Gospel Story Finder

When a new school administrator announced that students would have to pay a fee to take any exam, I felt dismayed. With little money, rising costs of living, and a failing economy, I knew I would have a hard time finding the money necessary to take my upcoming tests.
Our Church leaders emphasize the importance of education, and I wanted to continue studying despite the new hardship facing me. I decided to ask some relatives who lived nearby if they could help me pay my exam fees. Sadly, they told me they would help me only if I denounced my faith. As the only Church member in my family, I was crushed to hear their response.
I then called my mom and told her about the new fees. I explained that despite my efforts, I did not have the money I needed. My heart nearly broke when my mom told me that her employer had not paid her salary in six months and that she was struggling to provide for our family. Because of this, she did not have any money left over.
I did my best to continue to have faith. I found comfort in the hymns, especially “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30) and “Let Us All Press On” (Hymns, no. 243). My future, however, did not seem promising. Without the necessary money, I missed my first two exams. The night before my third examination, I poured out my soul to Heavenly Father. I expressed to Him my desire to get an education and my determination to eventually graduate, no matter how many tests I missed. I let Him know that I believed He could prepare a way and that because I did not know what more I could do, I was leaving my trial in His hands. I instantly felt like a huge burden was lifted off of my shoulders, and a spirit of peace and happiness fell over me.
The next day I awoke and continued my habit of preparing for the examination. I’d decided to never stop studying so that if something happened and I was able to take an exam, I would be ready. After some time, a knock on the door interrupted my studying. I was surprised to see my mother. She told me that she’d just received a paycheck for the six months of wages she had not yet been paid for! After shouting for joy, we rushed to pay the fee.
I was able to take all of my remaining exams. I know that Heavenly Father provided a miracle that day. He wants us all to succeed. Sometimes this requires us to face adversity so that we become humble. I know that our trials can strengthen our testimonies and that Heavenly Father really does watch over us.

He describes his introduction to the gospel: “Elder Pulsipher opened with prayer. He knelt down and asked the Lord in the name of Jesus Christ for what he wanted. His manner of prayer and the influence which went with it impressed me greatly. The spirit of the Lord rested upon me and bore witness that he was a servant of God. After singing, he preached to the people for an hour and a half. The spirit of God rested mightily upon him and he bore a strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon and of the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I believed all that he said. The spirit bore witness of its truth. …

“Liberty was then given by the elders to any one in the congregation to arise and speak for or against what they had heard as they might choose. Almost instantly I found myself upon my feet. The Spirit of the Lord urged me to bear testimony to the truth of the message delivered by these elders. I exhorted my neighbors and friends not to oppose these men; for they were the true servants of God. They had preached to us that night the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. When I sat down, my brother Azmon arose and bore a similar testimony. He was followed by several others.”

Three days later, after carefully searching the Book of Mormon, he was baptized on December 31, 1833. He wrote: “The snow was about three feet deep, the day was cold, and the water was mixed with ice and snow, yet I did not feel cold.”

I just finished reading “A Journal Called Lucy” in the November 1981 New Era, and I would like to share with other readers my experiences in keeping a journal.
I’ve been keeping one for about three years now. I use an inexpensive notebook. That way I don’t feel too bad if I ruin a page or something. Writing my thoughts down is a good way to let out my feelings. One of the best things about keeping a journal for me, however, is illustrated by what happened last summer after I was in a car accident. I was in the hospital for a couple of months and in the Elks’ Rehabilitation Center for a few more.
Because of the head injuries I had received, I couldn’t remember things that had happened before the accident, but when I read my journals, the memories came flooding back, and it was almost as neat as going through the experiences all over again. I am so very thankful I wrote them down. Now I’m a freshman at Ricks College, and it seems like my journal is becoming the place where I go with my problems, successes, hopes, and dreams. I would encourage anyone who isn’t keeping a journal now to start one. Just get an inexpensive notebook and start writing. I know you’ll be blessed by it.
Gaylene WorthenWendell, Idaho

Elder LeGrand Richards of the Council of the Twelve served faithfully throughout his life. At age 96 his missionary spirit and zest for life kept him young in spirit and positive in outlook. When he passed away at 10:40 A.M. January 11, 1983 at the home of a daughter in Salt Lake City, the Church lost a giant, but his influence for good will long be felt. As the grandson of Franklin D. Richards and the son of George F. Richards (both of whom were also Apostles), Elder Richards never seemed to doubt the faith of his fathers, but rather, took every opportunity to share it with others.
On a typical afternoon in the later part of his life, Elder Richards was showing some youth of the Church through the Church Administration Building. They had come to a room lined with beautiful onyx marble. As he spoke to them, his speech became more rapid and his eyes brightened. He recalled the story of a nationally prominent man who had visited the building many years before. Elder Richards had been assigned to accompany the man and make him feel welcome. When they reached the onyx room, the visitor looked around at the craftsmanship, the obvious care, and the resultant splendor with which the early Saints had endowed that room in their headquarters. According to Elder Richards, the man said, “My, my, you Mormons seem to be a going concern.” And then Elder Richards answered, “Yes, sir, and would you like to know more?”
Missionary work was a theme threaded throughout Elder Richards’s life. His book A Marvelous Work and a Wonder is a classic in Mormon literature and is a successful tool for missionary work in many areas of the world. The book is the best-selling LDS book other than the scriptures. Elder Richards never accepted any royalties.
He began mortal life on February 6, 1886, in Farmington, Utah, as the son of George F. and Alice A. Robinson Richards. The family moved to Tooele, Utah, where LeGrand grew up on the family farm.
While still a young man, LeGrand went to Salt Lake City with his older brother and completed an 18-month business course in 12 months. He did this while serving as a home teacher two full nights a week.
After the college business course, he was offered a position with a prominent firm. He declined the offer in order to answer a call to the Netherlands Mission. That was the first of four missions he would ultimately serve for the Church.
While on his mission as a 19-year-old, Elder Richards felt a pressing need to master the Dutch language. He would walk across the street from the mission home to the cattle market. There he would walk up and down the lanes preaching Dutch to the animals and trees. When he didn’t know a word, he would jot it down in a notebook to look up later. At a combined mission conference he was called upon to speak by President Heber J. Grant. He bore his testimony in Dutch with such power that nonmembers in attendance later remembered him for it and one joined the Church.
After his mission to the Netherlands, he began working in the Presiding Bishopric’s Office in Salt Lake City. In 1909 he married Ina Jane Ashton and moved to Portland, Oregon to begin work there. Brother and Sister Richards became the parents of eight children. It was in Oregon that he received a call as branch president.
When LeGrand was 27, he took his family and returned to the Netherlands to serve as the president of that mission. In 1930, President Heber J. Grant asked him to move to California to become president of the Hollywood Stake. Between being mission president and stake president he served three times as bishop and twice as a high councilor and filled a short-term mission in the Eastern States. He was released as the Hollywood Stake president to go to the Southern States Mission and fill the position of mission president there.
Four years later and still mission president, he dreamed he met President Grant, who said he had a special blessing for him. When he awakened he could not remember the blessing, but he remembered how thrilled he was. Within a year he was appointed Presiding Bishop of the Church.
Several times in his life he came close to death. Twice in his youth he was spared from near-fatal accidents and when he was the Presiding Bishop, he suffered a severe heart attack. Elder Harold B. Lee was called to administer to Bishop Richards, after which he “testified that as he laid hands on Elder Richards’ head, he knew the Lord was to spare him for further work” (Improvement Era, Nov. 1966, p. 1002). Ten years later, in 1952, Elder Richards was called to the Council of the Twelve.
Elder LeGrand Richards was himself a marvelous work and a wonder. His energetic love for people showed in every word he spoke and in the relentless missionary effort he continued throughout his life. He spoke as though every second were of such import that not one word should be lost and that every person listening needed to catch every anxious word. He was indeed a man of God.

George Albert Smith succeeded Heber J. Grant as President and prophet. The terrible Second World War came to a close during his presidency. Our people, as well as others in Europe, were starving in the aftermath of that war. President Smith went to see the president of the United States, Harry Truman. He asked for transportation to get foodstuffs and clothing to those in need. President Truman asked President Smith where he would get these resources. President Smith replied that the Church operated production projects under a welfare program and that women of the Relief Society had saved wheat. The shelves of our storehouses were well stocked and our granaries were filled. This had come of the prophetic foresight of Church leaders.
The government promised transportation, and Elder Ezra Taft Benson of the Council of the Twelve was sent to Europe to look after the distribution of the commodities which were shipped to Germany.
I was among those who worked nights at Welfare Square here in Salt Lake City loading commodities onto railcars which moved the food to the port from which it was shipped across the sea. During the time of the Swiss Temple dedication, when many of the Saints of Germany came to the temple, I heard some of them, with tears running down their cheeks, speak with appreciation for that food which had saved their lives.

How about basketball? I play point guard for both of the teams I am on. I’m pretty fast. Most of the other players are in wheelchairs because of injuries, so they sit regular height. I’m shorter, so I have to use my speed. I appreciate my coach, who spent so much time teaching me. Now I like to serve by helping the little kids who are just starting out. Some of them have a hard time, but I enjoy encouraging them.

Her mother, Castorina, was baptized the following month, along with Eulogia’s daughter, Liduvina. Another daughter, Lina, wanted to be baptized, but her new husband opposed it.
“I believe my parents’ love and patience helped us live our lives sharing the gospel,” Lina says. Even though she was not able to be baptized at first, she served in the Church as faithfully as anyone could who was not a member. Eventually, in 1986, when her husband’s opposition had softened because of the example of his wife and children, Lina joyfully entered the waters of baptism.

Mango season had arrived in Retalhuleu, Guatemala. The heavy costal rains had ended, and the heat of the dry season settled over the Guatemalan pueblo. My missionary companion, Sister Coronado, and I didn’t mind the rising temperatures—at least not too much—because during the heat of the day we would gaze overhead at the mangos ripening in the sun. We loved mangos. We practically lived on them. Our generous investigators and members would fill our backpacks with them, and when it was too hot to eat anything else, Sister Coronado and I would feast on them and laugh at each other as the juice dribbled down our chins.
Hermana Coronado and I were good friends. As we walked around our area each day we would talk about everything. One of Hermana Coronado’s favorite topics was what I call “everyday miracles.” As our time together progressed, Hermana Coronado taught me to recognize these little miracles. Things like meeting someone who was feeling lonely, or running into an investigator that we hadn’t been able to contact were often miraculous blessings.
One day Sister Coronado and I were disappointed to find that a family we had an appointment with wasn’t home. Just outside the family’s home, we spotted the most beautiful mangos we had ever seen. This tree was loaded with what promised to be perfect fruit. We found ourselves drawn towards the makeshift family store that was propped up against the base of the tree.
“¿Hay Maria?” From the counter of the deserted store we called out the traditional Guatemalan greeting.
“Si, ahorita vengo,” a teenage girl replied that she would be right with us.
We asked the smiling girl if we could buy two of the mangos, but she explained that they had sold the entire crop of mangos to a company from the capital city, so they were only allowed to eat those mangos that fell from the tree naturally. We must have looked terribly disappointed because she apologized profusely that there weren’t any mangos lying on the ground. She assured us she wouldn’t charge us for the mangos if we came back another day when more had fallen from the tree.
“Oh, it’s okay,” we sighed and began to turn away. The girl watched as we pulled out our weekly planners and decided what to do next. Then all three of us heard a big thump from behind the store.
“Wait!” the girl called out and ran around the back. She came back with two beautiful, ripe mangos. They had fallen together and were still connected at the stem. We wondered if Heavenly Father had sent us a thank-you note in the form of two mangos to let us know our work was appreciated. It was a small thing, but that day in the Guatemalan heat, recovering from the disappointment of not being able to teach the family we had an appointment with, it was a small miracle.
Sister Coronado gave me an invaluable gift—the ability to recognize the hand of God in my life.

We were so happy, every Sunday attending sacrament meeting and seeing the love the members of the Church showed us. My mom and I waited for my father who was working in Dubai to come and be baptized, and my brother was studying in Vijayawada where there is no Church. Fortunately, a home group was started in Vijayawada and missionaries from Rajahmundry went there and taught him. I baptized him. The day came that my father arrived from his work the missionaries met him, taught him, and invited him to be baptized, but he had an issue with the Word of Wisdom. Finally, he overcame it with the help of the missionaries and he also joined the Church. My brother baptized him. Now all four members in our family have joined the Church and have seen many miracles in our lives.

Like so many other young married couples, Jeff and Pat struggled through their student years at Brigham Young University. Nearing graduation in 1965, he was not eager to become a teacher of English, his academic major. Then came an opportunity to teach religion half-time at BYU while he worked on a master’s degree in religious instruction. He regarded it as an answer to prayer and felt privileged to be hired as an institute teacher in the Church Educational System on completion of his graduate work in 1966.

After a year in Hayward, California, teaching at several institutes in the area, he was appointed director of the institute in Seattle. Seattle Temple President Brent Nash, who was called as stake president during that time, says Jeffrey Holland reached out to many young members who might otherwise have faded into anonymity on campus. “Youth were drawn to him. If he was able to bring some of those young people into the institute, the gospel changed them.”

It was a time when uninformed comments about the Church had generated controversy on campus, but the young institute director’s ability to make friends and touch hearts helped erase ill feeling among students and organizations allied with other faiths. He became a sought-after speaker for firesides and other Church programs, and his wife frequently spoke along with him.

But anticipating a lifelong career in the field of education, Jeff knew he would need more schooling, including a doctoral degree. Years earlier, at BYU, he had opened a Yale University catalog and felt prompted that one day he would go there. A Yale-educated professor at the University of Washington recommended him for Yale’s American Studies program, and the Hollands moved to New Haven, Connecticut, in 1970.

I was called to serve a mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but for political reasons my visa was suspended, and I would have to start in Abidjan. But it did not affect me too much because I had entrusted myself to the Lord and the place of my mission did not matter. So, I zealously embarked on the work with Elder Kalema Peron my trainer in the Koumassi area where I had one of the most rewarding experiences of my mission.
One day we went to visit the ward mission leader in Adjahui a sub-district of the commune of Koumassi. It is a peninsula whose access is difficult and is done only by pinasse, a rudimentary and inconvenient means of transport that uses the lagoon way. The neighborhood does not have a good reputation due to the precarious living conditions of its inhabitants.
But my companion and I loved to go because these people are humble, had the desire to learn, the need to be encouraged and strengthened by the envoys of Jesus Christ that we were.
We were chatting with the ward mission leader and his family next to his house in a common courtyard made up of houses built with precarious materials where his friend and neighbor Francis (an assumed name) would occasionally talk with us. He was a kind man but faced great challenges. Having lost his job, he lived alone in his house and was very withdrawn. When he saw us, he would come to greet us respectfully and then go home. Francis also faced a tobacco addiction related to the hardships he was going through and had no hope.
The ward mission leader told us that Francis had already received a Book of Mormon and that he had read it entirely in his solitude in just four days. This is rare in Africa where reading is a difficult art. As a result of frequent visits, I noticed his growing interest in the word of God.
Francis claimed to have felt something special after reading the Book of Mormon. We explained to him that it was the Holy Ghost teaching him. Personally, I had a strong prompting that told me that Francis was going to convert to the restored gospel.
Francis agreed to attend church and take the missionary lessons. He still struggled with the Word of Wisdom. At this time, he shared with us that it would be difficult for him to give up his addiction to cigarettes of which he had been a prisoner for about 20 years.
We spent time with Francis praying and encouraging him. With the help of God, he made the commitment to be baptized. He had overcome his addiction and you could see the joy on his face. We too were happy for him.
Sometime after his baptism, he relapsed and I admit that it was his attitude that touched me the most. Indeed, very late at night he sent us the following SMS message: “Elder, I fell”.
Immediately my companion and I knelt and prayed for him.
The next day we went to his house and reassured him that this was part of the conversion process and that he could repent and begin again. We shared the little tips and tricks that might help with his addiction.
Listening to us speak and teach of repentance we saw tears and a glimmer of hope in Francis’ eyes. He gradually stopped smoking and overcame his addiction forever.
I finally got my papers to continue my mission in the DRC when circumstances improved.
I later learned that Francis joined the Church and was called as a stake clerk. He had married and was sealed in the Accra Ghana Temple long before me.

In 1975 Janelle Griffin was in the tenth grade. An assignment to write a paper about population explosion started a series of events that eventually led to a tape and filmstrip called, “Very Much Alive.”
Janelle and her father, Dr. Glen Griffin, now members of the Bountiful, Utah Val Verda Stake, went through the family photos and selected some good slides. These were matched with an anti-abortion story-script that Janelle and her father wrote. The resulting slide presentation, emphasizing the sanctity of human life was enthusiastically applauded by students and teachers. Refinements and revisions followed. A sound track was recorded on cassette tape. Some who saw the presentation suggested that every LDS youth should see “Very Much Alive.”
Many revisions and refinements followed, and then followed distribution in 17 languages to all the Church (VVOF1420.).

It took my husband two years of studying—and a little bit of arguing—to join the Church. He was finally baptized in 1980, and then he got the priesthood. He became a very calm person, so that his own family members couldn’t believe how he had changed. He was cautious with the priesthood that he held and also to make sure he was always doing the right thing before the Lord. Without the priesthood, he says he would have gone for the honors and the glories of men. But with the priesthood, he found that the most important things are your marriage, your home, your family, and serving others.

During the 1993 Christmas season I was serving as a missionary in India. The first week in December, three days after I arrived, I was asked to help organize and direct a choir in the Bangalore Branch because the members wanted to participate in an annual choir festival held in Bangalore. Neither my companion, Sister Annie Christensen from Utah, nor I was aware of what this festival entailed, but we agreed to help out.
I selected “Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains” (Hymns, number 212) to sing in the program, and 16 people attended two enthusiastic rehearsals held on the roof of a member’s home. They were not familiar with singing in parts, so we sang in unison without musical accompaniment. If a piano was available at the festival, I would play instead of direct.
The date of the performance arrived. As we stepped down from our harrowing motorized ricksha ride to downtown Bangalore, we stood astonished before a huge city building. It was draped with a large banner that read “Festival of Christmas Music.” Stunned, we walked up the broad flight of stairs and into the foyer, which was filled with costumed participants. This festival was a big event!
We scrambled to get one of the printed programs. Listed were the names of several church, college, and university choirs. We looked for our group and gasped as we read, “LDS Choir (Mormon’s Tabernacle).” We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
We found a quiet place and pleaded for heavenly help. I turned to my companion and said, “You’ll need to direct the choir!”
She replied, “I’ve never done that before in my life!”
“Just smile,” I assured her. “Wave your arm in a figure eight and look confident.”
When the curtain opened for our number, my companion had our Indian “Mormon’s Tabernacle” choir arranged on risers ready to perform. All seven of the sisters on the front row wore beautiful saris, and the nine men behind them wore suits. Sister Christensen, as director, was magnificent. She even took a bow!
Then I took a deep breath, walked on stage, and sat down at the piano. My companion raised her hand and started her figure eight, and I played the first chord. The sound that came from the choir and piano shocked me, and I could hardly play. It sounded as if the real Tabernacle Choir were singing that night.
I knew then that our prayers had been answered and that there must have been a choir of angels singing along with our little group. As the last note sounded, there was silence. Then, in the auditorium, thunderous applause erupted. The curtains closed, and we wept with joy. Guess who won a prize that night? We did!
The fourth verse of the carol we sang that evening reads, “Hasten the time when, from ev’ry clime, Men shall unite in the strains sublime: Glory to God, … Peace on earth, goodwill to men!” The voices of many, both seen and unseen, must have united that night in Bangalore, India, in singing praises to the Lord.

I encountered the Church a little while later when I was over at my friend Zach’s house for a movie night with some other friends. While we were choosing a movie, I noticed Zach’s family’s collection of Church materials in an adjacent bookshelf. “Pick something for me, Zach!” I pleaded jokingly.
“These are all lesson manuals,” he explained. “But here—try this instead.” He handed me a book titled Book of Mormon Stories. I took it without much thought as we all paraded into the living room. But during a lull in the movie, I decided to open it, and I began reading about Lehi and Sariah’s family. I couldn’t put it down! I felt something stirring in my mind, something I’d never experienced before—the feeling that what I was reading wasn’t just some made-up story but something more.
Zach let me take the book home, and I read the whole book in two nights. Then I read it again and took notes. When I returned the book to Zach he offered me my own copy of the Book of Mormon, full and unabridged.
The small feeling in my heart continued to grow as I read the Book of Mormon. I finished it in a little over a month. Sometimes I would read for hours at a time. I carried it with me everywhere and read it every time I got a chance.
During this time I started going to church. I cried at my first sacrament meeting—I felt the Spirit so strongly! As I listened to the testimonies of others at that first fast and testimony meeting, I remember wondering if I would ever have my own testimony. Young Women was my favorite meeting. I loved being with other girls who shared my values and some of my interests and learning about how I was a daughter of God. I felt so much love at church.
That night, I asked Heavenly Father in prayer if joining the Church was the right path for me. My mind was filled with one word: John. I had never read much in the Bible, but I knew I’d find my answer in the book of John. I found John 14:6: “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” Christ was meant to be the way for me too.
I also prayed to know the truth when I finished reading the Book of Mormon. However, I didn’t receive an answer the first time I asked. After nearly a week of frustrated, tearful prayer, I watched The Testaments of One Fold and One Shepherd. As I watched the movie, I felt a burning in my heart, and I knew that now was the time to ask. I got down on my knees and asked in full faith and with an open heart if the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that if I received an answer, I would act upon it, regardless of the consequences. The answer I got was so powerful that I continue to feel it every day.
After I finished the Book of Mormon and received my answer, I began taking the missionary discussions. I am so thankful for the missionaries who taught me. I learned so much and began to prepare for baptism. I also began attending seminary and going to Mutual. My knowledge of and love for the Savior and His Church grew so much during those first few months.
I was baptized on April 26, 2009, by Zach’s dad, Brother Simons. I had the support of the entire ward, my family, and my friends. I have never felt so beautiful in my life as I did in my white dress and as I made that wonderful covenant with my Heavenly Father. Afterward, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost by Brother Davis, whose entire family was especially supportive of me while I was investigating the Church. I was so touched, and I knew that the words he said were from Heavenly Father.
Every day it’s difficult being the only Church member in my family, but they are incredibly supportive of my decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They aren’t investigating the Church, but they are continuing to have open minds. I have been blessed with a wonderful, loving family, and I love them very much.
Since my baptism, I’ve moved to a new ward, so I don’t get to see Zach and the other families that supported me very often. But I know that friends in the gospel are friends forever. I also know that this is Christ’s true Church, we are all Heavenly Father’s children, and He loves us very much. I know that the Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith was a prophet, and President Thomas S. Monson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that He lives. Nothing happens without a reason. When I asked Zach to pick me out a book at movie night, I had no idea it would change my life. I am so thankful that I was given the beautiful opportunity to come unto Christ. The gospel has changed me forever.

When I was younger, I made a friend who wasn’t a Church member. She and her family had been invited to church before, but they weren’t interested. I prayed about it and felt that I should go to their house and give them a copy of the Book of Mormon.
The next day I gave the Book of Mormon to my friend and her family and asked if they’d be willing to read just one chapter. I went home and told my mom that I wasn’t sure if they would do it. After a while, my friend asked if I wanted to spend the night at her house. While there, her family said that they’d read a little bit from the Book of Mormon but didn’t feel like it was the right time to learn more about the Church.
At dinner, my friend’s dad asked what members of the Church usually did before eating. I explained that we pray over the food. He asked if I’d be willing to pray. I was surprised! But I was also excited to share what I believed in. They thanked me for my prayer, and my friend said that she’d felt something as I prayed that made her feel good inside. We talked for the rest of dinner about prayer and more of what I believe in.
The next morning at breakfast, my friend’s dad prayed for a blessing on the food. He then mentioned that he had also prayed before bed the night before.
Though they haven’t joined the Church, I still keep in touch with them and answer their questions about the Church and encourage them to read the Book of Mormon.
I am glad that I could be a missionary and help them feel the Spirit. I know that by ministering to them and helping them feel the Spirit, I’ve helped them come closer to Christ.

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Ever since I was a child, I have struggled with my weight and accepting myself. In the beginning, the nicknames I received because of my weight seemed harmless, but with time, I started to believe that the negative things that were said about my appearance also meant negative things about my personality.
As a teenager, I started to realize that, although I liked my physical characteristics, my body type didn’t fit with worldly expectations. And I liked my quiet personality, but it wasn’t what people expected from me either—teachers wanted me to speak up in class, boys liked the more talkative girls, and I was told frequently that I needed to be more outgoing than I actually was. Little by little, my self-worth started to languish.
My young adult years found me depressed, uncomfortable in my body, and questioning why the Lord couldn’t have made me at least a little pretty and more interesting. I tried more diets than I should have, and ironically, the more I tried to lose weight, the more weight I gained. Being a single, introverted, and overweight young adult didn’t seem very promising.
I felt defeated and decided that I was the way I was, even if I never lost the weight I wanted to or became more extroverted. Although I stopped hating myself so much, I was still far from seeing myself as a beautiful, worthwhile daughter of God. I simply gave up on trying to find my worth.
One day a miracle happened while I was reading a talk by Sister Mary G. Cook, wife of Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, from the September 2016 worldwide devotional for young adults titled “Find Joy in Everyday Life.” I read: “When we came to this earth, we brought with us our divine nature as children of God. Our individual worth came from heaven.” I felt as if my mind was finally opened to a light that I so deeply needed but thought I would never get. I realized that, before, I had felt as if it were wrong to like myself because I didn’t fit the worldly stereotype of what a beautiful, worthwhile woman should be. Now I was ready to admit that I love my introverted and geeky personality, messy curly hair, brown eyes, potato-like nose, big smile, and even my overweight body that still does just what I need it to do. I became grateful for being God’s creation. I finally understood that He doesn’t create mistakes.
After so many years of emotional and physical struggles and suffering, I finally learned a truth that for many may be obvious: my individual worth has nothing to do with this world! It came from heaven. It has always been with me, even if I was blind to it. It’s not decided by media, by my peers, or by anybody but Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and They see me as valuable enough that the Savior died for me.
Learning from the Spirit about my value in God’s eyes has changed me in so many ways. I fell in love with life again. I feel more gratitude for my countless blessings. I feel a huge desire to try harder to do what’s right and believe more in myself and in my dreams. It made me want to be more kind and patient with people around me and brought me closer to the Savior.
The voices of the world keep calling and judging, but now I have a strong knowledge of my worth that I never want to forget. That knowledge brought me peace and joy that I want to share with everyone I meet. Through that devotional talk, I learned that even my self-worth and self-confidence need to have a firm foundation in Christ so “that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon [me], it shall have no power over [me] to drag [me] down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which [I am] built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).
I’m grateful for the Lord and the eternal worth He sees in all of us. I’m grateful for inspired women like Sister Cook who strive to live the gospel and share its wisdom. I’m grateful for this life, for the miracle of our bodies and minds, and for the divinity within each of us.

One thing I have learned is that motherhood entails difficult decisions. When our first child was born, I had been working for about twelve years, first as a teacher and later as a lawyer. I wondered whether to continue working. My husband’s income was sufficient to meet our needs, but we were about twenty years older than most new parents. I wondered whether we would both survive to raise our children and, if I were widowed, how I would provide for them. I wondered how difficult it would be to find a job at the age of sixty should a need arise as our children entered college or received mission calls.
President Kimball, who was then the prophet, had counseled the sisters of the Church: “Some women, because of circumstances beyond their control, must work. We understand that. … Do not, however, make the mistake of being drawn off into secondary tasks which will cause the neglect of your eternal assignments such as giving birth to and rearing the spirit children of our Father in Heaven. Pray carefully over all your decisions” (Spencer W. Kimball, Ensign, Nov. 1979, p. 103; see also My Beloved Sisters, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1979, p. 41).
I took this counsel seriously. I knew that I had to decide whether I was among those who must work. After praying earnestly about the matter, I sought a priesthood blessing from my husband. The blessing promised that I would be able to make a decision that would be good for our family but did not indicate what the decision should be. I tried to foresee the effect my decision would have on my husband, my children, and me and to listen for inspiration. My choice was to become a full-time homemaker.
I have not regretted that decision. I have loved being home with the children, watching them grow, and helping them learn. But I remain aware that a time may come when I must provide for my family. Having tried to make a wise decision and to do those things I can to maintain employable skills, I feel I must and can trust the Lord to help me should such a need arise.

1961. The horizon wasn’t even softened yet by the coming dawn when a train stopped at a siding in southern Mexico to take on water. There was no town in sight, nothing but the dim outlines of mountains and jungle. Before the train could chug out its first puff of steam to get underway again, a Mexican youth in a suit and tie suddenly dug an elbow into his “gringo” companion as they sat on a bench in the passenger section.
“Grab your bag,” he said. “We’re getting off.”
Overriding his sleepy friend’s inarticulate protests, he soon had them both standing by the tracks in the 4:00 A.M. chill as the train snorted, huffed, gathered speed, and pulled away. Finally awake, the companion said in disbelief, “But it’s the middle of the night, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and there won’t be another train until tomorrow morning!”
“I know,” the young Mexican replied, “but the Spirit told me to get off; so we got off.” His companion shrugged. No arguing with that sort of thing. Elder Parra, district president of the Puebla District of the mission was no fool, and everybody knew he lived close to the Lord.
“So here we are,” the American said stoically. “So what next?” Elder Parra pointed into the darkness. “We start walking,” he said.
So they walked, stumbling up one side of a mountain and down the other. Dawn showed them another mountain beyond that, and another beyond that, and they climbed them. At last, about 17 miles later, they came to a village of very small, poor houses. They climbed a little hill nearby, took out their hymnbooks, and sang a hymn. When they had finished that hymn, they sang another, and then another, until all the people from the village came out of their houses and climbed the hill to see what was going on.
When everyone had gathered around the two missionaries, they started to preach. They preached for half a day, and when they had finished preaching, they dammed up a small stream nearby and baptized every person there who was eight years of age or older. They then ordained an elder to be president of the new little branch and hiked back to catch the next day’s train.
Today Elder Parra is back in southern Mexico, this time as president of the Mexico Vera Cruz Mission. The mission leads the Church in baptisms, has a high rate of member activity, and boasts a strong youth missionary program.
The little village in the mountains is a thriving branch of some 200 members. They have a full-time missionary in the field and hope to build a chapel.
To them it makes a lot of difference that one Mormon elder had enough faith to suddenly get off a train at 4:00 A.M. in the middle of nowhere.

Look! There’s a honey bird. If we follow, it will lead us to honey,” exclaimed Kirmani to his young brother, Suku.
The two African boys, dressed in khaki shorts, were playing lion hunting on the edge of their village.
“Tye (Hurry)! Tye!” urged Suku.
Dropping their assegais (spears) they ran to their mother for gourds to gather the honey in. Then one of the boys lighted a torch from the cooking fire to smoke out the bees.
“Be sure to leave some honey for the bird,” called their mother as they ran off.
“Nidyo (Yes),” Suku answered while Kirmani laughed.
“Don’t you believe the old tale that you must leave a share of honey for the bird, or it will lead you into danger?” asked Suku.
“That is women’s and old men’s talk,” replied Kirmani scornfully.
“But what of Abu’s father who took all the honey from a hive. He was led on by the bird, so they say, and ended up in a leopard’s belly,” persisted Suku.
Kirmani didn’t argue. He picked up the assegais.
Suku carried the gourds and Kirmani the smoldering torch of grease-soaked moss tied to a long stick.
As they trotted across the veldt dotted with wait-a-bit thornbush, a little gray bird flew back and forth just as though it were making sure they would follow. After the bird led them into the forest, it disappeared into the dense foliage. Kirmani ran ahead, but Suku was thinking. Should I leave honey for the bird even though Kirmani won’t?
“Look! There’s the bird. It’s following the old animal trail,” Kirmani called excitedly.
When Suku caught up, the bird had settled on a branch of a moss-covered tree. Bees were streaming in and out through a small hole in the trunk. “The bird has guided us to honey!” cried Suku, clapping his hands.
Kirmani poked at the hole with his assegai. Rotting wood fell away, leaving a big opening. He thrust the torch inside and smoked out the angry bees.
Suku stood on Kirmani’s shoulders to reach a branch near the hole. He pulled himself up onto the branch and then peered inside. “There is much honey,” he called gleefully.
Kirmani scrambled up the tree and with sticks the boys scraped honey into their gourds. The bird hovered above them, crying plaintively.
When Suku had all the honey he could reach, he slid down the tree. Kirmani scraped out the last bit, licked his stick, then dropped to the ground.
“Nothing for the silly bird,” he said boldly.
The bird lit on the bee tree but soon flew off, calling anxiously.
“It’s coaxing us on,” said Kirmani. “It may guide us to another hive. Suku, you’re not afraid the bird will lead us into danger are you?” He ran ahead. “I dare you to follow it.”
Suku hesitated. We’re getting deeper into the jungle, he thought uneasily. We should have left the bird a share of honey. But he couldn’t ignore a dare. Reluctantly he started to follow.
Suddenly Suku heard a crack, a swoosh, and a frightened cry from Kirmani. He raced ahead and found his brother with his legs pinned beneath a heavy branch from a tree. He tried to lever the branch off Kirmani’s legs with his assegai, but the spear shaft broke.
“Ayah! Ayah! I am going to die,” moaned Kirmani. “The old tale is true. The bird is having its revenge.”
“I will go and tell father,” said Suku and thrusting an assegai into Kirmani’s hand, he ran off for help.
Kirmani groaned with pain. He could hardly move, and he was alone in the jungle with danger all around him. Maybe the honey birdwill bring a leopard to kill me, he thought despairingly. Nervously, he peered around. To his astonishment, the bird was perched on a branch overhead.
“It has not flown off to find a leopard,” he murmured half aloud. “It’s only eyeing my honey gourd.” Some of his fear left him.
Kirmani’s gourd was sitting on the ground nearby. With his assegai, he nudged it and spilled some honey. He kept still. Presently the bird flew down and began eating the amber treat.
As Kirmani watched, he remembered what Brother Andrew, his teacher, had said about the honey bird not wanting to seek revenge. The thought made him feel better.
Soon Suku returned with their father and a rescue party. They lifted the heavy branch off Kirmani’s leg, made a vine litter, and carried him home.
While Brother Andrew dressed his wounds, Kirmani told his story. “You must know now that the bird was guiding you to another bee tree because it was hungry,” Brother Andrew explained. “It cannot get the honey for itself and you left it nothing. Don’t you think the honey guide deserved a share?”
Kirmani felt ashamed. “Suku wanted to leave some for the honey bird, but I didn’t understand. From now on when the little bird guides me to honey, I won’t be greedy. I will always leave it a share.”