Gospel Story Finder

I wanted to join the Church, but I also didn’t want to make my mom mad. My mom played a big role in my decisions while I was growing up. She was a minister, so I constantly listened to her instead of going to church and learning for myself.
I was a little hesitant when we set a date for my baptism. The missionaries came over, and we talked about it.
Finally, I asked my daughter, Aryanna, “Do you want to be baptized?”
She said, “Mom, I’m ready whenever you are.”
She told me that when she went to church, all the girls ran and greeted her. They took her to Primary classes and were always friendly. They wanted her to be part of things. She became really good friends with one of the girls. That’s what she enjoyed about it.
At Aryanna’s baptism, she cried tears of joy. When I saw her, I thought, I’m where I need to be.

Lonah loves the gospel and knows it’s the same all over the world. Her grandfather has been ill and is living in Australia while he receives treatment. When visiting him, Lonah goes to Primary there. She says it’s different in Australia because there are many different classrooms and classes divided by age. In the Somosomo branch, Primary classes are held all together. But the lessons are the same.

I do not like to see people getting teased or laughed at. I feel bad for them when that happens, because I know I wouldn’t like it if that happened to me.
One day I was walking home from school with a friend. As we got to our street, a boy named Mark* was just getting off the school bus. Mark lives nearby, but he goes to a different school. He is overweight. My friend started to call him rude names, like “Chunky” and “Chubby.” Mark pretended not to hear and just walked more quickly toward his house. After he was out of sight, I told my friend that calling him names was not nice. After I got home, I was still upset about it. Even though I had not called him names, I had stood by and let someone else do it.
Early the next morning I went over to Mark’s house and apologized to him for my friend’s calling him names and my not stopping it. After I had apologized to him, I felt much better inside. I hope it made him feel better too.

Another couple adopted a rule for their marriage: “Whatever you say to your spouse, make it a gift.” With this in mind, they challenged themselves to discover new, imaginative ways of communicating with each other. With a little effort, they were able to develop new procedures for handling delicate and sensitive issues, procedures which clearly gave the message “I care about you—I care about us.” Together they declared war on all negative, harmful elements that could hurt their relationship.

When Church leaders told Jirí in 1988 that renewed effort on his part could change the government’s decision to grant the Church official recognition, he did not hesitate. Although he was putting at risk his family’s safety, his job, his freedom—possibly even his life—he said, “I will go! I will do it!” Embracing his wife, he said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and his work is more important than our freedom or life.”

After Brother Snederfler submitted that request, the suspicion and persecution he and other Church members had endured for so long became even more severe. However, “the Saints continued in courage and faith,” says Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who, accompanied by Elder Hans B. Ringger of the Seventy, had made repeated requests over several years for formal recognition. Elder Nelson adds, “Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!” (Tambuli, May 1992, 14–15).

Over the next few years, Jirí renewed efforts to gain official recognition for the Church. And all active Church members in Czechoslovakia contributed their faith, fasting, and prayers. For two years, the Czechoslovak Saints had two monthly fast Sundays: they fasted on the first Sunday of each month, along with Church members worldwide—and they also fasted on the third Sunday of every month for freedom of religion.

During a visit with the Communist government’s secretariat of religious affairs in 1987, Elder Russell M. Nelson was informed that the official leader of the Church in Czechoslovakia—the Church’s official liaison with the government had to be a Czech citizen. Elder Nelson and Elder Hans B. Ringger called Jirí Snederfler to be that Czech leader.

Of course, Jirí was more than willing to accept the assignment; he had already made countless petitions to the government over the years and had been regarded as a troublemaker and an enemy of the state. Now, by the secretariat’s own decree, he—a Czech citizen—would officially represent the Church in the eyes of the Communist government.

When accompanied by Elder Nelson and Elder Ringger, Jirí was received kindly. But when he was invited to come alone to a meeting in December 1988, “the officials of the secretariat showed their true faces,” he says. “They tried to intimidate me into withdrawing the Church’s petition for official recognition. They even used threats, telling me what might happen to the Church members if we continued to pursue it.”

At that moment, Brother Snederfler fearlessly opened his mouth and expressed his outrage at the way the Church had been treated during the preceding four decades. “I lost my patience and told them they had only two alternatives in order to get rid of us: either grant us official recognition and permission to worship publicly—or eliminate, lock up, or kick all of us out. I knew I could have landed straight in jail for saying that! But surprisingly they started to treat me with courtesy. Perhaps they were afraid the Church would publish in the free world how the Communist regime in Czechoslovakia was illegally oppressing religiously inclined citizens. Be it as it may, I know I was under the protection of God.”

For the next year, Jirí found himself near the top of the secret police’s list of people dangerous to the state. “I had grown used to that for the past 40 years anyway,” he says. But although he was interrogated monthly by the secret police, he now also dealt monthly with the secretariat for religious affairs. He used those frequent opportunities “to let them get used to the idea that we would not withdraw our cause.” On 17 May 1989, he submitted a renewed official request for recognition. When he received no reply, he wrote letters of complaint and began making weekly visits to the secretariat.

Then came that remarkable day of 17 November 1989—the beginning of the nationwide “velvet revolution” against the Communist regime in Czechoslovakia. “That was a signal to us to intensify even more the pressure regarding our petition. The secretariat for religious affairs referred me to the ministry of culture, who referred me to the state department, who claimed not to be able to do anything without a decision of the cabinet. There was chaos. Nobody knew anything; nobody was responsible for anything. Then the secret police ceased to exist, the secretariat for religious affairs was eliminated, and the power of the Communists was broken.”

In January 1990, Brother Snederfler submitted the Church’s petition to the new administration’s minister of culture, who was overseeing the registration of churches and religious societies. After hearing Jirí’s account and reading the documents, the minister of culture “immediately wrote a petition recommending that the government grant the Church official recognition and permission for public activity as soon as possible. He wrote that the new government had a moral duty to rectify the injustice done to our Church by the Communist regime, which had ‘illegally and criminally abolished the activity thereof.’”

On 6 February 1990, Elder Russell M. Nelson, Elder Hans B. Ringger, and Brother Snederfler met with the vice chairman of the new government; that afternoon they retraced Elder John A. Widtsoe’s steps up Priests Hill near Karlstejn Castle, and Elder Nelson reaffirmed the dedication of Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the restored gospel.

On 21 February 1990, the new administration passed a resolution granting the Church’s request, effective 1 March 1990. The news was broadcast nationwide in newspapers and on radio and television. “Finally, 40 long years of struggle for official recognition and public activity in Czechoslovakia had come to an end!” says Brother Snederfler.

A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop” (Autobiography and Poems, 1881, p. 32).

The English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) once heard a farmer say that he hoped his children would grow up to be God-fearing, prayerful, righteous people, but that he would never prejudice them in favor of religion by imposing religious principles on them or taking them to Church. He said they would grow up and decide for themselves. This same farmer was famous for his productive farm, his well-cared-for gardens, and his intelligent children.
Coleridge answered the man, “Bravo! This is a very progressive idea. Why do you not apply it also to your fields and orchards and gardens in the future? Do not prejudice them by seeding, weeding, and cultivating the soil, by pruning and thinning the trees, and by planting the gardens. Why not see if they will grow up and just decide to be what you hope they will become?”

Snow had fallen all day, covering everything. Raybell and Linda had come out of their Primary class into the front foyer where everybody’s coats and boots were. “Look at Judy’s raggedy old brown boots,” Linda had said. “Judy is so mean. She’s always saying something rude, even to the teacher. And I know she stole my new pen that I got for my birthday.”
“How do you know?” Raybell asked.
“I saw her with it. I’m pretty sure it was mine.”
“I wonder if she stole my candy bar out of my desk too,” Raybell said.
“You know what we could do?” Linda whispered. “We could put snow in her boots.”
Before Raybell could say anything, Linda grabbed them and started out the door. Raybell went after her, and together they filled the toes of Judy’s boots with snow and put them back in place before Judy came out of her class.
When Judy came into the foyer, Raybell and Linda stood nearby and watched her. Judy pulled on one boot and quickly pulled her foot out again. Linda giggled a little, but Judy didn’t seem to hear. She looked into her boot and frowned. The look in Judy’s eyes made Raybell feel a little sick inside. Judy picked up her boots and went outside. As she passed Raybell and Linda, she looked defiantly into their faces. She emptied her boots, pulled each one on, and trudged across the snowy field to her house. Raybell and Linda stood on the church steps watching her and then went home without saying much.

Like Jim, as a young man I was privileged to have “goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). They taught gospel principles and values to our family by precept and example. As a young boy I thought I had a testimony. I believed! Then came some personal spiritual experiences through faith, prayer, scripture study, and especially father’s blessings in our home that caused me to think more seriously about the principles I had been taught and believed—but even more deeply about what I was beginning to feel. I will be forever grateful to parents who helped coach me through those precious spiritual experiences. They have had a lasting impact on me and on the strength of my testimony.

I want my ancestors to know about the gospel. When I pray about it, I receive comfort that they can learn more in the spirit world.
Ethan L., age 9, Brittany, France

John, then eleven, was extremely bright and a quick learner. Soon he was fluent in the new language. The little family’s plans suffered a setback one day soon after their arrival, when John was attacked by a rabid dog and confined to his bed for six weeks. After his recovery, he continued his education and worked part-time. His mother worked at her dressmaking, and she helped support the boys’ schooling with her sewing and with small earnings from some property that she had managed to buy.

After raising her children, Martha Paewai took classes through BYU–Pathway Worldwide and then started an online business.
Photograph courtesy of Martha Paewai
“Some people are surprised to learn that I began an online business later in life,” Martha Paewai notes. “Some friends said to me when I first began, ‘What does a Samoan woman with only casual work experience know about marketing?’”
There’s no age limit to learning, Sister Paewai likes to say. Besides, working from home now gives her more income and better working conditions than she had working as a domestic in New Zealand. It was hard to start a new business, but she learned as she went along and was willing to ask others for help when needed. “BYU–Pathway Worldwide gave me the confidence to try something new as well,” she says.

Whenever I heard Sister Kovacs speak, I wanted to have a beautiful foreign accent like hers. But at testimony meeting—we had it on June 30 that year because stake conference was the next week—I was too busy listening to what she was saying to even notice her accent. …
“It was fifty years ago tomorrow that I arrived in this wonderful, free land.” She wiped away a tear and began to chuckle. “I was only twelve years old, and just as I got off the boat, all these splendid fireworks started exploding. I thought they were welcoming me. I didn’t know it was Canada Day. I also didn’t know what a great blessing Heavenly Father had given me by letting me come here, because here I found the gospel of Jesus Christ. My testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel is my most precious possession.”
That made me think about the new bike I had just received for my birthday. I had told my little brother that it was the most valuable thing I owned and that he’d better not touch it.
After Sister Kovacs finished, Brother Stevens and Sister Pickett both said what a privilege it was to live in a free land, where they could have the gospel of Jesus Christ. Even Sister Cartier mentioned it, although I could only understand a few of her words because she always spoke in French.
As we sang “O Canada,”* I wondered just how grateful I was for those blessings. “God keep our land Glorious and free!” I sang timidly, my words drowned out by the fervent voices around me.
The next day, July 1, our family went on our traditional Canada Day picnic. That evening we took our blankets to the park and watched the fireworks. As the oranges, reds, greens, blues, and yellows blazed across the sky, I remembered Sister Kovacs saying how the fireworks had welcomed her to Canada. That started me thinking again about her testimony of Jesus Christ, and I suddenly realized that it really wasn’t her beautiful foreign accent I wanted—it was her testimony! But how could I get it? It was hard enough trying to talk like her, let alone trying to feel the way she did in her heart.
“Rebecca,” pleaded my little brother the next day, “Please let me ride your bike.”
“No way,” I said.
“But you’ve been riding it all morning.”
“So?”
I finally let him ride my bike on Thursday, but only because Mom came out and glared at me.
“See, he’s not doing so badly,” she said, watching him shimmy down the driveway.
“But he might wreck it,” I complained.
I didn’t think about Sister Kovacs again until I saw her at church the next Sunday.
“Hello, Rebecca,” she greeted me. “Did you have a nice Canada Day?”
“Oh, very nice,” I said, enjoying her beautiful accent. “We had a wonderful picnic, and we watched—”
I stopped, remembering.
“Yes, Rebecca. What did you watch?”
“We watched the fireworks, and I thought about your seeing them when you first came to Canada.”
“Yes, it was quite a sight for a twelve year old.”
I pressed my lips together and looked up at her seriously. “Sister Kovacs, is your testimony really your most precious possession?”
“Yes, dear,” she said gently but earnestly. “And what is yours?”
“Well,” I said, looking up at the ceiling and back down again, “I suppose it’s my brand-new blue bicycle.”
She nodded. “I bet you spend a lot of time with that new bike of yours.”
I went home wondering if Sister Kovacs spent a lot of time with Jesus. “Dad,” I asked, “how can you spend time with Jesus?”
“I suppose by praying and by reading about Him in the scriptures.”
I sat on the back steps and stared thoughtfully at my new bicycle. If I cut down my bike riding by ten minutes each day, I could read about Jesus. I was sure David wouldn’t mind riding my bicycle ten minutes a day.
That same afternoon I opened the Bible. It wasn’t Christmas yet, but I decided to read about Jesus’ birth: “And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.
“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. …
“And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:7–8, 16.)
Every day I read for ten minutes—some days even longer. I didn’t understand all the words, but Mom and Dad helped me. I felt all warm and good when I found out how much Jesus loves little children: “And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,
“And said, …
“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.” (Matt. 18:2–3, 5.)
One day David rode my bike for more than half an hour. “Where were you?” he asked when I finally came to find him. “I thought you got lost.”
“Oh, I got busy reading about Jesus feeding five thousand people and walking on the sea during a storm.”
Then came the day that David burst into the house with a red, frightened face.
“What’s wrong, David?”
“Oh, Rebecca, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it. I crashed on your bike, and now there’s a big dent in it!”
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
David looked shocked. “No, but aren’t you mad about your bike?”
I looked down at my book. “I’m trying not to be. I wish the dent wasn’t there. But I know you didn’t mean to do it, so I forgive you.”
“You what?”
“I was just reading about Jesus forgiving all the people who nailed Him to the cross. The least I can do is forgive you for putting a dent in my bike.”
The day I read 3 Nephi 17 in the Book of Mormon, I felt as if Jesus was standing right next to me: “And when he had said these words, he wept, and the multitude bare record of it, and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.
“And when he had done this he wept again.” (3 Ne. 17:21–22.)
I looked at the words for a long time and knew that they were true. I knew that Jesus Christ was my Friend and my Savior. And I knew that I had a testimony.
I thought about Sister Kovacs. Next Canada Day, I could bear my testimony too. On second thought, I didn’t have to wait until Canada Day. I could bear it at the next testimony meeting—or even sooner. I wanted to share my most precious possession.

I sat at my desk one Monday morning looking at all the e-mails that had piled up over the weekend. Always suspicious of a computer virus, I was almost ready to delete an e-mail and its attachment that were from an unknown sender. But as my finger paused on the mouse button, ready to click, the Spirit prompted me to open the message.
“Hello, Elder Rian Jones,” it began. “You are now around 50 years old, and I am 37. I have only a vague remembrance of your person, and I am not sure if the man I remember is the one I am writing to.” Actually, I was 45 years old, and who was this person who would address me as “Elder”? I hadn’t been called that since my mission. The writer then asked if I was still active in the Church and had kept the spirit of my mission. My curiosity was really piqued now.
“I don’t know if you will ever answer this e-mail. If you do, I will tell you many other things about my life and how I have been blessed by your mission. Elder, you never know where a small, good action can lead.” He signed his e-mail “Cesare Quarinto.” Later he told me he had found my e-mail address on the Italy Rome Mission Web site.
Try as I might, I could not recall the experience of teaching a 12-year-old boy in Taranto. But the attachment to the e-mail was a page he had scanned from an old copy of the Book of Mormon. It was a dedication, written in my handwriting in Italian, dated September 14, 1975. It read:
“Dear Cesare,
“I am giving you this gift so that you can read it to find the beautiful truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Don’t ever forget prayer, because it is only through prayer that you can find the truth. … I know this is the true Church, and I hope to share this truth with you.
“Your friend,
“Elder Rian Jones”
Suddenly I had a perfect recollection. Seeing the words I had written caused the memory to return. I recalled vividly the rented space we used for a chapel in Taranto. We taught young Cesare the gospel in that building. I had given him his own copy of the Book of Mormon shortly before I was transferred to another city. Recalling the circumstances and reading Cesare’s e-mail, I was overcome with joy.
I did have some success on my mission, but unfortunately most of the people I baptized had fallen away from the Church over the years. Now a scripture came to mind: “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15).

One summer I decided to read the Bible. I was worried that I would find it boring, but I tried to read it every morning.
For several years, a quote from President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, had hung on the bulletin board over my desk: “Be strong and of good courage. You are truly royal spirit daughters of Almighty God. You are princesses, destined to become queens. Your own wondrous story has already begun” (“Your Happily Ever After,” Ensign, May 2010, 127). I love this quote and have it memorized.
One day I stumbled on the phrase “be strong and of a good courage” in Deuteronomy 31:6! Recognizing it from President Uchtdorf’s quote, I highlighted the verse. I finished Deuteronomy that day and felt satisfied.
The next morning I began reading Joshua. In chapter 1 it says, “Be strong and of a good courage” (Joshua 1:6). I marked this scripture, noting the coincidence in my scripture journal.
A moment later, I found the phrase “be strong and of a good courage” again in verses 9 and 18! To me, the repetition of this phrase was a connection between the Old Testament and today. It must be important if the Lord’s servants are still giving us the same counsel today.
As I continued to read the Old Testament, I found several more verses with that same phrase. These verses are spread out and keep me eager to read my scriptures in the hope that I might find more.
This simple experience helped me to be diligent about my scripture study. It made the Old Testament interesting to me. And it became my personal goal to always “be strong and of good courage.”

This early morning boat launch is such a time. The stars have faded, but dawn has yet to tint the eastern horizon. On Tarawa, Kiribati’s most populous atoll (a low coral island encircling a lagoon), the few electric lights have long since blinked out. And with no wind to move the waters of Tarawa’s lagoon, the small, five-meter craft seems frozen in place, embraced on all sides by silent anticipation.
At the craft’s helm, Tune (pronounced toon-AY) gazes intently ahead. His 16-year-old friend and ward member, Moretekai Ataia, is at the bow, watching the water carefully. Though their destination, Abaiang Atoll, is several hours away, they are alert. Shoals extend right and left, and Tune must maneuver the boat safely between them until he passes the reef at the mouth of the lagoon. Once into the deep water of the ocean, he can increase his speed and steer directly toward Abaiang.
Moving into the lush landscape, they follow a familiar path to their destination—a maneaba (meeting place) in a clearing near the home of an elderly couple named Tamton and Taake Ruata. This maneaba serves as the meetinghouse for the Tabontibike-Abaiang Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Tune has brought Moretekai with him today to visit Tamton and Taake and other members of the Church on Abaiang.
The Saints in Kiribati have great respect for the priesthood, and wherever Tune goes on Abaiang, he is received with gladness. It soon becomes apparent it wasn’t whim that brought him to Abaiang. He was drawn to the island by prayer—reeled in like one of his tuna. He thought he was just visiting, perhaps finding an excuse to go fishing. But the real reason he came was to give Aritaake Moutu a priesthood blessing.
“Ever since I joined the Church, I’ve depended on priesthood blessings,” Sister Moutu says. “I had a problem with one of my legs before I joined the Church. Now whenever it gives me trouble, I ask for a blessing, and I’m always healed. This morning I was praying for someone to come and give me a blessing because my husband is not on the island to give me one.” She smiles at Tune. “That’s why you came.”
“It’s always like that,” Tune says. “She lives on this isolated island in the middle of nowhere. She and her family have their challenges. There are few jobs; most people live off what they can grow and get from the sea. There are no doctors or nurses on Abaiang. The Saints here depend a lot on the Lord. And the Lord takes care of them.”
“Yes, we have our challenges,” Sister Moutu says, “even after joining the Church. But we don’t notice them as much now.”
It is time to return to Tarawa. Tune knows he needs to get back before the tide pulls too much water out of Tarawa’s lagoon, leaving parts of it too shallow for his outboard motor. But before he and Moretekai leave, Tune gives Aritaake the priesthood blessing she prayed for.

The night my brother overdosed on heroin is one I’ll never forget. I can still recall every detail: the thud of his body hitting the floor, my parents’ yells, the terror, the confusion, and the hopelessness that sank in when I realized we were back to square one with his seemingly never-ending battle with addiction.
When my brother didn’t respond, I actually surprised myself. Despite the chaos around me, an unnatural inner strength came over me that enabled me to help my parents get my brother stable. I held his stiff gray hands and spoke slowly to him as he stared back with dull eyes. Though I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I was surprisingly calm as we waited for him to come to. I realized later that this timely calmness was the Lord’s sustaining power.
After he was stabilized and taken to be treated at a hospital, the reality of the situation struck me. My momentary heaven-sent strength ran out, and I collapsed with grief. My heart broke. My chest ached as I lay curled on my bed, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t sob hard enough to keep up with my emotions. “How is this my life?” I thought. “He’s never going to beat this! I can’t do this anymore!”
In that moment when I collapsed with grief, I felt like I had been lifted into the air by an unseen force—a gale-force wind that slammed me to the cold, dark ground of rock bottom—a place reserved not just for addicts but for those who love them, a place I’m becoming all too familiar with.
When my brother overdosed, he had been clean for two years. We were finally seeing the light after watching him battle the brutal consequences of addiction for more than a decade. But the moment he was again exposed to his vice, everything he had worked to build in the past two years came crashing down.
After briefly seeing freedom on the horizon, we had been sucked by my brother’s relapse back into the raging, messy, and seemingly inescapable hurricane of addiction, a storm that buffets the addict while also tossing their loved ones to and fro.
I’ve come to learn that the Savior will never leave me to drown either. In my life, it has always been small instances of the Lord’s mercy that allow me to keep paddling against the stormy waves life throws at me. He enabled me to remain calm and hold myself together when my brother needed me, He has helped me muster up enough strength to get out of bed on days when I believe I have no strength left, and He continues to offer me peace despite my constant numbing fear of the unknown.

One Thursday evening at a branch meeting at the Missionary Training Center, Provo, Utah, a large group of Primary children came and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters stood to sing “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were close to tears. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that is almost miraculous, and both accepted it as they would a more normal event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.

Larry M. Gibson walks 50 miles (80 km) in 19 hours with his sons.