Gospel Story Finder

I know that you have a great feeling if you live that law. As I say, I give the credit to my parents. I remember after we were married—my wife and I—that I was working my way through school and I was working at the post office eight hours a day and carrying a full course of law. We had lost a baby, and we had a large hospital bill. I decided to quit the post office and start the practice of law. I quit in September and failed to pay tithing in September because I had built up a retirement benefit with the government that was to be paid to me in November, with which I felt I could pay my tithing. But it didn’t come in November and it didn’t come in December. I had to report that year to my bishop that I had not paid a full tithe. But I did not feel good about it, so I kept a record and paid it in installments at 8 percent interest until I had paid the deficit in full. I had a good feeling after I got it paid. I knew the Lord had understood and accepted my performance.

Elder Rasband’s middle name is Anderson. It helps him remember his mother’s family. His great-great-grandparents were Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson. They lived in Denmark almost 200 years ago. They learned about the gospel in Denmark and were baptized. In 1862 they traveled to the United States to be with other Latter-day Saints. Jens died on the trip across the ocean, but Ane Cathrine and her son kept going. It was hard, but their faith was strong. They made it all the way to Utah.

The happiness those gifts and acts of kindness brought my family made me think that someone I knew could probably use some extra happiness. A few years later, when Christmas rolled around again, I decided to repeat the project myself. I chose to help a mentally handicapped girl at my junior high. She had red hair that hung to her shoulders, and she seemed to smile all the time.
Unfortunately, she never received friendliness in return from the kids at school. They would criticize her while she was standing just two feet away because they thought she couldn’t understand their sarcasm. I knew she was hurt by this though, because she would run home alone after school to avoid the other junior high students.
I figured she needed a boost, so I planned to smuggle small gifts like a gingerbread sleigh, hairpins, and personalized stationery to her with notes about how special I thought she was. Unfortunately, as soon as I began my project, I was bombarded with homework, special projects, piano recitals, and Christmas preparations. Sometimes I had to stay up until 2:00 A.M. getting everything done and then get up at 5:45 A.M. for seminary. But I decided this project was worth the extra work it required of me.
I spent long hours gathering and preparing her gifts. I took her quotes and riddles along with the presents and sneaked over to her house late at night delivering my surprises. When it was all over, I was exhausted from the effort on top of all my other responsibilities, but I was happy because I knew it was worth all my extra work. The sacrifice had truly been enjoyable.
Words can’t really describe the calm and clear feeling I had knowing that I had done what we have all been asked to do. I finally understood the note from our secret friend about the best holiday season, thanks to us. I felt like I had repaid the secret friend that helped my family by doing my part to carry on the tradition of service.
These feelings would have been enough reward, but I was given even more. After I finished my project, I saw the little red-headed girl running toward me down the hall. She was carrying a homemade doll I had given her on top of all her books. She showed it to me proudly and said, “It’s from my secret sister. I need you to help me find out who she is.” It was a wonderful feeling to know that although she would never find out who gave her those presents, my service changed her Christmas like the service given me had changed mine.

It sounded like a typical service project: round up a group of Relief Society sisters to put on a short choir program at a local hospital’s respite care center, though no one from our ward was a patient there.
We found ourselves crammed into a small room with nine elderly patients facing us in their wheelchairs. Their faces seemed blank, empty of expression. It was hot and stuffy, and I thought, “Let’s get this over with.”
I was to lead the music, so I turned my back to the patients and concentrated on the program. As we began, I heard one patient calling, “Mama, Mama,” while another clapped and made noises. I felt uncomfortable, but in a few minutes we would finish and go home.
As we prepared to sing our last hymn, “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), we invited the patients and medical personnel to join with us. I turned around to lead everyone in the singing, and that’s when I saw her—a tiny, wrinkled, white-haired lady with a lap full of tissues wet with her tears.
She motioned for me to come to her. I did so, and when I bent my head to listen, she took my hand. Her whole body trembled as she whispered, “I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s so wonderful to have my sisters come.”
The Spirit filled my soul, and I knelt beside her, tears streaming from my eyes. She put a frail arm around me and patted me as if she understood my emotions. Everyone began singing the hymn, but I couldn’t get the first verse out.
As the patients and staff sang of God’s greatness, the Spirit filled the room, and all were touched. I finally gained control of my feelings and joined the others, singing:
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, “My God, how great thou art!”
After the program the Relief Society sisters mingled with the patients and staff. The white-haired sister told us she had been lonely and had felt surrounded by strangers until we came. We didn’t know she would be there, but Heavenly Father did.
I was reminded that all of these people were our brothers and sisters, that they needed love and comfort, and that someday I could be in their place. I was touched that we could be instruments of a loving Father, and I was grateful that our service project had taught me a powerful lesson about love.

Sister Sandra Rone of the Hatillo Branch in the San Cristobal Dominican Republic Stake was baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a young single adult. After her conversion, she continued to live with her parents and pursue her studies. Sandra shared her beliefs with her parents, but they were not interested. Despite their lack of interest, Sandra continued with unwavering faith and dedication to the gospel. She later started her own family but maintained a close relationship with her parents. She continued to teach them by example, living her life dedicated to the Savior and teaching them principles through family conversations.
Over time, Sandra’s mother died, and her 85-year-old father, Manuel Antonio Rone Puello, was left without his wife, the only love of his life. He was lonely and missed her very much. From that moment on, Sandra taught him that being with his wife again was possible through the sealing ordinances in the temple. Manuel asked, “How is that? Explain more to me.”
Sandra taught him that through the temple ordinances, family and couple relationships do not end when we die. If Manuel was sealed to his wife in the temple, he could be with her after he passes from this life. She went on to explain that to receive these blessings, he must first be baptized. Manuel replied, “I want that. I’d like to be baptized. I want to be with my wife.”
After 20 years of being taught and shown the gospel of Jesus Christ by his daughter’s example, Manuel was baptized.

I once knew a man who attained a high position in a company. Each day he would go to his office with a briefcase. One day his wife asked him, “Why do you carry that briefcase to work each day?”

He replied, “The executive vice-president is a very important person, and the paperwork he manages is also important. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she said. But then she asked, “How many times do you open the briefcase and use the papers?”

“The truth is, very few times,” he responded.

And she replied, “If the briefcase gives you a feeling of importance, wouldn’t it be easier just to carry an empty one?”

While he was thinking about that, she added one more thought.

“But if you carry it only for status, let me remind you that by the time you leave the office, the only person who sees you is the custodian.”

“I’m heading up to Brice Lake to do some fishing. How about coming along?” My father was calling to me from out in the garage.
“Sure! Let me get my stuff out.” I had already made plans for the afternoon, but my dad was a busy man and I rarely had a chance to go fishing with him. We loaded the yellow canvas canoe on our battered station wagon, packed a sack lunch, and were on our way.
It was overcast, and in the distance, rain was pouring from the clouds. Our destination was in Chestnutt Canyon, a seldom-frequented mountain valley. Brice Lake was fed by icy streams and could only be reached by an arduous dirt path.
As the car crept along the precarious switchbacks, I attempted to strike up a conversation; however, it soon tapered off. An occasional roar of thunder was all that could be heard over the constant whine of the straining engine. By then, we had passed through four Alpine showers and the monotonous swoosh of the windshield wipers began droning me to sleep.
With a jerk I awoke, dripping with water. A chuckle sounded behind me, and turning, I saw my father holding an empty cup and wiping his hands dry. We unlashed the heavy canoe, tied our equipment inside, and hefted it upon our backs.
Hiking up the slippery mud trail into the dark and dripping forest, we caught the aromatic scents of pine and aspen. The crisp air held the taste of recent storm, and its moisture tickled the back of the throat. At times, I lost my footing and would fall with a crash; but my father, being patient, would ask if I was all right, then help me up. Nothing more was said as we trekked along, taking in the environment and the joy of being together as conversation.
We laid the old canoe in the water and shoved off. There was no need to call strokes since we almost read each other’s thoughts. Slicing through the clear water to an already prearranged spot, we began our day. We sat through two thundershowers, weaving our lines with the lake as we glided along the banks, not speaking often but with perfect communication.
That day we caught no fish and spoke less than 20 words, but we had shared something, something difficult to express in words. I knew my father loved and cared about me, and I loved and cared about him. It was a time when the feelings between us were so clear yet unspoken. I had begun to know my father, a strong and quiet man, one that cared about others and the world around him.
Loading up the gear, we left for home. While coming out of the mountains, we viewed the valley below, pierced with majestic pillars of sunlight. I was glad I’d come.

Why are we taking all this good stuff to other people?
Because it’s a wonderful way to celebrate Christmas. Jesus spent His whole life giving, and it’s very important that we learn to give too.
Are we giving to that man, Daddy?
Shhhhh. No, sweetheart, we don’t know that man.
Did Jesus only give to people He knew?
Well, I think maybe He sort of knew everybody.
Does He know that man?
Yes He does.
Sir, I hope you’ll accept this little gift from our family. Merry Christmas.
Thank you. Merry Christmas to you.
Giving feels good, doesn’t it, Dad?
Yes it does.

Youth in the Sunset Ward, Kaysville Utah Stake, have service all sewed up.
The young men and young women in the ward spent an evening sewing scripture carrying cases for the youth in two Serbian branches. Amazingly, it only took them about two hours to complete 29 cases. They also matted and framed pictures of the Frankfurt Germany Temple (the nearest temple) and pictures of the Savior. The cases and the pictures were then taken to Serbia by a couple in the Sunset Ward going to pick up their missionary son.
“The project really came together well. We were able to get a lot of the materials donated, which helped a lot,” says Cami Stanger, the Laurel who headed up the project. “We also each wrote our testimonies and sang ‘I Am a Child of God’ to them on a videotape. The people who took the materials over to Serbia said the people really appreciated them and were thrilled to get them. That made me feel great.”

The principle is illustrated in an experience that some members of our family had when we were in a very large city. Because of differences in work and school schedules, we had to book separate flights from two different airlines. Some of the family left from one airport, but my son and I were scheduled to leave from an airport south of town, nearly two hours away. There were challenges ahead: motoring on the opposite side of the road from that to which we were accustomed, congested highways, road repairs, as well as a limited time to catch the plane. We felt a dependence on the Lord as we began our journey. With road map in hand, I tried to navigate (which is not my forte), and my son tried his hand at the wheel of a rented car. I earnestly hoped that the people who had made the maps had designed them to match the road signs. We were not in a position to make a mistake or backtrack, or our destination would not be realized.
How like life, I thought: If we rely on the Lord, follow the map, and watch the road signs, without making a lot of unnecessary detours, we can navigate through mortality and reach our destination safely, in the Lord’s due time. Decisions determine destiny.

Lizzie used to think a lot of Primary songs were boring. She liked the ones about Jesus, but she felt too old for the playful ones. She’d usually slouch and mumble the words.
But not anymore. Now Lizzie sang all the songs as joyfully as she could. She sat up straight. She sang loudly. She had fun.
Because now, Abby was sitting next to her.
Earlier in the year, Lizzie and the other kids in her class had each been matched up with a new Sunbeam. It was their job to help their Sunbeam buddy feel more comfortable in Primary.
Abby was Lizzie’s Sunbeam buddy. They sat together in Primary. They sang together. Whenever they saw each other at church, they always waved or hugged.
Lizzie loved seeing Abby every Sunday. And she knew that Abby loved seeing her. Abby watched her a lot. When Lizzie sang loudly, so did Abby. When Lizzie folded her arms and sat reverently, so did Abby. It made Lizzie want to always be a good example.
Lizzie wanted Abby to love Primary. She wanted Abby to have fun and feel loved. They could learn about the gospel together!
Abby and Lizzie sat side by side, just like every Sunday. But today they were sitting on the stand in the chapel with the rest of their Primary. It was the Primary program.
Abby swung her legs and grinned up at Lizzie.
“It’s almost your turn,” Lizzie whispered. Each of the Primary children had a speaking part in their program. The older children, like Lizzie, read longer parts. The younger ones, like Abby, recited shorter ones. Lizzie had helped Abby learn her part.
“Just remember, be loud and clear for everyone to hear,” Lizzie said.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Abby said. She looked nervous.
“Of course!” Lizzie said. “I will be right next to you. You are going to do great.”
They stood and sang a song with the rest of the children. Lizzie remembered how she used to not like being in the Primary program. But with Abby, it was so much fun!
Next it was Abby’s turn to speak. Together, the two girls walked to the microphone. Lizzie helped Abby step onto a little stool. Abby froze. She looked scared.
Lizzie put her arm around Abby. She gave her shoulder a little squeeze and whispered, “In my prayers …”
Abby took a deep breath. “In my prayers, I tell Heavenly Father what I’m thankful for.” Her voice was confident and clear.
Abby smiled big, took Lizzie’s hand, and hopped off the stool. They sat down as other children stepped up to the microphone.
“You did so well, Abby!” Lizzie said.
“Was I loud and clear enough?” Abby asked.
“It was perfect!” Lizzie said. “I’ll bet they could hear you all the way in the back row!”
Abby wiggled happily and leaned against Lizzie. They listened as other children recited what they were grateful for.
“Hey, Lizzie?” Abby said. She pulled Lizzie down to whisper in her ear.
“I’m grateful for you!”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m grateful for you too!”

“¡Bienvenido!”
That’s probably the first thing you’d hear from Omer Machuca if you paid him a visit in his home in Monterrey, Mexico. Then again he might also offer you a courteous, “Wilkommen.” Or he just might grin and say, “Hi, how’s it goin’?”
Changes don’t seem to faze Omer very much. Living much of his life in the Tijuana, Mexico, area, just across the border from San Diego, California, Omer had a lot of exposure to both American and Mexican cultures. He speaks fluent English, and, of course, fluent Spanish. When his family moved from Tijuana to Monterrey, a large metropolitan city almost 2,000 miles away from the costal town he knew and loved, Omer made the best of it and made new friends.
Now Omer, a 16-year-old priest, is tackling the study of German. Someday he’d like to travel far and wide, using the languages he knows and learning new ones. But for Omer one of the most exciting places to travel is a place where he knows everyone can feel welcome whether they speak one language or ten.
For Omer a trip to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead is better than any exotic travel. And although he is a master of adapting to fit into different cultures, there are certain things Omer will never change about himself. He knows that it is how he lives outside the temple that determines what kind of experience he will have when he enters its doors.
When Omer and his parents moved from Tijuana to Monterrey, they left behind family, friends, and a home they knew and loved. It was hard, but it was also exciting for Omer. One thing that wasn’t so exciting, however, was leaving behind a conveniently located temple in San Diego. Now a trip to the temple involves considerable travel.
“I really miss the temple,” says Omer. “Here you usually get only one chance a year to go to the Mexico City Temple. In Tijuana we would cross the border and go to San Diego on the first Saturday every month. The feeling in our family was always a little bit different, a little special on those days. The people in the temple always seemed glad to see us there. I know that it will be the same when the temple is here.”
A temple has been announced in Monterrey, and although construction hasn’t yet begun, Omer and many of the other youth in Monterrey and the surrounding areas are ready and waiting.
“We feel very excited that the temple will be built, and it will be our temple,” says one seminary student. “We will soon be able to go to the temple any time we want.”
When the youth in Monterrey speak about the temple, certain things happen. Their voices get softer, and they seem to become more calm and happy. Even though the nearest temple is several states away and most of them haven’t been there many times, their reverence is evident when the temple is being discussed.
“I think the temple is the most beautiful place on earth,” says 16-year-old Carlos Cadena.
The word cadena means “chain” in Spanish. That has special meaning for Carlos, his parents, and his two brothers and two sisters. They say that attending the temple keeps them linked together, as well as keeping them linked with their past.
Ana, Carlos’s 15-year-old sister, talks about how meaningful her temple baptisms feel when she does them for ancestors she has found at the family history library—ancestors who have likely been waiting a long time for their work to be done. Carlos talks about the happy, peaceful feeling that exists when the family has recently been to the temple. Leon Cadena, a deacon, says that in preparing to go to the temple, he tries extra hard to be good.
The youngest Cadena brother, Moises, spends time in the nursery with his little sister Laura while the rest of the family does temple work. It is this shy, quiet 10-year-old who seems to sum up the whole family’s feelings the best when he says with emotion, “When we go to the temple, our hearts are very full.”
The Alonso family has also made the trip from Monterrey to Mexico City many times, but the most memorable one for them was when the teenagers in the family, Carlos, Emilio, and Rosa, were very small.
“I was four years old the first time we went to the temple,” says Rosa, who is now in the Beehive class. “I remember that when we were sealed we knelt around the altar, all dressed in white. Every time I remember that occasion, I feel warm inside.”
Carlos and his twin brother, Emilio, were nine years old when the family was sealed, and they too have wonderful memories of that time.
“It was very beautiful,” says Carlos. “I remember the mirrors where you can see for eternity.”
Emilio feels very much the same way. “It was beautiful because we were all together in the temple, and that is where we learn to be an eternal family and how to live.”
Although the Machucas, the Cadenas, and the Alonsos are eager for the temple to be built in their city, they all know that there is temple-related work they can do right now, while they are waiting. All the youth agree that trying to live the gospel principles as fully as they can is the best preparation for the temple.
“We are preparing to have more names ready,” says Emilio. “We are reading the scriptures, having family prayer, and fasting regularly.”
But spiritual preparation isn’t the only thing to consider. Soon members will travel from cities far away to attend the new temple here, and they will depend on the help of the members in Monterrey. Carlos says that he and his family are saving money to help others attend the temple that will soon be in their city. And even something as simple as helping with chores at home can help the temple effort.
“If I help around the house and take care of my younger brothers and sister, my parents will feel more secure about leaving us at home while they attend the temple,” says Ana. “Helping out at home helps the temple work, too.”
Temples are miraculous places, and it seems that no sacrifice is too great to get there. Carlos and Ana’s father, Jesus, once rode on the floor of a bus for 14 hours to get to Mexico City, since there wasn’t an empty seat. All of his children say that sacrifices leave no doubt in their minds that temple attendance is important.
In northern Mexico, where Omer used to live, crossing the border occasionally presented a problem. But Omer says that sometimes, when it seemed that people weren’t going to make it to the temple, circumstances changed at the last minute, allowing people to go.
“Passports were a problem [for people] trying to get to the [temple] dedication,” says Omer. “One sister went to get permission to cross the border, but she didn’t have any papers except for her temple recommend. The officer let her through.”
The Alonso family can think of no greater miracle than the fact that their family is sealed for time and eternity—except for maybe the miracle that very soon there will be a temple in their own city.
Emilio says, “Now that the temple will be here, it is very special because we’ll have the opportunity to come to the temple more often. We will be greatly blessed as a family when we have the temple here.”
Like any big city, Monterrey has its share of hustle-bustle and noise. At any given time there is a traffic jam in the making or an event drawing large crowds, or both. It’s exciting and exhausting all at the same time. But soon there will be a place, somewhere in this mass of activity, where calm and order will be the rule instead of the exception.
Omer Machuca is a lot like most boys his age. He is fascinated by the excitement that surrounds new places, different people, and unique cultures. And yet he knows that the most important border he will ever cross is the threshold of the temple. He knows that no matter how many languages he learns to understand, his understanding of the gospel will be more important. Emilio knows it, too. So do Anna and Rosa and all the other youth that can hardly wait for the temple to be built.
They are excited and happy that the house of the Lord will soon be closer to their own houses. And they are counting the days until a trip across town, instead of across the country, will take them a world away.

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad; he went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. When he had time, he made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much—it was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside. What I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps of our house, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.

María Isabel Parra de Uribe of the Villas de La Hacienda Ward, México City México Tepalcapa Stake, tells of an experience common to many who have sought blessings of healing. Five months pregnant, she was suffering intense pain. Tests showed she needed surgery immediately, and she was told she might lose her baby.
“My husband and I were confused,” she says. “We didn’t know whether to have the surgery or not. We decided to ask God if surgery was the right choice. After our prayer, we felt peaceful and calm.
“While I was waiting to be taken to the operating room, my husband gave me a priesthood blessing. When it was over, we felt not only calm but certain our baby would survive.
“After I came out of surgery, a nurse said, ‘Everything is all right. Your baby is fine.’ I smiled to myself, realizing, I already knew.”
The power of godliness had been manifest in her life.

One of Sister Redd’s “jewel” times was at the birth of her first child, a son. But within three months the trials and tests of this life closed in. Both mother and child were afflicted with polio. Anxieties were high and prayers were intense. Brother Philip Redd, her husband and now area director of seminaries and institutes in Southeast Asia, was preparing within the month to begin his career as a full-time seminary teacher. “We felt we had really tried to do what was right and that we were doing what the Lord wanted us to be doing. We had faith that the Lord would bless us even in our afflictions.”

Our Father in Heaven has told us that his people must be tried and tested, even as Abraham who was commanded to offer up his only son (see Gen. 22:1–4; D&C 101:4). And so it was that this faithful couple was tested. Their prayers were answered, but only partially. Sister Redd was healed and left without any ill effects from the dread disease, but her precious child, her only son, was stricken with crippling paralysis in his leg, his arms, and his back. The brightness of a happy time had quickly faded. The scratches and bites of life became a painful reality. Brother and Sister Redd were forced to give up their child to the professional care of the children’s hospital over a hundred miles away where he could receive special attention. Even after a year he was still very weak and progress remained slow.

Three long, anxious years, and the concern for her child only increased. The divine nature of a true and righteous mother, with all of the pure emotions inherent in the sacred role of motherhood, swelled within her aching heart. “I wanted desperately for him to be well,” she whispered. “It was so hard not to be able to tuck my little boy in at night. His life was vital to us.”

One night at the very peak of her anxiety, this young mother rose from her bed, went into the other room, and talked to her Father in Heaven. She had remembered an incident in her own childhood. A great and noble woman had prayed in behalf of her afflicted husband and requested that, if the Lord were willing, she be allowed to carry her husband’s infirmities so that his service to the Lord would not be restricted. This sister, almost immediately, became stone deaf and remained so throughout her life, while her husband, miraculously healed, became a spiritual giant, a man of God, and a powerful leader in building the kingdom of God in that area. With the memory of this incident in her heart, this faithful mother supplicated the Father in her son’s behalf, asking if she might take her son’s infirmities upon herself. Of this incident she concluded, “I returned to my bed and went to sleep.”

Even though her baby remained in the hospital, there were still some happy, “jewel” times. Another little boy was born and then a little girl. In time the afflicted child became stronger and stronger, and he learned to walk with braces. Eventually he was able to leave the hospital for a time, allowing this little family to be together at home for Christmas.

While there were ample reasons for quiet rejoicing, the scratching, biting times were painfully evident. Gradually over the following months Sister Redd became aware that she was losing the feeling in her hands and her feet. While diapering her baby, she would often stick the safety pin into her thumb unknowingly. When she noticed the blood, her growing concern increased. She sensed a frightening paralysis creeping over her entire body. It was very difficult for her to handle her new baby and the responsibilities of her young family. As the months and years passed, there were both struggles and blessings. Braces were laid aside and her little son managed to make his way to school. The blessings were acknowledged with humble gratitude, deeply expressed. But suffering severe headaches and with no feeling in her hands or feet, the young mother of three cried out for help. The support of family and friends seemed not enough. “People were good, so very, very good,” she gratefully recalled. “But being restricted physically, not being able to take care of those you love, is difficult.”

At this time a team of specialists determined that it was probably multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her body, leaving her so painfully handicapped. The thoughts of her future gave cause for great anxiety. “That was years ago,” she said. Sister Redd, now a beautiful, healthy, and active woman, vibrant in countenance and testimony, radiates a spirit that has been purified through struggle.

She spoke of the day she and her devoted husband, seeking first the will of the Lord in all things, asked counsel from a friend who had been the supervisor of seminaries and was now a General Authority. “He told us that he didn’t think the Lord meant for me to give my life. He gave me a blessing, explaining that the Lord had accepted my offering in behalf of my child. He promised me that I would live. But it is not we who regulate the magnitude of our tests or determine the time of relief,” she explained. “We do not receive a witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6), and our Father in Heaven will make that determination.”

The very hour one might expect relief may be the moment in which the Lord will take count of our endurance and our faithfulness. Following the blessing, Sister Redd’s condition worsened, and on the 25th of October she was confined to bed. She had to be fed, and “I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” she explained. “My good husband and I talked about the purpose of life and death, and we prayed that we could accept whatever the Lord had for us. At that time we felt that everything would be all right.” Drawing strength from each other, these young parents were tested and were found “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).

On the 20th of December Nedra Redd was flown to the hospital in Edmonton. There she received further tests. After two long, anxious days, the doctors confirmed the probability that it was not multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her entire body, but rather a very deep and serious brain tumor at the base of her skull. It appeared to be inoperable. In her weakened condition, the possibility of surgery was considered a high and frightening risk. But the doctors explained that she would have only two weeks to live if they didn’t remove the growth. It was seriously impairing her breathing and would soon cut off her rapidly diminishing flow of air. The situation seemed desperate. One doctor offered counsel, suggesting that if they wanted to risk surgery, they would surely want to wait until after Christmas. But Sister Redd reached into her reservoir of strength, filled in large measure by the blessing she had received from their friend the General Authority. Courageously this young couple made their decision. “Surgery was scheduled for Christmas Eve,” she said. “We felt our Father in Heaven was beginning to answer our prayers. On Sunday night my cousin, who was the stake president, came to give me a blessing. He told me later that when he gave me that blessing, he literally felt the strength flow from him.” The power of the priesthood was again activated in her behalf.

Anxious family and friends waited through the nightlong vigil following the surgery. Dawn broke forth; it was Christmas morning. The tumor had been removed. All was quiet as the moments ticked on in that hospital room. Her future hung in the balance. “I had a very special thinking time as I regained consciousness,” Sister Redd explained. It was in the twilight time between life and death that the gifts of life came back to this faithful woman on that Christmas morning. They returned one by one with enough space between each to allow time for cherishing and savoring. Such gifts, such jewels, such priceless jewels!

“I’m all right! I didn’t die in surgery! I’m alive!” was her first realization. “But everything was black, and I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to speak, and I couldn’t speak. I thought, ‘I’m blind. I can’t hear. I can’t speak. But I am alive.’ I can remember such a surge of gratitude that I was alive, and then I sank into unconsciousness again. When I realized later that I was conscious again and that there was a sort of grayness around me, I thought, ‘I am not totally blind. I can see some light.’ I can remember praying and telling my Father, ‘Thank you. I’m alive and I’m not totally blind.’ I couldn’t have lived in darkness. So I gave thanks again. Then I realized I could see Phil’s face. My husband was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. But,” she said with intensity, “I could see him. I was grateful that I could see his face.

“Soon I realized I could hear him speaking to me, so I prayed again and gave thanks that I could see and hear. I thought, ‘I can’t speak, but it’s enough. I can see and I can hear.’”

Sister Redd, reflecting on her deep gratitude for those precious gifts on that Christmas morning, shared the ecstasy of her final treasure. “The doctor was there. I had been trying to speak. I heard him ask my husband, ‘Can she speak?’ He shook his head just slightly. ‘I was afraid of that,’ the doctor said. ‘We had to destroy quite a bit of her vocal chords to get the tumor.’ I was afraid she would not be able to speak.”

With a happy tone in her clear, full voice, Sister Redd recalled her thoughts at that moment: “‘Oh, so that’s it,’ I thought. ‘I can’t talk. But I can hear and I can see.’ I had such a deep feeling of joy and gratitude. Then the doctor put his finger on the hole in my throat where the tracheotomy was and said, ‘Now try.’ I could make sounds! I knew I was not mute. It was such a good feeling. We knew the Lord had blessed us.

“It was Christmas morning. Phil had spent the night with me when I needed him so much. With my whole soul filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, I asked him to go home and be with the children. It was a wonderful Christmas.”

From the deep reservoir of faith and courage, carved out by times of trial and suffering, Brother and Sister Redd rejoice. “It is such a comforting feeling to know that there is nothing the Lord can’t do or won’t do for you if it is for your good.” They have made this discovery: “The Lord is in the everyday things, not just the eternal, glorious things. It’s like the comparison between the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and quiet background music. He is in both, and knowing that provides a continuous awareness of happily-ever-after times in all of life.”

Ruth’s family is important to her—every member, including her widowed mother-in-law. She recalls many learning experiences at the hands of the elderly Mother Funk, even a lesson in more earnest prayer. Her mother-in-law, who was hard of hearing, would often speak in loud tones, almost as if no one could hear her any better than she could hear them. Ruth would visit her frequently to check on her welfare, for Mother Funk was aging and alone.

“Many were the times,” Ruth remembers, “when I found her on her knees in her bedroom in supplication—rather loud supplication—to the Lord. She never heard me come in, so I would wait patiently and quietly, learning anew how to truly pray. That grand lady would speak to the Lord with such a fervent soul and real intent—it was beautiful.”

A little while ago, one of my followers on Instagram commented on a photo, saying, “How do you look so radiant with two kids, when I can barely handle one?” I immediately laughed and wanted to answer her with a picture of how I looked at that moment.
I responded, “I’ve always thought that I’m pretty careless in my appearance compared to other moms. That’s the effect of social media—we tend to compare ourselves with someone else, while that person is comparing herself with another. But the reality is that I don’t look radiant right now, and I don’t dare upload a photo of how I look. I usually only dress up and look ‘decent’ on Fridays and Sundays.”
I have been sharing about our lives on social media for a few years now. Mostly, I try to show what “real life” is like for members of the Church of Jesus Christ. And in doing so, I’ve had some experiences that have prompted me to think about the virtues and the risks of social media.
This wasn’t the first time somebody had asked me a question like that. The thing is, social media shows only a very small part of people’s lives. In my case, even when I try to be authentic, it’s impossible for me to show everything. And we shouldn’t be comparing ourselves or basing our worth on one beautiful photograph. Making comparisons, especially on social media, can make it harder for us to recognize our God-given strengths.
As Latter-day Saints, we do the best we can to be like Jesus Christ. But the truth is that none of us are perfect. And on social media, we should strive not to make wrong judgments not only about ourselves but also about others. We need to remember that even when we think someone’s life is perfect, we don’t see the personal challenges they might be facing. We never really know what’s going on in people’s lives beyond what they choose to share on carefully filtered feeds.
There’s often so much happening behind the scenes of every family photo you see on social media. Some people might look at those photos and ask themselves, “Why don’t my family pictures ever turn out so well?” But we don’t know what it takes to get those “perfect” pictures.
For example, we once tried to take a family picture after church. This can be complicated with two little children, but I really love to capture these moments and then look back at how much my kids have grown.
While we were trying to get the kids settled down for the photo, I had to take a moment to talk to my two-year-old son, Alvin, who was crying because he wanted me to carry him. I bent down, wiped away his tears, and then begged him to stand up so I could show off our outfits (which I had strategically matched that morning). My three-year-old daughter, Avril, was also asking my husband to hold her because she didn’t want to stand either. They really didn’t want to be taking pictures.
The photography session was unsuccessful—so we gave up. But when I got home, I found something better. My brother (who was taking the photos) captured the moment when all the chaos was happening. Both my husband and I were comforting our children in the photo. It didn’t really show off our outfits, but it was such a tender—and real—moment. I loved it.
When I shared the photo on social media, I captioned it “The reality of a family photo.” I never imagined that so many people would relate to it, but it made me realize that things don’t always need to look perfect. It’s OK to just go with the flow and be real. But it also taught me a larger lesson—that when we believe someone is perfect, we just haven’t seen all the details.
Social media networks are a powerful tool that we can use for so much good. But we have to be careful not to get discouraged or compare ourselves to what we see on social media. As Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Hopefully, we can learn to be more real, find more humor, and experience less discouragement when confronted with images that may portray idealized reality and that too often lead to debilitating comparisons.”1
I know that as we remember our divine nature as children of God, we won’t leave room for painful comparisons or personal judgments. And if we stop listening to those comparisons that try to discredit our potential, we will be able to live fuller lives without worrying about all those seemingly picture-perfect posts out there.

1 The Prophet Joseph Smith was a tall, strong man. He grew up on a farm and spent many hours clearing the land and planting crops with his father and brothers.
2 The Prophet loved spending time with young people. One of his favorite activities was wrestling. In those days, wrestling consisted mostly of trying to throw your opponent off balance.
3 One day Joseph noticed a crowd of enthusiastic young men and boys. When he got closer, he saw that they were wrestling. He decided to join them.
4 There was one especially large fellow who seemed to be the champion. He was proud of the fact that no one had thrown him, and he was eager to wrestle the Prophet.
5 The match had scarcely begun when the champion found himself being carried by his collar and the seat of his pants to a nearby ditch, where Joseph dropped him.
6 As the crowd yelled and cheered, Joseph helped the young man to his feet, patted him on his back, and said, “You must not mind this. When I am with the boys, I make all the fun I can for them.”
7 Although he was the first President of the Church and a very busy man, Joseph Smith knew that taking time to be friendly with others was important.

A group of sisters in Caracas, Venezuela, acted with compassion when they visited a nursing home as part of a service project. They took cookies and a drink to share with the women there. But when they saw the women—with disheveled hair and nearly without clothing, slumped in chairs with expressionless faces—they felt what the women must be feeling and acted immediately. They gathered clothing and helped dress the women. Then they cleaned faces and bodies and combed hair. After bringing dignity to these women, they held hands with them, talked with them, and shared their refreshments.