Gospel Story Finder

The back windows of our home overlook a small flower garden and the woods which border a small stream. One wall of the house borders on the garden and is thickly covered with English ivy. Most years this ivy has been the nesting place for house finches. The nests in the vines are safe from foxes and raccoons and cats that are about.
One day there was a great commotion in the ivy. Desperate cries of distress came as 8 or 10 finches from the surrounding woods came to join in this cry of alarm. I soon saw the source of the commotion. A snake had slid partway down out of the ivy and hung in front of the window just long enough for me to pull it out. The middle part of the snake’s body had two bulges—clear evidence convicting it of taking two fledglings from the nest. Not in the 50 years we had lived in our home had we seen anything like that. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—or so we thought.
A few days later there was another commotion, this time in the vines covering our dog run. We heard the same cries of alarm, the gathering of the neighborhood finches. We knew what the predator was. A grandson climbed onto the run and pulled out another snake that was still holding on tightly to the mother bird it had caught in the nest and killed.
I said to myself, “What is going on? Is the Garden of Eden being invaded again?”
There came into my mind the warnings spoken by the prophets. We will not always be safe from the adversary’s influence, even within our own homes. We need to protect our nestlings.

We were free! We’d had a hard week of classes and felt like we deserved a break. It was a beautiful winter evening in Rock Canyon, and we were determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
Four of us had decided on a whim to get away from the pressures of college life by taking an excursion in the snow. It would be our first camp-out without any adviser or leader. We felt pretty independent. Our friends were surprised at our plans in light of all the snow that had fallen that weekend. We ignored them when they said we were crazy.
Jared and Derek had nearly finished the snow cave, our home for the night. We were actually doing it! Without any help from adults, or anyone else, we were making it work.
After cooking some hot dogs and having a long animated talk around the fire, we were ready to retire. I went in first. It seemed a bit crowded, and I wondered how we would fit four people into the cave. Pete and Jared followed. Derek was next.
Just as Derek was almost all the way in, the cave collapsed on us! I wasn’t sure what had happened since I was lying on my side facing the wall.
Luckily, the part of the cave that was above my head and chest hadn’t caved in. Pete wasn’t as lucky. Heavy snow was on his chest. I could tell that he was having trouble breathing. Peter’s voice let me know that the snow hadn’t covered his face.
None of us could do much since our bodies were pinned down. We were stuck. Every time we tried to move around, the ceiling would shift a bit. Every time this happened, I would ask Peter if he was still all right. The snow ceiling was getting closer and closer to his face. There was nothing that any of us could do. We were trapped!
Peter was the one who thought of it first. We needed to pray. We told our Father in Heaven that we needed his help. We couldn’t make it alone.
After praying, Jared looked up at the ceiling. He noticed something he hadn’t noticed before, a small opening. He had to struggle, but he eventually got his arm out of his bag so he could reach for the hole. He scraped snow from off of the collapsed ceiling and threw it out the opening. His hands were numb by the time he had freed himself.
Once Jared was out, he dug Derek out using the small shovel we had left outside the cave. Derek got to work getting Peter out while Jared warmed his freezing hands. With Peter free, I was the only one left in the cave with my legs still pinned down. The cave was no longer hanging over my head, so I felt practically free.
Someone suggested that we each say a prayer of thanksgiving. There, next to the collapsed snow cave, we thanked Father in Heaven and acknowledged that we couldn’t have made it without his help.
I learned an important lesson from that experience. Even though I seek independence, I don’t ever want to be independent of my Father in Heaven. Without his patient care, I might not be here today. I learned I always need his help and guiding hand.

On an afternoon in April 1989, Pablito, one of the many children who live in my apartment complex, came running to me for help. He had been robbed and mistreated by three thirteen-year-old boys, he said, and he wanted me to help him recover his watch and chain that they had taken. When I walked up to the boys, they did not run away as they normally did. I asked them to return Pablito’s watch and chain. They ignored me. I then searched them, but I didn’t find anything. They were upset because I had searched them, and as they left the complex, they insulted and threatened me. But I didn’t take their threats seriously.
Two days later, some friends of mine told me that several young men had been looking for me.
The next Monday, a group of about twenty-five young men came toward me. I could not imagine what was happening until one of them lunged forward and punched me in the nose. I tried to escape, but it was too late. It was impossible to get away from them. At first they hit me all over, but then they started to slash me with broken bottles. Suddenly I felt something cold in my left side. One of them had knifed me close to the ribs.
The attack ended, and the gang ran away as two police cars arrived. A friend helped me up, but because I had lost a great deal of blood, I was very weak and kept losing consciousness. In addition to the knife wound, I had gashes on my head and thigh, and my face was badly bruised and swollen.
I was taken in one of the police cars to a local hospital. Although the doctors there were able to stitch my wounds, they had to send me to a larger hospital for X rays to check for any internal damage.
After examining the X rays, the doctor said I needed emergency surgery so he could properly assess and treat possible damage to my internal organs.
While I was waiting to go into surgery, my father asked for a few minutes with me. The doctor told him to be brief. Then my father and another priesthood holder placed their hands on my head and gave me a blessing.
After I had been in the operating room for a while, the doctor came out and told my father, “The knife wound in your son’s side is very deep, but the blade did not touch any vital organs. I only had to clean out the wound. I don’t know what you did when you placed your hands on his head, but whatever it was, it worked.”
I was in the hospital for four days and then in recovery for three months—delaying my anticipated mission call. I quickly regained the blood I had lost, my wounds healed, and soon I could stand up and walk.
I know it was because of the power of the priesthood and faith in Jesus Christ that I am alive today. I know the Lord wanted me to serve where I am now, in the Venezuela Maracaibo Mission. I am grateful that he spared my life so I can work in his vineyard.

I first learned of the treasure on a beautiful Australian morning in October 1992. My husband, who is not a member of the Church, woke up and described a remarkable dream. He said that in his dream someone from my family had asked him for permission to let me go into mainland China to get my family’s genealogy records.
I asked my husband what his response was. He answered that he did not want to be held accountable for not letting me go.
I was amazed. I had already planned to go to Hong Kong in a few months for my daughter’s wedding. It occurred to me that, after the wedding, I could travel to my family’s ancestral village on mainland China, where our records are kept. Because of my husband’s dream, I decided to make the trip.
I was excited, yet afraid of going into China alone. But Heavenly Father provided a solution. A son-in-law was also going to Hong Kong, and he offered to accompany me into China.
On 16 December 1992, we boarded the train from Hong Kong to GuangZhou, China. From GuangZhou, we took another train eleven hours to the city of MaoMeng; then from MaoMeng we took a motor bike with sidecar three more hours to the village. When we arrived, my uncle was surprised to see us, as he had received the letter announcing my visit only the night before. I recognized him immediately, for he looked just like my father. After we all got acquainted, I asked about the records.
My uncle brought out seven volumes that traced my family back nearly seven hundred years. Not only did they contain birth and death dates, but the records also contained a bit of history on each ancestor. I was thrilled.
However, I faced a major problem. The village was so remote that it had no running water, let alone a photocopy machine. Copying the records by hand would take months. When I expressed my concern, my uncle smiled. He said he had a spare set I could take. My son-in-law and I looked at each other in wonder. These people are not well off; making that extra copy must have cost a lot of money.
For years I excused myself from doing family history work because I lacked records. Now there is no excuse. This experience has convinced me that many of my ancestors have accepted the gospel in the spirit world, and that is why the way was opened for me to secure their records—truly a treasure beyond price.

The thoughtfulness of a Laurel class recently helped an 18-year-old New York girl face the trauma of being hospitalized with serious injuries far away from home and family.

Nancy Shannahan and her friends were returning to New York after a vacation out west when they were involved in an automobile accident. Nancy was hospitalized in Burley, Idaho, and was unable to return home with her friends.

The Oakley First Ward Laurels learned of Nancy’s predicament from their adviser, Betty Jane Fairchild, whose son was hospitalized with football injuries. The girls decided to befriend Nancy and make her a friendship quilt to take home with her to New York.

The girls donated scraps of material, and Sister Fairchild pieced them together. The quilt top was then passed from home to home so the girls could embroider the names of class members on it, with Nancy’s name in the center. The full-sized quilt was tied one evening, and a couple of Aaronic Priesthood youths even got into the spirit of things by helping to cut and tie the yarn.

Nancy has since returned home and recently wrote to the Laurels thanking them for their love and kindness. She expressed hopes of being able to get to know these girls better in the future.

Sometimes it can be lonely being the only Church member at her school. When she was a freshman, Franchesca felt very alone during the pandemic and didn’t have many friends. She was nervous to talk to her parents about it, but when she prayed, she felt prompted to tell them how she was feeling.
As a family, they decided to pray for her to be able to find friends she could count on. Miraculously, as soon as they finished their prayer, they heard a knock on their door. It turned out to be one of her friends from a different ward, and she brought cookies! Franchesca knew that Heavenly Father had heard their prayer.

The Mia Maids of the Bluffdale Eighth Ward in Bluffdale, Utah, decided to make a hands-on sign of their commitment to living virtuous lives. After some memorable lessons and discussions on the topic of virtue, each one of the girls traced her handprint on the flag and wrote inside it what they were committing to do to be virtuous. These were some of the promises printed on the flag:
“I promise to keep clean thoughts and to have friends that don’t promote bad things.”—Sierra Hirschi
“I promise to watch clean things so my thoughts will be clean.” —Erica Wilcox
“I promise to keep myself temple worthy and clean so someday I can be sealed for time and all eternity.”—Katelyn Pitchford
“I promise to keep the music I listen to clean.”—Karley Newbold
“I promise not to date until I am 16.”—McKayla Hill
The virtue flag now hangs in the bishop’s office so every time the girls are in his office they are reminded of their commitments.

Most of the children at Sean’s school have never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is one of only ten Church members attending his school from kindergarten to twelfth grade. But he and his brother and sister are good examples and take advantage of missionary opportunities whenever they arise. Their father is the ward mission leader, and the missionaries visit them often. Sean likes having the elders over for dinner, and he wants to serve a mission when he turns nineteen.
One day he told two school friends, “When I grow up, I want to be a missionary.” His friends didn’t know what that meant. He explained, “A missionary is someone who tells people about Jesus!” At age five, Sean was being a missionary!

They met the Fosters the next night. During their meeting, Scott continually pushed for commitments from them, but they just grinned and asked if he’d like some more cake.

As they drove home that night, Scott dropped a bombshell.

“If they don’t accept some challenges the next time we meet with them, then we drop ’em.”

“Just like that? We’ve been working with them for six months.”

“Maybe they’re just deadwood. We’re out here to baptize.”

“Give ’em some time.”

“I don’t have time.”

The next time they met with the Fosters, Scott challenged them to prepare for baptism.

They accepted the challenge. Two weeks later they were baptized.

What should we do for our next activity?
We could play soccer again!
Or do another craft night!
I’ve been thinking. You know Sasha?
Yeah. I haven’t seen her in a while.
I heard she just got first place in the science fair. I have an idea she might like. Here’s what I’m thinking …
… sounds fun! And then …
… invite the young men too? …
… markers to decorate …
Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it!
The week before the activity, at Sasha’s house …
We have this activity idea.
Sure, I’ll help!
Sasha’s going to teach us how to make rockets. Do you guys want to come?
I’ll invite my quorum. Can we bring snacks?
The day of the activity …
Do you think anyone will come?
Sasha says she’s on her way!
Let’s get started!
“A sense of belonging is important to our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Yet it is quite possible that at times each of us might feel that we don’t fit in.…Belonging comes not as we wait for it but as we reach out to help one another.”
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, October 2022 general conference (Liahona, Nov. 2022, 54–55).
Learn how to make an air-powered bottle rocket on the Gospel Living app!

I love to dance, and since I live in a small town, my mom drives me to Weatherford, Texas, every Thursday to take jazz and tap lessons, and on Friday for ballet.
I have moved up to Level 2, which means I have a different teacher on Thursday. We’ve been working on a dance for a competition. We compete for a trophy.
We had learned half the dance, when the teacher put it to music. The music wasn’t the best choice, and one girl dropped out because her mom didn’t like it. Then we learned some more steps. One day at an extra practice, the teacher asked me, “Have you seen the costume yet?” When I saw the picture of it, I knew that I wasn’t going to wear it.
When my mom (who hadn’t seen the costume) and I were home, we talked about it. We decided that it was too immodest. She called the studio the next day to tell them that I would not be participating in the dance. I hope that my decision helped the other dancers choose the right.
Christy Abraham, age 9Azle, Texas

Mitch Dunford has been a member of the high priests group in the Santee First Ward, Santee California Stake, for most of the 11 years he has lived there. “Our high priests group has studied the scriptures together and done missionary work together,” he says. “We’ve given blessings to each other and to others’ family members. Our camaraderie is a natural outgrowth of helping each other honor callings in the priesthood.”
On the night of Sunday, October 26, 2003, the high priests in the Santee stake, along with most residents of San Diego County, found themselves under attack by the largest wildfire in the history of California. For nearly 24 hours, 50- to 70-mile-per-hour (80- to 110-km-per-hour) winds had pushed 100-foot (30-m) flames and burned hundreds of homes, killing 13 people.
Mitch Dunford stood alone in the hills behind his home with a garden hose in one hand and a shovel in the other. Earlier he had taken his wife, Cathy, and their five children to a hotel. When the evacuation order was lifted, he returned home to see what he could do.
“The fire was 4 feet [1.2 m] high and 30 feet [9 m] wide,” says Brother Dunford. “It was coming from two directions. It was so quiet. I just stood there, wondering if I could really stop this fire by myself.”
Meanwhile, stake president Chris Allred was atop the stake center with binoculars. With flames coming toward the Dunfords’ house, he began making phone calls.
“I was alone,” says Brother Dunford, with more than a little emotion in his voice, “and then one by one they came—the ‘boys’ from the quorum and their sons, each with a shovel. I was overwhelmed, yet it seemed just the way it ought to be.”
Fifteen minutes later the first wave of fire swept through.
“We beat the fire down and tossed dirt on it,” says Steven Schimpf, 15, who came with his dad, Bishop Randall Schimpf.
After the first wave was out, the second wave came. They beat back that one too.
A news cameraman climbed up to the group and was amazed to discover they were just some men and boys from a church helping one of their own.
“It was touching to have our home saved by my priesthood brethren,” says Brother Dunford. “It is so typical of the way they are. My neighbors couldn’t believe all those men and boys just showed up to help. But we know it’s what you do when you’re a member of a priesthood quorum.”

This summer, while we were camping, my little brother fell into the fire and burned his hand badly. We prayed, then Mom saddled our horse and told me to ride and find my dad, who wasn’t with us yet. I had to go four miles (over 6 km) to get out of the canyon. I looked and looked but couldn’t find Dad. When I got to the locked gate that led to the main road, I got off and walked to it. I heard a voice in my head telling me to go back the other way. So I walked back to my horse and rode the other way—and found Dad! We were able to get my brother to the hospital, where he was helped.Aubrey Kofford, age 8Pingree, Idaho

The first book I ever owned came to me on the heels of near tragedy. It was at a community Christmas tree party in our little country town of Clifton in Idaho. The huge tree lighted with hundreds of burning candles … set an ideal stage for that which followed. Before our horrified gaze Santa caught fire and as he ran frantically out through a rear exit he swept along with him trimmings, candles, presents, and even a part of the tree itself. …
I returned home … disconsolate and dejected because no gift was on the tree for me. The next day from out of the ruins of the fire a book, half burned, was found with my name in it. That book was Tom, the Bootblack, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

But however rugged the land looked going south, the wind-whipped, erosion-gutted cliffs and canyon wilderness of San Juan country to the east looked a lot tougher. Church leaders knew that taming that rough, unchartered corner of the territory would be difficult, but they nevertheless wanted to establish communities for the Church there. At the quarterly conference of the Parowan Stake in 1879, 250 people accepted the call by President John Taylor to establish the San Juan Mission. With 80 wagons and nearly 1,000 head of cattle and horses, they began to cut their way toward and through imposing, unexplored territory of snow-capped mountains and towering stone pinnacles.
Seeking the shortest route to San Juan, those first explorers overcame one obstacle after another but soon faced the largest and most intimidating barrier of all: the impassable gulf of the Colorado River gorge. Miraculously their weary scouts found a narrow slit in the canyon—a crevice running 2,000 feet (610 m) down the red cliffs to the Colorado River below. This lone, near-lethal “hole in the rock” seemed to offer the only possible passage to the eastern side.
For the most part, the slice in the sandstone was too narrow for horses and in some places too narrow even for a man or woman to pass through. Sheer drops of as much as 75 feet (23 m) would seem to have made it impossible for a mountain sheep, let alone loaded wagons. But the hardy Saints were not going to turn back, so with blasting powder and tools, working most of December 1879 and January 1880, they cut a precarious, primitive road into the face of the canyon precipice.
With this roadbed finished, such as it was, the task was now to get the first 40 wagons down the “hole.” The other wagons, waiting five miles (8 km) back at Fifty-Mile Spring, would follow later.
They organized themselves in such a way “that a dozen or more men could hang on behind the wagon” with long ropes to slow its descent. Then the wheels were brake-locked with chains, allowing them to slide but avoiding the catastrophe of the wheels actually rolling.
In one of the great moments of pioneer history, one by one the company took the wagons down the treacherous precipice. When they reached the canyon floor, they eagerly started to ferry across the river with a flatbed boat they had fashioned for that purpose. As it turned out, the Joseph Stanford Smith family was in the last wagon to descend that day.
Stanford Smith had systematically helped the preceding wagons down, but somehow the company apparently forgot that Brother Smith’s family would still need help as the tailenders. Deeply disturbed that he and his family seemed abandoned, Stanford moved his team, wagon, and family to the edge of the precipice. The team was placed in front and a third horse was hitched behind the wagon to the rear axle. The Smiths stood for a moment and looked down the treacherous hole. Stanford turned to his wife, Arabella, and said, “I am afraid we can’t make it.”
She replied, “But we’ve got to make it.”
He said, “If we only had a few men to hold the wagon back, we might make it.”
Replied his wife, “I’ll do the holding back.”
She laid a quilt on the ground, and there she placed her infant son in the care of her three-year-old, Roy, and five-year-old, Ada. “Hold little brother ’til papa comes for you,” she said. Then positioning herself behind the wagon, Belle Smith grasped the reins of the horse hitched to the back of the rig. Stanford started the team down the hole. The wagon lurched downward. With the first jolt the rear horse fell. Sister Smith raced after him and the wagon, pulling on the lines with all her strength and courage. She soon fell too, and as she was dragged along with the horse, a jagged rock cut a cruel gash in her leg from heel to hip. That gallant woman, with clothes torn and a grievous wound, hung on to those lines with all her might and faith the full length of the incline all the way to the river’s edge.
On reaching the bottom and almost in disbelief at their accomplishment, Stanford immediately raced the 2,000 feet (607 m) back up to the top of the cliff, fearful for the welfare of the children. When he climbed over the rim, there he saw them literally unmoved from their position. Carrying the baby, with the other two children clinging to him and to each other, he led them down the rocky crack to their anxious mother below. In the distance they saw five men moving toward them carrying chains and ropes. Realizing the plight the Smiths were in, these men were coming to help. Stanford called out, “Forget it, fellows. We managed fine. Belle here is all the help a fellow needs [to make this journey].”2

Mimi tried not to squirm, but it was hard for her to sit quietly in church. The bench wasn’t the right size for her little body. Mimi remembered Mom saying that reverent behavior in church shows love for Heavenly Father. Mimi loved Heavenly Father very much, but it still wasn’t easy to sit for so long. Mom also said that sitting quietly in church was less difficult if you paid attention to the meeting, so Mimi tried to listen closely.
This Sunday was fast and testimony meeting. Sister Richards said how grateful she was to work in the nursery. After she finished, Jason stood to bear his testimony. Jason was only a little older than Mimi, about her brother, Ben’s, age. Mimi listened as Jason said, “I know the Church is true. I know we have a prophet. I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Jason sat down. Then his little sister, Ava, stood up. Mimi was surprised; Ava was in Mimi’s Primary class. Wasn’t Ava scared to speak in front of so many people? But Ava walked right up to the pulpit and said, “I love my mom and dad and my grandma and grandpa and my brother, Jason. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After a few more grown-ups spoke, Tyler, another Primary child, bore his testimony. Tyler said he loved his family, adding, “I try to be good. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After church, Mimi said to her parents, “Next fast Sunday, I want to bear my testimony.”
“That would be nice,” Dad answered. “Have you thought about what you would like to say?”
“Oh, yes,” Mimi said. “It’s easy. I’m supposed to say, ‘I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.’”
“Well,” Dad explained, “those are very good things to say in a testimony, but they are not necessarily what you are supposed to say. Do you know what bearing your testimony means?”
Mimi nodded, then stopped. Maybe she wasn’t exactly sure what bearing testimony meant.
Dad noticed her puzzled face. “Bearing testimony,” he explained, “means telling people what you believe or know is true. It’s not just repeating words you’ve heard others say. It is saying what you have faith in or what spiritual things you have learned or what the Holy Ghost tells you in your mind and heart.”
“Was Ava wrong to stand up and say what the others said?” Mimi asked.
“No,” Mom answered. “She wasn’t wrong. She’s learning to bear her testimony, and that’s wonderful. She’s learning to speak in front of people, too. And she’s learning what things people have testimonies about. But as she grows, she will have spiritual experiences that will help her own testimony grow. Then when she bears her testimony, she will have some personal things to say.”
“Mimi, if you want to bear your testimony, that’s great,” Dad said. “But first, think about the things you feel deep inside. What do you really know or believe is true? And why do you feel that way?”
The next day started like any other Monday. But after school, Mimi’s neighbor, Mrs. Martin, greeted her at home. “Your mother isn’t here, dear. She took Ben to the hospital. I will stay with you and your little sister until she or your dad can come home.”
Mimi’s eyes widened, and a scared feeling filled her stomach. “What’s wrong with Ben?”
“The doctors at the hospital said his appendix ruptured,” Mrs. Martin explained. “It was all full of infection, and it burst.”
Mimi was frightened. “Is it dangerous?”
“Well, it’s pretty serious, but the doctors operated quickly to take it out. And your dad and grandpa hurried to the hospital and gave Ben a blessing. He should be fine. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about now.”
But Mimi did worry. The scared feeling in her stomach became a sick feeling. She went to her room and sat on her bed, thinking about Ben. After a few minutes Mimi noticed a notecard her Primary teacher had given her on Sunday. She read the scripture on it: “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is good, in faith believing that ye shall receive, behold, it shall be done unto you” (Moro. 7:26).
Mimi slipped off her bed onto her knees and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help Ben be all right. I know we argue sometimes, but I really love him. Please bless him to get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Mimi finished praying, she felt warm all over, and the sick feeling faded away.
Later, when Mom came home, her face looked tired, but she smiled at Mimi and her sister and hugged them tightly. “Everything is going to be all right,” Mom said. “Ben is very sick, but in his blessing he was promised he would heal quickly and without too much pain. He’ll have to be in the hospital for a while, and I’ll go back tonight to be with him.”
Before Mom left, she prayed with the girls. Again Mimi felt the warm, peaceful feeling all through her body.
After a few days, the doctor said Ben could leave the hospital. “I expected him to need to stay longer, but there’s no sign of infection now—I’ve never seen anyone heal so quickly.”
The doctor may have been surprised, but Ben wasn’t. “Wasn’t I promised in my blessing that I would get well fast and without too much pain?” he said.
Mimi just smiled.
Before long, life was back to normal. On fast Sunday, just as she had said she would, Mimi bore her testimony. When she stood up to speak, her knees trembled and her tummy felt funny. She never realized so many people could fit in the chapel, and they were all looking at her! She almost wanted to sit down again. Then she saw her family smiling at her.
She took a deep breath and began, “I know that Heavenly Father is really there and that He listens to our prayers. I know because when I prayed to Him about something really important, I felt warm and calm inside. And I believe in the priesthood and in blessings, because everything my dad promised in Ben’s blessing happened just the way he said it would.” Mimi looked at Ben. “And I believe in the scriptures because they promise that Heavenly Father will answer our prayers. I know that He answered mine. And I love Him. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mimi felt an even greater love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as she walked back to her seat. She saw tears in Mom’s eyes, but Mom was smiling. Daddy slipped his arm around Mimi and whispered, “Now that is what bearing testimony is all about.”

Once upon a time, after a long and grueling day traveling to and from Kingston, the capital city of Jamaica, I decided to take a moment to rest both my body and mind. I sat down by two young men. They were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They began to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with me with kindness and enthusiasm.
Their message was one of hope and love. They assured me that every person who has ever lived would have the chance to hear and receive the gospel. This idea deeply touched my heart, and I decided to learn more. The Spirit testified to me that their words were true, and I felt drawn to their teachings of Jesus Christ.
Three weeks later, I was baptized. Two weeks after my baptism, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. That moment began a new chapter in my life—one filled with purpose, faith, and growth.
Over the last 16 years, my journey has been one of miracles, challenges, soul-stretching experiences, and spiritual growth. Through it all, I have come to know, without a doubt, that I am never alone. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are always there, guiding, protecting, and providing for me. This knowledge gives me strength and peace, no matter what life brings.

Everyone thought it was the coolest Christmas gift. My nine-year-old brother had just opened a huge bag of colorful, sticky, squishy toy frogs and threw one at the ceiling, where it stuck for a minute before falling to the floor. Excited, he offered frogs to the rest of us, and soon frogs decorated the ceiling, the walls, and the Christmas tree.
My brother felt so much joy from throwing these frogs that he wanted his family to experience it too. Similarly, when we feel the joy that comes from living the gospel, it’s natural to want to share that joy with others. And you can do that by participating in family history, giving your ancestors—and you—gifts that will last for eternity.

“Dad has always had great faith in prayer and in the healing power of blessings for the sick. Once his mother was very ill and he remembers the neighbors coming to the house to assist. My father knew that his mother’s illness must be very serious and that frightened him. He ran into the cornfield and dropped to his knees, saying aloud, ‘Heavenly Father, please don’t let my mother die.’ After awhile he went back to her bedroom and asked, ‘How are you, Mother?’ She replied, ‘No better.’ He went back to the corn patch again to repeat his fervent plea. This continued until five o’clock in the afternoon when he again entered his mother’s room. ‘How do you feel, Mother?’
“‘Better, son!’ she answered. And the next day she was able to sit up.”

After the meeting my daughter Alyssa told me a story about her friend Jessie, who has a small catering business. Jessie was asked by her stake Relief Society leaders to make a dessert to serve after the general Relief Society meeting. Jessie told Alyssa she knew immediately what she should make—250 cupcakes. Alyssa volunteered to help transport the cupcakes to the stake center.
The day of the meeting arrived, and when Alyssa went to help, she found Jessie nearly in tears. The cupcakes were ready, but Jessie had sent a picture of them to a relative who said they were not fancy enough for the meeting.
Jessie began to doubt herself. She concluded that the stake Relief Society leaders would be expecting something more elaborate than her simple cupcakes. She was frantically trying to figure out a way to redecorate the cupcakes, but there wasn’t time. She and Alyssa took the cupcakes as they were, with Jessie feeling that she had let the sisters down—until President Uchtdorf spoke.
As he spoke about the tiny forget-me-not flower, a picture of the little blue flower appeared on the screen. It was such a simple flower but so beautiful with its delicately veined petals. President Uchtdorf’s message touched everyone’s heart as he pleaded with us not to become so distracted with the large exotic blooms around us that we forget the five simple but important truths he was teaching us.
After the closing prayer, the sisters made their way to the cultural hall. When Alyssa and Jessie walked in, they found everyone surrounding the dessert table and asking, “How did they know?”
Each cupcake was frosted in plain white frosting and decorated with one simple, beautiful, delicate, five-petaled forget-me-not flower.