Gospel Story Finder

The nine-year-old boy wandered, lost and stumbling in the dark. Around him in the freezing night, the trees and mountains made black shapes against the dark sky. Then the boy heard the voices—real voices, calling his name. Frightened, he kept silent.
Nearby, Tad Jessop led his rescue team in the search pattern they had practiced so often. Tad had been called out of a Sunday evening fireside by one of his officers in the Arapaho Rescue Patrol. Now, he and his team moved through the rough terrain in an organized search, guided by their flashlights and by each other’s voices.
As the search dragged on into the next morning, fatigue and cold began to numb the team members. Still, no young voice answered their shouts. Not until several hours later did the radio crackle with the news that the lost boy had found a road, where he was spotted by a ranger. While Tad and his team wearily made their way back, the boy was joyfully reunited with his parents, then taken to the hospital for a checkup.

In closing I want to share with you a personal experience. One day when circumstances made it necessary for me to be at home at an unusual time, I witnessed from another room how our eleven-year-old son, just returning from school, was directing ugly words towards his younger sister. They were words that offended me—words that I had never thought our son would use. My first natural reaction in my anger was to get up and go after him. Fortunately, I had to walk across the room and open a door before I could reach him, and I remember in those few seconds I fervently prayed to my Heavenly Father to help me to handle the situation. Peace came over me. I was no longer angry.

Our son, being shocked to see me home, was filled with fear when I approached him. To my surprise I heard myself saying, “Welcome home, son!” and I extended my hand as a greeting. And then in a formal style I invited him to sit close to me in the living room for a personal talk. I heard myself expressing my love for him. I talked with him about the battle that every one of us has to fight each day within ourselves.

As I expressed my confidence in him, he broke into tears, confessing his unworthiness and condemning himself beyond measure. Now it was my role to put his transgression in the proper perspective and to comfort him. A wonderful spirit came over us, and we ended up crying together, hugging each other in love and finally in joy. What could have been a disastrous confrontation between father and son became, through the help from the powers above, one of the most beautiful experiences of our relationship that we both have never forgotten.

David and Michael are brothers and direct lineal descendants of Bishop Jacob Foutz, who was shot and left for dead at the Haun’s Mill Massacre in Missouri in October 1838. According to an account written by Jacob’s wife, Margaret Mann Foutz, after the massacre Jacob and another brother survived by drawing dead bodies over themselves and feigning death.

Margaret records that these two men thus
saved their own lives and heard what some of the mob said. After the firing was over two little boys that were in the [blacksmith] shop begged for their lives, but . . . one of the mob said [“Nits will make lice,” meaning] ‘they will make Mormons’ and he put the muzzle of his gun to the boys’ heads and [ended their lives].

After Margaret found Jacob, she got him home and eventually assisted him in removing a bullet from his hip with a kitchen knife. She applied a poultice to his wound and disguised him in women’s clothes to trick the murderous mob when it returned to exterminate male survivors.

Though physically scarred for life, Jacob did survive, and, what is most important, he thrived spiritually. He was called as a bishop in Nauvoo, served a mission in Pennsylvania, and moved west with the Saints in 1847, continuing to serve as a bishop until his premature death the following year. Although Bishop Foutz sought legal redress for the financial losses he suffered at Haun’s Mill, he did not allow the poisonous venom of hate and vengeance to destroy his spiritual life. Instead he bequeathed to his posterity a legacy of faith and forgiveness that continues to the present generation.

One autumn many years ago I was a new graduate student at Columbia University in New York City. In a large classroom full of students, our professor was discussing modern imitations of ancient texts. As he cited a list of forgeries, I was startled to hear him add the Book of Mormon to his list.
Instantly I knew I could not leave the classroom without doing something. I could not disappoint my ancestors, whose testimonies of the Book of Mormon had led them to sacrifice everything.
After class I approached the professor, who held the Charles Anthon chair at Columbia. More than 100 years before, Martin Harris had come to visit Professor Anthon at Columbia. Martin carried a paper with engravings copied from the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated.
I remembered my father sharing with me a letter his father wrote about Martin Harris. My grandfather told of seeing Martin shortly before Brother Harris died. When grandfather asked him about the Book of Mormon, Martin raised himself up from his bed and bore a strong testimony. He did see an angel, he did hear his voice, and he did view the plates of gold.
“My name is Diana, and I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said shakily to my professor. “The Book of Mormon, for me, is a book of scripture. I would like to hear your reasons for calling it a forgery.”
As we walked across the campus, the professor, who had read the Book of Mormon, listed several objections to its authenticity. I hurriedly wrote them down, and when he had finished, I asked him, “May I write what I learn from sources on the subject in response to these objections?” He agreed.
I walked back to the dorm, closed the door of my room, knelt in prayer, and began weeping. I felt weak and inadequate. Fortunately, that evening we had a Church activity. Following a discussion that lifted my spirit, I asked for help from the full-time missionaries, who had attended. They shared some sources of information that covered most of the points raised by my professor. Then I searched the vast library of Columbia. In my paper I addressed the professor’s questions and offered my testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Then I gave it to him.
I waited several weeks for his response. Finally I asked him if he had read it.
“Yes, and I gave it to my wife to read. She told me, ‘Whatever you do, don’t destroy that student’s faith.’” He then turned and walked away.
As Christmas drew near, I was strongly impressed to give him a copy of the Book of Mormon. I found a copy, added my testimony, and thanked him for reading my paper. I then wrapped the book in Christmas paper and gave it to him. Shortly afterward, I received a handwritten note from him in which he expressed gratitude for receiving a copy of “this remarkable book.”
When I read his words, my eyes filled with tears. The Spirit whispered that this professor would no longer hold up the Book of Mormon to ridicule. I was grateful the Spirit had softened hearts and helped me know how to teach my teacher.

You may remember the delightful children’s story A Birthday for Frances (Russell Hoban [New York: Harper and Row, 1976]) and how Frances struggled to give her little sister Gloria a chocolate “Chompo Bar,” which she squeezed lovingly and longingly all the way home from the store. We’ve all been there with Frances. I was taught the lesson Frances had to learn by my life in a large family. In my family you had only a one-in-15 chance that the birthday was going to be yours. So we learned to take pleasure in the birthdays and good things that happened to our siblings. We developed a tradition of “oohing and aahing” and cheering for the one opening presents on birthdays or Christmas. My dad drummed into us this saying: “Learn to rejoice in the successes of others!”

Similarly Paul taught that we should “rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep” (Romans 12:15). Most of us are better at the latter than the former—better at sympathizing for misfortune than celebrating good fortune.

The snow fell lightly on Greta and her twin brother Hans as they each carried an armload of firewood to their split-log house.
Suddenly Greta turned to her brother and asked, “Then jolly Kris Kringle will not be allowed to bring gifts to our new home here in Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts on Christmas Eve as he did in Holland?”
“That’s right, my sister. Governor Bradford has decreed that Christmas celebrations are frivolous.”
Greta frowned. “But I can’t see the harm in getting a small doll and a few sweetmeats,” she said.
Hans’ mouth watered when he recalled the Dutch applecakes, oozing with raisins and sugar that their mother made for the Christmas holiday back in the old country.
Greta stopped walking for a moment and then her face brightened. “I know! Hans, let’s take the wood into the house and come back outside again. I have an idea.”
Hans grinned at his white-capped sister as he opened the door for her. No one was in the kitchen so they left the wood and hurried outdoors. The other chores could wait a bit. He had been wanting to tell Greta about his own idea.
Greta stood behind the outbuilding, clapping her mittens together for warmth. She seemed to be almost bursting with excitement. “Hans, let’s at least give Mother and Father some kind of gift. I’m sure the Christ Child would think we were very ungrateful to our parents if we didn’t.” She put up a hand of caution and added, “Oh, nothing frivolous, of course.”
“Come to the shed and see what I already have for Father,” Hans said, hardly containing his excitement. “You’ll have to think of something for Mother.”
It was finally Christmas Eve and to Hans and Greta the very air seemed to crackle with surprise. They smiled knowingly at each other. Greta had thought of a wonderful gift for Mother. Even if they were not visited by Kris Kringle, they would have fun giving gifts to their mother and father.
Mother had prepared a special meal of wild turkey, stuffing, cornbread, and stewed cranberries. The family sat down at the trestle table and Father gave a prayer of thanks.
Hans and Greta ate until they were as stuffed as the turkey had been, enjoying the faces Father made when he ate the sour cranberries.
“They are sour as any pickle,” he grimaced, “but the Indians claim they are good for strength, especially during winter.”
Mother was wearing her best white cap and collar and her good woolen dress. Her eyes looked merry and her hair shone from careful brushing. To Hans and Greta, she looked beautiful.
After supper, the family gathered in front of the great fireplace. With a smile, Mother handed a cornhusk doll to Greta. The doll was dressed in a knitted cape, dress, and white cap just like her own.
“Oh, thank you, Mother!” cried Greta. “I’ve been longing so for a doll.” She hugged it close, her eyes brimming.
“‘Tis time to surprise you, my son,” Father said, bringing in two long-necked gourds, one yellow and one orange. They had been scooped out and a small, round hole had been bored in each of them.
Hans looked at the strange gourds and ran his hands along their smooth, hard surfaces. “What are they for?” he asked.
“Our Indian friend, Squanto, gave them to me,” Father explained. “He calls them gourds and showed me how to hollow them out for birds to build nests in. Come spring, we’ll hang them from the big alder trees.” He touseled Hans’ fair hair. “You are interested in watching birds, and we all like to hear birdsongs. These may lure them to live close by.”
Hans was delighted. “It’s a fine gift, Father. Thank you!”
“Would not the town fathers be displeased if they knew of our presents?” Greta asked anxiously, hugging her doll close. She knew they had come to this new land so they might worship God freely, but seriously.
“Nay,” Father said and smiled. “I doubt that even the Christ Child would think us sinful if we gave our children a little special joy on His birthday.”
Greta clapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. “Hans! We almost forgot—”
Hans hurried out of the room and soon returned with a small wooden bucket. He pushed it toward his father.
Mr. van Felt stared in astonishment. “Why, Hans. ‘Tis honey, to be sure! Where did you ever get it?”
Hans grinned broadly. “Running Deer and I were looking for eagle feathers when we found it. He helped me get it down.”
Greta stepped quietly behind her mother’s stool and slipped a string of bright red cranberries around her mother’s neck.
Mother reached up to touch the red “jewels.” “Why, child, how did you ever think of this?” she asked, getting up to fetch a shiny pewter plate in which to see herself. When she looked, her cheeks brightened and her eyes sparkled.
“Well, well,” Father said. “All this, and none of us had expected anything at all. Ah! Won’t the cranberry sauce taste much better now?” He looked at his wife. “And you, dear Prudence, are absolutely beautiful.” Going to the table, he asked, “Shall we all have a spoonful of honey for dessert?”
Greta, Hans, and their mother were pleased to see Father’s eagerness to have a taste of the sweet honey.
“Isn’t this a surprising Christmas!” Greta exclaimed. “I think I’m going to like America after all.” And she hugged her doll close and smiled at her family.

Several years later I was working in the commercial department of a large company. One day our manager introduced me to a new employee. He was a tall young man with gorgeous blue eyes, an easy smile, and a great sense of fashion.
I could hardly believe it when he later began to flirt with me. I felt on top of the world! On our first date, I was excited to find out that he was a drummer in a band that was experiencing some success. I also discovered that he smoked and drank, but I reasoned that, since he was not a member of the Church, it was not wrong for him.
That night when I arrived home, my thoughts were full of that beautiful young man. But as I knelt to pray, I saw my picture of the temple, and a strange feeling came over me. I ignored it and went to sleep.
The next day, when we went out together, the fact that he drank and smoked gave me a bad feeling. I was ashamed to be seated at a table with drinks, even though I hadn’t touched any of them. I felt first excited and then frustrated when he tried to kiss me. When I smelled the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath, that kiss didn’t make it past an attempt!
I knelt beside my bed to pray that night, looking at the picture of the temple. I reflected that this young man was not the type of person who could take me to the temple for an eternal marriage.
I lay down and slept, but not before happily thinking about my goal of marrying a worthy young man with whom I could establish an eternal family.
Even though the drummer was still attractive, his romantic look no longer impressed me. I knew the type of marriage I wanted.
A year later I was married in the São Paulo Temple to a worthy priesthood holder whom I love. It was worth waiting for a faithful young man who could receive with me that wonderful blessing from the Lord.

Illustration by Katelyn Budge
I kind of have this face where, if I’m not smiling, I look like I’m angry. People would ask, “Why are you frowning? What’s your problem?” And I’d say, “I’m not frowning.” But their questions actually did make me angry.
My dad was worried about me. He called me to his room and said, “You know, you can’t keep having this angry attitude. What’s bothering you?” I decided I wanted to change.
I prayed and cried for Heavenly Father to help me. Over time, I started to feel different. I get less angry, I smile more often, and I love others more. Everybody said, “You are changing.” I know deep down that it isn’t by my own strength. It’s by the enabling power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
It’s hard to become the person you want to be. I can’t say I’m there yet, but I’m striving to get there. Our journey is supposed to be with Jesus Christ. We should invite Him along with us.
Victoria E., age 16, Lagos, Nigeria
Likes playing sports, reading, singing, doing hair, and learning new things.

The Africa Central Area Presidency encouraged all wards and branches in the Area to submit 99+1 Temple Ready names to Family Search in celebration of President Russell M. Nelson’s 100th Birthday.
In the Nairobi 2nd ward, Bishop Kennedy Mukula took the challenge, planning a ward activity for August 31, just 10 days prior to the prophet’s centennial event.
Gathering names would require many computers, and some family history expertise. Eric Onyango, the elder’s quorum president and a professional network engineer, who also served as an Area family history advisor, was asked to provide the technology. A senior missionary couple serving in the ward, Elder and Sister Arrington, were asked to assist members to enter names.
“We wanted to make sure people had a way to gather names and birthdates,” Elder Arrington said, “so we created a simple form that members could take home and use to gather names from their families. We passed the form out at church the two Sundays prior to the activity. And people came prepared!”
“We weren’t sure how many computers we would need, but we brought what we had,” said Bishop Mukula. “The bishopric each brought one, the Arringtons brought three, and Eric brought five more. In the end, we still had people waiting in line to add their names.”
The goal was to meet or exceed 99+1 family names entered into familysearch.org, so keeping track was important to the ward.
“We made up name cards by printing person icons similar to those in family search onto papers about 10 cm square,” said Sister Arrington. “Then we asked members to write one name that they added into FamilySearch on each paper and post them on a white board so we could keep count. We came with 140 blank icon papers, and they were gone well before the activity ended. Members were writing four, five, or six names on a single icon paper!”
“Everyone was working on entering names, and I loved it.” said Beatrice Kiragu, first counselor in the ward Relief Society. “I loved the feeling of putting in names, but mostly I was excited to prepare my ancestors for temple blessings.”
Many of the members in attendance got to take home a special memory. They filled in a special African family tree with their family names, and the ward clerk printed one for each family on photo-quality paper.
Bishop Mukula was delighted by the result. When the activity was near the end, more than 200 new family names had been entered into familysearch.org.
Sister Arrington recalls, “We ended up staying late because people still wanted to put in names. Our last participant was a nonmember. We watched as he added 15 names from his own family. He was so happy to receive his own family tree picture!”
Bishop Mukula expressed the joy so many members felt “as their hearts turned to their fathers! And we loved helping President Nelson celebrate his birthday!”

Skaidr?te married in 1969 but didn’t have children until her only child, a son, was born in 1981. By the time the boy was eight, Skaidr?te once again felt the need for religion in her life. Her mother-in-law often said, “You don’t laugh about God. Even if you don’t believe, you can respect.”
Skaidr?te still carried emotional scars inflicted by her mother’s alcoholism. She hated being around others at weddings and celebrations where they drank alcohol. Impressed by a relative of her mother-in-law who never drank, Skaidr?te started attending his church. “I was in church,” she says, “but I wasn’t getting to know God.” For 10 more years she floundered, but her desire to find her Heavenly Father persisted, even as her own husband and her son both slipped into alcoholism. She divorced and her husband and son moved far away. Again, dark thoughts arose. Was suicide an answer?
In 1999, Skaidr?te was looking for a church. She saw a building with a sign that said The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a weekday, but she opened the door and went inside.
“There was a sister missionary. When I walked in, she was smiling—a very open smile. I thought there was somebody behind me. Then I realized that smile was for me, and I smiled back. I felt like I was meeting a best friend, long not seen.
“She was the one who introduced me to the Church. I had never met anyone like the missionaries. I felt like they were angels, literally come from heaven to earth.
“Basically from that day, everything changed in my life.”
Skaidr?te stopped going to her previous church, even though people there warned her she would find bad things in this new Church. “I told them if there was something bad, I would stop going,” Skaidr?te says, “But there was nothing but good to find.” That was 17 years ago.
Today, Skaidr?te, age 71, is so happy and full of life that it’s hard to believe that hasn’t always been the case.
“When I first saw that sister missionary, when I found the Church for the first time, since that day all the thoughts of suicide were gone. There were no thoughts of life being dark. In spite of everything, I am positive. Life is beautiful to me.”

I have seminary at 6 a.m., before school. I wake up really early to have time to eat breakfast, have family prayer, and walk to the church. But the more I go to seminary, the more I see that waking up early is worth it!
The teachers are really great and always teach with the Spirit. They are wise and know so much about the gospel, which made me excited to go and learn more.
Going to seminary each morning helped me be brave enough to share the gospel with two classmates and helped me explain the scriptures. Seminary also helped me be brave enough to stand up for my beliefs. I was listening to the radio one morning, and a man was saying Joseph Smith was a liar. I was really frustrated by this because I had gained a strong testimony of Joseph Smith in seminary and knew that what the man was saying wasn’t true.
I told my seminary teacher about it, and he suggested I write a letter to the man and share my testimony of Joseph Smith. I wrote the letter and bore my testimony about Joseph Smith and the Church. It helped me calm down and not be so frustrated. He never responded, but I felt a confirmation of my testimony while I was writing. It made me really grateful that I had gained such a strong testimony of the Prophet and the gospel in seminary.
Raquel B., Argentina

Last month on Brian’s day, he and Dad went to the park. Daddy pushed him in the swing and on the merry-go-round. They played together in the sandbox and built a sand castle. Brian had a lot of fun playing with Dad, but he thought that the best part was when they just talked.

He liked the talking time best because he learned things about Daddy, and Daddy learned things about him. Brian knew that his dad is a real estate agent, but last month he learned what that meant: His dad sells houses to people.

Dad asked Brian, “What is your favorite thing to do at school?”

Brian smiled and said, “I like to paint with my feet! I like the way it feels when the thick paint smushes through my toes.”

During the visit my wife and I had with Wilford and Alice, Alice told us of a similar experience she had had. I share it with her permission.

Last year she was on an internship in Berlin. While attending a Church meeting one Sunday, she was introduced to a Chinese woman who, after shaking hands, said, “Wait—you served a mission a year ago, right? You are the first missionary who taught me the first lesson!”

Alice did not recognize the woman at first glance, but she soon remembered her face, her name, and how they had met near the Hong Kong Temple eighteen months earlier while Alice was a missionary. She remembered how she and her companion had taught this woman the first lesson. It was a powerful lesson, and they gave her a Book of Mormon, but they couldn’t do more because the woman had to return to her home country the next day.

What Alice didn’t know was that after that initial lesson, the woman had returned home, but she wasn’t able to attend church meetings or learn the gospel because the Church is not recognized there. When she later moved to Germany for her graduate studies, she immediately found the Church in Berlin, was taught, and soon was baptized. And there she was when Alice “randomly showed up in Berlin” (to use her words) because of an internship.

During the month-long open house, when the temple could be toured by the general public, organists were needed to play hymns to set a reverent mood in the temple. Kevin Clark, 13, of the Orem Utah Hillcrest Stake, was asked to play.
“A counselor in my bishopric found out I was taking organ lessons,” said Kevin. “He asked my mom, then asked me, if I would play in the temple. I thought it sounded pretty neat.”
Kevin has quite a repertoire of hymns. He selected the quietest ones that he thought would sound the best in the chapel of the temple. And the day was even more memorable because he was assigned to play on his birthday.
“The temple makes you feel really good. It’s the best place you can be. I liked it that the people on the tours were surprised to see me playing. My mom told me about that afterward. One man who came in looked at me, then turned to my mom and said, ‘Very impressive.’”
Kevin enjoyed using his developing talent. And he learned something new about the temple. “I never realized how nice temples were inside. The best part about it was that I knew that later I would be coming here to do baptisms.”

A man of Christ stood on October 1, 1959, before a crowd of 1,500 people in a church within the shadow of the Kremlin and boldly referred to Jesus as the great Redeemer. He said in an emotion-filled voice:
“I believe very firmly in prayer. … It is possible to reach out and tap that Unseen Power which gives us such strength and such an anchor in time of need. … Be unafraid, keep His commandments, love one another, pray for peace and all will be well. … Truth will endure. Time is on the side of truth” (Ezra Taft Benson, Cross Fire: The Eight Years with Eisenhower [Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Co., 1962], pp. 486–87).
People wept openly on that occasion, including newsmen who had reluctantly attended the worship service. One newsman, a former marine, ranked the experience as one of the two most spiritual and memorable of his life.
There was a man in that cathedral in Russia on that special day. His name, Ezra Taft Benson—he who now presides as the President, prophet of the Church.

Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of yanking them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven and had to be pushed into practicing like most people. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented in his ninth-grade class.

Are you in the right place, or have you pegged yourself? One young girl was getting into her mid-twenties and without opportunity. I urged her to move from the home that she shared with several older girls, leave the office as stenographer, and go to college where she would meet people of the right age. Sometime later I happened one day to be on that campus, and here she came to me, bubbling like a fresh new breeze, with a bright ribbon tying her hair and an optimistic and happy personality. A few months later I was invited to a temple marriage. It may not always work that well, but it did in this case.

As with the Rexburg temple, I know from personal experience that this university's being on this hill is a miracle granted directly by God through a living prophet. One day in early 2000 President Hinckley asked me to follow him to his office after a Board of Education meeting. I was the Commissioner of Education at the time. I wondered why he had invited me there. After I sat down in his office, his first words were, "Hal, don't you think it's about time that Ricks College became a four-year school?"

After hearing my brief reply, which was one of support but some wonder, I got a great surprise. I saw as I gave him the advantages and the disadvantages which he asked for, it was clear that he had already decided that Ricks College would become BYU-Idaho. He said that I was the first person he told of his decision. He had never asked me or my staff for any information to help him consider such a decision. He simply knew.

And so I know that the decision to place on this hill a university next to a temple was made by the Lord directly through his prophet. In such matters of importance it is the Lord's way. Through the miracle of revelation the Lord conveys His will to His living prophet. And that is a miracle for which we must be forever grateful.

One winter when I was 12, Christmas seemed to be coming too quickly for my family. I know that is hard to believe, especially coming from a 12-year-old, but my father had been out of work for two years and the holiday season was just magnifying the stress for my parents.
Then, on December 1, my family was surprised to find an enormous, red, elaborately decorated Christmas stocking hanging on our front door. Our family name was at the top, and a note was attached to it that said, “On the first day of Christmas, a giant Christmas to stocking to get you in the mood.” Naturally we were all bewildered about our secret friend, but we had no idea how he would change that Christmas for us.
The following evening, two large loaves of pumpkin bread magically appeared. They were devoured by our happy family of seven in just a few minutes. We kids decided that the third day wouldn’t pass without discovering who our secret pal was. But on that third day, just as the lookout checked the doorstep, he found a three-car gingerbread train waiting for him. We were baffled as to how it had been delivered without discovery. For the next nine days our house radiated excitement as we waited and watched for the day’s surprise. We received ornaments, dinner, and fruit, but the greatest gift came on the 12th day.
On our doorstep we found a 12-piece, handmade nativity scene, just perfect for keeping the Christmas spirit in our home. It was also a little confusing, however, because the note with this last present didn’t reveal our friend’s identity. It just told us thank you for making this holiday season one of the best. I couldn’t understand that note for a long time—not until I was able to give some service myself.

After I came home from my mission, I suddenly had a new life to face. I had to find my way in school, navigate new friendships, attempt to date, and figure out new work schedules.
It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
I wanted to turn to the Lord for reassurance. I had a firm testimony that the Book of Mormon was the word of God, but I found myself feeling distant when I tried to read my scriptures. I felt like I was unable to access the peace and comfort I usually felt while reading the Book of Mormon.
I was facing a lot of big feelings, and when I tried to read my scriptures, I wanted big answers. But those answers just didn’t seem to be coming.
My feelings of discontent grew to the point where I struggled to open my scriptures at all.
As I pondered on the preservation of the Book of Mormon, I was struck by the marvelous truth that the wise purpose behind its writing includes me. Heavenly Father knew how much I would need the Book of Mormon in my life. In fact, He knew the challenges each of His children would face in mortality, and in a grand expression of love, He provided us with the scriptures to lead us, guide us, and comfort us.
So why was I not feeling comforted?
One week as I attended my church meetings, I prayed to learn something that would help me. The impression I received at church that day prepared me to hear Heavenly Father’s voice.
As I sat and listened, I was reminded of a truth I had forgotten. I wrote in my journal: “One way to work through frustration when you feel like you aren’t receiving answers is spiritual consistency. It is the daily moments of spiritual consistency that allow God to create patterns, point out subtle feelings, and convey simple but powerful, comforting truths. It’s the consistency that turns our heart to Him, that aligns our will with His.”
In that moment, I remembered the principle that Alma taught his son while instructing him to keep a record:
“Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.
“And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls” (Alma 37:6–7).
These verses and the revelation I received in church that day helped me reframe my expectations for my scripture study. Instead of looking for big spiritual experiences when I somewhat sporadically read my scriptures, I began to focus on creating simple moments to connect with the Lord daily through scripture study.
By taking the pressure off, I felt a simple, sweet spirit begin to fill my life. It was small and subtle, but I was able to see that Heavenly Father truly can convey great, meaningful messages in small and simple ways. And being spiritually consistent in my scripture study helped me develop my ability to recognize those messages.