Gospel Story Finder

I guess if there is any one reason for success, Dean’s reason is determination. He started painting when he was eight. When he was twelve he spent most of a year talking his parents into letting him ride his bike across the country. He finished the long journey when he was thirteen, perhaps the youngest person ever to make the ride. He rode from Ogden, Utah, to Massachusetts and then down to New York. He rode along feeling and sketching the life of America as he went. And he has traveled since—in cars, in trains, in planes. He feels he needs to learn all the time. As he explains, “Sometimes you have to go slowly. When you are on a bike or walking, you feel, you touch the heat and the cold. It is good to get down to life and to see how people act; to feel the rain when it hits your head; to have to worry about a place to sleep. This next summer I plan to walk from Georgia to Vermont, and when I get there, I’ll know the people.”

His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives, remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”

“She’s at the garden.”
That’s what a lot of families in the Tempe Arizona West Stake Tenth Ward are hearing when they are looking for their teenage daughter. In starting their Experiment upon the Word project, the Young Women chose to read the New Testament and to raise a garden. Each girl would have a row where she could grow what she chose. She would be responsible for keeping it weed free. She was also responsible for reading each day and for bringing her scriptures to church each week.
There were some surprises waiting. What was unexpected was how the garden made these girls feel. It turned out to be a place of peace, a refuge where they could go to be quiet and get away from the world. Sally Painter, 18, said, “I’ve always thought of my home as a haven, but the garden turned into a second haven to get away from the world. It’s always quiet.”
And the scriptures became the same type of refuge, something that made the girls feel better and more peaceful. “I had hardly ever read my scriptures,” said Alison Johnston, 14. “Now I read every night. I finished Matthew and was so proud of myself. I understood it a lot better.”
There was a lot of preparation for both the garden and the scripture reading. In the garden the girls had to haul in truckloads of manure and sand to prepare the soil. They even brought in earthworms and tried to coax them to stay in their rows.
Before starting to read, the girls held a fast. Amanda Romney, 13, said, “This was the first time I had ever fasted for anything specific. It was a lot easier to pray when you knew what you were doing it for.”
As their garden began to bear fruit, the Young Women battled bugs and weeds. In their reading, they have battled fatigue and procrastination. And the peace is something they have grown to love. Sara Painter, 15, said, “The garden gives you a peaceful feeling just like you get when you read the scriptures.”

Nathan’s fingers smashed the buttons on the controller. He was so close to beating this level! He stared at the TV while his rocket ship dodged the green blasts.
“Nathan, time for dinner!” Mom called.
Bam! Nathan’s ship got hit. Nathan groaned. Now he’d have to restart. But he knew he could beat this level if he tried just one more time.
Dad came into the room. “Did you hear Mom? It’s time to eat.”
Nathan sighed and paused the game. He and Dad sat down with the rest of the family. Nathan ate his food as fast as he could. He wanted to get back to his game.
“Thanks! That was good.” He jumped up from the table.
“Slow down, buddy,” Dad said. “Mom and I want to talk with you.”
Uh-oh. Was Nathan in trouble?
When everyone else was done, Mom and Dad stayed at the table with Nathan.
“We’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time playing video games,” Dad said.
Nathan squirmed. “They’re really fun.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “But other things are fun too. We missed you yesterday when we were playing games as a family. We always have more fun when you’re with us!”
Nathan had been working on an awesome bonus level last night. By the time he beat it, his family was done playing games. He felt kind of sad he missed it.
Nathan frowned. “Does this mean I’m not allowed to play video games anymore?”
“We’re not saying that,” Dad said. “We just want you to be more aware of how much time you spend on them. And to make sure they’re not keeping you from other important things, like chores and homework and scripture study.”
Nathan looked down. “I guess I have been falling behind on some stuff.”
“We’re sure you can figure out how to find a better balance,” Dad said.
“Could you help me?” Nathan asked.
Mom smiled. “Of course.”
Together, Nathan, Mom, and Dad decided how much video game time Nathan should have each day. Then they came up with a plan. They would put a poster of a stoplight next to the TV. If Nathan could stop playing when Mom and Dad called him, the stoplight would go on yellow. If they had to ask him more than once, it would go on red. And if he could stop on his own before they asked, it would go on green.
Each night before bedtime, they would talk about how Nathan did that day. If the stoplight was on red, he would have less time to play the next day. But if it stayed on green, Mom and Dad would take him to the space museum!
Nathan knew it would be hard to change his habits. But he was ready for the challenge.
For the first few days, the stoplight stayed on yellow. Then Nathan messed up, and it had to go to red. He wanted to try extra hard next time. So the next day, he set an alarm so he would know how long he’d been playing. Finally, he made it to green!
After a few days of green, Mom and Dad took him to the space museum. Nathan stared up at a giant rocket. It looked like the one in his game, but even cooler. He grinned. It was fun to be here with Mom and Dad. He wanted to see how long he could stay on green!
This story took place in the USA.

I never thought I would love a mountain. But I’ve grown to love the mountain overlooking Brigham Young University. My roommate, Josh, suggested we run the face of Y Mountain for exercise. The idea seemed a little ambitious, but we had been friends since high school, and I was not about to turn down his challenge.
At 6:00 A.M. Josh and I stumbled out of our beds, tired, groggy, and a little unsure of exactly what lay ahead of us. The trail to the top includes 11 switchbacks; sometime after the second, your body wants to go into shock—muscles cramp, lungs nearly collapse—and the steepest part of the trail is still to come.
To say the first time up the mountain was hard is an understatement. It was the cruelest form of punishment—slow and deliberate. We were not as fit as we had thought. We ran as fast as we could and then, when we could take no more, we stopped to rest. Slowly we made our way to the top.
The first few times, Josh and I stuck together. But after a few times up the mountain, it became a competition. Josh pulled ahead, and I doubled my efforts to keep up. Josh ran until he was tired, and I ran until Josh stopped. No matter how hard I tried, he beat me to the top every time, not by much, but he still beat me.
I tried harder, but I still couldn’t get closer. Josh continued to run until he was tired. But when he stopped, I pushed myself to keep running and try to narrow the gap. My time improved, but I was not satisfied because I had never won.
Once, after struggling and sweating my way up the mountain, I caught up to Josh. I asked him to slow down so I could stop and catch my breath. He replied that he could not slow down because if he did, “there would not be anyone to push you to become better.” Although I doubt his motives were altruistic, there is truth in what he said.
The steepest and hardest part was at the end. I was always exhausted by the time I reached the last switchback. It did not matter how fast I ran; Josh, as usual, was ahead of me. Still, I tried to keep the gap between us narrow even as the trail got harder. Josh ran just as hard to keep the gap wide.
Hard work and discipline were rewarded at the finish line. I could finally stop and rest. But often as I came over the hill, with the finish line in sight, I saw Josh scaling farther up the mountain. And I felt compelled to follow. When I finally caught up to him, I mentioned that it is perfectly acceptable to stop at the finish line. His reply was always, “You have to keep pushing yourself.”
After another running experience, I apologized to Josh for slowing him down. He replied, “You didn’t. You kept me going.” While his reply was not totally unexpected, the lesson I learned was. It was then that the “push and pull” of Y Mountain began to sink in. All this time I had thought that Josh had been pulling me up the mountain by refusing to let me stop and rest. But I realized that in my stretching and straining up the mountain, I had pushed him as well.

M. Russell Ballard
An eight-year-old boy invites his friend and his friend’s family to a ward open house in Buenos Aires.

Topsy Turvey Turtle was crawling slowly down the path. He looked at the big black pot over the fire. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Mine,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I wouldn’t call it stew yet, though. So far it’s only water.”
“I have some potatoes we could add to it,” offered Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Thank you.”
Topsy Turvey Turtle and Rimsey Rabbit chopped up the potatoes and added them to the boiling water. As they sat down to wait for the potatoes to cook, Missy Mouse scurried towards them.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, and Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes.”
“Well, I have been to the market to buy these lovely white gloves, and while I was there, I bought some fresh, crisp carrots. Shall I add them to your stew?”
“Oh, yes, please!” said Rimsey Rabbit. “I love carrots.”
After Missy Mouse added the carrots to the stew pot, the three sat down to visit. While they were chatting, Sweetie Skunk waddled down the path.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, and Missy Mouse donated the carrots.”
“Oh, but you need some seasoning.” Sweetie Skunk took a packet of salt and a packet of pepper out of her pretty sequin purse and added them to the stew. As she was putting the lid back on the pot, Belushy Bear lumbered out of the woods.
“Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, and Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper.”
“You need an onion for stew,” Belushy Bear boomed in his deep voice. “May I add an onion to your stew?”
“Of course,” replied Rimsey Rabbit.
So Belushy Bear pulled an onion out of his backpack and added it to the stew. Not long afterward, Polly Pig sniffed and snuffled her way into the clearing.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, and Belushy Bear brought the onion.”
“Sounds very tasty, but you need some green beans and peas for your stew. I have some that I could add, if I may,” suggested Polly Pig.
“Beans and peas are very tasty,” said Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Yes,” everyone agreed. “Please add them to the stew.”
Polly Pig carefully flung her feather boa (scarf) over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get into the stew, then tossed the beans and peas into the pot.
By this time there was such a gathering that it had become a party. Topsy Turvey Turtle played his flute, and they all began to dance. Everyone was laughing and talking so loudly that Hilary Hen had to shout to get anyone to notice her.
“Whose stew?” she hollered.
“Ours!” everyone shouted over the music. Topsy Turvey Turtle stopped playing so that Rimsey Rabbit could explain who had brought what. When he finished, Hilary Hen looked into the pot.
“Would you like some flour to thicken your stew?” she asked. “I have some that I would be happy to donate.”
“Yes, please,” everyone else agreed.
Hilary Hen added the flour to the stew very carefully so that she wouldn’t get her newly polished shoes all dusty.
“I think it’s finally stew,” said Rimsey Rabbit, peering into the pot.
Everyone crowded around. The clearing filled with hungry murmurs of “It certainly looks like stew” and “It smells like stew.”
Rimsey Rabbit dished up steaming bowls of it for everyone, they sat down at the table, and he said a blessing. Then, just as they were about to start eating, they noticed Ragamuffin Raccoon watching them from the edge of the clearing. His clothes were torn and worn but very clean. He looked hungry. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, Belushy Bear brought the onion, Polly Pig added the green beans and peas, and Hilary Hen donated the flour to thicken it.”
“Oh,” said Ragamuffin Raccoon sadly. “I don’t have anything for your stew.” He started back into the forest.
“Wait!” cried Rimsey Rabbit.
“Yes, wait!” shouted Hilary Hen.
“We don’t have a guest,” suggested Belushy Bear.
“And we need a guest,” agreed Sweetie Skunk.
“Will you be our guest?” asked Polly Pig.
“You can sit between us,” invited Topsy Turvey Turtle and Missy Mouse, making room for him.
Rimsey Rabbit served up a delicious bowl of the savory stew for Ragamuffin Raccoon, and he joined them at the table. The stew and the company were so good that everyone had second helpings.

Last summer, my family and I were on vacation in California. While shopping at a local grocery store, we decided to eat hot dogs for dinner. I was starving, and I love hot dogs, so the first bite that I took was a huge one. I swallowed it wrong and started choking. I had to get my mom’s attention by making the universal sign for choking for her to notice. When she saw me she jumped up and started the Heimlich maneuver. After she tried a couple of times, the hot dog popped out, and I could breathe again. It was a really emotional, scary experience. For a few months after that, I wouldn’t even wear the shirt I had been wearing when I choked, because of the bad memory.

One such couple sat in my office just days after the husband’s disclosure of a pornography habit that had plagued him since his youth. While listening to a Relief Society lesson based on Sister Linda S. Reeves’s April 2014 general conference address, “Protection from Pornography—a Christ-Focused Home,” the wife began to recognize in her husband’s critical behavior toward her many of the tendencies the instructor was describing. Following the lesson, she confronted her husband with the question, and he confessed the secret that he had been concealing for so long. Her already-battered self-esteem was now compounded with a burning resentment. During their first meeting with me, they struggled to see how their marriage could continue. I assured them that there was hope, gave some initial counsel, and then invited them to come back and meet with me individually.

Along with the fervent prayers that I offered in preparation for those meetings, I also reviewed the suggestions provided in Ministering Resources on LDS.org, particularly in the resource for supporting the spouses of pornography users, where I read the following: “Express your love and concern for her individually, as well as for her spouse. Clarify that she is not responsible for her spouse’s pornography use or poor behavior and is not expected to endure abusive behavior.”

As I met with this sister, I heeded this counsel and added to it the assurance that her husband’s actions were not about her at all, not about something that she had or had not done, but were instead about his own internal conflict. I watched a wave of relief and consolation come over her as she grasped these words and felt the Spirit’s confirmation that they were indeed true. At the end of the interview, she asked if I would give her a priesthood blessing. I realized that I was the only one to whom she could turn for such a blessing, as she preferred to keep her situation private from family and friends.

To help with the healing process, I invited the husband to attend a local Latter-day Saint addiction-recovery group, and I encouraged his wife to attend the corresponding group for spouses and family members. She told me of the comfort she felt from meeting with other sisters who understood what she was suffering and the hope that it gave her to see couples who had waded through the same trial and had managed to emerge from it together.

Several months have now passed since my first meeting with this couple, and my love and concern for them have grown as a result of our numerous interactions. While I recognize that their continuing path will not be without setbacks, it is a joy for me to learn of each additional month that the husband has kept himself free from lust and pornography and to see his wife’s increase in self-worth and confidence, which is readily apparent.

In recent interviews with them, the anguish and tears from our early meetings have been replaced with frequent smiles and even laughter. But perhaps the greatest outcome has been hope—hope that not only can their marriage continue but also that it even has the potential to become something beautiful and exalting.

Bobbie sat on the edge of the pool, looking at the warm, clear water. She remembered that last summer she had run into the waves at the beach. And at the neighborhood pool, she had stood in the shallow end and stuck her head underwater. She had even opened her eyes to count her fingers. This year she had learned to float around in the deep end of the indoor pool.
But today Bobbie just sat on the edge of the big indoor pool and worried. She watched some of her friends kicking up and down the pool lanes, holding onto blue and red kickboards. Bobbie had already done that. In fact, last week Bobbie had kicked all the way down and all the way back in the pool. She secretly thought that she might be the best kicker in her class.
Others in her class were in the shallow end, practicing their overhand strokes. Bobbie could lean over and do a really good crawl stroke. Her swimming instructor had told her how nicely her arms curved when she pulled them through the water.
Another small group was working on breathing. They blew into the water, then breathed in, then blew, then breathed in. Bobbie knew that she could do the breathing. She had worked on that in the bathtub as well as at the beach and in the pool.
Bobbie looked at the depth marker—10 FEET. She looked up at the sign over the door—THIS POOL IS 75 FEET LONG.
I can breathe correctly, and I can kick a good, strong kick, she thought. And my arms don’t get tired.
Just then the buzzer sounded for class to be over. Slowly Bobbie got up from the steps. If only I had a little more time … She really hated to get dressed and go home. Mother wouldn’t say anything. She would smile at Bobbie, sort of raise her eyebrows expectantly, and have an encouraging twinkle in her eyes. But Bobbie would have no beginner’s swimming card to show.
All that week Bobbie walked to the pool, she put on her swimsuit, grabbed a kickboard, and kicked up and down the pool. She practiced her arm strokes until she was quite sure no one could do them any better. She blew bubbles and breathed in, and she even sat on the bottom of the pool in the shallow end.
But each time Bobbie went over to the deep end of the pool and thought about jumping into ten feet of water, she knew she just couldn’t do it.
Every once in a while, Bobbie saw her swimming instructor smiling at her. When Bobbie felt that she was ready to put her arm strokes and her kicking and her breathing all together and swim the length of the pool, her instructor would be right there beside her. So Bobbie wasn’t afraid of sinking.
Bobbie started thinking about just why she couldn’t jump into the deep water and swim to the other end. I must be afraid of something. I wonder what it is. It isn’t the water. It isn’t my teacher, and it certainly isn’t Mother. It’s not my friends, either. Some of them still haven’t learned how to breathe or kick or do the arm strokes. Bobbie thought about all the people who would love her whether she learned to swim this summer or not.
Suddenly Bobbie realized that there was one person she had not thought of—herself. I’m afraid because I don’t want to fail. As long as I don’t try to swim, I can tell myself that when I do try it, I’ll be the best one in the class. But once I jump into that water, maybe I’ll find out that I can’t do it.
Bobbie looked up at the clock. Class wouldn’t be over for another half hour. She left the pool area, went into the dressing room, faced herself in the mirror, and said, “Bobbie, just go do it. Even if you don’t make it today, you can try again tomorrow. The important thing is to try. You’ve got to believe in yourself.”
The mirror Bobbie looked back at the real Bobbie. They smiled at each other.
Walking quickly back into the pool area, Bobbie stood by her swimming teacher and said, “I’m ready to try.”

It was almost Christmas, and my apartment was the only one with lights on.
My friends were scattered all over Europe, and my immediate family was celebrating together in Finland. And here I was, alone in a little apartment in England, tears rolling down my cheeks, a letter in hand.
But I wasn’t crying because I was lonely—these were happy tears. The letter was from one of my closest friends, and it got me thinking about all the good times we had when we were younger. I had no idea that all those moments would mean so much to me in the future.
There have been times in my life when I’ve felt like the loneliest person in the world because of depression, wondering if I would ever find friends who would love me.
When I was a teenager in Finland, I had the coolest group of Church friends that I sometimes took for granted. But then we grew up, slowly drifting apart without really noticing, until we barely spoke at all.
After this, I fell into a deep depression. Losing closeness with these friends made me feel like a burden. I wanted to reach out to them, but I told myself it would be selfish to drag them into my misery. So I lived in isolation and only dug myself out of my self-made hole of sadness (my bed) when I had to keep up my façade that everything was fine.
Despite getting professional help and taking antidepressant medications, I was still miserable and lonely when summer came. I was desperately seeking for ways to talk to people, and I became even more anxious because I felt like I was so bad at it. But when I heard about a summer school program at my university, I applied simply to force myself out of my apartment.
On the first day, I participated in one group activity and then quickly slipped away to cry at home.
But I had been trying to get better for too long to give up that easily. So I went back.
I didn’t know how to make conversation, and I was stressed about getting to know these strangers. But I knew I had to try. I refused to be alone any longer.
When I felt self-conscious and afraid, I reminded myself that we are all children of heavenly parents. We may all seem very different because of our varying backgrounds and lifestyles, but we all come from the same place. And that can bring us together.
Slowly and steadily, my teammates and I got to know each other. We would hang out in our free time, and then one day we ended up sitting on my apartment floor playing cards and eating cake that we had baked together.
I wanted to open my window in that moment and scream, “I did it!” These friendships were miracles in my life.
When I connected with these friends, combatting my depression became a lot easier. I even opened up about my mental health to them. And it turned out that most of them had similar struggles to mine. Many of them were going through difficult things and confided in me because I opened up first. Being vulnerable brought me closer to others and gave me the strength, hope, and support I needed to heal.
In the fall, I ended up moving to England as an exchange student, and I had to start all over again with making new friends. But this time I was confident that I could do it.
When I was in the colorless depths of depression, I struggled to feel God’s love and His Spirit. But by showing love and service and making deep friendships, I was able to accept the Savior’s healing power and bring His light back into my life.
Depression can make life difficult at times, but it also teaches me how to realign myself with God’s plan and gives me great purpose in loving and connecting with others and myself.
Spending Christmas so far away from home would have once sounded unimaginably lonely. But knowing and trusting that God provides all that I need to make connections and find peace—no matter where I find myself on this planet—I know I don’t have to feel that old loneliness again.

We read the missionary issue of the New Era today in our joint study, as usual, but as we read the spirit changed. It was not just another magazine. We found ourselves laughing, remembering, and even shedding tears as memories of our own mission flooded back. The issue didn’t just talk about missionaries; it captured our feelings, our hopes, our dreams. We have nothing but gratitude for such a beautiful expression of what is in our hearts.
Elder Gilette and Elder ThompsonNew Mexico-Arizona Mission

From a very early age, I became appreciative of cultures and people. On my first day as a fourth grader in Niles, I was told that our school had religious instruction for all students. Everyone went to either the Protestant section or the Catholic section. I didn’t think I was either one, but I went with the Protestants and enjoyed singing those old hymns. Later, I had a good Jewish friend all through high school. I liked athletics and became very close friends with many black and Hispanic boys through sports.

Emma Whitney’s life was completely different to what it became as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Twenty years old, living in Scunthorpe, England, Emma describes her life before discovering the Church as full of drink, drugs, partying, toxic friends, no respect for herself, little education, and challenges to her mental health.
Learning and understanding God’s words has always been a desire for Emma. One life-changing experience brought Emma to her knees; pouring her heart out in prayer led to an answer a few weeks later, by accepting a request to participate in a Bible study class with full-time Church missionaries. Understanding the words of the Bible has been a struggle for Emma; on the other hand, she says, “Even though the words are old English words, I understand the Book of Mormon clearly.”
Scripture study and prayer are factors that enable Emma to stay strong and to say no to situations that she deems would be bad for her. Inspiration which led Emma to change her ways and join the Church, was understanding that she could turn over a new leaf and all would be forgiven. Therefore, after five weeks of investigating the Church, Emma was baptised on the fifth of May 2021.
In 2022, clean from drugs and alcohol, surrounded by good friends, a good relationship, good family relationships, and studying the subject of communications using the online BYU-Pathway programme, Emma says she is genuinely happy and strengthened. Dealing with her past has been easier for her as she talks about the importance of looking after her body, “I was just abusing my body in every way you could think of. I’ve come to realise that to take pride in our bodies is a gift from God.”
Follow Emma’s journey at lds.scripturestudy on Instagram.

Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.
As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

Photograph courtesy of the author
A few months after my husband and I returned from serving a humanitarian mission, I started reminiscing. Why was our mission still so meaningful?
When we are asked to speak about our experiences, it’s like a waterfall of goodness washes over me and the current transports me back to the time and experiences we shared with the wonderful people of Laos.
I remember a silly song we used to sing with them. It’s called “The Hokey Pokey,” and the last verse includes the phrase, “You put your whole self in, and you shake yourself about.” When we sang the song, the people would gleefully join in. They would shake and dance, and then they would clap their hands in happiness.
I think that song encapsulates our feelings about our mission—we put our whole selves into the Lord’s work. We soon learned how blessed we were to join in Laotian culture. As humanitarian missionaries, we got to help them by teaching English. We talked, danced, and whirled our way through our classes. But our payback was sweet. We found that as much as we loved them, they loved us back.
Our mission became a special time of our lives that we could really call our own. It put a shine on our golden years. We spent a lifetime raising our children, earning a living, buying a home, and doing all those things that seem so important along the way. Then came retirement and the question, “What do we do now?”
My message is that if you want to find some lasting happiness, get out and help somebody along the way. That’s where true joy comes from: service. And the wonderful surprise is that while you are giving, you are also getting in abundance. We found that many of the Laotian people didn’t have a lot of material possessions. But they were rich in the joy of living, a joy they freely shared with us. They increased our ability to rejoice.
Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
So, don’t be afraid to “put your whole self in,” even if it means you have to “shake yourself about.” Sing and dance with another culture and you too will find that a waterfall of goodness will wash over you. That’s one of the secrets of the humanitarian missionary effort—you both give and receive. I thank my Heavenly Father every day that we were blessed to be part of such a wonderful opportunity, to spread the spirit of the gospel with our brothers and sisters in Laos.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Even through these multitude acts of kindness, her finest hours were yet to come. Five years ago our lives were shocked with an announcement that she had contracted a terminal disease. Her life expectancy could only be another six months to a year. She accepted this decision with a faith and courage I never expect to see equalled. As the doctor made this announcement to us, she turned to me and said with all the faith and peace that she could muster, “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want it to change our way of life or have anyone treat us differently.” Now her life was filled with physical hardship. It seemed to only make her more sensitive for the physical needs of others. Her empathy for her fellowmen increased, for now she had a greater appreciation for need.

I started sharing my testimony on social media when I was a teenager. But it was easier back then to stand up for my beliefs. At the time, most of my friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and shared similar values to mine. Social media was different too. People were less inclined to tear others down. If they didn’t agree with you, they would simply scroll away.
That all changed as I entered young adulthood. Suddenly people had issues with my beliefs, and many of my friends were choosing paths contrary to the teachings of the gospel. And when one of the Apostles was being torn down all over social media, I was shocked that I couldn’t see anyone defending him.
So I did.
Over the next week, I received threats and hateful messages from strangers and friends alike about my post. I cried every day. I wondered if I had done the right thing. I even felt a bit like I’d been abandoned by God. After all, I’d tried to stand up for His Apostle, and I’d received nothing but hate.
But I held on. I didn’t take down the post.
Slowly, the narrative changed. Yes, I was still on the receiving end of those hurtful messages, but to my surprise, others started to stand with me. I watched as members from around the world supportively shared my post. My gratitude for not being alone soon turned to humility as I realized that finally, the good messages outweighed the bad. God had not abandoned me. Instead, He’d sent more disciples to stand beside me.

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen to represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Savior’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amid chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realized it didn’t matter who laughed at me, as long as I was doing what was right.

While attending a youth fireside with Elder Richard G. Scott, I noticed five youths scattered among the congregation whose countenances or body language almost screamed that something was spiritually amiss in their lives.
After the meeting, when I mentioned the five youths to Elder Scott, he simply replied, “There were eight.”