Gospel Story Finder

Every day last autumn when mail was delivered in Baytown, Texas, one six-year-old boy found a letter addressed just to him. “It would make me happy when I wasn’t feeling too happy,” says Lance Brunson, who is confined to his home with complications from a severe skin disease.
The letters were from an “older” friend, seventh grader Sarah Ferguson, affectionately called “Little Miss Sunshine” by Lance’s family. Sarah has been creating and sending letters to Lance since mid-October 1988. “She has really been a bright spot for us,” said Joy Brunson, Lance’s mother.
Sarah first learned about Lance’s condition from her mother, Melanie Ferguson, who had taught Lance in Primary in Baytown Ward, Houston East Texas Stake. Sister Ferguson and Lance’s classmates put together a card to send to Lance after his illness forced him to be homebound. Sarah liked the idea and decided to send one, too—and has kept sending them ever since.
“I try to give Lance something to do, something to make him happy,” Sarah said. She admits she finds some of her ideas in card shops, but her letters are original, with handmade cards, puzzles, quizzes, riddles, and art lessons.
The rare skin disease Lance has is caused by some of his internal organs—kidneys, pancreas, spleen—not functioning to capacity. It causes severe itching and burning and deep peeling to the point that Lance can’t stand to wear any clothes and can only wrap up in a sheet or blanket.
His mother says, “Last fall Lance couldn’t sleep sometimes for two or three days. He would lay for days in the fetal position. We had to carry him to the bathroom. This lasted for almost six weeks. It was his worst time. And during this time Sarah’s letters arrived daily. Sometimes Lance was too sick to look at them, but he would smile when we showed him the letter. And most often that was the only smile we saw from him all day.”
“We didn’t get mail every day, but we’d at least get Sarah’s letter,” Lance said. “Even when she was sick!” he exclaimed. A siege with the flu did not cause her to miss a single day.
Lance’s gratitude to Sarah is spoken with childlike simplicity, “Thank you for sending me all these letters. I love you.”
What does Sarah think about her acts of kindness? “It’s no big deal, really,” she shyly comments. However, the community of Baytown feels Sarah’s heroic efforts are a “big deal.” She was featured in a local newspaper story, and honored by a service organization which awarded her a plaque that now hangs in city hall.
Ask her why she kept sending letters daily for those first few months, she answers, “Because Lance’s mom appreciated it so much and said it made Lance happy. Besides, I know how it feels to be sick and at home. My dad has been sick ever since I can remember. I know how he feels. It gets boring and you need something to keep you busy.” Sarah’s father, Ira, has been going through operations and skin grafts for the past nine years after suffering third-degree burns in an industrial accident.
Sister Brunson expresses her appreciation for what Sarah has been doing for Lance. “She is sacrificing her time, talent, and energy for my child,” she said. “The humble spirit of an incredible young Beehive has richly blessed my household.”
Lance is feeling better now. He attends school and church some of the time, and he was well enough to participate with Sarah and other ward members in the road show last spring. But his trials are not yet over. He has days when he is in great discomfort. And, although he sees Sarah more often now, he still gets a letter at least once a week from her.
Because of the six-year age difference, Sarah and Lance don’t have a lot to talk about with each other. But one night last spring after road show practice Sarah softly said, “Bye, Lance.” And Lance turned and smiled at her and simply said back, “Bye, Sarah.” Lance’s mother comments, “You could see this bond—a look in their eyes that they have shared something. A great deal of love passed between them.”

Years ago, I learned something of the price paid for trust and worthy recognition. During a summer break, I found a job on an oyster boat in Long Island Sound. Four of us lived together in an area not much larger than the cab of a big semitrailer tractor. At first, I was considered a spy for the owner, then a kid who didn’t have courage to live like a man. They really gave me a bad time. Finally, when they understood I would not abandon my principles, we became friends. Then privately, one by one, they asked for help.

You know what is right and wrong. Be the leader in doing right. At first, you may not be understood. You may not have the friends you want right away, but in time, they will respect you, then admire you. Many will come privately to receive strength from your spiritual flame. You can do it. I know you can do it.

The news was shocking, especially for parishioners in the church he left behind. “People talked about our conversion . . . with disbelief. [It was] the main topic in the street, the market and on public transport in those times!” Fetauai laughs. But the backlash was also fierce. “We had friends who turned into foes . . . in the village, [and] in our families.”
It was a difficult transition, but Fetauai now refers to those painful memories as the “forgotten experiences” because, he says, “after the raging storms against us calmly faded away, we finally saw the light of Christ, brighter than any other light shining into our lives.”

During my school’s values-education month, our teacher asked us to write an essay titled “Why am I here?” It had to be a 10-paragraph essay on the topic of our purpose in life. As I read the topic on the board, my heart was filled with comfort and happiness. As a member of the Church, I had known my purpose as a daughter of God for many years. But as I looked at my other classmates’ faces, my heart was filled with sadness. Why? Because they started to murmur regarding the difficulty of the topic. They didn’t have the same knowledge I did.
When I turned in my essay, I realized how blessed I am to be a member of the one true Church. From that day on, my desire to serve a mission and share my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was strengthened.
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to be with Him someday. I also know that it is my purpose to serve others.
Jaymee A., Philippines

I met B. J. the Saturday we moved to Pinedale. I was walking down the snowy street with my ice skates, when a kid with glasses slipped and slid into me. He was chasing a fuzzy little dog.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling me up and brushing the snow off my pants. “Mrs. James’s dog, Snuggles, escaped from her apartment, and I told her I’d catch him. By the way, I’m B. J. Are you new around here?”
“Yeah. We just moved into that blue house,” I answered, pointing across the street. “I’m Jack.”
“Hi. Glad to meet you.” B. J. grinned, and I felt my mouth curve into a smile. He was a funny-looking kid with hair that stuck out from under his hat like straw, but his friendliness wrapped around me like a giant bear hug. I didn’t know anyone else in the neighborhood yet.
“Do you like to skate?” I asked. “I’m going over to the rink.”
“Help me catch Snuggles,” B. J. said, “and I’ll show you the best ice in town.”
“Sure!”
“Come on then.” B. J. was already running down the street. “Snuggles always heads over to the flower shop. He has a crush on the poodle that lives there.”
B. J. cut down alleys and zigzagged through town as if he was in a maze. “I’ve lived here all my life,” he told me. “I know the best shortcuts.”
A few minutes later, we found Snuggles curled up in a furry ball against the flower shop door. B. J. scooped him up and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “Sorry to interrupt your date,” he told Snuggles, “but Mrs. James is waiting for you.”
After we took the dog back and got B. J.’s skates, he led me to an awesome pond. Pine trees surrounded it like tin soldiers, and the frozen surface looked as smooth as polished silver. Kids raced around it, their winter jackets blurs of bright colors.
“The kids usually skate here,” B. J. said as we sat down on a bench near a tiny building. “That’s the chalet for warming up. They sell snacks inside too.”
After we laced our skates, B. J. introduced me to Mike, Leroy, and Jenna. He seemed to know the entire town. Before long, we were all playing tag, and I felt the sting of the icy cold air on my cheeks as I flew across the ice.
B. J. had just tagged me, when a little girl in a pink coat slipped and fell. She started to cry, and B. J. whipped over to help her up.
“Is this your sister?” I asked, skating up.
“No, it’s Emma,” he answered, holding her hand to steady her. “She hurt her knee. I’m going to take her inside and get her some hot chocolate.”
“Oh,” I said. “What about our game?”
“I’ll be back—go ahead and play.”
“Come on, Jack,” Mike hollered. “You’re it.” So I skated off to tag him. I figured Emma must be B. J.’s cousin or something like that. Why else would he take care of her?
Over the next few weeks, I got to know B. J. a lot better. He lived with his mother and sister in an apartment downtown. I could tell when I visited that they probably didn’t have much money. Their furniture had faded spots, and their clock looked like the one in school—black and white with no flowers or decorations. Nothing about the place was fancy, but he didn’t mind and neither did I. His mom laughed all the time, and he was quickly becoming my best friend.
We both loved skating and collecting coins. We both built model airplanes too. In fact, we got along better than peanut butter and jam. But I couldn’t understand why B. J. did some of the crazy things he did—like giving Jenna his trumpet solo in the Christmas program.
“Why did you give it to Jenna?” I asked him. “You were going to steal the show.”
“Jenna’s dad is coming to town just to see her,” he told me. “She’s real excited about it. He hasn’t been around much since her parents divorced. It’s important to her.”
“But what about you?”
“I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “Let’s finish our homework and go sledding. I’ll show you the hill we call Double-Decker.”
When we went sledding, he loaned his sled to a couple of boys who didn’t have one and doubled up with me. I didn’t bother to ask him why. Afterward, we went for hot chocolate at a little restaurant that he knew about. Before we left, he swept the floor for the owner. “He has arthritis,” B. J. whispered to me, “and sweeping hurts his hands.”
On the way home, we passed a theater, and a man in a long robe stumbled and fell down in front of us. I helped him up. He had long brown hair, and he was wearing sandals in the snow. He looked like the pictures of Jesus Christ that they show in Primary.
“Are you all right?” I asked. I knew he was an actor, but he looked so much like what I thought Jesus must look like that I wanted to help him as much as I could.
“I’m not used to wearing sandals,” he said, thanking me. “I have to go now. They’re waiting for me inside.”
“Have a good day,” I said as I watched him hurry inside.
“Did you see that actor?” I asked B. J. “I felt like I was helping Jesus.”
B. J. smiled. “Now you know my secret,” he said. “I always try to treat people as if they were Jesus Christ. Then it’s easy to help them, and I feel happy too.”
That night, I thought a long time about what B. J. had said. Then I decided to get up early in the morning and shovel the walks for my dad. He might wonder why I’m so helpful, but the idea made perfect sense to me.

On July 30, 1899, Mischa Markow, a Serbian missionary who preached throughout Europe, baptized Argir Dimitrov, the first Bulgarian convert, near Constanta, Romania. 1
In Romania, Markow and Dimitrov preached in four languages and baptized several converts before being banished by local authorities. 2 In June 1900, Markow and Michael Dimitrov, a Bulgarian convert baptized in Bucharest, preached in Ruse and Sofia in Bulgaria. 3 After several weeks in Sofia, Markow was arrested, interrogated, and banished before baptizing any converts. 4
The restored gospel was not preached again in Bulgaria for 90 years. As the Communist era ended, then-Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to Sofia with other Church leaders. In February 1990, during a meeting with government officials, Elder Nelson asked what the Church could do for Bulgaria and was asked to send English teachers.
That fall, six missionaries, most with formal teaching experience, began teaching English classes in Sofia, Pravets, and Smolyan. In Sofia, Elder Morris and Sister Annetta Mower found several members of the Church—baptized elsewhere in Europe—already living in the area. On October 14, 1990, the Mowers began holding weekly Church services in their apartment. Within a month, more than 50 people were cramming into the Mowers’ tiny apartment for the weekly meetings. 5 When the first proselytizing missionaries arrived in November, six people were awaiting baptism. 6 As interest in the Church grew, the need for a mission headquartered in Bulgaria was soon clear.
One morning in April 1991, Kiril and Nevenka Kiriakov were at their home in Virginia when the telephone rang. Nevenka immediately recognized the familiar voice: “May I speak with Brother Kiriakov?” then-Elder Thomas S. Monson asked. 7
“Certainly,” she responded. Before she could hand the phone to Kiril, however, Elder Monson continued, “How would you feel if your husband were called as the first mission president in Bulgaria?” 8
Kiril and Nevenka had fled Bulgaria in 1963 with their children, Julia and Peter, and joined the Church in France before settling in the United States. Although Communist authorities had threatened Kiril with death and his family with life imprisonment if they ever returned, Kiril had been promised in a blessing that he would preach the gospel in Bulgaria. With a new government in place, they felt safe to return. Despite Kiril’s significant health concerns, he and Nevenka courageously accepted a call to serve. 9 “I was anxious to see all my relatives and friends,” Nevenka said, “and share with them the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” 10
As Kiril and Nevenka prepared to return to their homeland, the first missionaries who would serve under their leadership were arriving at the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA. The language teacher who greeted them on their first day was Julia Kiriakov Caswell, Kiril and Nevenka’s daughter. 11
In July 1991, the Bulgaria Sofia Mission officially opened. Through the faith, perseverance, and efforts of the local members and the missionaries, the Church soon received official recognition. 12 By the end of 1991, more than 150 Bulgarian Saints had been baptized. 13
Decades before the opportunity to preach the gospel in Bulgaria would become a reality, the Lord started making preparations. Despite the Church’s long absence in the country and early difficulties, the faith and diligence of those whom the Lord prepared opened the door for many others to receive the restored gospel.
Whom has the Lord prepared for you to share the gospel with? How has He prepared the way for you? Know that miracles await you as you seek opportunities to proclaim the gospel, “according to that portion of Spirit and power which shall be given unto you” (Doctrine and Covenants 71:1).

“When I was five, my father was called on a mission. My mother and we three children missed him very much during the two years he was gone, but I also know that the Lord blessed our family. One day my younger brother fell under a piece of moving farm equipment, a disc harrow. His head was seriously cut, and the doctor came to our home. While my brother lay on the kitchen table, the doctor sewed him up and told us that he wouldn’t live much longer. That was on Wednesday. When the doctor came to check my brother again on Saturday, we were playing at my uncle’s place. My brother was climbing around in the top of an apricot tree. The doctor took the bandages off my brother’s head and was amazed that the wound had healed. It was truly a miracle.”

In the weeks leading up to my marriage and temple sealing, I started getting a little nervous about all the things I needed to do before I started my new family. Despite all the joy of that moment, I felt stressed about organizing our new routine, getting our finances in order, finding storage for our belongings, and all my new responsibilities as a wife. I wanted to make sure we started off our marriage the right way by making room in our activities for important things like keeping the commandments and spending time together as husband and wife in spite of our busy lives.
As the wedding day came closer, I was surprised by a series of nightmares involving all sorts of troubles that could affect a family. Because I come from a loving but afflicted family, threatened by constant and intense arguments and broken hearts, the bad dreams affected me more than they should have. So one night, after several others like it, I woke up sweating and decided to follow the advice that Sister Neill F. Marriott, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, gave in her talk “Yielding Our Hearts to God” (Liahona, Nov. 2015, 30–32). I closed my eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, what can I do to keep these bad things away from my family?”
The answer hit me as fast and as strongly as if someone had opened a door into my head and put the thought there. The still, small voice prompted me, “Just do what you are supposed to do. Be faithful in each step.” The Spirit whispered some specific counsel, and I felt that if I did those things, everything would be fine.
I smiled and felt my chest filled with warmth. All the worries were suddenly forgotten, because I knew it was true. I had felt the Holy Ghost before, but never as strong as I did that night. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior surround me, and I knew that the comfort and salvation of my family was as important for Them as it was for me.

Watts painted the picture shortly after his young granddaughter had passed away, which may account for this less glorified portrayal of hope.35 While his exact intended message is somewhat ambiguous—and still somewhat debated today—the positive impact of the picture has been widespread. One of Watts’s biographers wrote:
A poor girl, character-broken and heart-broken, wandering about the streets of London with a growing feeling that nothing [good] remained . . . , saw a photograph of [the picture of Hope] in a shop-window. She recognized at once its message. When she had saved a few coppers, she bought the photograph, and, looking at it every day, the message sank into her soul, and she fought her way back to a life of purity and honour.36

When my ballet teacher showed us what our costume would look like for the spring recital, my sister and I knew it wasn’t modest. We decided to talk to our ballet teacher and explain that we were not comfortable wearing that costume. We told her we would not be able to be in the recital unless the costume was modest. My ballet teacher agreed to change the costume so it would be modest. I was glad I talked to my teacher about it and that she was willing to make the changes to the costume so my sister and I could be in the recital. I know it was the right thing to do.

Let me share with you a rather private but joyful example from my own experience.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

The great wonder of writing and reading is indicated by the experience of an early-day explorer in the dark continent of Africa. He desired to send a message to a friend many miles away, and it was arranged for a trusted native to be his messenger. The native watched as with his pen the explorer made some marks on a piece of paper, which had no significance to him. Then the explorer gave the native the letter for delivery.
After traversing the many miles of wilderness, the native put the message in the hands of the one for whom it was intended. The native discovered that as soon as the recipient had studied the paper, he immediately knew exactly where the explorer was and what his problems were. He knew all about his health and as much about the needs that prompted him to send the letter as though the explorer had come in person.
The miracle involved in this mysterious communication so impressed the native that he fell down on his face and worshiped the paper.

While Howard was serving as a stake president, he was speaking to the congregated Saints of the Pasadena Stake during a special excursion to the Arizona Temple. It was Howard’s forty-sixth birthday, and he wrote in his journal: “While I was speaking to the congregation, my father and mother came into the chapel dressed in white. I had no idea my father was prepared for his temple blessings, although Mother had been anxious about it for some time. I was so overcome with emotion that I was unable to continue to speak. … This was a birthday I have never forgotten because on that day they were endowed and I had the privilege of witnessing their sealing, following which I was sealed to them.”

Two years ago, Sister Nelson and I visited Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, and Tahiti. Each of those island nations had experienced heavy rains for days. Members had fasted and prayed that their outdoor meetings would be protected from the rain.

In Samoa, Fiji, and Tahiti, just as the meetings began, the rain stopped. But in Tonga, the rain did not stop. Yet 13,000 faithful Saints came hours early to get a seat, waited patiently through a steady downpour, and then sat through a very wet two-hour meeting.

We saw vibrant faith at work among each of those islanders—faith sufficient to stop the rain and faith to persevere when the rain did not stop.

Sister Julie B. Beck, who was the 15th general president of the Relief Society from 2007 to 2012. I was serving as the Stake Relief Society President in the BYUH Married Stake at that time and heard her share this story.

“My parents, who had been my neighbors, announced that they would be moving to another part of the world. I had relied on my mother’s nurturing, wise, and encouraging example. Now she was going to be gone for a long time. This was before e-mail, fax machines, cell phones, and Web cameras, and mail delivery was notoriously slow. One day before she left, I sat weeping with her and asked, “Who will be my mother?” Mother thought carefully, and with the Spirit and power of revelation which comes to women of this kind, she said to me, “If I never come back, if you never see me again, if I’m never able to teach you another thing, you tie yourself to Relief Society. Relief Society will be your mother.
Three different women held the calling of Relief Society president in my wards during the years my parents were away. Alta Chamberlain invited me to teach time management and home organization to the other sisters, perhaps because she saw that I needed to improve those skills. Jeanne Horne encouraged me to complete my first serious personal study of the Book of Mormon. Norma Healey gave me my first assignments at the cannery and taught me much about service. These wonderful women understood the purpose of Relief Society.
Mother knew that if I was sick, the sisters would take care of me, and when I had my babies, they would help me. But my mother’s greatest hope was that the sisters in Relief Society would be powerful, spiritual leaders for me. I began from that time to learn abundantly from women of stature and faith.”

One time, I was annoying my sisters. My mom sent me to time-out in my bedroom. That made me so angry that I threw a terrible fit.
While I was in my room, I decided to pray. I started thinking of my blessings and thanking Heavenly Father for them. As I did this, I started to feel peace in my heart. The angry feelings I had toward Mom went away. I know that the Holy Ghost helped me feel that way, and I have a testimony of prayer.
Jonah Leavitt, age 6West Linn, Oregon

Avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on the plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and his desire to enjoy again its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, with her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

Sam carried an armful of planks to the construction site and set them down. At the moment, there were only wooden beams standing. But soon the planks and beams would become a building. Sam couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday than to help build a brand-new chapel!
Sam liked building things. Sometimes it was hard for him, though. When he was a boy, his hands were badly hurt in an accident. Even now, when Sam was grown up, his fingers were still stiff. Sometimes it was hard to pick things up or hold tools.
Carefully Sam picked up his hammer. He had to try harder than some of the other workers, but he didn’t mind. He just wanted to help. He knew he was doing God’s work. And if he was doing God’s work, surely God would help him!
Sam was busy working when he heard someone come up behind him. “That is good work you are doing,” the person said.
Sam turned. It was Elder Biesinger! He was a Church leader who was helping to organise building projects in New Zealand.
“Thank you,” Sam said.
Elder Biesinger smiled. “How would you like to be a labour missionary? Right now missionaries are working to help build a Church school for teenagers. We need more helpers, and I think you’d do a great job.”
“I would love to,” said Sam. He couldn’t wait to serve the Lord as a missionary!
By Monday morning, Sam was an official labour missionary. He helped pour cement at a factory to make heavy blocks. The blocks were used to help build the school. Some of them were even used to build the Hamilton New Zealand Temple!
Day after day, year after year, Sam worked hard. He always did his best. Eventually, Sam was asked to be in charge of the brick factory. He led the other labour missionaries in their duties and made sure their work was done well.
Sam had fun too! He and the other missionaries sang songs together. Sometimes they performed their music to encourage others to come and help. Whether Sam was building, singing, or getting to know someone new, God helped him do good work.
Years later, Sam was called on another mission. But this one was different. He would not be using his hands to build things. Instead, he would be using them to help people inside the temple—the same temple he had helped build!
As Sam stood inside the temple in his white clothes, he felt peace. He was grateful for all the good things God had helped his hands to do.

For April Page, 17, from the Highland Utah East Stake, the temple has become a symbol of her goals. “Every time I talk with my parents about having the goal to go to the temple, they just become so emotional. They are so happy that is a definite goal of mine.”
April accompanied Michelle Bone. April said, “Michelle’s spirit completely overwhelmed me. The smile never left her face through the entire tour. Michelle taught me about being happy and having faith in what the gospel has taught me. I felt honored to be by her side in the Lord’s holy temple.”

Brad came into this life as innocent as any child, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that he was different. He couldn’t go to nursery without my husband or me with him because he was too aggressive. As he grew older and played with other children, he needed constant supervision. When we sought help, we were told that we just had to be more consistent with him. We did everything we could think of: we researched online, read parenting books, and asked doctors and family members. Finally, when Brad started school, he was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, as well as a host of other problems.
For the first time we felt we had hope. Now that we had a diagnosis, we could start a treatment plan. We were hopeful that Brad would respond well to a medication that had helped others. Unfortunately, Brad’s behavior on medication was worse than without it, so he had to stop. I felt the last bit of my hope drain away.
One day when Brad was six, I faced one of his many daily tantrums. I wanted to give up. I went to my room for a moment to myself, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I prayed for the strength to be able to face the approaching bedtime routine. How could I keep doing this, day after day? I felt like I was past what I could endure. Did Heavenly Father understand how hard it was? If He truly loved me, I reasoned, He would remove this burden from me and give my son a normal life. Those thoughts and feelings surrounded me as the trial I faced seemed to get worse instead of better.
I thought I understood trials. We were supposed to go through them like a pot being heated in a kiln. We’d go in and out of the fire, and then life would go back to normal until the next round of heating and tempering. But I had been facing this trial for years, and it was not going away. I felt the weight pressing down on me, and the feeling of helplessness brought me to my knees.
I then knew that the place I needed to go for comfort and understanding was the temple. By inspiration, I realized that we do not get to pick what trials we have in this life or how long they last. What we can control is the way we think and act when trials come.
I realized that the reason I was feeling sorry for myself was because I was allowing self-pity to fill my mind. The first thing I decided to do was stop any negative thoughts that crept in, such as “This is unfair,” “I can’t do this,” “Why can’t Brad be normal?” or the worst culprit, “I am such a bad mother.” I worked hard to stop the negative voice in my head, and I saw that my real voice became more patient and loving when I was dealing with all of my children.
I also encouraged positive thinking. I began to think, “You are doing great,” and I would give myself a compliment, such as “You kept your voice low and didn’t yell. Way to go!”
After a particularly hard day, I asked my husband to give me a blessing. During the blessing I was reminded that I am a daughter of God, that He is aware of me and my needs, and that my son is a son of God. Brad was God’s son first, and my husband and I have a partnership with God in Brad’s behalf. I realized that I had not been using all the tools that the partnership provides for me. My husband and I had researched and discovered many resources to help us, but we forgot the most significant one: prayer.
I began to pray daily about how I could help Brad. When he was having an emotional meltdown, I would say a quick prayer for inspiration before approaching him. As I relied on God for my support and for inspiration for my son, I got a glimpse of what I could be and what I could do for him. I strived to follow Alma’s words: “And this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God” (Alma 29:9).
The changes were immediate. I was flooded with ideas and ways to help Brad. I used family home evening as a tool and prayed for ideas about what to teach. I also read the scriptures with more intent and recognized the great parenting advice they contain. I began to be filled with hope and comfort.
As I continued to put into practice the idea that my husband and I are partners with God in parenting our children and using the tools that He has given us, I began to rely on God more and more. I realized that my knowledge of parenting could only go so far, but a loving Heavenly Father, who knows all things and loves my son more than I do, could help me become a better and stronger mother. And though I still sometimes falter, I know where to look for help. I understand now that some trials may not have a time limit on them, but if I keep my eye on eternity, God will help me.
When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.
We are an eternal family, and with the help of people who love us and our loving Heavenly Father watching over us, I can appreciate the small gifts given to me daily and feel the joy and happiness that we are meant to have. And with those small blessings and the help of the Lord, I can become who I am meant to be, no matter how long it takes.