Gospel Story Finder

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.

A little while back, my friend and I were going to the girls’ washroom at school to wash our hands. We had just been doing an art project and had paste on our fingers. But when we got to the bathroom the sink was a complete disaster! There was soapy water everywhere. My friend and I quickly decided that we should clean it up before washing our hands. When we finished I felt good inside. I have just been baptized and I knew it was the Holy Ghost giving me that warm feeling. I am trying to act more Christlike every day.

Early in my youth, I was counseled in a blessing to stay close to my mother and to keep her advice near me, and I would be safe. I have always remembered that, but I often wondered about it because it was my father who seemed to give most of the advice. Then one winter when I was in the seventh grade, I had blood poisoning and became quite ill. My father was traveling at the time—in the summer he farmed, and in the winter he traveled, selling livestock feed. It was during this period that mother gave me some important counsel. It concerned moral cleanliness, and I’ll always be grateful for that advice. It helped me to set some personal standards early in my life.

Children, develop a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Pray, and Heavenly Father will send you the help you need. Listen to and obey your parents, who only want what is best for you. And when the time is right for you, get your patriarchal blessing and heed its counsel too.

By the end of May 1829, the same kind of persecution Joseph had experienced in Manchester began occurring in Harmony, and Joseph realized he would need to move again to complete the translation. Along with his wife, Emma, and his scribe, Oliver Cowdery, Joseph was taken into the household of some acquaintances: Peter and Mary Whitmer of Fayette Township, New York.

Mary Whitmer was shown the plates by a heavenly messenger. As far as we know, she never committed her experience to writing. But Mary shared her experience with her children and grandchildren, who later shared it with others. Her grandson John C. Whitmer related, “I have heard my grandmother (Mary M. Whitmer) say on several occasions that she was shown the plates of the Book of Mormon by an holy angel.”15

Mary Whitmer was shown the plates by a heavenly messenger.

Mary Whitmer and Moroni, by Robert Pack

Her son David said that “she was met out near the yard by [an] old man.” Grandson John said this man was “carrying something on his back that looked like a knapsack” and that “at first she was a little afraid of him.” However, “when he spoke to her in a kind, friendly tone and began to explain to her the nature of the work which was going on in her house, she was filled with unexpressible joy and satisfaction.”

John provided further detail on the wonderful witness of the sacred record that Mary received at that time: “He then untied his knapsack and showed her a bundle of plates. … This strange person turned the leaves of the book of plates over, leaf after leaf, and also showed her the engravings upon them; the personage then suddenly vanished with the plates, and where he went, she could not tell.”

John stated: “I knew my grandmother to be a good, noble and truthful woman, and I have not the least doubt of her statement in regard to seeing the plates being strictly true. She was a strong believer in the Book of Mormon until the day of her death.”16

Mary’s son David would become one of the Three Witnesses, who were shown the plates by an angel when the translation was complete. Moreover, Mary’s other sons would be among the Eight Witnesses to whom Joseph Smith showed the plates, who got to heft and handle the plates uncovered and to turn the plates and observe their ancient engravings.17

Several years ago was assigned to go to Germany to take care of some important Church business. As I looked forward to that assignment, I worried a great deal. I knew there would be some very important interviews and that I do not speak German. I knew that most of those with whom I would conduct the Church business did not speak English. I felt helpless. After taking care of some work in English for about two weeks, I was finally on the plane to Germany. As I sat there pondering and praying, the voice of the Lord came into my mind, and gave me some instructions. You know, the Lord doesn’t speak in either English or German, and he can speak pure intelligence into our minds without passage of time. The message was something like this: “What are you worried about? There is another language, the language of the Spirit. Those brethren will know that language. You know the language. There will be no problem.” I was greatly comforted. And I had a great experience on that occasion.

I am going to be personal for a moment and tell you that when I was about the age of many of you young women, I had my patriarchal blessing. It was late spring. The season was at its best, and I wanted to be, too; so I had prepared myself to receive what Heavenly Father would have to say to me personally. There had been some repenting, some fasting and praying, and deep discussions about the meaning of it all with my parents and a very special boyfriend. I remember well the night before my appointment with Patriarch Jones, up there on Capitol Hill behind the Tabernacle. I felt a strong need to gather myself together with Heavenly Father, and I went outside through the screen door and stood there for a time listening to the years of my childhood sift by on the night song of the crickets. I felt very grown-up that moment. Then suddenly I felt once again the pull of the stars. Kind of self-consciously at first, I stretched down on my back on prickly grass, as I had done so often as a child. (You know what I mean.) Then once again I took a deep breath and turned my face skyward. I studied the heavens; I found the familiar constellations and got placement with the North Star. And then there came to me the mind-stretching, soul-searing experience of feeling lifted up into the universe—almost into the presence of God, it seemed to me. It set my heart pounding. I knew my prayers had reached home in heaven. The witness of the Spirit to me that God lives and was mindful of little me warmed me to tears. The next day when I went for my blessing, I knew that the blessings and instructions that were given to me by that wonderful patriarch were personal.

That was a green spring for me. It was the season of awakening for me as I tried thereafter to make decisions according to God’s will for me and to commit myself to a way of life that would ensure fulfillment of all his sacred promises.

Now, in the time of the harvest in my life, I can say it is so. God lives. He loves us.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

When I was 17, I was assigned as my father’s home teaching companion. We visited a few families in our ward and gave them a message from the bishop or read an article from a Church magazine. Home teaching was actually not so bad. Some of our families really appreciated our company.
We visited an older couple who always looked forward to our coming. They were talkative and gave us cookies when we were there.
Another of our families was actively involved at church. They were easy to home teach. The TV would be turned off, and the family always gathered around, sitting quietly while my dad and I gave our message.
Our ward was spread out over a large area of farms and small communities outside of Pocatello, Idaho. Many of the people had chosen the semi-country life to escape from the city. They liked being away from the traffic noise. Some simply wanted to get away from society. The Browns, a family newly assigned to us, fit right into that last category. As I look back, I wonder at the patience my father showed.
It was my job to set up our home teaching appointments. Brother Brown answered the phone and told me they were too busy this month and to maybe call back later if I wanted to. The same results occurred four weeks later on my second attempt. My father decided we needed a more direct approach.
The next month came, and after visiting our other families, we drove straight to the Browns’ house. A pickup truck and a car were in the driveway. Our printout showed a family of three: a father, a mother, and a 9-year-old boy. We went up to the door and knocked. No answer.
A month passed and again it was time for home teaching. Visiting our regulars went smoothly, and then it was time for our not-so-regular.
“Do they really want us to come?” I asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” was the answer from my senior companion. “They haven’t told us to go away, and we haven’t done anything they could get mad at, have we? We can’t give up so soon.”
We drove to their house. This time the cars were switched. They had to be home. There were only two drivers. We went up to the door and knocked. Silence.
“Knock again,” said my dad. I heard some noise inside the house, but the door stood still. From the corner of my eye, I saw motion. I turned to the window and, for a split second, locked eye contact with a brown-haired child, who disappeared. We left. It seemed apparent that this family did not want us around. I did not know if I wanted to be around them. I suggested to my father that we report back to the high priests group leader that this family did not want home teachers and call it good.
“Hm.” My dad was not a man of many words, but I knew well the meaning of this. We would be going back.
The next month came all too soon. It was, again, time to do our home teaching. Our visits with the regular families quickly came and went. I then found myself standing in front of the door with the two cars in the driveway. My dad motioned me, and I timidly knocked. No answer. “There, that’s that. They won’t answer, Dad. Let’s go home.” A nod from my senior companion prompted me to knock again. I reluctantly did so, keeping my thoughts to myself. Then it opened; not the door, but a window. A gruff male voice asked what we wanted. A waft of cigarette smoke followed his question. I was ready to bolt. My dad smiled. He told the voice who we were and why we were there. He explained that we wanted to get to know this family and become friends. Then he asked if we could come back next month. That was all he said, nothing more. Hesitating, the faceless voice behind the window agreed and we left.
“He knew exactly who we were,” my dad said as we drove away. “He gets new home teachers every couple of years. He just knows how to get rid of us.”
The next month was much the same—the same voice from the window, the same brief conversation, and the same hesitation to let us come again next month.
Our third month was not the same, however. The pickup was not in the driveway. We went up to the door and knocked. We both looked toward the window in anticipation. To my surprise, the door opened! That same child I had seen earlier poked his head out, glanced down the street, and then at us. “Please, come in,” he said.
A lady was standing in the front room. “Thank you for coming, we only have a few minutes,” she said. “Do you know when Cub Scouts meet?”
“We will find out for you, Sister Brown,” my dad answered.
The child was staring at me. I was in shock now that we were standing in the house and not on the porch. Had he said something? “Can you baptize me?” he repeated, with a sincere ring in his voice.
His smile was contagious, but all I could say was “What?”
“He wants to become a member of the Church like his cousins in town. He has been watching you come to the door each month. I told him you could probably baptize him.”
“Can you baptize me into the Church?” he asked a third time.
I was beginning to recover. “Yes, uh, I think so.”
My dad helped me out. “Let’s talk to the bishop,” he said. “He can tell us what you need to do to get ready. Can both of you and Brother Brown come to church on Sunday?”
That was our whole visit. Then we were gone. I contemplated the entire situation during the quiet drive home. Being a home teacher was something more than cookies and pleasant conversations. Being a home teacher could be seriously important. Why had I suggested we give up on this family? The example my father gave me was beyond my years. I was experiencing guilty exhilaration, guilt because of my murmuring and exhilaration because of the unexpected results of our visit. I glanced at my dad.
“You did good,” he said, reading my mind. “Let’s watch for them on Sunday.”
I have always cherished my memories of home teaching with my father. I can remember some of the families we taught better than others. I will never forget the Browns.
We saw the mom and the boy at church that next Sunday and many other Sundays. We saw the boy at Cub Scouts the next week and many other weeks. I’m sure some deep conversations were held at the Browns’ house, because the door always opened for us, even when Brother Brown was home. He even learned how to smile and shake hands.
Then came the baptism. I felt the smiling eyes of the city cousins looking down on the boy and me. The bishop had let them kneel by the baptismal font, which was recessed into the floor at the stake center. A deep, peaceful feeling swept over me as this wet, glowing boy and I stepped up and out. I almost felt that it was I who had been baptized. The boy’s parents were beaming. I saw Sister Brown brush a tear from her cheek. I looked up at my father; he nodded his approval.
Warmth grew inside me as I realized the wisdom of His patience, His patience for this little family and for me.

My good friend Don Pearson shared an experience that highlights this influence. One night his four-year-old son asked him to read a bedtime story. Eric had picked out his favorite book: The Ballooning Adventures of Paddy Pork, a story about a family who lived on the isles of the sea and traveled from island to island by hot-air balloon. It was a picture book that had no words, so Brother Pearson made up words to the story.
“Paddy is in a hot-air balloon. He is landing on an island now. He is dropping a line over the side of the balloon.”
Eric stopped him. “Dad, that is not a line. It’s a rope.”
Brother Pearson looked at Eric and back at the picture book, and then he continued: “Paddy is getting out of the balloon and climbing down the tree. Oh no! His coat is caught on a limb!”
Again Eric stopped him. “Dad, that’s not a coat. It’s a jacket.”
By now Brother Pearson was somewhat perplexed. He said, “Eric, there are no words in this book, just pictures. Why do you insist that it’s a jacket?”
Eric answered, “Because Mother told me.”
His father closed the book and said, “Eric, who do you think is the last word, the ultimate authority in this house?”
This time Eric thought carefully before he answered, “You are, Dad.”
Brother Pearson beamed at his son. What an exceptional answer! “How did you know that?”
Eric quickly responded, “Mother told me.”

There was a sister in my ward who was about to leave on mission. She knew the importance of temple work and started asking about information on my mom because she wanted to do the temple work for her. I kindly told her that I wanted to do it myself.
When I went to the missionary training center, with the help of my MTC president and his wife, President Lords and Sister Lords, I got to do the temple work for my parents and seal them together. I was so excited! Some people ask if I’m doing the right thing for my parents since they were not married. I want them to learn about the gospel where they are. Then, they can be happy forever. And after this life, I will be able to meet them again. That is something I look forward to.

While traveling along a mountainous road one evening through a driving rainstorm punctuated with frequent claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, Sister Wirthlin and I could barely see the road, either in front of us or to the right and the left. I watched the white lines on that road more intently than ever before. Staying within the lines kept us from going onto the shoulder and into the deep canyon on one side and helped us avoid a head-on collision on the other. To wander over either line could have been very dangerous. Then I thought, “Would a right-thinking person deviate to the left or the right of a traffic lane if he knew the result would be fatal? If he valued his mortal life, certainly he would stay between these lines.”
That experience traveling on this mountain road is so like life. If we stay within the lines that God has marked, he will protect us, and we can arrive safely at our destination.

With these thoughts in mind, an incident I was privileged to witness a few years ago takes on additional significance. I had a meeting scheduled with President Spencer W. Kimball. He had asked me to review some files and bring him some recommendations about them. As I descended from my office in the Church Administration Building down to the first floor where his office was, I became aware that the foyer of the building was filled with young people.

It was summertime. A traveling musical group had arrived at Church headquarters unannounced. They had been touring some of the national parks and had given concerts in several states. Impulsively, they had decided to come to Church headquarters to perform for the prophet.

President Kimball’s secretary, Arthur Haycock, was talking to them. He kindly explained that the prophet was extremely busy and was not feeling very well. Others had previously arranged appointments. He was very sorry, but the President would not be able to see them.

There was great disappointment. Brother Haycock sensed this, and in an attempt to make everyone feel better he suggested that perhaps they would like to come into the inner waiting room and sing. He assured them that this would be appreciated by others in the building. He said that in all probability the strains of their music would filter throughout the building, and President Kimball would be able to hear them even though he would not attend their impromptu concert.

This seemed to be an acceptable alternative, and the young visitors enthusiastically formed ranks and began to sing. Two or three songs were sung. As a closing number, in honor of the prophet they had not seen, the group softly and reverently commenced “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As they did so, from my seat in the waiting room, I noticed a shadow appear in a nearby doorway. It did not move during all three verses of the song. When the choir concluded, a slight figure stepped into view. It was President Kimball. He moved quickly to congratulate the conductor and thanked him for coming. He expressed admiration at the sweetness of the song; and then, caught up in the spirit of the moment, he began to shake hands with the members of the choir.

I watched with love and admiration. In that familiar, low, husky voice he would step up to a young person and say, “Thank you for coming,” “My, you are lovely,” “My, you are handsome.” To the young men he would ask, “I hope you are planning to serve a mission when you turn 19?” To the young women he would say, “I hope you are planning to marry in the temple when the time comes?” One by one, he extended this greeting to each of the singers.

He eventually came to a tall, rugged-looking baritone on the back row. The young man knew what the President was going to say before he arrived, and as the prophet took his hand he said, “President, I want you to know that I sent my papers in before we left California. I can’t wait to get home to find out where I am going on my mission.” President Kimball paused. He had left people in his office while he came out to listen to the choir. But obviously the young man’s statement had intrigued him. He stopped, stepped back, looked up into the handsome youthful face and said, “Would you like to know now?”

“I sure would,” was the reply, “but they told me I would have to wait until I returned home.” President Kimball smiled and said, “I think we might be able to tell you now.” He turned to Brother Haycock and asked him to telephone the Missionary Department and find out where the young man was to be called. Then the President finished shaking hands.

After a few moments, Brother Haycock returned. He had a folded piece of paper in his hand. He jokingly said that the Missionary Department had been reluctant to give him the information. He had to explain that the prophet wanted it. Then he gave the folded slip to President Kimball.

President Kimball stepped in front of the choir, which was still standing in almost assembled formation. It was as if he were the choir director. He opened the paper, looked at the boy, looked back at the paper, and then looked again at the young man. Then, including the entire group in the scope of his mischievous question he asked, “Are you sure you want to know?” By this time the young man was so anxious that he could scarcely contain himself. “Oh, yes!” he said. With the eyes of everyone upon him, President Kimball looked again to the paper, chuckled, and announced, “Taiwan.”

Pandemonium spread through the choir. They began to congratulate their friend on his mission call. President Kimball wished him well and waved good-bye. He went back to those who were waiting for him. The young visitors left the Church Administration Building thrilled, but somewhat unaware, I think, that they had participated in an extraordinary experience.

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

Derek saw paw prints in the snow. What animal made them? Derek followed the paw prints down the sidewalk. He looked around and saw Mrs. Lawson walking slowly across the ice. Derek held her hand and helped her into her house. The paw prints kept going, and Derek followed them. He spotted Mr. Russell shoveling snow. Derek stopped to help him shovel. Then Derek saw more paw prints! He followed them and peeked into Mr. Russell’s backyard. There was Cloudy, Mr. Russell’s cat! Derek likes following things. Most of all, he likes following the example of Jesus by helping others.

The youth of the Utah Weber Heights Stake were treated to an out-of-the-ordinary Mutual activity. You could say it was something special. They got to spend a food-and-fun-filled Saturday with a special-needs Mutual group in a neighboring stake. Each member of the special Mutual had two friends from the Weber Heights Stake to spend the day with them.
The youth admitted a little apprehension about the activity at first, but Ami Houston, 13, said that all it takes to get along is “being friends like you are to all your other friends.”

I have had personal experiences with ineffectively coping with irritation. A year ago my temper overcame me, and I ended up breaking my hand on a wall. Two months after I got my cast off, I broke the same hand on another wall. As a result of my immaturity, I lost the cherished respect of family and friends.

When you get angry, don’t lash out at people or things. Calm down and realize that the world is not going to end. Rarely will you experience righteous indignation as Jesus Christ did when he overturned the tables in the temple. People judge you by the way you react to stress, and who likes someone inclined to temper tantrums? Self-control is requisite for progression in the Lord’s eternal plan.

Max Booher, 16Bellingham, Washington

In March of 1976, my wife, my two children, and I were baptized. We were very happy, feeling that we were starting a whole new life. That summer for our holiday, we rented a log cabin in Jotunheimen, one of the most scenic areas of Norway.
In a little sod-roofed cabin, surrounded by Norway’s highest mountains, my family and I had some wonderful days together. Although we lived almost fourteen kilometers from our nearest neighbor, we never felt lonely. We felt very strongly the spirit of the Lord with us. That summer we had an experience that even today makes me tremble with humility and gratitude for the great love the Lord has for his children.
Early one beautiful, cloudless morning, we started on a long hike. We saw deep ravines and snowy mountain peaks reflected in blue mountain lakes. The hike was a little more difficult than we had anticipated, but we enjoyed the solitude and the magnificent scenery. Three or four kilometers from our destination, we needed to cross a steep, narrow ridge called Besseggen to get to a mountain called Veslefjeldet. I felt we could cross it safely, but a still, quiet voice within me seemed to whisper that we should not go that way. I had been baptized only four months before, and was still unfamiliar with the promptings of the Holy Ghost, so I took no notice of the warning.
As we got closer to the mountain, I again heard the voice warning me, so I stopped and studied the map. If we did not make the short climb over Besseggen and Veslefjeldet, we would have to walk around a mountain and a lake. It would take until midnight to reach our destination. I thought about our tired legs and empty food bag and decided that we should continue the way we were going.
When we reached the foot of the mountain, the small voice clearly repeated, “Hans, you must not go over the mountain.” Again we stopped and looked up toward the narrow mountain ridge. The sun was shining and the air was calm, and I still saw no reason to heed the warning. We began to climb.
I led the way while my wife, Lise, came last, keeping the children safely between us. We experienced little difficulty climbing, yet I still felt that I was doing something wrong. Halfway up, we stopped to admire the view. On our left was a sheer drop of 150 meters, while on our right, the mountainside dropped away abruptly for 500 meters.
Lise and the children were excited about the stillness and the wonderful view, but I continued to feel anxious. Suddenly I felt a gust of wind from the north, and I heard a rushing sound that grew louder. Within minutes we were in the middle of a howling storm. I cried out to my family to lie down and hold on tight. We each clung desperately to the mountain, trying to dig our fingers into the earth, but the gusts of wind were so violent we were slowly being blown toward the edge.
Suddenly I understood what I had done. The missionaries’ words about the Holy Ghost’s quiet whisperings came back to me, and I realized that during the last half hour I had ignored the Holy Ghost three times. I prayed that the Lord would save my wife and children. Full of remorse, I cried for forgiveness.
Then, through the storm’s howling, I heard a deep and powerful voice within me telling me to go back down the mountainside. The voice warned me that he who does not obey the voice of the Lord shall be cast out from His presence.
Suddenly a calm stillness replaced the storm. Amazed, I pushed myself to my knees to give thanks and to acknowledge the Lord’s power. My wife and children shouted for me to hurry so we could climb to the top of the mountain. But now I knew better. We must go down, I commanded, immediately! Without knowing why, my family obeyed. As we reached the foot of the mountain, we again heard a rushing noise, and in a few moments the storm was gusting even stronger than before. I told my family what had happened to me on the mountain ridge. Together we knelt to thank the Lord for preserving our lives.
To this day, more than ten years later, I cannot think about this experience without great emotion. On that summer day, while I clung to a Norwegian mountainside, the Lord taught me and my family the value of listening to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

A story in Church history brought me some comfort. On February 24, 1834, Joseph Smith received a revelation (Doctrine and Covenants 103) to organize over 100 men to travel to Jackson County, Missouri, USA, to help the Saints regain the land they had lost when they were expelled from there the previous year. Around 230 men, women, and children joined the expedition, which became known as Zion’s Camp. After preparing, the group left home in May and marched as much as 40 miles a day.1
Not only did Zion’s Camp face the physical aspects of the journey, but a few members of the group also exhibited backbiting, disobedience, and rebellion. Yet many others remained faithful and counted the expedition and the opportunity to be with Joseph as a privilege. With circumstances changing around them, the Prophet sought direction from the Lord and received another revelation in June (Doctrine and Covenants 105) saying that they no longer needed to continue their efforts. Members of the camp returned home without seeming to fulfill their purpose to redeem Zion, though many recognized that it was not a failure because the journey allowed them to grow closer to God and see His hand in their lives.2
Struggle at Zion’s Camp, by Clark Kelley Price
When the Saints in Zion’s Camp faced the news that they would be returning home without their expected blessing, they may have wondered why Heavenly Father had asked them to take the journey in the first place. I, too, wondered why I’d been led in a direction that didn’t turn out as I had planned.
After several weeks of feeling more sadness than I’d ever felt before, I realized I didn’t want to continue living with such a negative attitude. I knew I was not sent to earth to live a life consumed with discouragement and pessimism. After all, we are that we “might have joy”! (2 Nephi 2:25). I decided to shift my focus from the “whys” of the past to finding purpose in the midst of affliction.
I reached out to other people, became involved in new hobbies, and went back to school. I also started a daily gratitude journal. What started out as one-line entries turned into full pages as I began to recognize the Lord’s hand in my life more effortlessly. My prayers changed from wish lists to gratitude lists.
Even though my hard days didn’t disappear—they still haven’t—I now know what a difference it makes to focus my perspective on the good in life. Instead of seeing my trials as a bad thing, I decided to view them as an opportunity for growth.
Looking back on how things have turned out since I came home from Paraguay, I can see how Heavenly Father was guiding me and giving me opportunities through my experiences. I met some of my closest friends in those months following my mission, and I was able to immediately start studying at a local university, even though the deadline for enrollment had passed. That program led me to a study abroad in Switzerland, where I got to share the gospel with my host family.
Those years of consciously choosing gratitude have instilled in me a habit of thanking Heavenly Father for all things, which increases my faith in Him.
These words in a priesthood blessing I received during a low week have also helped me understand faith: “I bless you with understanding and knowledge that God … will give you those things that will not only be for your good but … help you become all that He wants you to be. Those will not always be easy blessings, for our struggles and adversity are the things that make us grow.”
I know that Heavenly Father consecrates our efforts, and as President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “The Lord loves effort.”3 God truly does seek our happiness and will forever be by our side.

One Saturday night, I was on my way to pick up my friend Jon so we could watch a movie at a friend’s house. On my way there, I passed a house with a moving van parked outside. The house wasn’t in my neighborhood, but the thought came to me that I should stop and help the family move in. I shrugged the thought away because it was nearly 10:00 p.m. They were probably almost finished.
When Jon and I arrived at our friend’s house, the movie was halfway over. We were bored trying to figure out what was going on, so after only a few minutes, we decided to leave.
“Let’s go get some shakes,” Jon suggested.
On the way into town, I saw the house with the moving truck still parked outside.
“Should we help those people?” I asked.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jon said.
I pulled over and we hopped out, trying not to think about how strange this would seem.
“Could you use a hand?” I called.
The family—a mother, a father, and two children—stared at us. “No. We can handle it by ourselves,” the father said. “But thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Jon asked.
The mother looked at us suspiciously. “Don’t you boys have anything better to do on a Saturday night?”
Jon and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Not really,” we said.
It took a few minutes to convince them that we really wanted to help, and they finally let us. Mostly heavy furniture was left, and I wondered how the four of them had planned to lift it all themselves.
When Jon and I left, the mother thanked us for such a nice welcome into their new neighborhood.
A few weeks later, she introduced herself to Jon’s mom in stake conference. She said, “Please thank your son and his friend again for helping us. They strengthened my faith.”
She explained that they had loaded the truck that morning and had driven all day. By the time they had arrived, they were exhausted. But they had wanted to finish moving so they could return the truck that night and avoid paying an extra day’s fee. The 12-year-old son had been so weary that he wanted to collapse. Shutting himself in the bathroom, he had prayed for a small miracle—the ability to help move all the remaining heavy furniture. Moments later, help had arrived.
I know that the Lord hears our prayers, no matter how small the request. Nothing feels better than to know that Jon and I were guided to answer a prayer that night.

One of the greatest lessons in devotion came when George T. Benson received a mission call. “I was about 13 years of age when father received a call to go on a mission. He went, leaving mother at home with seven children. The eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field.

“Mother was a stalwart. Never did we hear a murmur from her lips. The letters we received from Father were indeed a blessing. They seemed to us children to come halfway around the world, but they were only from Cedar Rapids, Marshall Town, Iowa; Chicago, Springfield, Illinois; etc. There came into our home, as a result, a spirit of missionary work that has never left it.

“Father returned home and while we were sitting in the yard on one-legged milking stools, milking cows the ‘armstrong method,’ he would sing over and over again, ‘Ye Elders of Israel,’ ‘Israel, Israel, God Is Calling,’ ‘Come All Ye Sons of God,’ ‘Ye Who Are Called to Labor,’ until I learned every word of these great missionary songs. Today I don’t need a songbook when we sing these great songs that Father sang to us morning and evening.”