life turned out?"
Kim stood up. "Let’s go outside, okay? This place is getting to me."
They decided to go for a walk. There were cousins and aunts and uncles everywhere. Near the top of a hill they stopped to rest. He found himself staring at her face.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"You know what? If I were a girl, I’d want to look just like you."
She appreciated the compliment. "You would, huh?"
"You bet. And I probably would too." He started speaking in a high-pitched nasal tone. ‘That’s because we’re like two peas in a pod.’ I heard Aunt Melba say that once. Well anyway, we are a lot alike, coming from the same ancestors and all. Same eyes, except yours are the wrong color. Same nose, same double-jointed wrists, same crazy sense of humor …"
"Same humility," she teased.
"Well, yeah, that too."
At lunch Aunt Melba announced that the family variety show would be held that night. She invited anyone who wanted to show off their talents to sign up. Usually the same people volunteered every year. Bryan asked Kim if she wanted to go in with him on a skit, but she said no.
After lunch Bryan and Kim played volleyball with a whole group of relatives, but she quit after a while because one of the uncles kept running in front of her to take any ball heading her direction.
They decided to take another walk. "Can I talk to you about something?" she finally said after a few minutes.
"Sure."
"There’s this guy I’ve been going with," she began. "His name is Rob. He just graduated from high school." She paused. "My parents don’t like him very much."
"Why not?"
"Well, he doesn’t go to church much. And he drinks once in a while, not much now though because I got him to cut down. We haven’t done anything bad. And I think I can get him to come back into the Church. But now he’s going into the army on Monday, so this family reunion couldn’t have come at a worse time. I tried to talk my parents out of making me come up here, but they said I had to." She paused. "The thing is, my parents don’t know this, but Rob’s driving up here tonight."
Bryan smiled. "Oh good. He’ll be just in time to see the variety show. It’s so seldom you get to hear Uncle Harold play Lady of Spain on an accordion. Just once a year since we were little kids, that’s all. It should be a real treat for Rob. I know it will be for me."
"Rob doesn’t even like being around my family. He wants me to go away with him."
"Are you going to do that?"
"What do you think I should do?"
"If you went away with Rob, how long would you be gone?"
"I might be gone a long time."
Bryan swallowed. "You mean like all night?"
"Yes."
"You must really think you love him a lot."
"What do you mean, ‘think?’ I know I love him."
"Enough to go against what you’ve been taught all your life?"
She sighed. "I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"When is Rob coming?"
"Around eight o’clock. He told me to meet him at the old schoolhouse. At the crossroads."
"What about your parents? They’ll be wondering where you are after the variety show."
"I’ll tell them I’ve decided to sleep in the TV room in the house. There’s so many cousins packed in there I don’t think my parents will notice I’m gone." She paused. "Rob’s been really patient with me, but with him going away, well …" She stopped talking. "I really do love him, you know. I really do."
They walked back. Aunt Melba saw them and came after them. "I’ve been looking for you two. I need someone to read the family history."
"Why do we do that every year?" Bryan asked.
"It’s one of our family traditions. Kim, will you read it for us this year?"
"I’d rather not." She glanced at Bryan to help her out.
"I’ll do it," Bryan said.
"Oh, good," Aunt Melba said enthusiastically. "This year try putting expression into it. Last year it was done in such a monotone it put everyone to sleep." She handed him several pages then turned to Kim. "Kim, what do we have you doing for the variety show?"
"Nothing, but that’s okay. Excuse me now. I have to run an errand for my mom." She left.
Aunt Melba made Bryan practice reading the family history for her once to make sure he’d do it right. As soon as she was finished with him, he went to the camping trailer Kim’s family was staying in. He knocked on the door. Kim was there. She came outside.
"I thought Aunt Melba was never going to let me go," he said. "What are you doing?"
"Packing a few things, for tonight."
"Kim, I’ve been thinking."
"I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve decided to go with Rob."
He sighed. "Oh."
"You won’t tell on me, will you?"
He touched her arm. "Don’t do it, Kim."
"Excuse me. I’ve got to go back in and finish packing before my parents come out."
He tried to think of what to say that would help her change her mind, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He looked at the family history he was carrying.
"If I wait until you come back to the house, will you at least listen to me practice reading the family history? Aunt Melba made me promise to practice it in front of someone."
A few minutes later, they met again in their grandparents’ kitchen. She was carrying a small suitcase that she placed in the corner. She took a seat at the table.
Despite the noise from the TV room, he began.
"We are all privileged to belong to a wonderful family. Genealogical research has so far traced our ancestors back to the 16th century, and further research continues to push back the sands of time.
"As far as the branch of the family which belongs to the Church goes, that began a few years after the Church was organized, when a 16-year-old apprentice shoemaker in Scotland heard two Mormon missionaries. He knew from the very beginning that what he heard was the truth. He wrote to his parents and asked for permission to be baptized. They wrote back and said that if he joined the Church, he would no longer be considered a member of the family. The man he worked for told him that if he joined the Church, he could no longer work for him.
"What a difficult choice for a 16-year-old boy to make. He must have agonized over the decision. To lose everything considered of value in life—his family and a chance to earn an income.
"If he had chosen to reject the gospel, this family would not be meeting here this year, all of us members of the Church, all of us committed to upholding the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
"Every person at some time in his or her life must make the same kind of decision. Each of us must decide, once and for all; we must say to ourselves, ‘This is who I am, and these are the standards I live by.’ Until we do that, we are continually tossed to and fro, not knowing what to do when we face difficult decisions.
"Archibald McKinnon made the decision to join the Church. He came to America and crossed the plains with a handcart company. In time he married a beautiful young woman in the Manti Temple, and from their union, all of us have descended.
"And now for the news of the family during the past year. We are proud to have six of our family serving in the mission field. Last year Matthew and Cathy returned home from their missions. We have three young men who will be leaving before we meet next year.
Bryan continued. ‘We are proud so many of our family choose to live worthily of temple blessings. Last year we had 12 temple marriages, and 16 others who went through the temple for their own endowments. Genealogical research continues to be well supported through our family trust which so many of you help support each month. We had four of our young men earn their Eagle Scout Awards this year, bringing the total to 79 over the years.
"In conclusion we have a heritage and a tradition in our family. This is our family. It goes on forever, both into the future and back into the past, and all of us are grateful for the decision of a 16-year-old boy who had a difficult choice to make. And we’re grateful he made it in such a way that it blessed the lives of all of us here today.’"
Bryan looked up. Kim was crying softly. She looked awful. "I don’t appreciate you preaching to me. You’ve never been in love like I am, so you don’t know what it’s like."
"Maybe not, but I know when I do something wrong I always end up feeling bad about it."
"Just go away, will you? I don’t need you telling me how to run my life." She got up and walked out the door. He tried to follow her but she waved him away.
He returned to the volleyball game, trying to figure out when and how to talk to her parents. He quit playing and went looking for them, but in the few minutes before the show, he couldn’t find them anywhere. Then just before the variety show began, Kim came up to him and asked him if he’d walk with her to the crossroads.
"Why?" he asked.
"I need to talk to you."
They walked along a well-worn path. "Our parents used to walk this way to school every day," she said.
"Yeah, right. And from the way my dad tells it, he had to walk through three feet of snow, uphill both directions."
Her voice became serious.
"I’m going to try to talk Rob into staying at the family reunion tonight."
"Oh. That’s good, Kim."
They climbed to the top of a hill, to where they could see the old schoolhouse at the crossroads. Rob’s car was already there.
"Maybe you’d better stay here," she said.
Bryan sat down and watched her walk the rest of the way to the school. It suddenly dawned on him that she wasn’t carrying her suitcase.
"I’m glad you came," Rob said when Kim arrived.
"I’m not going away with you tonight."
"Why not?"
"It’s not right."
"Kim, we’ve been through all this before. You love me, don’t you?"
"Yes."
"Then what’s the problem?"
She paused before saying anything. "My great-great-grandfather joined the Church when he was just 16. Because of that his family disowned him and he lost his job as a shoemaker. He came across the ocean in a boat without any relatives to help him, and crossed the plains in a handcart."
"I don’t care about any of that."
"I know you don’t, but for the first time in my life I think I do."
"Kim, if you don’t come with me tonight, it’s all over between us."
She closed her eyes. "That’s not fair, Rob. We can be together tonight, but not in the way you mean it. Come with me to my family reunion. There’s going to be a talent show and refreshments."
"Kim, get serious. This is my last night. I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of your relatives. I want to be with you."
"After the talent show, we can take a walk together."
"You know what I mean."
"Rob, I can’t go against what I’ve been taught all my life."
"Why not?"
"Because I’ve got to keep the temple in sight. I know you think it’s not important, but I want to be married there. Please come with me to the reunion."
"You’re hopeless," he said. He got in his car, slammed the door and drove away.
Kim began sobbing. Bryan hurried down the hill.
"That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do," Kim said between sobs.
"I know. Are you okay?" He put his arm around her shoulders, to let her know she’d be all right.
"I’ll survive," she said. "Besides, you’d have told my parents anyway."
As they made their way along the path their parents had walked as children, they could hear the strains of Lady of Spain being played on the accordion. For the first time either of them could remember, it sounded good.
And they had to hurry back. It was Bryan’s turn to read the family history to everyone.

Locker Room Prayers—I asked Coach Landrum tonight if we could have prayer before our football games. We all just repeated the Lord’s Prayer, but we are united as a team. We don’t pray to win but to have the strength to be men on the field—using good sportsmanship, wishing no physical injury to either team, winning in the column of character and determination.
A Later Note: I played on many winning teams in elementary and high school. Never did I play on a team as united, as spirited, as our football team this year. It may be secondary that this was the first unbeaten, untied football season in our school’s history.

Once, as I sat by my father’s bedside through the night, he talked about his childhood. He spoke of the love of his parents in difficult times and of the love of his Heavenly Father and the Savior. I knew he was dying of cancer, so it did not surprise me that at times he mixed up his feelings for his Heavenly Father with the love and kindness of his earthly father. My father had often said that when he prayed, he thought he could see in his mind the smile of Heavenly Father.
His parents had taught him by example to pray as if he spoke to God and that God would answer him in love. He needed that example to the end. When the pain became intense, we found him in the morning on his knees by the bed. He had been too weak to get back into bed. He told us he had been praying to ask his Heavenly Father why he had to suffer so much when he had always tried to be good. He said a kindly answer came: “God needs brave sons.”
And so he soldiered on to the end, trusting that God loved him, listened to him, and would lift him up. He was blessed to have known early and to never forget that a loving God is as close as a prayer.

It was the last of February in 1923, and the wintry wind rustled the curtains as it forced itself through a crack in my frozen window sill. Poking my head out from under the heavy feather tick quilt, I watched my breath turn into a misty, cold fog.
Last night we had finished the last of the potatoes, and Mom had told us that there wasn’t any more flour to make bread and that we’d have no more to eat until noon today. All we had left in our food storage were carrots and bottled tomatoes, so I knew it was going to be a long day.
I heard muffled voices. That meant that Mom and Dad were up and that a fire would be going in the kitchen stove. That’s the only room we could afford to heat this winter. At least I could get warm. I shivered once, pushed the heavy quilt aside, jumped into my clothes, and made a dash for the stairs. It took no more than a few seconds to reach the warm kitchen, but I was shaking from the cold before I got there.
“Well, good morning, sleepyhead. It’s already ten o’clock,” Mom greeted me, smiling. She always smiled, even when things weren’t going well. This had been one of those not-going-well winters. Dad had only been able to work a month since last November, and he’d earned only thirty dollars all winter.
My three brothers and two sisters were already nestled around the small potbellied stove. I was so cold that I wanted to hug the stove, but I settled for huddling near it and holding my hands out to its warmth. Mom and Dad were sitting across from each other at the wooden table, talking quietly.
“No, we’re going to pay it,” I heard Dad say in a low voice. “It’s not ours, and it isn’t right that we use it.”
“But, Ray, the children,” Mom said pleadingly.
“The Lord will provide, Sarah,” Dad said reassuringly. “We have to trust Him.”
I stood and looked over Dad’s shoulder. On the table were three dollars—enough to buy flour, potatoes, and even a little meat!
“Wow!” I blurted out. “With all that money we can eat again! We won’t have to eat those crummy canned tomatoes today.”
That was a mistake.
“Son, that’s tithing money,” Dad said. “It’s not ours; it’s the Lord’s. I planned to give it to the bishop long ago, but it slipped into the lining of my jacket, and I didn’t find it until this morning. I’ve been worrying about how to replace it, but now I can take it to the bishop today.”
“But, Dad!” I protested.
That was a mistake too. I got the lecture of my life on tithing. I’d heard it all before, but I got the whole sermon about how the Lord requires a tenth of our earnings, how it’s not really ours, and how if we pay the Lord first, He’ll provide for us. But my stomach just wouldn’t let me forget what that three dollars could buy and how that food would taste. I tried to reason with my father: “The Lord loves us doesn’t He, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t want us to starve to death, does He?”
Dad didn’t respond, so I gathered courage and continued. “Wouldn’t He understand if we used the tithing money this time? We could pay it back when you get more work.”
Dad looked at me for what seemed like hours. Finally he said, “Son, the Lord will provide. Three dollars won’t buy very much food, but it will provide a lot of blessings.” That was it. No more arguments. The tithing would be paid.
There were a few silent minutes before Dad got up, put on his coat, and handed me mine. “Thomas,” he said, “I’d like you to go with me to see Bishop Rawlings.”
The winter wind bit into my face as we trudged to Bishop Rawlings’s house. We walked in silence except for the occasional growling of my stomach. I knew Dad was trying to teach me something, but my stomach wasn’t cooperating.
When we reached the small white frame house, we were greeted cordially by the bishop. I felt the warm glow of a fire as we stepped inside the house. Dad and the bishop talked for a minute, then tears welled up in my eyes as I watched Dad give him the three dollars.
Sister Rawlings appeared in the kitchen doorway with bread dough on her hands. “Brother Brown,” she said, “could you wait for a loaf of this bread I’m baking? It’s a new recipe, and I’m anxious to see if your family likes it as much as we do.”
“Thank you, Sister Rawlings,” Dad said. “We need to get right home now, because Sarah will have dinner waiting. But if you’d like, Thomas will be glad to run back for it later.”
The cold wind stung even harder as we headed for home and the tomato-and-carrot dinner. A loaf of bread was not my idea of the Lord’s providing. As if he knew what I was thinking, Dad stopped and put a hand on my shoulder. His other hand wiped the tears from my eyes. “Thomas, the Lord will provide,” he said.
Dad was right, I knew. And though it’s hard to trust in the Lord when your stomach’s empty, I decided to give Him a chance. I walked with my shoulders straight and told myself, The Lord will provide!
We were passing Harland’s Market, about three blocks from home, when we met Mr. Gates. “Ray,” he said, greeting my father. “I’m glad to see you.”
Dad and Mr. Gates spoke for a bit about old times; then Mr. Gates said, “Ray, here’s the ten dollars I owe you.” I watched as he handed my father a shiny ten-dollar gold piece!
“What’s this for, Lee?”
“Three years ago, when I was in need, you gave me ten dollars,” Mr. Gates said. “Now I can pay you back.”
I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. All I could do was stare at the ten-dollar gold piece that Dad was holding.
When Mr. Gates finally left, Dad placed the shiny coin in the palm of my hand. “Would you like to do some shopping before we go home?” he asked, smiling. “I guess Heavenly Father thinks we should have something more than carrots and canned tomatoes for dinner. What do you think?”
My stomach rumbled happily as we turned into Harland’s Market.

I saw signs that I was attracted to other women when I was quite young, but I tried to push those feelings away for years.
A few summers ago, I developed feelings for a woman who is also gay. This was something that I had never experienced before, and I spent weeks praying to know what God wanted me to do about this relationship.
With everything I’ve been taught about the gospel, God’s will probably should have been obvious to me, but because of my feelings, it wasn’t. My feelings for this woman were real, powerful, and so important to me.
I was in turmoil for weeks. I expected the answer to my prayers to be obvious. But instead, I felt very distinctly that Heavenly Father was inviting me to use my agency to decide to follow Him.
For years, I had blamed God for all that was missing in my life—for everything I seemingly couldn’t do. I felt like a martyr as I kept His commandments, like I was meant to suffer alone through mortality. But as I grappled with my feelings for this woman, I eventually realized that I have always had the power to choose how to live my life—agency is one of Heavenly Father’s most powerful gifts to us.
I truly loved and cared for this woman. But those feelings didn’t weigh as much as my teaspoon of faith in the truth that Heavenly Father wanted me to choose a different path.
And it was that small, imperfect teaspoon of faith that enabled me to choose Christ.
I was devastated after I made my decision to end this relationship, and frankly, I am still healing from the heartbreak. But looking back, and after many moments of pondering and prayer, I’ve realized that Heavenly Father would have loved me whether I chose to keep my covenants or pursue a same-sex relationship. But because I chose to keep my covenants, He has been able to love and bless me.
As I have deepened my faith and commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ, mountains in my life are being moved, one pebble at a time, just as President Nelson promised:
My family relationships have deepened and are full of honesty, vulnerability, compassion, and trust.
My negative self-image is improving one day at a time.
My ability to love others, love myself, and feel loved is being augmented daily.
My love of the gospel has increased.
My eyes have been opened to how much Heavenly Father wants to bless me each day.
I don’t know what to expect about my attraction to women. I don’t know if it will change or what is in store for me in that experience. But I truly believe that as I embrace the fulness of the gospel, I will be given the opportunity to marry a man whom I love in the temple one day. That is a desire I have for my future. Right now, marriage still seems scary, but with faith in Christ, I am preparing for this mountain to be moved. I know that as I keep my covenants, Heavenly Father will pave my path with wonderful experiences.

Last summer I took a ballet class. I enjoyed seeing my friends there. We practiced for months for a Christmas dance. When December finally came, I was so excited to perform our dance. But two weeks before the performance, our teacher told my mom that it would be on a Sunday. When Mom told me, I said I would not go. I was sad that I would not be able to perform in our Christmas dance, but I was happy that I chose the right.

To help supplement the family income, young Joseph and others of the family went to work as day laborers from time to time. In October 1825 Joseph went to work for Josiah Stowell of Bainbridge, New York, who directed his employees to dig for treasure supposedly buried in the abandoned Spanish silver mine. Joseph finally convinced Stowell to give up the fruitless search, but the young man’s participation soon prompted rumors that he possessed psychic powers to locate buried treasure. The incident is significant because there resulted the first of a long line of legal challenges Joseph Smith faced at the hands of those who tried to discredit him.

It was a sweaty Sunday afternoon, and the chapel was stifling. My wife was wrestling with the kids to keep them reverent, and I was wrestling with my eyelids to keep them open. We were both losing.
The speaker didn’t help me any in my fight against sacrament meeting slumber. He was a typical youth speaker, and he followed the pattern of most youth speakers in our ward—he read to us from the book Especially for Mormons.
As he droned on, my wife and I both surrendered: she took the kids out to the foyer, and I decided to grab some shut-eye. I assumed sacrament sleep position number one: weight forward, elbows on knees, head down, face in hands, and soon I was dozing comfortably.
Maybe I was too comfortable or maybe somebody poked me awake—it’s happened before. At any rate, my head slipped out of my hands and “thwap!” my forehead cracked the bench in front of me.
I don’t normally have such headaches in sacrament meeting, but a dull speaker and a stuffy chapel almost always make me drowsy.

Julia Mavimbela’s life suddenly changed in 1955 when her husband, John, was killed in an automobile accident. Evidence at the scene suggested that the other person involved, a white man, had veered into John’s lane. Yet that man was not ruled at fault. Rather, white police officers said that blacks are poor drivers, so John was responsible for the crash.1

On her husband’s tombstone, Julia inscribed these words:
In loving memory of
John Phillip Corlie Mavimbela.
By his wife and relatives.
But the lump remains.
May his soul rest in peace.

Describing the fourth line, Julia said, “At the time of writing, the lump that remained was one of hatred and bitterness—for the man who caused the accident, for the policemen who lied, [and] for the court who deemed my husband responsible for the accident that took his life.”2 One of her greatest trials was to overcome this bitterness and anger.

For a Long time, I wasn’t really good at praying to my Heavenly Father. I was either too tired or would forget. Finally, for a Personal Progress experience, I challenged myself to start praying every night and every morning. I was doing really well and felt good too. I was waiting for some big moment to prove that God answered my prayers. That moment never came for me, but I did see God answer my little sister’s prayer.
That weekend was the Daddy-Daughter dance, and she was really excited. A couple of days before the dance, my stepdad called and said that his work schedule had changed, causing him to miss the dance. My little sister was devastated and my stepdad even cried when he gave the news.
But our sadness didn’t last long. The next day, he called back to say that because of the incoming snowstorm he could come home and go to the dance! My little sister’s eyes lit up with happiness as she said, “Whoa! I prayed last night that Daddy could make it to the dance!”
That night, I prayed to Heavenly Father and thanked Him for being there for my sister and my family. I learned that God does answer our prayers, although it may not be exactly when and how we want them answered. He wants us to be happy. He loves us! He promises to help and remember us. And it’s our part to remember Him.
Katie W., Washington, USA

In 1981, my father, two close friends, and I went on an adventure in Alaska. We were to land on a remote lake and climb to some beautiful high country. In order to reduce the load we would have to personally carry, we wrapped our supplies in boxes, covered them with foam, attached large colored streamers, and threw them out the window of our bush plane at our intended destination.
After arriving, we searched and searched, but to our dismay, we could not find any of the boxes. Eventually we found one. It contained a small gas stove, a tarp, some candy, and a couple packages of Hamburger Helper—but no hamburger. We had no way to communicate with the outside world, and our scheduled pickup was a week later.
I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: One, do not throw your food out the window. Two, sometimes we have to face hard things.
Years before, during our misadventure in Alaska, I had quickly learned that blaming our circumstances on others—the pilot launching the food out in fading light—was not a solution. However, as we experienced physical exhaustion, lack of food, sickness, and sleeping on the ground during a major storm with only a tarp to cover us, I learned that “with God nothing shall be impossible.”

By the end of May 1829, the same kind of persecution Joseph had experienced in Manchester began occurring in Harmony, and Joseph realized he would need to move again to complete the translation. Along with his wife, Emma, and his scribe, Oliver Cowdery, Joseph was taken into the household of some acquaintances: Peter and Mary Whitmer of Fayette Township, New York.

Mary Whitmer was shown the plates by a heavenly messenger. As far as we know, she never committed her experience to writing. But Mary shared her experience with her children and grandchildren, who later shared it with others. Her grandson John C. Whitmer related, “I have heard my grandmother (Mary M. Whitmer) say on several occasions that she was shown the plates of the Book of Mormon by an holy angel.”

Her son David said that “she was met out near the yard by [an] old man.” Grandson John said this man was “carrying something on his back that looked like a knapsack” and that “at first she was a little afraid of him.” However, “when he spoke to her in a kind, friendly tone and began to explain to her the nature of the work which was going on in her house, she was filled with unexpressible joy and satisfaction.”

John provided further detail on the wonderful witness of the sacred record that Mary received at that time: “He then untied his knapsack and showed her a bundle of plates. … This strange person turned the leaves of the book of plates over, leaf after leaf, and also showed her the engravings upon them; the personage then suddenly vanished with the plates, and where he went, she could not tell.”

John stated: “I knew my grandmother to be a good, noble and truthful woman, and I have not the least doubt of her statement in regard to seeing the plates being strictly true. She was a strong believer in the Book of Mormon until the day of her death.”

A few months back I was writing to a friend, and I felt a distinct prompting that I should bear my testimony. This prompting confused me, because my friend was an active member of the Church whom I looked up to. But despite my doubts, I followed through with my prompting.
I’m not certain what effect my testimony had on my friend, but I’m sure I did the right thing, because I know I listened to the Spirit. I have faith that Heavenly Father must have known there was some part of my testimony that my friend needed. As we listen to the Spirit, we can all receive revelation from Heavenly Father by the gift of the Holy Ghost.

I was nervous and insecure as I walked to my new classroom with 30 other girls who did not know each other. I would be attending school with them in a Catholic private school for the next five years. First thing, our teacher asked if everybody had been christened in the Catholic Church. As I was the only one to say no, everybody’s eyes were directed at me.
That was my first day in a new school in Salzburg, Austria, a school managed by nuns. I quickly became used to the crucifixes hanging in each classroom, the morning devotionals, and the nuns. However, it was unusual for my schoolmates to have a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with them. They were curious to learn what I believed. I was not able to answer all their questions precisely. I wondered how I could receive permission to invite the missionaries.
This opportunity finally presented itself. We did not have a native speaker in our English class one year. I asked my classmates if it was a good idea to invite the missionaries. Then I asked the missionaries if they were allowed to come to schools. And finally I asked my English professor if they could come. I passed out a list on which everyone wrote what she would like the missionaries to talk about. I was amazed to see that the majority wanted to know why they had decided to go on missions, what kind of work they were doing, and how our Church differed from other churches.
Elder Allen and Elder Jones came to class and took most of the class period talking about the Church. It was awesome! After they left, I was bombarded with even more questions.
That year I was no longer the only member of the Church in my school. Because of two of my Latter-day Saint friends who began attending the school, the song “A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12–13) is now part of the music teacher’s repertoire.
It was not as difficult as I expected to talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for His Son, Jesus Christ, and for His wonderful gospel. I am also grateful for every opportunity to share my testimony by the Holy Spirit.

Brother Truman G. Madsen tells about a visit he made to Israel with President Hugh B. Brown (1883–1975), an Apostle of the Lord who served as Second Counselor and then First Counselor in the First Presidency. In a valley known as Hebron, where tradition has it that the tomb of Father Abraham is located, Brother Madsen asked President Brown, “What are the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?” After a short moment of thought, President Brown answered, “Posterity.”
Brother Madsen writes: “I almost burst out, ‘Why, then, was Abraham commanded to go to Mount Moriah and offer his only hope of posterity?’
“It was clear that [President Brown], nearly ninety, had thought and prayed and wept over that question before. He finally said, ‘Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham’” (The Highest in Us [1978], 49).

Latter-day Saints joined other Christian groups in Boston, Massachusetts, to donate food for those in need.

Latter-day Saints in Massachusetts, USA, have been working with the Azusa Christian Community and Catholic Charities to bring food to the poor in Boston, Malden, and Springfield. In November 2022 the Church donated 3,000 frozen turkeys and 40 tons of nonperishable food.

Three semitrucks of food from the Bishops’ Central Storehouse in Salt Lake City arrived in Boston on November 19. A thousand turkeys were delivered to Catholic Charities Boston to help them in their distribution of 1,400 Thanksgiving meals to households in the city’s Dorchester neighborhood. The other 2,000 turkeys, along with the 40 tons of food, were unloaded at a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse in Newton. And then came the volunteers—about 400 of them—who spent their Saturday unloading provisions and repackaging them into 2,000 food kits.

Two of those volunteers, Charles Inouye and his son Kan, helped deliver and set up long tables and dollies in the meetinghouse parking lot. Kan helped open and stack cardboard boxes. His dad worked the forklift.

“Jesus taught that the sun shines on everyone and that the rain falls on the just and the unjust,” Brother Inouye said. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what ‘be ye therefore perfect’ means [Matthew 5:48]. Can we be like the sun and the rain—perfectly giving to anyone, anywhere, anytime?”

The Reverend Eugene Rivers, who leads the Azusa Christian Community, visited Newton that morning. He said people of faith and goodwill who come together in good causes are society’s “last best hope” to prevent us from sinking into deeper division.

“Unless faith communities more actively engage one another, it does not bode well for this country,” the Reverend Rivers said.

Faith groups coming together as they are in Boston is, the Reverend Rivers said, a wise and effective Christian solution—and the “only promising option our country has” to achieve unity and wholeness.

Cindy Shropshal, 18, Perth. For Cindy, fellowship in the Church started with friendship in school. She became good friends with a boy in her English class—Cliff Allen. One night they went out with another classmate, who had a reputation as a drinker. Cliff insisted on an alcohol-free night. When they asked Cliff why he didn’t drink, Cindy recalls, “He started telling me about the Church. I started to feel the Spirit. I thought about it a lot that evening. I had been searching for the true church. That night I knew this was the church I should join.”

And let’s be sure that our reaching out is not marked with any feelings of superiority. I will always remember the first time I went subbing for Santa. We had collected a number of toys, small Christmas trees, and baskets of fruit. Being high school seniors, we felt we finally understood the importance of giving at Christmas.
We went into one particular dark and dingy home. Several broken chairs were the only furniture. There was no food on the shelves. The children obviously would not have had any toys for Christmas had we not been there. I looked around the darkened living room, and there sat a television set. I thought to myself, “Why are we giving gifts at Christmas when these folks have spent their money on a television?”
After subbing for Santa that night, I went home and asked my father, “Dad, why would those people have a television set when they didn’t even have food or furniture?”
My father looked at me as if I really needed to understand. He said, “Hugh, that is all those people have. Perhaps for an hour or two a day it gives them some of the happiness you feel with your family and friends so much of the time.”
I think I grew up a little that Christmas. At least I was never again critical of what other people did when it came to those types of decisions.

Brother Consky was an old, bent man with deep wrinkles and feathery white hair. He lived down our street in a small, beat-up house that seemed kind of spooky to us kids. Big strips of red paint had peeled off the outside walls, and ugly weeds grew wild everywhere. Once in a while Brother Consky pulled his curtains back and peeked out at us as we played, which made him seem spooky too. We decided to keep clear of him.
We would have done just that if it hadn’t been for Mom. “Boys,” she called to my brother, Jeremy, and me one day. “I need you to run dinner over to Brother Consky.”
Jeremy and I stared at each other in wide-eyed disbelief.
In the kitchen, we pleaded our cause. “Mom, we just can’t go. We’re in the middle of a very important scientific discovery (watching a spider devour a fly). We’ll miss the whole thing!” Our argument sounded good to us, but I guess it wasn’t very convincing to Mom.
She gave us that “if you know what’s good for you” look and handed us a couple of plates.
“It will only take a minute. Brother Consky is ill and can’t get his own meals. Dad has just been assigned as his home teacher, so you’d better get used to going over to his house. Besides, he could use your smiles. He doesn’t have any family to care for him.”
“Well, I’ll take the food,” I grumbled. “But I won’t promise a smile.”
Mom gave me another look and marched us out the door.
We walked slowly down the street and hesitated at the broken-down gate in front of Brother Consky’s house. It squeaked as we opened it. We stopped for a minute, then forced our trembling legs to walk through the scratchy weeds to the front door.
Jeremy slowly raised his hand and knocked timidly.
“Come in,” a raspy voice called out.
I hadn’t counted on going inside! I turned the doorknob and shoved Jeremy ahead. When I was sure it was safe, I followed him. For a moment I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. Then my eyes began to focus, and I’ll never forget what I saw.
The room was empty except for an old gray couch where Brother Consky lay looking dull and sad. The floors were bare and cold, and the curtains torn and stained. There were no bright autumn leaves in vases like Mom put in our house. But worst of all were the walls. Green paint had faded and chipped, leaving great big spots of moldy gray plasterboard. It was a cold, dreary place, and I was glad when we were finally out in the sunshine again.
From then on, Jeremy and I took food over to Brother Consky every Wednesday and Sunday. Each visit was the same. We sat in the dark, moldy room, answered a few questions, and waited for our release into the bright world outside.
Fall passed slowly into the first week of December. Christmas trees and bright lights appeared in other homes but not in Brother Consky’s. One Wednesday he didn’t answer our knocks.
“Try the door,” I said. “He’s always up waiting for us.”
I knew that if we returned home with plates still full of food, Mom would send us right back.
The rusty knob turned, and the door clicked open.
“Brother Consky?” I called. “Are you here?”
The house was dark and still except for the eerie humming of the refrigerator.
“Brother Consky?” I called again as I walked down the hall and into the bedroom. Then, “Jeremy!” I yelled. Jeremy came running into the room. Brother Consky was hunched up on the floor. “Run and get Mom and Dad.”
My heart pounded faster as I sat there and waited and watched. As much as I had complained about going to Brother Consky’s every week, deep down inside, I liked him. I didn’t want him to die. Tears stung my eyes, and I quickly brushed them back as Mom and Dad hurried into the room.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. I just found him like this.”
“Quick, Ken. Call the ambulance.”
Soon I heard the whining siren. In a matter of minutes Brother Consky was lifted onto a stretcher and taken away.
Two weeks passed. Each Wednesday and Sunday Jeremy and I walked to Brother Consky’s and stood outside the broken gate.
“I wish he was here for us to visit now,” said Jeremy glumly one Wednesday.
“Me too.” I also wished that I’d never complained about going to his house.
The next night Dad announced that Brother Consky was getting better and would be coming home the day before Christmas.
Jeremy and I jumped out of our seats and cheered.
Later that night Jeremy and I lay wide awake trying to think of something special to give Brother Consky for his homecoming.
“How about bringing in a Christmas tree and decorating it for him,” suggested Jeremy.
“Great idea, but it’s not enough. It has to be something really neat.”
“Good night, boys,” Mom called upstairs. Somehow she always knew when we were whispering.
Jeremy rolled over and went to sleep, but I was too excited. I thought of Brother Consky cooped up in his house. I remembered when I’d been sick how awful it was to stay inside all day, staring at the same four walls. I had felt like a prisoner caged in a cell, and I’d desperately wanted to escape the walls that held me in. The walls—that’s it! The perfect gift!
The next morning, before I could even gulp any breakfast down, I told my family about my plan.
“Dad, I need your help on a special project.”
“Sure, James. What is it?”
“Jeremy and I want to give Brother Consky a welcome-home gift, and I have the perfect idea—newly painted walls! You’ve seen his house. How would you like to lie in bed staring at those ugly walls?”
I ran on excitedly, “We have over a week before he comes home. If we all pitch in and paint, it will be done and we can bring him into a bright new room!”
“That’s a great idea, James. We’ll get the paint and start on it tomorrow.”
I saw him wink at Mom.
Later, as I was rounding up paintbrushes, I heard Dad on the phone: “No, Stan. We won’t need the elder’s quorum now. Two Christmas elves beat you to the idea. We’re going to start tomorrow.”
Early in the afternoon on the twenty-fourth, Dad wheeled Brother Consky into his newly painted home. The walls glowed with fresh paint. The new curtains Mom had made were parted to let the sunshine in. A Christmas tree glistened with lights and tinsel. Outside, last summer’s dead weeds had been cleared away and the fence fixed. To Jeremy and me, it looked like a castle.
Brother Consky sat there stunned. For a moment no one spoke as his eyes wandered from wall to wall. Then a smile cracked his lips. He looked at Jeremy and then at me. I saw tears in his eyes. He reached out a shaky hand and took my hand and squeezed it. I moved closer than I’d ever been to him and threw my arms around his neck.
Jeremy and I still visit Brother Consky. Only now we don’t go just on Wednesdays and Sundays. We stop off almost every day on our way home from school. He likes to hear about what we’re doing, and he even helps us with our math. Best of all, we just like being there with him, listening to his stories.

I was raised in the Church and baptized and confirmed at eight years old. The gospel was a way of life for me and for most of the people around me. The Holy Ghost was a very familiar presence in my life.
When I was excommunicated, I felt an almost tangible feeling leave me. I felt like my thinking process had been disrupted and slowed, and making decisions was confusing and difficult. I was anxious and had a hard time feeling peace.
I never realized how losing my membership would change my life completely. I could no longer wear the temple garment or attend the temple. I could not pay my tithing, serve in any calling, take the sacrament, or bear my testimony or pray in church. I no longer had the gift of the Holy Ghost. Most importantly I was not in a covenant relationship with my Savior through the ordinances of baptism and the temple.
I was devastated and frightened. My three children were then 16, 14, and 12. They were my heritage, and I so badly wanted to leave them with an inheritance of hope. I sat them down and told them that if I should die before I could get rebaptized, I needed them to perform the ordinance again in my behalf as soon as it was allowed. I was frightened that I no longer had the blessings of keeping my baptismal covenants, and I worried that I might not be washed clean again.
I never had any question that the Church was true and that the gospel was how I wanted to live my life, so I continued going to church. I wanted Heavenly Father to know that I loved Him and that I was so sorry for my actions. I went to church every week even though it was very hard. The ward was uncomfortable with my being there, and only a few people talked to me. However, one special young woman with Down’s syndrome named Holly was particularly loving. Every Sunday as I would walk into the chapel, she would run up to me, throw her arms around me, give me a big hug, and say, “It’s so good to see you! I love you!” I felt as if she were acting for the Savior, letting me know that He was happy I was there.
It was particularly difficult to have to let the sacrament pass by without being able to take it because I knew I was not receiving the blessings. Taking the sacrament is such a blessing. It is incredible to have the blessing of being made clean through the power of the Savior and His atoning sacrifice, to be forgiven of our sins and shortcomings week after week, and to recommit with love and faithfulness to the covenant we have made to always remember our Savior and keep His commandments.
Because paying my tithing was so important to me, I set up a bank account and put my tithing in it each month. I needed the Lord to know that even though He couldn’t take my tithing now, I still wanted to pay it. I was single at the time and raising my three teenage daughters, and I felt that I needed those blessings of showing the Lord my willingness to pay tithing, even though I couldn’t. I have no doubt we were extremely blessed because of it.
I was rebaptized a little over a year after my excommunication. What a relief it was to come up out of the water knowing that Jesus was now my advocate, my partner. He had paid for my sins, and I was again in a covenant relationship with Him. I was filled with gratitude!
I received the gift of the Holy Ghost again. I felt once again a tangible presence: my dear friend was back to stay! I wanted to try so hard not to offend Him again so that He wouldn’t have to leave me.
I closed out the account with my tithing in it, wrote the check, and excitedly gave it to my bishop.
Five years later I was able to have my temple blessings restored. I felt so relieved and grateful. Once again I was covered in love and protected with the power of the covenants I had made in the temple.
I am now sealed to a man who adores me, and I him, and together we are actively working to establish our sealing as a covenant relationship that will last through the eternities.
In the 20 years since, I have sometimes felt a sense of deep guilt wash over me and cause me great unhappiness and worry. I wondered if I had done enough to repent and whether I was truly forgiven. As recently as just a few years ago, my feelings matched those of Alma the Younger, described in Alma 36:12–13:
“I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God, and that I had not kept his holy commandments.”
One day I knelt down in prayer and asked, “Father, have I done enough? I will do whatever I need to, to have this taken from me.” Then I waited and listened with my heart.
The answer came very clearly: “You have done enough.” I was overcome with pure joy. I couldn’t stop smiling, and happy tears flowed. All that day I found myself giddy with joy. All the shame and guilt was gone for good.
Again I reflected on the experience of Alma the Younger:
“I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:19–20).
My journey to regain my membership in the Church and my covenant relationship with the Savior was heart-wrenching and tender. I came out of this trial knowing that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is most precious. It has taken me almost all of these 20 years to get past the shame and guilt of my excommunication and to find the strength to share my experiences with others. I hope my experience inspires others to find courage to change and to reach out to those who want to change. I can stand and testify without a doubt that the Atonement of Christ is real. His power can change your life not only for the better but for the very best.
I love my membership in the Church dearly. It is a priceless gift and an incredible blessing in my life. I never want to be without it again.