Gospel Story Finder

As a youth in the Netherlands, I had the opportunity to spend two weeks working with the full-time sister missionaries. I expected two weeks of hard work—and a lot of fun.
Before that time, I knew that I had a Heavenly Father and He loved me. But during those two weeks I thought about Him and His work 24 hours a day; even as I slept, I dreamed about missionary work.
Despite my enthusiasm, the first couple of days were hard work—without much success. By the end of the first week I was exhausted, spiritually and emotionally. That night, I read the Book of Mormon all evening. When I went to bed, I had a warm and good feeling, and I knew Heavenly Father would give me the courage to keep trying after every closed door.
In the days that followed, there continued to be more negative than positive responses. But if there was only one person a day who would listen, it made the day worthwhile.
One day I telephoned a lady who had investigated the Church for four years. Over the phone, she told me she didn’t need the Book of Mormon because she had found a “more beautiful book.” When we went to her house, my companion and I hoped we could convince her to give the Book of Mormon another chance. She showed us parts of her book dealing with charity and pride, and she looked at us as if to say, That isn’t written in your book, is it?
Fortunately, I had studied the Book of Mormon in seminary that year, and I knew of some scriptures on those subjects. I soon found them and started to read. I explained them to her in a way I had not known I was capable of.
When I finished, she had tears in her eyes. She said she had intended to give her copy of the Book of Mormon back to us, but now she had decided to try reading this most beautiful book—the Book of Mormon—again.

“But, Mom! Pleeeeease!” Mom had to understand. Putting the new toy in the bathtub was important. It was the home base. The underwater explorers needed it so they could rescue sea creatures!
“The explorers have to have a home,” Eli said.
“If you put it in the water, the stickers will come off,” Mom said. “That’s why I already told you no.”
Eli was standing at the door, holding his toy. He moved toward the tub. He really wanted to put the base in the water.
“Eli?” Mom said.
He stopped.
“Remember, choices have consequences,” she said.
“Consequences?” It was a big word.
“Consequences are good things or bad things that happen because of choices we make,” she explained.
“So something bad will happen if I put my home base in the water?” Eli asked.
“The stickers will come off. But something good will happen if you don’t,” Mom said. “It will last longer. And you will also know that you were obedient.”
Eli sighed. He thought about the home base being under water. At first it would be fun. Then the stickers would get soggy.
But if he kept it dry he could use it over and over. And the stickers would still be good.
Eli set the base down. “I’ll leave it here,” he said. Then he headed toward the tub.
“Good choice,” Mom said.
Eli smiled. It felt good to obey Mom.
And you know what? The underwater explorers still had an exciting adventure. Eli just had to dry them off before they went to home base.

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

“One day, about halfway through my mission, I was having a really bad day,” Sister Stevens said. “Nothing was going right.”

“Fortunately,” Sister Stevens continued, “my companion wouldn’t let me stay in a bad mood. She suggested that we make a gratitude list. We listed all kinds of things, like peanut butter, soft beds, and letters from home.”

“By the end of the day, I’d forgotten why I had been in a bad mood,” Sister Stevens said. “It was the best day my companion and I had ever had. We decided to make a gratitude list every day.”

Let me use an illustration of how this may work in a personal setting. With permission, I share with you a story from Arlene Sewell told at a devotional in 2023. She shared how she received a job announcement from a friend that knew she would one day love to come back to BYU–Hawaii and serve as their chief information officer. She let the email sit for about a week but began to pray about it. “The more I prayed the more I felt to just apply. So, I did, and to much surprise I got a call that same week asking me how interested I was in moving to Hawaii and in the position. I was then fortunate to get a call to schedule my first interview and then my second interview.” She reasoned that “even if I don’t get the job at least we were able to get a free trip to Hawaii.”

She continued, “Meeting my future team in my interviews felt right. But I was torn with the responsibilities of taking care of my mother, the distance from my children and grandchildren, and missing out on my youngest son’s collegiate football games. On the second day of interviews, I woke up early to go running. I remember sitting in front of the temple and was torn on how this decision would affect my family... As I sat in front of the temple, I thought, ‘Lord if you need me here, please help me to balance my time ... and provide for my [family].’”

Later that month, she received a call and was offered the position to serve as the new CIO. She shared, “With much prayer and thought my husband and I felt that it was the right decision.” I love how Arlene concluded that “It may not have made logical sense, but it made spiritual sense.”

When I was 12 years old, I was injured in a BB gun accident that caused the complete loss of sight in my right eye. In addition to the insecurity that came from the slight disfigurement, I was more than a little anxious about living life without full vision.
About a year after the accident, I traveled with my father and brother to attend a general priesthood meeting in Salt Lake City. In anticipation of being in the same auditorium with a prophet of God, I began to think that if I could just look at President Ezra Taft Benson with my injured eye, somehow the powers of heaven would flow from God through that prophet directly to me, and my sight would be restored.
President Benson did not speak at the priesthood meeting that evening, though he was on the stand. During the first few talks, I directed the gaze of my blinded eye (if you can call it a gaze) directly at President Benson.
Initially, nothing happened, but I was undaunted. Hoping that decreasing the distance to the prophet would increase the possibility that a miracle would occur, I inched forward in my seat, leaned my entire body over the balcony, and gazed even more intensely at the stand.
Now, I really would like nothing more than to relate to you an inspiring account of how my faith was rewarded and my vision miraculously restored. But it didn’t happen that night in Salt Lake nor in the days that followed. In fact, even today, I still have vision in only one eye.[14]
Thankfully, what I can see is how Heavenly Father has provided me with everything I need to live with the consequences of the accident. Some of my other senses became more acute, which helped me compensate. I was given divine courage to try things I didn’t think I could do. Most importantly, I received confirmation that this physical limitation does not define my worth or limit my ability to contribute to the Lord’s work. We all have challenges that remain with us throughout this life. I know from personal experience that the Lord will strengthen us in our trials so that we are able to “bear up our burdens”[15] in a determined and cheerful way.

When the Saints began to settle in Nauvoo and surrounding areas, a French Catholic priest by the name of Father John Alleman, who lived in neighboring McDonough County, needed transportation to visit a sick member of his church. The Prophet Joseph Smith provided him with ferry service to cross the river, and a carriage to his destination.
As an expression of respect, Joseph Smith commented, “The priests attend to their people faithfully and mind their own business, whereas others are continually bothering the Latter-day Saints.”

While on a family vacation, we got separated from my dad and little brother. It was getting dark. The rest of the family didn’t know what to do. I told them we should pray. We said a prayer, and then we started to walk to some other stores. We looked up the street and saw my dad and my little brother! I was happy. I knew that God loved us and helped us find our dad.
Oliver P., age 8, São Paulo, Brazil

Bruce eased his paddle into the lake water, slicing the dark substance noiselessly, watching the droplets drip from the end of his wooden blade, interrupting the rhythm of his strokes to observe the shimmering return of water to water. Wet diamonds, Bruce thought, as he watched the droplets recombine with the lake.
For the moment, they were the richest and loveliest jewels he could know.
It was late September, and the predusk air was just beginning to acquire the distinctive and leafy mustiness of early autumn. The Connecticut evenings were chilly already, yet Bruce sensed the first morning of frost was still weeks away. When he was younger, the coming of the frost mattered little to him, for September meant only one horrible and inescapable event: the removal of freedom. He was not conscious of beginnings then, as he was today; he was aware only of endings. He smiled as he pushed the paddle deep into the water again, for he could still feel the horrible cringe in his mind that haunted him during the last weeks of summer every year. How he hated to relinquish the freedom of his summer to the walls of a school.
And they had been extraordinary summers. After finishing his job at the pet shop or completing his gardening assignments at Geysmar’s estate, he would hop into his beat-up VW, pick up Bob at the gas station, and they’d rumble and downshift their way over the winding roads to the lake. A few cans of soda, some bug repellant and fishing tackle, and they were set at least until dark. Sometimes longer.
Again Bruce smiled, this time more to the familiar back that occupied the forward seat of his canoe than to the endless water. He had picked Bob up tonight at his gas station, both of them curious to try out the old fishing spots one more time before Bruce took off for Utah and then Germany. They had left the station at 4:30, and when they arrived at the lake, there still were a few hours of daylight left.
“You really think there’s fish left in this puddle?” Bob asked, as he and Bruce lifted the canoe off the roof of the Bug and carried it over their heads to the water’s edge. “Bet the acid rain has just about wiped this place out.”
“Sure there’s fish. How can you doubt it? You just have to find them.” But they had found none so far, Bruce had to acknowledge, though the reawakening of memories had been well worth the trip.
“Hey Bruce, can’t you remember those stars?” Bob said. The silent onset of dusk had begun to slip in over the lake. “Don’t you remember those nights?” He was silent for a moment, then continued. “It really isn’t that long ago—just two years since the last time we were up here, right? But man! Those stars. Sometimes when I work the pumps at night now, I remember those stars.”
How could anyone forget them, Bruce thought, checking his line for bass as Bob spoke. They had been trolling the lake for about a half hour now, but still no luck. Sometimes it was like that.
“Those stars, Bruce.” Bob laughed. “Man, I still can’t say what they make me feel.”
They stopped paddling, then floated freely, words stuck in the stuff of their memories. Suddenly it seemed to Bruce that he was 14 again, and he and Bob were lying on their backs on the seats of their old rowboat, their lines limp at the side of the boat.
“Hey Bruce, do you think there’s ever an end to those stars?” Bob had asked. And Bruce had felt it then, as surely as he knew it again this evening, that the stars stretched on forever.
“Can’t you imagine a wall out there, Bruce? Can’t you feel it? You know, all of a sudden you reach the end of the space, and then there’s this big giant wall. Bam! That’s it. The big end.” And they had laughed.
But Bruce had found that he had to stop laughing that night. The waters licked softly at the base of the boat; a peeper sounded from the shore. There was nothing but blackness in the middle of the lake, all that black and silent water. Bruce shook his head vigorously, shutting his eyes, sitting up so suddenly that he hurt the bones in his back on the seat of the boat.
“No way, Bobby,” Bruce said, still shaking his head. “I just can’t handle that. It’s like something cracks—snap!—in my head. You know what I mean? I just can’t handle a wall in space. I just can’t handle it ending. Things have got to go on. Don’t you think, Bobby?” But it was more feeling than thinking, he knew.
Nights like that had made it easier to believe the missionaries, Bruce realized, when they had come knocking on his parents’ door. Nights like that had helped his new faith to seem almost reasonable. If space was endless, then life was endless, and endless life demanded a God. And if there was a God, Bruce just couldn’t imagine any other church being truer than the one that the missionaries had taught to him. He’d felt it as sure as he felt the warmth of the sun. And so he’d done it. He’d slipped gently into the bright waters of baptism, knees bending, his white clothes clinging to him as he felt his body going down and then up, lifted from the wetness by some power much greater than skinny old Elder Larsen. He had felt himself rising from the waters, a new person.
Water. It was always water for him. Once, when he was ten, he had tried to walk on the lake water. Lying on his back on the dock near his parents’ old cabin on the lake, he had become curious with the possibilities of faith. He had heard the story countless times in his Methodist Sunday School of the Savior walking on the water, but now his wondering made him restless. If he had enough faith, would the substanceless substance become firm beneath him? He stepped confidently out, then fell clumsily into the water.
“You caught any fish back there?” Bob asked, snapping Bruce back into the present.
Bruce looked at his line; it hung lifelessly in the dark.
“Maybe it’s time to head back,” Bob suggested.
Bruce said nothing. It was hard to stop fishing. He was always filled with the wild hope of just one more minute, just one more moment of patience, and then the tiniest movement of the line would come. If you weren’t careful, you would miss that gentle sign of interest, and the hope would be gone.
“Another 15 minutes, Bob. Let’s wait till it’s real dark. Then we’ll go back.”
Bruce reeled in his line, then pulled the pole back and cast out with one final hope for success. Setting the rod in the bottom of the canoe, he turned in the seat to get more comfortable and bumped his pole in the process. It jerked precariously, the line getting caught under the bow of the canoe. Impulsively, Bruce reached his hand into the black and unknowable water, the dark liquid now fused with the dimming horizon that was tentatively lit by a few of the earliest stars. Bruce tugged at the trapped line with his hand, freeing it, and then, for some reason, felt reluctant to let it go. Unexpectedly, the line raced through his enclosing fingers, pulled taut with certain promise.
“Hey Bob!” Bruce called softly, carefully pulling his hand in from the water, unwilling to disturb the pulse of the line. “I think I’ve got something, my friend.”

Many years ago I had one of my experiences in being unforgiving. I felt I had been taken advantage of, and I did not like the person. I did not want to be around him. I wouldn't talk to him unless I absolutely had to. Long after the issue should have been closed, it was still cankering my soul.

One day my wife, who is very astute and knows how to read me, said, "You don't like so and so, do you?"

"No, I don't," I said, "but how could you tell?"

"Well, your feelings show when you are around him. It's in your countenance, it shows. Why don't you do something about it?" she asked.

"Like what?" I said.

"Why don't you pray about it?"

I said, "Well, I did pray, and I still don't like him."

"No, " she replied, "why don't you really pray about it?"

I thought, how do you really pray about something?

Then I began to think, and I knew what she meant. So I decided that I was going to pray for a better feeling about this person until I had one. My spiritual life was on the line.

That night I got on my knees and prayed and tried to open up my heart to the Lord. But when I got up, I still didn't care for that person. The next morning I knelt and prayed and tried again to have a feeling of goodness toward him; but when I finished, I didn't feel any different. This process continued for several weeks, with the same negative result. Every night and every morning I prayed, but finally I noticed that my prayers had turned to pleadings. I have found that pleading raises prayer to another level. It happens when you really open up your heart to the Lord and let him see the real intent and purpose of your petition to him. A petition based on a deep love for the Lord as well as for each one of his children.

I don't remember a specific time that it happened, but I do know that the time finally came when I knew that if I were asked to, I could stand before the Lord and at least in this instance, He would find that I had a forgiving heart.

The stone of unforgiveness needs to be removed from all of us. If it happens to be there, I suggest that persistent prayer and even pleading might be a way to remove it.

When I was in my early thirties I had a very devastating life experience. I suffered a painful and very sad breakup of a relationship that I thought was leading to marriage. I thought I was getting ready to get married and then it did not happen. It was very painful and made me very sad, but, I can honestly, from the deepest part of my soul, tell you today how grateful I am for that experience because it forced me to turn to the Savior in a way I never had before. Now, do not misunderstand—I had always had a testimony that Jesus was the Christ; I had always been able to feel the Spirit since I was a little girl. I had loved the scriptures since I was a little girl. But I do not think I really understood at all what the Savior did for me when he atoned. In this particular phase of life though, I was so sad and had such a broken heart and just felt such emotional pain, that I did not know what to do except turn to the Lord. I found myself immersed in the scriptures, trying to better understand faith, trying to better understand where to turn for help. What I began to understand was that the source of all true healing is Jesus Christ. In fact, I have come to think of the doctrine of the Atonement in many ways as a doctrine of healing. The Savior will heal us from our mistakes if we repent. He will heal us from our weakness if we will turn to him and plead with him.

Think of the weakness that you have. Do you know that the ultimate source of solving those weaknesses and of making them strong, of turning them into strengths, is the Savior? It is not some behavior-modification course. It is the Savior. I started to learn for myself that there is profound power in Jesus Christ to help us cope with the various kinds of experiences we have in this life so we are never alone and we are never left to our own resources.

Since my early thirties challenging assignments have come like waves—one right after the other. I was thinking as I stood on the North Shore the other day and watching the waves roll in that that is how it has felt to me in my life. In some of those assignments I have been asked to do things I did not know how to do, things I did not feel prepared to do, and sometimes things I did not want to do; but, because I had had an earlier struggle where I began to learn how to draw upon the enabling power of Jesus Christ, and the healing power of Jesus Christ, I have at least had the strength to go forward because of him. President Eyring is right; Satan will come after you—count on it; we can just count on it. The only way to be ready for him is to understand how to draw the power, the enabling power, the strengthening power, the healing power of the Atonement into our lives.

Recently, while cleaning out my mother’s things, I came across some beautiful, barely touched hand-crafted quilts given to her by her mother. I didn’t know that these works of art even existed. They were packed in plastic casings and tucked away in the closet.

Immediately, I felt guilty for not doing the same thing with my own “grandma quilt.” Had I made a mistake in not preserving mine in plastic? Then I remembered, Grandma Rose made my quilt to warm and comfort me, so I accepted the gift and used it. Today, my blanket has noticeable wear and tear, something I hope she is proud of. I don’t believe she wanted it sitting on a shelf collecting dust. More importantly, my children know the source of their favorite soothing blanket and the hands who designed it with love!

I would like to tell you about a baby sparrow that was found lying on the pavement of a parking lot. During the night it had been blown from its nest by a storm.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman saw it and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless bird, she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues.
She fed the little bird often, watching it gain strength. Within a few days, it opened its eyes and saw for the first time the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It became accustomed to the sounds around it and was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage. It trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings. When the cage door was opened, it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand even when she went outside to help it become accustomed to the world where it soon would have to live.
When the girl and her sister went to girl’s camp on Cedar Mountain, the bird went with them. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flapping from the girl’s hand to the low branches of a nearby tree. But it was always glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love. When the camp was over, the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
Realizing that the bird must soon join its own kind, the girl took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. Assuming it would now join the other birds, the girl left it and went back inside.
Soon a chirping could be heard outside. When the girl went out, the bird flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the next few nights the bird came back to the house and wanted to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends living in the trees close by the home. But when my daughter, Trinilee, went outside and whistled, it would return and land on her hand.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend, it trusted her and responded to her beckoning call.
Do we have that kind of trust and faith in the Lord? Do we respond to His beckoning call to serve and be fed at His hand?
I pray that we will show faith and trust equal to that of the little sparrow and respond to the call of the Lord.

“Is something bothering you?” Mom asked Isa as they rode the tram home from church.
Isa stared out at the canals that crisscrossed Amsterdam’s streets. “My Primary teacher said that having the priesthood in your home is a blessing,” Isa said. “But Dad doesn’t have the priesthood.”
“We can still have the priesthood in our home, even if your dad isn’t a member of the Church,” Mom said. “There are lots of worthy priesthood holders in the ward who can help you. What about Brother Van Leeuwen, our home teacher?”
Isa liked Brother Van Leeuwen. He always brought stroopwafels, Isa’s favorite cookie, and talked with her about science, her best subject. But at church, other children told about their dads giving them priesthood blessings when they were sick or upset. Isa couldn’t ask her dad for a blessing.
“I love Dad,” Isa said. “I just wish he had the priesthood.”
When they got home, Dad was in the kitchen cooking dinner. “How was church?” he called to them.
Isa didn’t reply. Instead she went into her bedroom and flopped down on the bed. She wished things were a little different.
The next week Isa had to take a big test at school. Every child in the Netherlands has to take a test when they are 12 years old to determine where they go to school next year. Even though Isa had been studying hard and was prepared, she was very nervous. The night before, her stomach felt like it was tied in knots. She couldn’t sleep. As she tossed and turned in bed, she remembered the lesson from Primary about asking for a priesthood blessing if you were afraid. Even though her dad couldn’t give her a blessing, she knew Heavenly Father would help her if she asked.
Isa got out of bed and walked into the living room. Mom was at work, but Dad was on the couch watching TV.
“Is everything OK?” Dad asked.
“I’m really nervous about the test tomorrow,” Isa said. “Do you think we could call Brother Van Leeuwen and ask him to give me a blessing?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dad said. “Let me give him a call.”
Soon Brother Van Leeuwen and his son Jaan came over and gave Isa a blessing. Brother Van Leeuwen asked Heavenly Father to help Isa not be nervous for the test and to help her do well. While Brother Van Leeuwen gave Isa the blessing, Dad sat on the couch and folded his arms and closed his eyes.
After the blessing Isa felt much better. Her stomach wasn’t so tight anymore, and she was even a little sleepy. “Good luck tomorrow,” Brother Van Leeuwen said as they left. “You’ve worked very hard, and I know Heavenly Father will help you do well.”
“I’m proud of you for having faith,” Dad said to Isa as he tucked her back into bed. “Even if I’m not a member of the Church, I’m glad that you believe in God, and I hope you know that I do too.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Isa said, and he kissed her on the cheek.
As she snuggled under her covers, Isa felt happy and peaceful. She was grateful to have a dad who loved her. She was glad her dad believed in Heavenly Father and Jesus. And she knew the priesthood could always bless her and her home.

Such kind deeds of generosity are not a rarity, but are frequently found. Situated beneath the heavily traveled freeway which girds Salt Lake City is the home of a sixty-year-old single man who has, due to a crippling disease, never known a day without pain nor many days without loneliness. One winter’s day as I visited him, he was slow in answering the doorbell’s ring. I entered his well-kept home; the temperature in save but one room, the kitchen, was a chilly 40 degrees. The reason: not sufficient money to heat any other room. The walls needed papering, the ceilings to be lowered, the cupboards filled.
Troubled by the experience of visiting my friend, a bishop was consulted and a miracle of love, prompted by testimony, took place. The ward members were organized and the labor of love begun. A month later, my friend Lou called and asked if I would come and see what had happened to him. I did, and indeed beheld a miracle. The sidewalks which had been uprooted by large poplar trees had been replaced, the porch of the home rebuilt, a new door with glistening hardware installed, the ceilings lowered, the walls papered, the woodwork painted, the roof replaced, and the cupboards filled. No longer was the home chilly and uninviting. It now seemed to whisper a warm welcome. Lou saved until last showing me his pride and joy: there on his bed was a beautiful plaid quilt bearing the crest of his McDonald family clan. It had been made with loving care by the women of the Relief Society. Before leaving, I discovered that each week the Young Adults would bring in a hot dinner and share a home evening. Warmth had replaced the cold; repairs had transformed the wear of years; but more significantly, hope had dispelled despair and now love reigned triumphant.
All who participated in this moving drama of real life had discovered a new and personal appreciation of the Master’s teaching, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35.)

A bishop in Utah recently shared with me an outpouring of love in his ward for a young woman and her family. Through a series of beautiful events, the parents determined to return to the Savior and His Church. During the time they were distant from the Church, their teenage daughter was involved with a young man. Returning, this precious daughter felt immense love from her Heavenly Father during a Young Women testimony meeting. She determined to more fully live the commandments. She wrote, “I began the repentance process with my bishop.”

Soon after, she became ill. In her words: “[A] test showed … I was pregnant. I … began to cry. … My dad wrapped me in his arms and assured me everything [would] be OK. … My boyfriend … asked me to get rid of the baby. … I declined.”

She continued: “I have received so much love and support from our ward family. It has been overwhelming. [My] bishop and Young Women president have gone above and beyond to show their love and support. … I have seen the Lord’s hand … guiding me and my family. … A ward such as mine is the family everyone needs, especially a young woman in my position.”

She and her family, and her ward family, lovingly welcomed her baby boy this past February.

Of all the experiences I enjoyed as a mission president, one of the most exciting was the glorious sight of seeing the missionaries baptize converts to the Church. The elders felt the same way about that privilege. One of my fine missionaries had been very adventurous. He loved to rappel cliffs, hang glide, and parachute jump. When I asked him how he felt when he stood in the baptismal font with a convert, he replied, “It’s as exciting as jumping out of an airplane.”

My husband and I moved from Minnesota to Florida in 1995 with four kids in tow. The day we arrived, a powerful hurricane was heading to our area in Fort Lauderdale. As the movers were unloading our belongings, Elder Homer quickly went to the store to purchase water and canned goods, but he returned home a short time later with nothing. The shelves were completely empty. Panic started to set in as we noticed people boarding up windows in stores and homes.
Just as we were trying to figure out what to do, we saw a minivan pull up in front of our house. A woman got out and unloaded a wagon full of water and canned goods—and a homemade meal. A native Floridian, she told us all the things we needed to do: fill every sink and bathtub with water, except for one. This one we would all lie in and cover ourselves with a mattress, should the hurricane hit.
This woman, we learned, was the bishop’s wife, and she knew we were moving in this particular weekend. So, she had planned ahead for us, in addition to preparing for her own large family. We were overwhelmed with gratitude for this covenant-keeping woman. Through these kind acts, I felt deeply of Heavenly Father’s love for us and for me as His child.
The hurricane did not hit our area, but we were now well prepared for the next one.

On one occasion when my wife’s father was serving as a bishop, he was falsely accused of something and was immediately released. My mother-in-law was so hurt that she asked her husband if they should continue to go to church. He answered that they of course would continue to go to church since this is not the church of men, but this is the Church of Jesus Christ.

It took some time before the truth came to light and apologies were made. What could have been their breaking point just added to their strength and conviction.

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
...
Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

One of My Wobbles
I want to begin by sharing my own existential wobbles from my late twenties as I wrestled with some of the questions that many of you are contemplating now. In August 2008, with all my belongings loaded in the back of a Penske truck, I waved goodbye to my mom as my dad and I began a cross-country drive from Salem, Oregon, to Athens, Georgia. Only months earlier I had been teaching high school English, finishing my master’s degree, and enjoying my life. But as I thought about next steps, the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley, the prophet at the time, rang in my ears. He had admonished young adults who were in the midst of dating and preparing for family life to “get all of the education that you possibly can.”7 I loved learning, and this counsel resonated with me, so I applied to PhD programs. Through a series of events that felt like divine intervention, I received a fellowship to study at the University of Georgia.

This adventure excited me, but the farther south we drove, the more I second-guessed my choice. The changes in location, climate, culture, profession, and focus created upheaval in nearly every area of my life. I quickly found myself immersed in wonderful academic, social, and religious spaces—but also in a constant state of wobble. I questioned how concepts and theories I learned in my classes fit with gospel truths; I doubted my capability as a learner as I compared my abilities to those of my classmates. The more I read and experienced, the more I wondered if, as a woman, I could remain a member of the Church and successfully earn a PhD. As I listened to the cacophony of voices and opinions, I wondered if my choice to pursue more education meant giving up my dream of becoming a wife and mom. I found myself questioning my worth, God’s promises for me, and, for the first time, my testimony.

It’s hard now, with the advantage of almost two decades of hindsight, to convey the magnitude of this wobble. But if you think about your own life, maybe you can empathize as you consider your own moments of fear and trembling. Perhaps coming to BYU provided your catalyst for wobble, or maybe you’re wobbling about what to do after graduation. Perhaps you’re wobbling because of unanticipated changes in your major or uncertainty about a relationship. You may be wobbling because your mission wasn’t what you expected, because you can’t decide if you should serve a mission, or because you wonder what to do now that your mission is over. Maybe you’re wobbling because of mental or physical health challenges, because of a lack of money in your bank account, or even because of your testimony.

Each of our lives will likely include many minor—and perhaps a few existential—wobbles. In these moments, it’s normal and often justifiable to feel uncertain, scared, deceived, angry, or broken. But today I want to testify of a few supports that will help you as you navigate wobble. I cannot promise immediate answers, but I can promise that remembering your divine identity as a child of God, staying in dialogue with Heavenly Father and the Savior, and trusting Heavenly Father’s plan for you will bring stability and confidence as you navigate your wobble moments.

Questions about our identity and worth often lie at the center of wobble. My questions included “Am I smart enough to do well in this program?” “Can I succeed as an academic and a member of the Church?” and “Are my identities compatible with one another as well as with other identities that I hope to embody?” The identity questions at the heart of your wobbles may differ from mine, but whatever their focus, they lead us to interrogate who we are and what we value.

It took time, but once I quit linking my value to ever-changing characteristics and variables and instead rooted it in my identity as a child of God, I discovered that I could deal with failures or setbacks without questioning my worth. I still wobbled, but the focus of my wobbling centered on the challenges of graduate school, not my value as a person.

I feel immense gratitude for people who, in my early graduate school days, dialogued with me about my professional, personal, and spiritual wobbles. Emails with trusted mentors as well as phone calls with family and friends provided reminders of my identity and potential. As I formed relationships with colleagues and professors in my program, dialogues with them led to solutions and ideas. Members of my branch offered fellowship. And reading and pondering the writings of good men and women who wrestled with similar questions helped me push my thinking, separate culture from doctrine, and expand my vision of the gospel.