Gospel Story Finder

I carried a tray of food, prepared by my mother-in-law, into a cluttered and dusty home. The sole occupant sat where she always sat, on a big armchair positioned so she could see out the window. Her swollen legs were stretched in front of her and her cane, which she used only with great effort, leaned against her arm. She smiled when she saw me, thanked me for the food, and apologetically asked who I was. As I sat next to her and listened to her stories, I was filled with warmth and peace.
Three years later, I was on the floor with my two young children, bouncing them on my legs and singing a racehorse tune. Only a few feet away, my kitchen was in disarray and toys were scattered across the floor. I suddenly felt a reassurance from the Spirit that I was right where I needed to be. Warmth and peace flooded my soul, filling its worn edges and giving energy where there was none.
Another two years forward, I was lying on the bed. A pile of laundry was visible on the floor, and a stack of papers littered the desk to my left as I fed my newborn son for the fourth time that night. I brushed my fingertips against his long lashes, felt his soft bald head, and was thrilled when fingers curled around the lace of my shirt. I was so filled with warmth and peace that I didn’t even mind that I was sometimes awake at three in the morning.
In each of these cases, the Holy Ghost was with me, telling me I was in the right place and doing the right thing, and in each of these cases, I was in a messy home.
I still remember the shock I felt the first time I made this connection—I began questioning my experiences. After all, I had always thought growing up that the Holy Ghost doesn’t dwell in unclean places—so I took that to include dirty homes. And these thoughts were nearly always accompanied by a scriptural reference. We learn in 1 Nephi 10:21 that “no unclean thing can dwell with God.” And the Lord tells us in Doctrine and Covenants 88:124 to “cease to be idle; [and] cease to be unclean.”
The irony in all of this is that I missed the deeper meaning of these scriptures—the importance of keeping our personal temples, our minds and bodies, clean—and instead jumped straight to the physical meaning. I had somehow learned from all of these lessons that my worth as a young wife and mother was all wrapped up in how perfect and clean my house was—and the effect of that belief was devastating.
I was always paralyzed with fear when the state of my home was not so perfect. I often didn’t listen for whisperings from the Spirit because I would look around my apartment and think, “No, there’s no way the Spirit can dwell here.”
I can’t remember the exact moment I realized I could feel the Spirit in a home that fell far short from the temple’s standards of cleanliness. But I do remember when I realized that the Lord, with His infinite capacity for compassion and empathy, saw the less-than-perfect efforts I offered, accepted them, and still sent me the spiritual companionship I desperately needed. He doesn’t need me to be perfect right now—He just needs me to do the best I can.
It hasn’t happened overnight, but slowly I’ve let go of what Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles refers to as “toxic perfectionism” (see “Be Ye Therefore Perfect—Eventually,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2017, 42). I’ve started allowing myself to believe that I can have the Holy Ghost with me even if I don’t have the energy to stay up all night with a teething baby and keep up with the laundry. Instead, I make sure I give the best I can give, and I accept the love Heavenly Father sends in return. I haven’t given up on becoming a better homemaker, I just say yes to the grace and inspiration the Lord has been trying to give me for so long. Because when I keep myself spiritually clean and do what He asks me to do, the Holy Ghost comes, messy house or not.

On November 3, 2024, the Ulawa Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was officially established, marking a significant milestone in the growth of the Church in Solomon Islands.
Corey Lindley, second counselor in the mission presidency, presided at the meeting during which this new branch in the Honiara Solomon Islands District was organised.
Upon arrival, Church leaders were warmly greeted by local youth, dressed as warriors, who ceremoniously questioned the purpose of their visit.
Peter Awao, a member of the Church who had been baptized in Honiara and relocated to Ulawa in 2022, spoke on behalf of the group in local pidgin, explaining, “Mifala no come here to fait, but we only bring the good words to Ulawa Island. Mifala no come waitem any mata knife, axe or alawolo to fait weitem you fala but come and ask compassion. Mifala just came here to witness Jesus Christ is the Saviour for the world today. So please open the way for us to come in. Poro Kana Ute.”
Following the warm welcome, the Church leaders participated in a reception at the local meeting hut, where the members had been gathering. President Kwanafia, a registered ministerial celebrant, officiated the marriage of six couples, ensuring that their traditional marriages were legally solemnized according to Solomon Islands law.
Many in the group then traveled about 10 kms to the eastern side of the island to the village of Aroaha, where nine new convert baptisms were performed in a beautiful lagoon of the Pacific Ocean.
On Sunday morning, 81 members gathered early for the official sustaining of the new branch and the calling of its first branch presidency. The sacrament meeting began 10 minutes early as members eagerly waited, singing hymns and spiritually preparing for the proceedings. The formation of the Ulawa Branch was unanimously sustained.
During the meeting, the newly baptized members were recognized, and the sacrament was administered by the four full-time missionaries serving in the branch.
The Ulawa Branch recently completed the construction of a new chapel that accommodates 100 members. The chapel was built with local materials and labor. As the Church continues to grow on Ulawa Island, the faith and determination of its members are a testament to the Lord’s work in this part of the Pacific.
Ulawa Island, part of the Makira province in the Solomon Islands, is home to over 6,000 residents. It has limited commerce and electricity, but the island is a close-knit, family-oriented community. The faith of the members and missionaries on the island to establish a congregation is a testament to the people, the community, and the truth of the Saviour’s gospel.

The Taylorsville Utah West Stake presented an original musical for their Heritage Arts Festival. For weeks a 60-voice chorus practiced diligently, while Scouts whooped it up square dancing. Backstage the set designer sloshed paint on canvas and the makeup committee practiced mass-production mascara application. “The Heritage of Our Future” played two nights to packed audiences. The drama dealt with the influence a young girl’s heritage has on her decision to not marry a nonmember and how that decision affects her future.

Tally walked home from school, her shoes crunching through dead leaves. She loved this time of year. The day after tomorrow her class was having a party. They would make crafts, play games, and eat pie. The day after that, her cousins were coming for Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn’t wait! Tally’s good mood made it easy to feel grateful, even with the cold wind whipping through her hair.
But the next day, Tally woke up feeling awful, especially when she swallowed. Mom used a flashlight to look inside Tally’s mouth. “We’d better go see the doctor,” she said.
All the way there, Tally prayed, Heavenly Father, please help me get better so I don’t have to miss the party.
The doctor used a cotton swab to swipe the back of Tally’s throat. Then she left the room to go test the swab for an infection called strep throat. Tally prayed she didn’t have it.
When the doctor came back, she said, “It looks like you don’t have strep.”
Tally beamed. Did this mean she could go to school tomorrow?
“I’ll do a second test to make sure, but for now go home and rest,” the doctor said.
The next morning it still hurt when Tally swallowed. Maybe if she went to school, she’d have so much fun she wouldn’t notice the pain. She was getting dressed when the phone rang. Soon Mom came into Tally’s room.
“I’m sorry, Tally, but the doctor just called. The second test showed that you do have strep throat. The first test was wrong.”
Tally’s heart dropped. “But can I still go to school? I promise I won’t breathe on anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Tally. That wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. No matter how careful you are, until you’ve taken medicine for a day, your infection could still make other people sick.”
Tally tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, but it hurt too much. It wasn’t fair!
While Tally rested in bed, feeling bored, she thought about her classmates making crafts and playing games. When she took her yucky pills, she thought about her friends eating pie. They probably didn’t even notice she was gone. She knew Thanksgiving should help her remember her blessings, but it was hard to feel grateful when she felt so sad and left out.
That afternoon the doorbell rang. Tally heard her teacher’s voice when Mom answered the door.
“We sure missed Tally today,” her teacher said. “The class made some crafts for her. And we saved her some pie too. Please tell her we hope she feels better soon. Happy Thanksgiving!”
Tally came out of her room to find paper turkeys and a clay cornucopia on the kitchen table. She could tell someone had worked hard on them. She was grateful for such good friends.
“Do you want some pie?” Mom pointed to the treat Tally’s teacher had left.
Tally took a bite. When she swallowed, her throat didn’t hurt quite as much. She was grateful that after resting and taking medicine, she was starting to feel better in time for the family party tomorrow.
Heavenly Father hadn’t healed her right away, like she’d asked, but He had blessed her to feel comforted. And she was beginning to feel a little better. Tomorrow her cousins were coming, and she could show them the crafts her class had made. Maybe they could even make some crafts together.
Tally smiled. It was easy to feel grateful with so many blessing to count.

I want to share with you a few comments made about one of our graduates who, through a life of service, has helped to burnish the Brigham Young University name. This was written by one of her seven children—six sons and one daughter—who nominated their mother for the Service to Family Award:

[Alice Schindler Cannon] graduated from BYU in 1958 and went to law school at Duke University. Because of a long-distance courtship with our father, she moved to Illinois and graduated from the University of Illinois as a lawyer. During this time they married, and upon graduating our mother decided not to begin a law practice because she was expecting her first child. Her priority was family.

The letters of recommendation noted that tragedy struck this family in 1993 when an accident took their father. It was then that the award nominee assumed the role as head of the household and monitored the family construction business as secretary/treasurer. Her family further notes that she has served in virtually every Church organization and calling, including Relief Society president twice, both stake and ward Young Women president, and Primary president.

At her daughter’s report to the high council after her mission, the stake president asked this outstanding mother and BYU graduate where she had sent her children on their missions. After she replied, with tears in his eyes the stake president noted, “Sister, you have sent your children to all parts of the world to teach the gospel, and the men and women of this world honor your name.”

Some people also stumble over statements made by Church leaders that have turned out to be incorrect, not about doctrine but in their personal opinions. For example, President Joseph Fielding Smith (1876–1972) wrote in the first edition of his book Answers to Gospel Questions, “It is doubtful that man will ever be permitted to make any instrument or ship to travel through space and visit the moon or any distant planet.”4

Later, following the Apollo moon landings and the death of President David O. McKay, Joseph Fielding Smith became President of the Church. At a press conference, a reporter asked him about this statement. President Smith replied, “Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?”5

Just before my junior year in high school, my family moved 3,000 miles to the San Francisco area. I started the year knowing exactly one person—my freshman sister.

Redwood High School was very different from the strict high school I had been attending. The whole atmosphere was intimidating.

Shortly after school began, I tried out for cheerleader. I didn’t even make first cuts. In October I went to an audition for a Christmas choir program. Before I even sang a note, the choir director asked me if I had ever been in a school choir. When my answer was no, I was ushered out the door and told thank you very much.

The one bright spot in my day was early-morning seminary, where I always felt welcome and accepted.

At school I worked hard and occasionally forced myself to contribute during classroom discussions. Eventually I made some friends and found a group to eat lunch with. I went to the ball games and school plays, volunteered during spirit week, and hung out at the dances. But I still never felt like I quite belonged.

I kept busy my senior year filling out college application forms, taking entrance exams, and applying for scholarships. Three weeks before graduation, Lee, the good-looking, iron-pumping, brainy debate team member and senior class president, called out to me after class and asked me to walk with him. I was stunned that he even knew my name.

As we walked he explained that he was the president of his church youth group. The group had been studying the religions of the world, and someone had expressed interest in learning about Latter-day Saints. Lee turned to face me and asked if I would deliver an hour-long presentation about the Church to his group.

Weakly I managed to reply, “You don’t want me to speak; who you really want is our missionaries. I’ll ask them for you.”

His response startled me, “We don’t want your missionaries. We want you. We know you, we’ve watched you, and we like who you are.”

Stunned again, I told Lee I would be glad to speak to his group.

The next five days were a flurry of preparation. My seminary teacher, my parents, and the missionaries helped me prepare to explain the basic principles of the gospel and how The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints differs from other churches. Knowing that Lee and his friends were forceful debaters who could be merciless against opponents, I also fasted and prayed for divine guidance.

The day of the presentation arrived. With scriptures in hand and a prayer in my heart, I entered the meeting hall. The 35 people in the room—kids from school, a few adults, and the pastor—all turned to look at me as I walked to the front. After Lee greeted me warmly and introduced me, I took a deep breath and began by telling the Joseph Smith story. A calm feeling filled the room, and for the next 45 minutes the words I spoke came smoothly and effortlessly. I ended by bearing my testimony of modern-day prophets, revelation, and the love Jesus Christ has for each of us.

Then, with great apprehension, I asked if there were any questions. Hands shot up all over the room. Oh boy, here it comes, I thought to myself. But to my surprise, none of the questions were hostile or quarrelsome. As I left the hall I knew that a power stronger than my own had directed the evening’s event.

Throughout high school I had always assumed that being popular meant dating cool guys, appearing in lots of yearbook pictures, or being prom queen. Through this experience, I finally realized that there is a different kind of popularity—popularity based on respect.

Like most of you, I can attribute and connect my life’s journey to those who came before me. I can see how their circumstances, sacrifices, and choices impacted me and my life. In order for me to share about my experience here at BYU–Hawaii I would like to give you a little background knowledge about my upbringing and family’s history in Laie.

My maternal Great Grandma Ruby Freeman was raised in Sandy, Utah. She was hanai’d by her aunty, Augusta Winters, wife of President Heber J. Grant. She was hanai’d because her mother passed away at 38 years of age leaving behind nine children. My Great Grandma Ruby Freeman is the mother of my grandpa, Roscoe Sorensen. My Grandpa Sorensen was blessed to serve a mission in Hawaii from 1939-1941. It was during this time he first saw my Grandma, Caroline Hubbell. He saw her while she was dancing hula at the Royal Hawaiian when he and his companion were invited to eat there. He saw her again at church which I am sure left a lasting impression. Upon completion of his mission and returning home to Utah, my grandpa headed back to Hawaii where he was reconnected to my grandma and the two were eventually married. At this time, my grandpa began civilian work at Pearl Harbor during World War II. Not too many years later my grandparents were given the opportunity to buy land and settle in Laie with the early saints. They chose the area directly across from what is now the entrance to TVA and the faculty townhomes. Years later the Church College of Hawaii was established and my grandpa worked as a Groundskeeper until he retired. He also served as one of the first bishops in Laie and was a stake patriarch in his later days. Grandpa Sorensen was a known cowboy in Laie and ran the slaughterhouse which provided meat to the saints in the community. While neither of my grandparents attended what is now known as BYU–Hawaii - I truly believe that their commitment to the church and the college eventually led me to attend school here and return in the capacity in which I now serve. I am grateful for my great grandmother and her sacrifices and teachings which I know led my grandpa to serve a mission in Hawaii which eventually led to him marrying my grandma and their family being raised in the Laie community.

Soon after I was baptized in 1974, I attended my first general conference in Salt Lake City with my brother, John. I was surprised when Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had met my aunt in New York City three weeks before that conference, referred to John and me during his Sunday morning talk.
Quoting my aunt, Elder Packer said: “Two of my nephews have joined your Church. I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.”
Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.
Because of the profound change that followed his conversion, “a fire burned inside” Randy that he wanted to share as a full-time missionary.
Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.
On February 17, 2018, two weeks before the Washington D.C. Temple closed for renovation, I was sealed to my father and mother, 42 years after they had passed through the veil into eternity. My oldest son, Randall, acted as proxy for my father, and Lisa acted as proxy for my mother. I felt that my parents, who had been sealed to each other earlier, were both there in spirit.
In the temple we find cords that bind us forever to our loved ones. I am certain of that.
When I was young, I didn’t want to get married or have children. But today my wife, children, and grandchildren are my greatest treasures. The Church is a miracle, and my life in the Church has been miraculous. With Joseph Smith, I say, “If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself.”
Fifty years ago, I was a construction worker on the Washington D.C. Temple. I was convinced that my life had no happy future. Today I am an ordinance worker in that same temple, having accepted the Lord’s invitation to follow Him, receive His healing, embrace His ordinances, and strive to become like Him.
Randy and his wife, Lisa, serve in the Washington D.C. Temple, which he helped build 50 years ago.
Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
The restored Church is not a theory, a philosophy, or merely a community or culture. It is the true Church of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I thought I would find what I was looking for in San Francisco. I didn’t. I found it in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in the house of the Lord, “the crowning jewel of the Restoration.”

My own mother was semi-invalid for many years before she died, a shut-in who was absolutely delighted when anyone came by to visit or just to say hello. Coming up to meetings in Provo, I would stay with her, looking forward to our prayers together. But then in the middle of the night, I would often hear her from the bedroom next to ours. It was a conversation between her and someone. One time I stood at the door and eavesdropped on my sweet mother’s prayers that went on for 30 or 40 minutes. I was amazed at how far and wide her prayer ranged. The specificity. Each child, each grandchild, and even beyond her posterity.

I believe that righteous prayers will deploy angels to the spot where we cannot go ourselves. I believe that it is in our prayers that our own souls are shaped and tutored, again when they are linked to personal action where we are able.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”

I was attending a stake conference where I was to interview some prospective missionaries. Before one boy came in the room, the stake president said to me, “Now here is a boy who has just come through a serious experience. He is just out of the service. He suffered shell shock; you had better talk carefully to him and make sure that he is prepared to go.”
So as I talked with him, I said, “Now, why do you want to go on this mission, son? Are you sure that you want to go, really, after all this harrowing experience?”
He sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied: “Brother Lee, I had never been away from home before I went into the service. When I arrived in the military camps, every waking hour I heard filthy, profane language. I found myself losing a certain pure-mindedness, and I sought God in prayer to give me the strength not to fall into that terrible habit. God heard my prayer and gave me strength. Then we went through the training, and it was arduous, and I asked him to give me physical strength to go through, and he did. He heard my prayer, but as we moved up towards the fighting lines and I heard the booming of the guns and the crackling of the rifles—and sometimes as we crouched down in our shell holes, it just seemed that if I put a finger up it would be shot off so intense was the fighting—I was afraid. I would lie there just waiting, and I prayed to God to give me the courage to do the task that I was there to do, and the Lord heard my prayer and gave me courage. Then they sent me up with an advance patrol to search out the enemy and to radio back to the reinforcements, telling them where to attack. Sometimes the enemy would almost hedge me around until I was cut off, and it seemed that there was no escape and that surely my life would be taken. I asked the only source of protection to guide me safely back, and God heard my prayers. Time and again through the most harrowing experiences he led me back.
“Now,” he said, “Brother Lee, I am back home. And I would like to say thanks to that power to which I prayed—God, our Heavenly Father.” And then he said, “My purpose in going out on a mission is to teach others that faith that I was taught in my Sunday School, in my seminary, in my priesthood class, in my home. I want to teach others so that they will have that same strength that guided me through this difficult experience.”

I was the first member of my family to join the Church. As an eight-year-old, I waited to feel somehow different because of my baptism. To be honest, the only thing I felt when I was brought out of the water was … well, dripping wet. I thought something more profound would happen when I was confirmed. However, after receiving the Holy Ghost, again I felt happy but certainly no different than I had just a few minutes before.

It wasn’t until the following day at fast and testimony meeting that I experienced what I now recognize as the influence of the Holy Ghost. A brother stood to bear his testimony and tell about the blessings of his membership in the Church. I felt a flood of warmth sweep over me. Even as an eight-year-old, I recognized that this was something different. I felt a peace descend on me, and I had the distinct feeling that Heavenly Father was pleased with me.

Days start early in the Chung Tien household. The father, Willie Chung Tien, is the baker for the village of Mataura, located on the island of Tubuai in French Polynesia. That means most mornings he starts work at 4:00 a.m. It’s the only way bread will be ready in time for breakfast, and many people depend on Brother Chung Tien for their daily bread.
Eleven-year-old Lee Yen Chung Tien has learned a lot from her father’s example. “I don’t get up as early as he does,” she says. “But I try to work hard like he does, and to serve other people like he does.” She knows that many mornings her father takes fresh, hot bread to the missionaries serving on Tubuai. She knows that he gives many hours in service to the Church in his calling as first counselor in the Mataura Branch presidency. She also knows that many people on the island admire his friendly smile and his positive attitude. “He is a great example to our family,” Lee Yen says. “His happiness helps us all to be happy too.”

Another example of the blessings of faith: For the first six years of our marriage, Chris and I were not blessed with children. After numerous tests and visits to doctors, we were informed that if we wanted children, it might be a good idea to look into adoption. So we went to see our bishop to get more information about LDS Social Services and the adoption process. Our bishop, Bishop Sione Feinga, just looked as us with a somewhat puzzled look, and asked why we had not first asked for a priesthood blessing. He just said “you come back, I’ll give you both a blessing. . . then you’ll have babies.” He didn’t say “maybe”, or “let’s try this first”. He just said: “you’ll have babies.” A little under a year after that blessing, our first son was born; Then two years later, our daughter; and then two more years another son; and then another son. We started to think that we might have to go back and see Bishop Feinga again and get another blessing!

A few years ago I had an experience with deceptive appearances where the results could have been tragic. My wife’s cousin and family were visiting us from Utah. It was a calm summer day on the Oregon coast, and we were fishing in the ocean. It was pleasant, and we were having a good time catching salmon, when for some reason I turned around to see a huge eight-foot wave bearing down upon us. I only had time to shout a warning before the wave hit us broadside. Somehow the boat stayed upright, but Gary, our cousin, was thrown overboard. We were all wearing life jackets and with some difficulty maneuvered the boat, half filled with water, to where he was floating and pulled him aboard.
We had been hit by what is called a sneaker wave. It doesn’t happen often, and there is no way to predict an occurrence. Later we found that up and down the Oregon-Washington coast, five people had drowned that day in three separate boating accidents. All were caused by the same sneaker wave, which for no apparent reason had welled up off the ocean surface. At the time we went out over the bar, the ocean was flat and calm and gave no sign of any danger. But the ocean turned out to be very deceptive and not at all what it appeared to be.
I am grateful that we had on our life jackets that summer day on the ocean. I am thankful we were able to avoid the tragedy that came to others from that sneaker wave. It is my prayer that we will continue to wear our life jackets of obedience in order to avoid the tragedy that will surely come if we are deceived and follow the enticings of the adversary.

It was early in the morning, and I sat in our small apartment trying to study. I had been serving as a missionary in Atlanta, Georgia, for the past six months. The first few months of my mission had been good, but that morning I felt hopeless and discouraged. I had been transferred to a hard area, and we were not teaching many people. We would go from door to door, day after day, but with little success.
As I tried to read my scriptures, my mind wandered. “Why do I have to serve in this area?” “Why is it so hard?” “What are we doing wrong?” There were so many questions going through my mind, but I did not know the answers. I only knew that I was ready to quit.
I sighed and tried to return to my studies, but it was no use. “What’s the point?” I thought. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone to teach in this area anyway.”
In desperation I knelt and began to pray. I had read in the scriptures about crying to God, but I did not really understand what it meant until that moment. I prayed hard and fervently, pouring out my heart. I asked God to help me get through my mission and to help us have success. I asked Him to help me so I would not be discouraged and to give me the strength to go on. I asked Him to help me study, because I knew I could gain something from the passages of scripture I was trying to read.
I closed my prayer and tried to read again. This time the scriptures opened up to me, and I felt intrigued by the story I was reading. It was in Alma 26. I realized the story was about missionary work. Aaron and Ammon were missionaries who had challenges that were more severe than what I was experiencing. They were put in prison, beaten, laughed at, threatened with their lives, and condemned for their beliefs. Their faith was tried also. They did not give up. Instead, they were faithful and strong through all their trials. I then realized that if Ammon and Aaron could endure all their trials, then I could endure mine too.
I read more of the story and saw the blessings that Ammon and Aaron received. They saw thousands of people experience a change of heart, repent, and be baptized. Their trials eventually brought them indescribable joy.
When I finished reading the chapter, I noticed a plaque that hung on the wall above our desk. It read, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). I had never really noticed that plaque until then. Reading the verse left me with a wonderful feeling. Christ was my strength because He knew what I was going through. He suffered all things. He even knew what it was like to be a discouraged, frightened young missionary serving in Georgia.
After I went through the trials, I did see the blessings. We were teaching one woman who was truly prepared to receive the gospel. She told us she wanted to be baptized. I grew to love her as a daughter of God, and when I saw her baptism, I felt the same joy that Aaron and Ammon felt—pure, indescribable joy.
Throughout my mission I saw many others come into the gospel. I saw miracles. I never forgot that scripture: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Whenever I felt discouraged or afraid, I would think about that scripture and remember that Christ was my strength and that He would not leave me alone. I knew that with Christ on my side as my strength, I could do all things.

The day the Prophet Joseph ended his bondage in Liberty Jail, 6 April 1839, involved yet another significant event. Heber C. Kimball recorded in his journal that on that day
the following words came to my mind, and the Spirit said unto me, “write,” which I did by taking a piece of paper and writing on my knee as follows: . . . “Verily I say unto my servant Heber, thou art my son, in whom I am well pleased for thou art careful to hearken to my words, and not transgress my law, nor rebel against my servant Joseph Smith, for thou has a respect to the words of mine anointed, even from the least to the greatest of them; therefore thy name is written in heaven, no more to be blotted out for ever, because of these things.” [Words, p. 18]

Note how much importance the Lord attached to our being loyal to his servants! It is no different now.

“I thought of an experience I had long, long ago. In the summer we lived on a farm. We had a little old tractor. There was a dead tree I wished to pull. I fastened one end of a chain to the tractor and the other end to the tree. As the tractor began to move, the tree shook a little, and then the chain broke.
“I looked at that broken link and wondered how it could have given way. I went to the hardware store and bought a repair link. I put it together again, but it was an awkward and ugly connection. The chain was never, never the same.
“As I sat … pondering these things, I said to myself, ‘Never permit yourself to become a weak link in the chain of your generations.’ It is so important that we pass on without a blemish our inheritance of body and brain and, if you please, faith and virtue untarnished to the generations who will come after us.
“You young men and you young women, most of you will marry and have children. Your children will have children, as will the children who come after them. Life is a great chain of generations that we in the Church believe must be linked together.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “Keep the Chain Unbroken,” in Brigham Young University 1999–2000 Speeches (2000), 108–9.

In a recent general conference message, President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, spoke about the perilous times in the world: “The Apostle Paul wrote to Timothy, ‘This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come’ (2 Timothy 3:1).
“… And so it will become more difficult, not easier, to honor the covenants we must make and keep to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.”1
As I heard these words, I felt anxious. I was already dealing with challenges in my home in Venezuela. So questions like, “How can I stay optimistic when the world is so dark?” and “How can I look forward to a bright future in such a blackened present?” were in my heart at the time.
But President Eyring offered the solution. He quoted Helaman 5:12, which speaks about building our foundation “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ.”
I have always believed that this scripture was true, but building my foundation on the Savior seemed a lot easier said than done. Nonetheless, as I have drawn closer to Christ, I have seen that everything works for your good when your faith is firm in Him (see Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).
A couple of months ago, I received devastating news from my family. My world seemed to be crumbling in front of me. I felt numb, confused, and so anxious that I even got sick!
I did not understand why we were facing such hardships when I was trying to be faithful. I wondered if I’d done something wrong. The future looked bleak, and I felt abandoned by Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
In the middle of my affliction, I talked to a good friend. He told me something I will never forget: “I think this situation is a good opportunity for you to ponder on your personal relationship with the Lord. No matter what happens, it is up to you to turn to Him for help. If you do, He will provide you with the love and relief you need right now.”
Those words changed my perspective. I was angry and hurt and confused by my circumstances, but I had a choice. No matter what we’re going through, what fears we have, or what difficulties we are facing, Jesus Christ is always right beside us. We have the choice to turn toward Him with faith, not away from Him, in troubling times.
That is how we strengthen our foundation of faith in Him and withstand the hardship in the world. By choosing Him.
As Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “In the midst of this refiner’s fire, rather than get angry with God, get close to God. Call upon the Father in the name of the Son. Walk with Them in the Spirit, day by day. Allow Them over time to manifest Their fidelity to you. Come truly to know Them and truly to know yourself.”2
Christ was waiting for me to turn to Him for help. That didn’t mean He would make all my problems go away or fix everything in my life and family instantly, but He helped me become better, find joy, and become more refined.
And over time, as I sought the Savior through prayer, scripture study, and faith, He helped me forgive my family members and invite joy into my life again, even though some challenges are still not solved.