Gospel Story Finder

The second experience also involved the loss of an ox and the ill treatment of Mary Fielding Smith by a wagon master who had had personal differences with her. Whenever people are thrown together in such a manner as they were in pioneer companies, tempers in some are prone to flare, and frictions may develop. Almost every boy who has attended a scout camp or national guard camp, or girl a girl’s camp, is aware of this problem.
So, it was almost inevitable that friction would arise among pioneer companies.
The difference of opinion in this case had arisen from the fact that the supervisor had felt Widow Smith was not prepared with sufficient supplies and equipment to reach the valley and that she would be a burden upon any company she joined. Finally, he concluded, “I will have to carry you along or leave you on the way.” To which Mary Fielding Smith replied, “I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.” And thus the verbal battle lines were drawn and the company set off. All proceeded about as well as possible until about midway between the Platte and the Sweetwater Rivers, at which time one of Sister Smith’s oxen laid down in the yoke as if poisoned. To all outward appearances the ox was in the throes of death. It stiffened out spasmodically, and all supposed it would die momentarily. The wagons behind were also brought to a stop as the captain of the company came running forward, “blustering about, as if the world were about at an end.”
“There,” said he, “I told you you would have to be helped and that you would be a burden on the company.” But in this he was mistaken. Producing a bottle of consecrated oil, Widow Smith asked her brother and James Lawson if they would please administer to the ox just as they would do to a sick person, for it was vital to her interest that the ox be restored. Her earnest plea was complied with. These brethren poured oil on the head of the ox and then laid their hands upon it and rebuked the power of the destroyer. Immediately the ox got up and within a very few moments again pulled in the yoke as if nothing had ever happened. This was a great astonishment to the company. Before the company had proceeded very far, another of her oxen fell down as the first, but with the same treatment he also got up, and this was repeated the third time.
Through all of these proceedings young Joseph F. was an observer, sensing the power of the priesthood being exhibited by his uncle, but also noting the deep faith of his widowed mother, a woman who was to leave a deep impression upon his life. Four years after entering the valley—at the age of fourteen—he was to lose his mother to death, and then was without father or mother.

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Although my parents were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I look back with gratitude upon how they have influenced my life. My mother was born with a congenital heart defect and was told that having children would endanger her life. She waited eight years to have me; I am the only child in the family. Mother was a loving and compassionate person. She always spoke good of everyone and ingrained that teaching in me. In spite of health complications, she lived life to the fullest before she passed away at age fifty.

Katy and her mother did not agree on many important things. Like rock collections. One day Katy took all her dolls and stuffed animals off her bed. She put her rock collection in their place. “I like rocks better than dolls,” said Katy.
“Katy, you’re impossible,” said Mother. Mother liked dolls much better. She liked anything that was dainty, neat, or ruffled.
That’s why Katy’s mother didn’t like Rex.
Katy had found the scruffy old dog in a vacant lot. He was very big and very dirty. Katy brought him home and cleaned him up. She thought that he was beautiful.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a little poodle?” asked Mother after they were sure he didn’t belong to anyone else. “You could put a bow in its hair, and it could sleep next to your bed.”
“Nope. I like real dogs,” said Katy.
Mother sighed. “Katy, you’re impossible.”
Mother banished Rex to the backyard, but sometimes Katy sneaked him chocolate chip cookies and cherry gelatin.
When Mother decided to send Katy to ballet class, Katy moaned, “I don’t want to wear one of those dumb little dresses.”
“They’re called tutus,” said Mother.
“I don’t care what they’re called. I won’t wear one.”
“You don’t have to wear it all the time, just for performances,” said Mother.
“Performances! I’m not going to get up in front of people in that thing and dance on my toes. I don’t like that sissy stuff,” said Katy.
“Katy, ballet is not sissy stuff. You have to practice hard and be very strong to be a ballerina.”
“I won’t do it.” Katy stuck out her chin.
“You have to,” said Mother. “I’ve already paid for the first month’s lessons. You start on Saturday.”
Katy went outside and sat down on the back steps. “This is the last straw,” she said to Rex. “She doesn’t understand me at all. She can’t be my mother.”
Rex nuzzled her. Katy reached into her pocket and gave him half a baloney sandwich.
“I bet I got switched with another baby at the hospital when I was born!” said Katy. A little pocket of worry started to grow in her heart. “Maybe I’d better check, just in case,” she said as she hugged Rex.
Katy rode her bike to Dr. Bigelow’s office.
The nurse said that the doctor was busy, but Katy hung around the waiting room until she saw him. “Doctor Bigelow,” she yelled as she ran past the nurse, “the night I was born, you didn’t close your eyes for a few minutes, did you?”
The doctor laughed. “Of course not. In fact, I was very busy that night. Another baby was born just about the same time you were.”
“Do you remember who the mother was?”
“Certainly. It was Mrs. Douglas Carr. She had a little girl too. Her name is Pamela. They’re still patients of mine.”
Katy left the doctor’s office and found a phone booth. She looked up Douglas Carr in the phone book, then got back on her bike and rode as fast as she could.
She thought about Pamela Carr. Pamela was probably a very neat person. She would be happy living at Katy’s house with a room full of dolls and ruffles.
The Carrs lived on Florian Drive. As Katy rang the bell, her stomach felt like it did on the first day of school. A pretty redheaded lady opened the door.
“Is Mrs. Carr here?”
“I’m Mrs. Carr.”
“Do you have a daughter named Pamela?”
“Why yes. You must be a friend of hers. Pam, come here.”
The girl came and stood beside her mother. They could have been twins! They had the same curly red hair and the same beautiful smiles.
“I guess I made a mistake,” stammered Katy. She’d never felt so stupid in her whole life, but she also felt relieved.
Katy didn’t want to go home yet, so she went to Grandma’s house, instead.
“Katy, where have you been? Your mother has been looking all over for you,” said Grandma. She called Katy’s mother to tell her where Katy was, then she poured a glass of milk and cut a piece of angel food cake for Katy. “Now, tell me what the trouble is.”
Katy told her the whole story.
“Oh dear! You actually thought that the hospital had switched babies?”
Katy nodded.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Grandma went into the other room and came back with a family photo album. She showed Katy a picture of a little girl hanging upside down from a tree. She was making a face at the camera. On the next page was another picture of the same little girl dressed up in a cowboy suit. She looked like Katy’s kind of person. “These are pictures of your mother when she was little,” said Grandma.
“Oh no—it can’t be!” Katy exclaimed. She stared at the pictures. “What happened to her? She sure has changed.”
“She grew up,” said Grandma. “You will, too, someday, but you will still be unique.”
“Does that mean I still have to go to dancing school?”
“Dancing school never hurt anyone. You might even like it.”
Katy sighed. Even Grandma had turned against her.
“There are other kinds of dancing, you know,” said Grandma. “Perhaps you would like tap dancing better than ballet. You get to have taps on your shoes and make a lot of noise. And you don’t have to wear a tutu. Would you like me to talk to your mother about it?”
“Yes, please,” said Katy. She hugged her grandmother. “I’m glad I’m who I am, because you’re the best Grandma in the whole world!”
At the next dance recital, Katy was dressed like Uncle Sam and tapped her way through “Yankee Doodle.” Her parents sat in the front row so that Mother could take pictures of Katy as she danced.
Katy smiled extra big. After all, you never know who might be looking at those pictures someday!

Another challenge to Craig’s humility might be the role he has played in the Hill Cumorah Pageant for the past several years. As Moroni, he is not on the stage very long. But when he is, there are just Craig and his father (playing Mormon) on that huge stage. And finally, there is just Craig/Moroni, carrying the gold plates upward from level to level and into the darkness beyond the spotlights. It’s an important moment.
“How do you like being in the pageant with your father?” I wanted to know.
“It’s super; it’s just great. I can’t often look him in the eye while we are on stage because I am supposed to be looking toward the audience. But when I do look him in the eye, the emotion is there and it’s hard to hold back. He’s saying that tomorrow will be the last battle of the Nephites and they’ll be destroyed. And when my father says that, I feel it. It’s like it’s real. And then I have to go and do my part as best I can.
“I wasn’t very confident with the part at first. I was very nervous. But after four rehearsals, and getting my lines and actions down, everything just worked out from there. Now it’s great. I can go up there and think about the audience and try my hardest to share my testimony—Moroni’s testimony—with them.”

On a late spring day the telephone roused me from a peaceful sleep. I groggily looked at my alarm clock and saw that it was five in the morning. I knew that phone calls at that hour usually don’t bring good news. My father rustled downstairs and I listened.
“Oh no, Mom. I’m so sorry …” his voice trailed off, and I heard a long, deep sigh. Instinctively I wondered if my grandparents were okay. My father spoke again. “Yes, I can get there. I’ll leave this morning. I’m sure that Maryanne will come, too. You rest, if you can. I know there are things to arrange, but leave them to your home teacher. … The kids? Yes, I think they can make the trip.”
As he spoke those words, I knew that I would not go fishing again with my Grandpa McClary in the Windmakers.
As the weeks passed, I wondered if I would ever visit the Windmakers again. Grandpa McClary was so much a part of those trips, from the packing ritual on Saturday to the gingersnaps each evening at water’s edge. I knew how difficult it would be for me to look upstream and not see him smiling and waving, the old blue cap perched on his head The trip wouldn’t be the same; therefore, I reasoned, it wouldn’t be as good. And the secret of the Windmakers? Maybe Grandpa was just talking. Maybe there was no real secret. I made up my mind: no more trips to the Windmakers. It was a part of my life that was over. All good things must come to an end, and this was one of them. I congratulated myself on my maturity. I was learning some lessons early in life, or so I thought.
School let out, and I got a part-time job at a grocery store. August was coming fast, and to my satisfaction, nothing had been said about a fishing trip with my father. Certainly I wasn’t going to bring up the subject.
Then my mom stepped in.
I was at the grocery store one Monday afternoon pulling cans of corn to the front of the shelf, my thoughts a million miles away.
“Excuse me, sir, but where may I find the canned corn?”
“Right here—oh, hi Mom! I didn’t recognize your voice. Guess my mind was wandering.”
“Thinking of a vacation? Tahiti? Paris? Fishing with your father?”
“Tahiti sounds fine, but I don’t think I’ll be going to the Windmakers without Grandpa.” A slight look of disappointment flickered across her face, but she quickly recovered and smiled.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “I suppose it wouldn’t be quite the same. But have you thought it might be a great trip for just you and your father?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I answered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
She turned her head as though looking for something farther down the aisle. “Do you have a break coming, Jason? I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”
“Sure, I can take a few minutes. Let me check with Bill. Then I’ll meet you outside.”
Mom was sitting on the curb along the store’s parking lot. “Pull up a chair,” she said, motioning to the space next to her on the curb. “You’ve been on your feet since you came to work, I imagine.”
“You’ve got that right. So what’s up, Mom?”
“I’d like to talk about Dad’s vacation. I know that he’s just waiting for you to drop a hint about going back to the mountains. He’d take you up on it in a second, if he thought you wanted to return to the Windmakers.”
“But that’s the point, Mom. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve decided I don’t want to go back there. That whole trip depended so much on Grandpa. He did everything.”
Mothers everywhere, I’m sure, are among the most persistent people in the world, and mine was no different. I could see by the look she gave me that she wasn’t about to let the subject die.
“Do you know why Grandpa McClary always took your father to the Windmakers?”
“Well, the fishing was always pretty good.”
“Think, Jason. That was much more than a fishing trip, and you know it.” She straightened her back and looked directly at me. “Your great-grandfather McClary was a miner. He was a hardworking man, and I guess a little bit stern. Maybe he had to be, because there wasn’t much room for frivolity in those days. Don’t mistake me, he was a good person and provided well for his family during some very lean years. But there was a price. He didn’t get as close to his children as he might have, particularly his oldest son, your Grandpa McClary,” Mom explained softly. “There was a distance between them, even though I know they loved each other.”
I’d heard only a little about my great-grandfather. I knew he worked in the mines, and that not a man in the county could hold out long against him in an arm wrestling match. But that was the extent of my knowledge about him.
“Grandpa McClary very simply did not want any distance between him and his son,” Mom continued. “He wanted to be close, just as your father wants always to be close to you. The fishing trip was one way of accomplishing that. It wasn’t a gimmick, understand. It was a tradition—a family tradition, started with a purpose.” Mom reached over and put her arm around my shoulders. “Jason, I just don’t want to see a third-generation legacy end.”
My head was down. “I didn’t think of it that way,” I said. Maybe my newfound maturity was really no more than an old-fashioned case of selfishness. Strong families have strong traditions. And I was on the verge of ending one that began 30 years earlier with my grandfather and father. I looked at Mom. “I’ll talk with Dad tonight.”
“Thanks, Jason. This means a lot to him,” she said, standing up. “You’d better get back to work now.”
It was a family custom to talk about the upcoming week and make plans after home evening. When the lesson was over, Dad looked at each of us. “Business?” he asked. “How about you, Maryanne?”
“A stake Primary meeting on Tuesday. That’s it for me.”
“Melissa?”
“Kristin asked me to come to her house on Thursday. Mom said it was okay with her if it’s okay with you,” my sister said.
“I don’t see why not, as long as Kristin’s parents know about it. Jason?”
“I’m only working Thursday and Friday of this week, so everyone should see me around a little more,” I said.
“Good. We haven’t seen enough of you since you started your job,” Dad said. He closed the family home evening book and started to stand up.
“Dad, there is something else,” I said. “I was wondering what we were going to do about our vacation in August.” I spoke slowly. “I’d like to go fishing again in the Windmakers.”
My father sat back down in his chair, a startled look on his face. “Are you sure, Jason?”
“I’m sure. It’s something that I don’t want to give up.”
Dad leaned all the way back in his chair. “This comes as a surprise. I didn’t think you wanted to go, so that’s why I never asked.” He looked at Mom and Melissa. “How about you two?”
“I think it would be great if you and Jason went to the mountains,” Mom answered, not trying to conceal her excitement in the slightest way. “Don’t worry about us. Melissa and I don’t exactly sit around and mourn your absence. It’s a time when we can do some things together, too.”
Dad’s enthusiasm was bubbling like a pot of boiling water. “Of course I need to check with Grandma, but my guess is that her only question will be why it took so long to ask. I’m sure we can find all the gear. Yes, I think we can work it all out.” He took off his glasses and bound out of his chair. “I’m going to the garage to begin sorting through some of the equipment.”
I can remember few times when I’d seen my father as happy. He reached the door leading to the garage and turned back towards me. “Jason, we’re going to the Windmakers.”
And so we did. Two weeks later, we left for Springvale on a Friday afternoon. Saturday morning, Dad rummaged through Grandpa’s basement. He found everything we needed for camping. He even came across Grandpa’s fishing hat and tried it on. “Naw, let’s retire it,” he said while glancing in a mirror. “Only Grandpa could wear this thing and make it look right.” We spent all afternoon packing. The results weren’t up to Grandpa’s standards, but we guessed he would have approved anyway. Dad pointed the pickup truck toward the street, so that we wouldn’t lose precious seconds Monday.
On Sunday we went to church. In priesthood meeting, Dad stood and introduced us. “I’m Richard McClary, and I grew up in this ward. This is my son, Jason, and it’s a family tradition for us to go fishing here at this time of the year. We’ll be back in our home ward next week, but I’ll be sure to have my mother tell you who was victorious—the fish or the fishermen.”
Monday, we arose before dawn and ate a big breakfast with Grandma. We drove to the Windmakers and set up our camp just as we had in all the previous years. We fished all day. In the evening, Dad took over the cooking chores. “You’re not as good as Grandpa, but you show potential,” I told him between bites.
After dinner, we went to the edge of the stream. Right on cue, Dad pulled a bag of gingersnaps from his coat. We climbed a couple of boulders, munched on cookies, and talked for hours as the sun dropped below the ridge line and the stars took their places in the sky. The wind came huffing down the canyon, like an old friend calling.
“The Windmakers, Jason. I’m glad we came.”
“So am I.”
With the wind on my face, sitting at streamside, it seemed that Grandpa McClary wasn’t very far away at all.

Not long ago I read about an incident that occurred in the life of U.S. President Harry S. Truman after he had retired and was back in Independence, Missouri. He was at Truman Library, talking with some elementary school students and answering their questions. Finally, a question came from an owlish little boy. “Mr. President,” he said, “was you popular when you was a boy?” The President looked at the boy and answered, “Why, no. I was never popular. The popular boys were the ones who were good at games and had big, tight fists. I was never like that. Without my glasses I was blind as a bat, and to tell the truth, I was kind of a sissy.” The little boy started to applaud, and then everyone else did, too (Vital Speeches, Feb. 1983, p. 6).

Tears streamed down my face as I stood on my tiptoes and we hugged each other tightly at the Missionary Training Center. I probably dampened his new suit, but I don’t think he minded. “I love you,” I said.
I thought of the many times I had thought I disliked Tommy, even if he was my brother. Then I thought about how much things had changed over the years, how sad I was to see him go.
Tommy soon graduated and began preparing for his mission, but I never really realized how much I would miss him until the day he left. As Tommy hugged us and wiped his tears away, I suddenly felt a little lonely. But I knew it was the right step for Tommy to take, and I was proud of him.

On the other hand, Jill and Kent Sorensen, who are from the same stake, say one of the best ways to strengthen their family has been to serve away from home. Sister Sorensen says, “One of the main excuses couples give for not going is grandkids, married children with struggles, daughters expecting babies, aging parents—you name it. Family is a priority, and you miss them every day. But going on a mission sends a powerful message that missionary work is important too.”
Besides, Elder Sorensen notes, “there are so many ways to keep in touch now that you can check in all the time.”
The Sorensens’ missionary journey began three years ago, when their bishop asked them to host monthly firesides for couples contemplating missionary service. “After talking about it constantly,” Sister Sorensen says, “we had to go ourselves!” They received a call to serve in the Cook Islands, where Jill’s grandparents served 50 years ago.
Today, among other duties, they are asked to teach Bible classes in schools.
“We talk about Christ being the rock,” Elder Sorensen says. “We give the students a small rock and encourage them to remain rock solid in Christ. Now everywhere we go, people say, ‘Rock solid!’ when they see us.”

Some years ago, I found myself in an auditorium at the Churchill College of the University of Cambridge in England for an annual meeting for the company I worked for. On that occasion, I had the privilege to receive from the company’s global president and CEO an award in behalf of my team for the excellent work we performed that year.
As company leaders from all over the world, representing 80,000 employees, clapped their hands and praised our team for our achievement, I thought, “This must be my best day of work ever!” The atmosphere of that moment was exhilarating.
Upon reflection, I decided that receiving an award at Cambridge was my second-best day of work. The best and happiest day at work was in a much more humble setting: a little bakery with no audience or standing ovation. It was just me and my dad. That day, he taught me to love and value work and helped me feel the joy of making something from scratch with my own hands. I learned that hard work is satisfying to both the body and the soul.
I can still hear the applause and the words of encouragement coming from that audience at the University of Cambridge, but more dear to me is the memory of my day at the bakery with my father and the smell of those loaves of bread as they came out of the oven.

For a Long time, I wasn’t really good at praying to my Heavenly Father. I was either too tired or would forget. Finally, for a Personal Progress experience, I challenged myself to start praying every night and every morning. I was doing really well and felt good too. I was waiting for some big moment to prove that God answered my prayers. That moment never came for me, but I did see God answer my little sister’s prayer.
That weekend was the Daddy-Daughter dance, and she was really excited. A couple of days before the dance, my stepdad called and said that his work schedule had changed, causing him to miss the dance. My little sister was devastated and my stepdad even cried when he gave the news.
But our sadness didn’t last long. The next day, he called back to say that because of the incoming snowstorm he could come home and go to the dance! My little sister’s eyes lit up with happiness as she said, “Whoa! I prayed last night that Daddy could make it to the dance!”
That night, I prayed to Heavenly Father and thanked Him for being there for my sister and my family. I learned that God does answer our prayers, although it may not be exactly when and how we want them answered. He wants us to be happy. He loves us! He promises to help and remember us. And it’s our part to remember Him.
Katie W., Washington, USA

Talofa! Hello!
Recently our Primary got to do community service to help the environment. I almost couldn’t go because I live far from the church, but I’m so grateful that my Primary leaders were able to help me get a ride.
When we got to the project site, it was muddy, cold, and wet. But that didn’t stop us! Each child was given one tree to plant, and our Primary leaders showed us how to plant them. As we worked, we learned why trees are so important.
I learned that trees help protect the earth. They give us fruits, medicine, and wood. They also give us oxygen to breathe.
My message to everyone is that we should plant more and more trees! And look for ways to help serve in the community. I’m grateful for this experience and all it taught me.

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

Grandma reached into the trunk again and pulled out another picture. This time it was a small picture of a beautiful building.
“I know what that is!” Donna exclaimed. “It’s the Salt Lake Temple.”
“Yes,” Grandma said. “This picture is very special to me. When I was a little girl, my Primary teacher gave one to each of us after a lesson about the temple. She told us how wonderful it was to go to the temple and be sealed together as a family.
“She said that we could also do work for people who had died without a chance to hear about the gospel. Then she explained that in order to enter the temple, we had to go to church, pay our tithing, obey the Word of Wisdom, and keep the other commandments.
“I was so proud of my beautiful picture that I took it home and hung it right above my bed. Every night before I said my prayers, I looked at the picture, then asked Heavenly Father to help me prepare to go there. I wanted to go to the temple more than anything else. I wanted to help people like my great-grandmother, who didn’t know about the gospel. And I wanted to be married there to a good man.
“The day I went to the temple with your grandpa to be married for eternity was the most beautiful day of my life. When I see our family together, it makes me happy that we have made the right choices. We still need to keep working to be good, but it’s all worth it, knowing that we can be together forever.”

When I was a deacon like many of you young men, my father and I hiked to a mountain stream to fish for trout. As my dad attached the bait to the hook on the end of my fishing line, he told me that I would need to set the hook in the fish’s mouth when it tried to take the bait, or it would get away. I did not understand what it meant to set the hook, so he explained to me that the hook needed to be embedded in the fish’s mouth when it struck at the bait so it could not shake the hook loose and that the hook would be set if I quickly pulled back on the pole when the fish tried to take the bait. Now, I really wanted to catch a fish, so I stood on the bank of that mountain stream like a coiled spring, every muscle taut, waiting for the telltale movement at the end of my pole which would signal that the fish was trying to take the bait. After a few minutes I noticed movement at the end of my pole, and in that instant I jerked back on the pole with all of my strength, expecting a big fight with the fish. To my surprise, I watched as that poor trout—with the hook now set very firmly in his mouth—was launched from the water into the air over my head and landed on the ground flopping behind me.
I have two observations from that experience: First, a fish out of water is miserable. Although its gills, fins, and tail work very well in water, they are all but useless on land. Second, the unfortunate fish I caught that day perished because it was deceived into treating something very dangerous—even fatal—as worthwhile or at least as sufficiently intriguing to warrant a closer look and perhaps a nibble.

Shortly after Elder Hinckley arrived in England, he got sick, and “it seemed that everyone was prejudiced against us,” he recalled. “Those first few weeks, because of illness and the opposition which we felt, I was discouraged.” During this difficult time, he wrote a letter to his father, saying that he felt he was wasting his time and money.

His father sent back a short note: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.”3 Elder Hinckley did just that: he stayed and worked hard.

Sarah Thomas, a recent convert, enjoyed visiting the Hill Cumorah before she was a member of the Church. She often went to the hill to watch the sunset, and she felt the influence of the Holy Ghost there, without knowing what she was feeling. “I loved being there, even though I didn’t know why,” she says.

Now as a member of the Church she knows why: “The Spirit there is so great. It’s where Moroni buried the Book of Mormon. I had no idea how incredible and important these Church-history places are. I feel very blessed to live in an area where I can visit them.”

A few weeks after that YSA stake conference, I listened to general conference. I was hoping to find answers from our leaders but was disheartened when the first day passed without any new direction from the Spirit.
Then, in the middle of the second day’s afternoon session, I had a prompting: start writing.
Somewhat reluctantly, I began scribbling down the thoughts that came to mind. What I ended up with was something I’d never thought to write before: a list of ways living the gospel was difficult for me specifically because of my symptoms of ADHD. Here are a few:
ADHD inhibits the ability to regulate focus. Regular study and worship are key to receiving valuable inspiration and insight, but because they are routine, it can be hard for me to concentrate on the spiritual aspect.
While some people can build a habit after a few days or weeks, someone with ADHD can find it difficult to create routines. Scripture study and prayer are meant to be daily habits. But for someone with ADHD, it can take a lot of effort to keep up with them.
ADHD can make it hard to regulate emotions. Overwhelming emotions can lead to sudden outbursts. For some, it can also be difficult to recognize their own feelings or the feelings of others.
We may desire to be meek like the Savior but find ourselves overwhelmed by frustration. We may have trouble discerning the Spirit, which can make us feel isolated when others seem to recognize the Spirit easily.
Impulsivity can make us feel like our intentions never quite line up with our actions.
The gospel preaches repentance. But sometimes, despite a sincere desire to change, we find ourselves impulsively acting on old temptations. It can be discouraging when our righteous intentions fall apart in the face of split-second impulses.
Often, those with ADHD struggle to plan, organize, prioritize, or begin tasks. Even minor tasks can become paralyzing and exhausting.
Though not in a bad way, the gospel can require more of our time. Serving others and gathering to learn are wonderful opportunities. But balancing these extra priorities can add to the feelings of overwhelm in everyday life.
After writing out how ADHD affects my discipleship, I realized something important—these challenges weren’t moral failings. They were mortal struggles.
President Russell M. Nelson taught, “As you think celestial, you will view trials and opposition in a new light.” I received that light—and with it, a new perspective. From there, I started looking for solutions.
I used to think that spiritual improvement looked the same for every person. Now I can accept that improvement may look a little different for me. The Lord knows me (see John 10:14), and He knows my specific challenges. I began praying for ideas for how to work with my challenges instead of against them.
When I use a fidget toy during personal prayers to stay focused, I know He sees my desire to communicate with Him. When I exercise to clear my mind instead of sitting quietly, I know He sees my desire for inspiration.
There are still days I struggle. Sister Joy D. Jones, former Primary General President, reminds us that “the Lord loves effort. … He doesn’t expect perfection today.” So, when I find myself slipping back into old habits, I know that I can pause and recenter myself on Christ.
With Christ’s help, I’m working to replace feelings of guilt and shame over my shortcomings with kindness toward myself—the same kindness and mercy that the Lord already has for me.
This will be a lifelong battle, but I know Jesus Christ will continue to help me face it and thrive.

Recently Sister Cook and I attended a women’s conference in South Africa. After we listened to some inspiring messages on applying the Atonement in our lives, the stake Relief Society president invited everyone outside. We were each given a helium balloon. She explained that our balloon represented whatever burden, trial, or hardship was holding us back in our lives. On the count of three, we released our balloons, or our “burdens.” As we looked up and watched our burdens float away, there was an audible “Ahhhh.” That simple act of releasing our balloons provided a marvelous reminder of the indescribable joy that comes from looking up and thinking of Christ.

Zintle Vuyiswa Njoli, 16, remembers when she was 12 years old and drifting away from the Church. “I was a recent convert, brand new in Young Women. I felt uncomfortable and a bit kept out,” she recalls. “I started backsliding. I was discouraged and I didn’t want to come anymore.” Then music came to her rescue.
“A Relief Society sister came to my house. She knew I loved music, and she gave my mother a stack of CDs with Church music for me to listen to. I couldn’t resist. When I came to a hymn called ‘Be Still, My Soul’ [Hymns, no. 124], I cried and cried. The words said exactly what I needed to hear. After that, anytime I felt upset or disheartened, I would sing those words to remind me to be patient and trust in the Lord. That song brought me back and kept me in the Church.”

When Julie accepted an assignment to spend a morning serving in a Church-operated food processing plant, she decided to invite Shawna to go with her. Shawna had only come to church a few times in the years since she had moved into the neighborhood. Julie and Shawna had a great time serving together at the plant. Not long after, Julie and Carl planned a game night for home evening. They decided to invite Shawna’s family to join them. Because Julie had thought to include Shawna in these activities that she was already planning, the two developed a deeper relationship. Later, when Shawna faced some challenges, she reached out to Julie’s husband, Carl, for a priesthood blessing.

Meaningful ministering can happen when we find simple ways to show our love, share our faith in Jesus Christ, and invite others to come to Him and join us—even in things we were going to do anyway.