Gospel Story Finder

The following spiritual experiences speak well for the close relationship Wilford Woodruff had with his Father in Heaven:
—“My missions have been by [the] Spirit of revelation. I was told to go to the Fox Islands [off the coast of northeastern U.S.] by that same still small voice. In the time of the great apostasy in Kirtland the Spirit of the Lord said to me, ‘Get you a partner and go to Fox Islands.’ I knew no more what was in Fox Islands than what was in Kolob. I went there, however, baptized a hundred.”
—Once when he was lost in a severe storm, “groping like the blind for the wall, a bright light suddenly shone around us, and revealed to us our dangerous situation at the edge of a gulf. The light continued with us until we found the road. We then went on our way rejoicing, though the darkness returned and the rain continued.”
—Another time, after he had parked his carriage for the night and he and his family had retired in it, a voice said to him, “Get up, and move your carriage.” A short while later, a big, heavy tree, caught by a whirlwind, was thrown where his carriage had been parked.
—While in London as a missionary, he had a terrifying experience with a “prince of darkness. … As he was about to overcome me I prayed to the Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, for help. I then had power over him and he left me, though I was much wounded. Afterwards three men dressed in white came to me and prayed with me, and I was healed immediately of all my wounds, and delivered of my troubles.”
—“Two weeks before I left St. George, the spirits of the dead gathered around me [in the temple], wanting to know why we did not redeem them. Said they, ‘… We laid the foundation of the government you now enjoy, and we never apostatized from it, but we remained true to it and were faithful to God.’

“These were the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and they waited on me for two days and two nights. … I straightway went into the baptismal font and called upon Brother McAllister to baptize me for the signers of the Declaration of Independence and fifty other eminent men, making one hundred in all.”

In the early days of the Church, other disciples in addition to Joseph Smith and Hyrum Smith also laid down their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ. The faithfulness of Edward Partridge, the first bishop of the Church, is noted in the Doctrine and Covenants. On July 20, 1833, Edward was sitting at home with his frail wife, who had just given birth. Three mobsters burst in and dragged him into the bedlam of the street and then into the square, where they had already taken Charles Allen. A mob of about 300 demanded through their spokesman that Edward and Charles either renounce their faith in the Book of Mormon or leave the county. Edward Partridge responded: “If I must suffer for my religion, it is no more than others have done before me. I am not conscious of having injured anyone in the county and therefore will not consent to leave. I have done nothing to offend anyone. If you abuse me, you are injuring an innocent man.” The mob then daubed Edward and Charles from head to foot with hot tar containing pearl ash, a flesh-eating acid, and then they threw feathers that stuck to the burning tar.

The Prophet Joseph Smith characterized Edward’s death a few years later at age 46 in these words: “He lost his life in consequence of the Missouri persecutions, and he is one of that number whose blood will be required at their hands.” Edward Partridge left a legacy that lives on in a large and righteous posterity.

Everyone said, “Five, that’s wonderful! Now you can go to school.”
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to school. Mom drove past the school so I could see it. She smiled, but I thought it looked like a scary place. I saw many older boys and girls playing ball. They were all so big!
I was afraid to ride in the school bus too. It groans as it creeps up the hill by our house.
The morning I started school, Mom and Dad seemed happy because I was getting to be such a big girl. When I got dressed, Dad took my picture for our scrapbook.
Mom and I met Kari and her mother at the bus stop on the corner. Kari and I sat together after we got on the bus. We stopped a few times for other children and their mothers.
At school, Mom led me down the hall, past the library and a giant painting, and into my room.
I had already met my teacher, Miss Sorenson. I wondered if she’d remember my name.
“Welcome to kindergarten,” said Miss Sorenson. She smiled and told us about the schoolwork we would do. She even had name tags for us.
Kari and I explored. Records and picture books filled some shelves. There was a piano in the corner near the door.
Miss Sorenson showed us a workbench and a small kitchen. We worked at tables, with a shelf above for our crayons and scissors.
After school I was worried about finding my bus stop. But Miss Sorenson pinned a card on me with my name and bus stop, and a fifth grader helped me. So it was easy.
Now I like school. We listen to stories and learn new songs. Sometimes we cook, and one day we learned about caterpillars. Some days we visit the library or play in the gym. One day we even made gingerbread men.
Now I know my way around. The school is big, but I am too. After all, now I’m five!

I had the opportunity a year or two ago of visiting the Logan Utah Institute of Religion. The building where the institute meets was recently remodeled. I was told that as the workers removed the old pulpit from the chapel, they discovered some shelves that had been sealed off for some time. In removing the cover, they found a sacrament tray. It apparently dates back many years because the sacrament cups were made of glass. One of those glass cups, as you see here, was mounted and presented to me—probably because I was the only one old enough to remember the days when glass cups were used.

I had an appointment scheduled a few days later with a neurologist, but that January morning, my older sister, Kylie, felt prompted that my family should take me to the emergency room at a nearby hospital. Doctors quickly ordered a computed tomography (CT) scan and the first of several spinal taps to reduce cerebrospinal fluid pressure. The next day, I had two MRIs (magnetic resonance imaging). Then an ophthalmologist examined me.

“How many fingers can you see?” he asked, holding up several fingers right in from of my face. I couldn’t see anything.

After his examination, he concluded that I had symptoms of both pseudotumor cerebri and optic neuritis. Neither condition on its own seemed fully responsible. He explained that with the severity of my vision loss, recovery could take over a year and that my vision might not fully return. He recommended a high dose of intravenous steroids and other medication.

After he left, I started crying. My mother reassured me, “If you can’t hold on to your faith right now, you can rely on ours.”

But another day with my father shaped my life forever. He took me from New Jersey to the home of an ordained patriarch in Salt Lake City. I had never seen the man before. My father left me at the doorstep. The patriarch led me to a chair, placed his hands on my head, and pronounced a blessing as a gift from God that included a declaration of the great desire of my heart.
He said that I was one of those of whom it had been said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” [Matthew 5:9.] I was so surprised that a perfect stranger could know my heart that I opened my eyes to see the room where such a miracle was happening. That blessing of my possibilities has shaped my life, my marriage, and my priesthood service.

Which church are you from?
I have had many wonderful experiences as a chaplain. One that I shall always remember happened when I was working voluntarily in a community hospital in Somerset. During the team meeting that day, I was asked to visit an elderly gentleman who shared a room with another patient. He was happy to see me. We shared some time together. At the patient’s own choosing, the encounter was brief.
But as I turned to leave, the other gentleman in the room asked me, “Which church are you from?” With a smile, I explained that I minister to all faiths and none, and my own faith tradition is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Immediately, the gentleman’s face lit up, and he exclaimed: “You’re a Mormon! I used to be a Mormon!”
Between that encounter and my next shift at the hospital, I thought deeply about that experience. The chances of encountering a former member of the Church in a rural Somerset hospital were slim, to say the least. Was it providential? I asked myself, “Would I ever see this gentleman again? After all, it is important that a chaplain does not go with the intent to seek people out and evangelise. Perhaps that short encounter would be our last?”
When I next arrived, however, I noticed that the inquisitive gentleman had been moved to the main hospital ward and had requested a chaplaincy visit from me. I walked the corridors with a smile, and as I approached his hospital bed, he beamed at me and started to talk. I pulled up a chair and listened. This man had been a member of the Church for many years, but sometime after he and his wife moved, they began attending their local Church of England. When his wife later fell ill and passed away, his Anglican congregation had been incredibly caring and supportive. He told me how much their kindness and love meant to him.
Then he asked me whether I knew anyone from his old Latter-day Saint ward. As it happened, he had attended the same ward as my parents and grandparents, and we both knew many of the same members. He remembered my father as a boy, and the man who had given me my patriarchal blessing was the same man who had been his bishop.
He fell silent. His eyes welled up with tears. A feeling of pure love seemed to connect us. Without speaking further, we wept together. I felt overwhelmed with compassion for this good gentleman. And I felt a distinct impression that, on that wintry afternoon, he needed to reconnect spiritually with his former faith. I just so happened to be with him in his very moment of need.
Who guides a chaplain’s feet?
I have reflected on that experience many times since, and it continues to teach me to this day. As a chaplain, I don’t walk hospital corridors, or prison wings, to seek out converts to our faith. I go to listen and support every individual where they are and assist them in their own personal journey to be the best person they can be. I have since had many encounters when I’ve realised more clearly that God directs my path, and that He allows me to assist Him in caring for His children.
It is striking to me that Jesus, at the beginning of His earthly ministry, selected these words in the synagogue: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,
“To preach the acceptable year of the Lord” (Luke 4:18–19, see also Isaiah 61:1–2).
As chaplains go about their work, they are participating in Jesus’ ministry to those who are sick, imprisoned, isolated, bereft, or otherwise afflicted. And they do so without malice or prejudice; but collaboratively, with a desire to extend the pure love of Christ to all.

Tricia stared with wide, watery eyes at her bedroom closet. The door was broken and wouldn’t shut all the way. In the dark the clothes looked like huddled monsters waiting to jump from their hangers and rush at her. To make things worse, she could hear loud breathing that seemed to come from the closet.
She knew that there were bad people who sometimes hurt children. One of them could be hiding in the closet! She also remembered the story a boy in her kindergarten class had told about a nightmare. He had been chased by a snake with a very long tail. The snake caught him and tied him up with its tail!
Tricia’s sisters, MaryAnn and Rebecca, were sleeping in the bedroom too, but she didn’t call out to them. Whatever was hiding in the closet might attack. She heard the TV fall silent. That meant her parents had finished watching the news and were going to bed. But she couldn’t run to them—she couldn’t even move.
Tricia was so scared that she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare make a sound. All she could do was stare at the dark, creepy closet, hoping that whatever lurked there wouldn’t get her.
As Tricia stared, a thought came quietly into her mind: “Why don’t you pray?” Immediately she felt a little better. Her mom had told her that she could pray anytime, anywhere. She didn’t even have to close her eyes! Tricia prayed silently. As soon as she said, “In the name of Jesus Christ,” a calm feeling came over her. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.
With every breath she became calmer. The scary breathing wasn’t as loud anymore either. In fact, as her own breathing grew quieter and quieter, so did the breathing from the closet. Tricia held her breath. The breathing stopped entirely. Finally she understood—she had been afraid of her own breathing!
She felt a little foolish, but mostly she felt grateful. As soon as she had thought about Jesus, her scary thoughts had stopped being scary, and she could see how silly they really were. She remembered her father telling her that the opposite of fear was faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. “No wonder Satan likes people to be scared,” she thought. “They’re not thinking about Jesus when they’re afraid.”
Tricia snuggled into her covers and prayed again. This time she thanked her Heavenly Father for hearing her prayer and helping her overcome her fears. When she finished praying, she silently sang “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Now she wasn’t afraid to close her eyes and let the music and words warm her. Before long, she was fast asleep.

Sister Beck: I think we underestimate youth. They’re in a searching age—it’s the “why” age. There’s a reason for that: the Lord wants them to get their own testimonies. It’s leaders’ and parents’ job to give them the doctrinal “whys” and to back up standards by teaching about the reasons for them. I remember some conversations I had with a daughter about Sunday dress. I explained how I felt she should dress to attend sacrament meeting. I also taught her about the sacrament and bore my testimony about why we go to church. It was done with love. She didn’t change the way she dressed that Sunday or the week after. But very soon she adopted a more formal standard of dress for sacrament meeting. I was patient while she got her own confirmation. And she never went back to dressing the way she had before. She had been taught the doctrine, and her “why” question was answered.

There was once a young man who did not understand the importance of practicing the piano. When his parents insisted, he practiced. He wasn’t always happy about it, but always obeyed. Later in his life, while sharing his musical talent, his mother helped him see how practicing the piano blessed him and others. Practicing now is like preparing for better things yet to come. The challenge is to see the future benefits of our actions.

SAN FERNANDO, CALIFORNIA—At 6:01 A.M. February 9, an earthquake shook southern California. Within minutes a major population center in North America had been seriously affected. More than one thousand persons were injured, over sixty persons killed—two of them Latter-day Saints—hundreds of homes and business buildings were destroyed and many others greatly damaged. In the following twenty-four hours, more than a hundred tremors were felt. Hundreds of Latter-day Saints spent the next several days with other Latter-day Saint families who had opened their homes to them. Many home teachers immediately went into action. Fifteen-year-old Crystal Berrett of Sylmar Ward, San Fernando Stake, gives a firsthand report of what it was like to be caught in the quake.
I rose from bed at 5:00 A.M. as usual to get ready for seminary. There were no special feelings or fears that morning, only the usual “Hope I’m ready on time,” “I hate this last-minute rushing,” and “Have I studied enough for the test in history?” Just another day.
My ride came and I was ready, although something bothered me. While I had been getting ready, my small poodle had whined and pawed at my leg. I had tried everything to calm her but it was impossible, so I had just left, not knowing what else to do.
We reached the chapel (that’s where we hold seminary). We were quite early. We got our books and were seated. The other kids staggered in with half-opened eyes. I love seminary as I know all my friends do, and we wouldn’t miss it—but it sure is early!
Most of us were seated and just waiting for our teacher, Varge Christensen, to quiet the usual last-minute whispers and begin. Suddenly I heard a great rumbling sound like a wave—only it was ten times greater! My chair began rocking back and forth. I turned to my girl friend, Cindy Kelley, and said, “Wow! This is really outasight!”
I had never felt a real earthquake before. People now and then would talk about them, and I had wanted to experience one. The next thing I knew the lights went off and I was lifted in the air and dropped violently on my back. I felt someone underneath me and attempted to get to my feet. I was tossed toward one wall, then toward the other wall, all the while trying to dodge flying chairs. My one thought was to escape from the building. It wasn’t so outasight anymore!
Our teacher told us later that he had yelled at us to get out onto the lawn, but I don’t recall hearing anything but that great rumbling. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever been through, and I immediately began praying. I was unable to get up off the floor, and I was afraid that any second the walls and ceiling would come down on me.
We all finally made it to the safety of the grass outside the chapel, and we lay there watching the building sway. With the exception of some bruises, no one was hurt or injured. All the kids were great, trying to help and calm each other. Our one thought now was to get back home to our families.
I knew it was an earthquake, a bad one, but I didn’t realize how bad until some of the parents came rushing to the church in tears, saying that their houses were in ruins, that there hadn’t been one thing left on a wall or shelf or one piece of furniture left in its original position. After I heard this I didn’t even think to cry; I just looked into the sky, now filled with smoke from fires, and asked the Lord to please let me get to my family.
As we started out from the chapel and saw the various buildings and shopping centers that were for the most part totaled-out, many thoughts crossed my mind, and I wondered if my family and home would even be there. As I think back, I’m sure Clyde Cowan and Cindy Kelley must have had the same thoughts, because we rode in complete silence.
There were big cracks in the road, and a big light fixture fell from a pole just after we had passed under it. As we turned up my street, I could see that there had been a shake, but the houses appeared to be undamaged—at least I thought they were fine until my mother, half-crying, half-numb, showed me the inside of our house. It was unbelievable. It looked as though everything in the house had been piled up, crushed, and then stirred. But our family was alive, without injuries, and our house was at least livable.
The home of my best friend, Becky Christensen, was completely demolished. It was a two-story home that was almost made into a one-story in less than a minute.
I talked with Becky later and asked her how she felt about her house. She answered, smiling, “They’re only material things. My family and friends are all right.” Becky’s family has been camping out in the backyard since the earthquake, and she said to me, “Chris, campcrafter is really worthwhile. You really need it.” (Campcrafter is a proficiency level to which MIA girls may attain in camping expertise.)
When we finally got the news on a transistor radio, we learned about the destruction of the Olive View and Veteran’s hospitals. They were in ruins. I have been a candy striper at Olive View for the past two months, and I was going to miss school that very morning in order to watch surgery. If the earthquake had struck just one hour later, I might have been in ruins with the hospital.
This earthquake is by far the most terrifying experience I have ever had, yet in other ways the most rewarding. I’ve learned that such things as houses, cars, furniture, and clothes are only material things and not so important after all. They may take twenty years to get and pay for, yet in less than one minute they can be destroyed. Many people cried over the loss of their beautiful mirrors and expensive china. My mother said that she and Dad had invested most of their time and money in their seven children, and the Lord had preserved them, so they were very grateful. We haven’t had water or gas or electricity or phones, but we have our year’s supply of food stored for just such an emergency, so we haven’t really suffered. It’s been kind of fun sitting by the fire in the darkness at night.
The greatest lesson I’ve learned is what a wonderful blessing it is to be able to pray to God when you are really scared and to have the feeling that he is there and that he hears you and will help you.

Some of the information about the Church, no matter how convincing, is just not true. In 1985, I remember a colleague walking into my business office in Florida. He had a Time magazine article entitled “Challenging Mormonism’s Roots.” It spoke of a recently discovered letter, supposedly written by Martin Harris, that conflicted with Joseph Smith’s account of finding the Book of Mormon plates.

My colleague asked if this new information would destroy the Mormon Church. The article quoted a man who said he was leaving the Church over the document. Later, others reportedly left the Church. I’m sure it was a trial of their faith.

A few months later, experts discovered (and the forger confessed) that the letter was a complete fraud. I remember really hoping that those who had left the Church because of this deception would find their way back.

The second former swimmer I want to introduce to you is Billy Betz. Billy was named National Swimmer of the Week during his senior year but has excelled much more outside the pool in his service to others. He served his mission in El Paso, Texas, and upon returning home felt that his service was not over but just beginning. He was excited about giving Christlike service and reaching out to those in need.

He spent the first summer after his mission working at a small medical clinic in El Salvador, suturing wounds and helping to deliver babies. He was struck by the total lack of basic medical supplies and the enormous need in the local villages. Billy has always had a “can-do” attitude and used this challenge as an opportunity to make a difference. He returned home and began visiting doctors in Provo, Salt Lake City, and Logan in an effort to collect medical supplies. After buying an old van with holes in the floorboards, he and his friend drove eight days to El Salvador to deliver the much-needed supplies. The van overheated and broke down many times along the way. Finally, after much prayer, the heavens opened, and a cooling rain made their delivery possible. They were able to inoculate hundreds of children and bring desperately needed medicine and supplies to those humble villagers. The following year Billy returned with two loaded semitrucks. This time they brought an X-ray machine, a mammography machine, hospital beds, and much more. What a blessing Billy and his friends have been to the people of El Salvador.

“In our council, we talked about how music can invite the Spirit,” says Jocelyn Herrington, a Primary teacher in the same Minnesota ward. “Later, I was teaching the Sunbeams. I thought, ‘I’ll sing while they’re coloring, and it will be nice.’ I started to sing, and they all stopped and listened. So I kept singing. It did bring the Spirit, and when I was done, they were reverent, waiting for me to speak. We had talked about that [in council] too, to bear your testimony when the opportunity comes. So I bore testimony in words they could understand.”

Cliff had the opportunity to go to officer candidate school, OCS. He described the experience as tough. Many dropped out of the program; and with two weeks left, there were only 42 left out of a class of 100. His tack officer, a tall imposing man, thought my father looked too young and inexperienced to lead others. He called my father to his office and said, "Candidate Johnson, this is the GROUND forces where they need men to lead men. You're appearance is decidedly against you. I've got some suggestions for you. Oklahoma City isn't far away, neither is Dallas, Texas. Why don't you go out and drink a little, smoke a little, find yourself some girlfriends? Then if you've aged a little, I'll consider that GOLD BAR on your shoulders for second lieutenant."
Cliff told the officer if that's what it took to get a commission, he didn't want it. He turned around and left the office without saluting. Cliff was kicked out of OCS and sent to a heavy artillery outfit that had orders to go prepare to go overseas into battle. Cliff was with the outfit as they passed their final field tests, and then he was called back into OCS where he completed his training.

I know from experience the troubled mind of such a young person. When I was preparing to go on my mission, some surprising forces tried to discourage me. One was my dentist. When he realized my appointment was so I could be a missionary, he tried to dissuade me from serving. I had not had the least notion that my dentist was against the Church.

The interruption of my education was also complicated. When I asked for a two-year leave of absence from my university program, I was informed that it was not possible. I would lose my place at the university if I did not return after one year. In Brazil, this was serious since the only criterion for admittance in a university program was a very difficult and competitive examination.

After repeatedly insisting, I was reluctantly informed that after being absent for one year, I could apply for an exception on extraordinary grounds. It might be approved or not. I was terrified at the idea of retaking that difficult admissions test after two years away from my studies.

I also was especially interested in a young woman. Several of my friends shared that same interest. I thought to myself, “If I go on a mission, I’m running a risk.”

But the Lord Jesus Christ was my great inspiration not to be afraid of the future as I strove to serve Him with all my heart.

Remember the challenges that I thought I faced prior to my mission? My dentist? I found another. My university? They made an exception for me. Remember that young woman? She married one of my good friends.

But God truly blessed me richly. And I learned that the blessings of the Lord can come in ways different from how we expect. After all, His thoughts are not our thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8–9).

Among the many rich blessings He has given me for serving Him as a full-time missionary are a greater faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement and a stronger knowledge and testimony of His teachings, so that I am not easily swayed by “every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14). I lost my fear of teaching. My capacity to face challenges with optimism increased. By observing individuals and families I met or taught as a missionary, I learned that the teachings of God are true when He says that sin does not bring true happiness and that obedience to the commandments of God helps us prosper both temporally and spiritually (see Mosiah 2:41; Alma 41:10). And I learned for myself that God is a God of miracles (see Mormon 9).

All of these things were instrumental in my preparation for adult life, including possible marriage and parenthood, Church service, and professional and community life.

I recall being 14 years old and on vacation at my grandma and grandpa's house. In a small bedroom on the second floor of their farmhouse, I remember reading the Book of Mormon where it says that to be prosperous I had to keep the commandments. I felt the Holy Ghost whisper to me that it was true. This story is not a dramatic story, but it's one I reflect on often because it was clear to me, and it helped shape my future.

Gordon B. Hinckley had begun to mature, but his growing-up years weren’t without normal childhood mischief. One day, he and several of his schoolmates decided to skip a day of class. The boys knew they couldn’t stay home because their mothers would ask questions. They couldn’t go to a movie because they had no money, and they didn’t want to go to the park for fear the school’s truant officer would catch them. After much deliberation it was decided they would just wander around and waste the day.
The following morning, the boys’ principal, Mr. Stearns, met them at the school’s front door. “His demeanor matched his name. He said some pretty straightforward things and then told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents,” President Hinckley recalls. “I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. … I said that I needed a note. She wrote a note. It was very brief. … It read as follows:
“‘Dear Mr. Stearns,
“‘Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.’
“… I have never forgotten my mother’s note. Though I had been an active party to the action we had taken, I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd” (Ensign, May 1993, p. 53).

And so it was on Tuesday morning of this week, just after 9:00 a.m. as the Bishopric was beginning a meeting with the Asia Area Presidency, who are here for conference, that I was called to meet with President Monson, along with his counselors. Moments later, as I walked into the boardroom adjacent to his office, I must have looked nervous sitting across the table, as he kindly spoke to calm my nerves. He commented, noting my age, that I seemed quite young and even looked younger than my age.

Then, within a few moments, President Monson described that acting on the will of the Lord, he was extending a call to the Quorum of the Twelve to me. He asked me if I would accept this call, to which, following what I am sure was a very undignified audible gasp, in complete shock, I responded affirmatively. And then, before I could even verbalize a tsunami of indescribable emotion, most of which were feelings of inadequacy, President Monson kindly reached out to me, describing how he was called many years ago as an Apostle by President David O. McKay, at which time he too felt inadequate. He calmly instructed me, “Bishop Stevenson, the Lord will qualify those whom He calls.” These soothing words of a prophet have been a source of peace, a calm in a storm of painful self-examination and tender feelings in the ensuing agonizing hours which have passed day and night since then.

At age 25, I felt ready for marriage. I had already served a mission and felt that marriage was the next step for me. Marriage was promised to me in my patriarchal blessing, and a recent priesthood blessing had told me that it would happen “soon.” Not long after that, I started a new semester at school and quickly began dating someone. I’ll spare you all the details, but right before we were going to get engaged, he broke up with me. On my birthday.
I was devastated. This was the only thing I had prayed for consistently and so deeply for the past five years. And I felt like not only were my prayers not answered, but the very thing I had longed for was intentionally taken away from me.
I was so confused. I had felt spiritual feelings during the relationship that this was the right decision. But it just felt like God was being cruel and merciless—like He was intentionally taking good things out of my life. It seemed like the things He was doing were contrary to what I knew about His nature.
I had a bit of a faith crisis because there was no way I could look at what I was told about God and what He had done in not answering my prayers and reconcile the two logically. But my only choice was to go to Him with my broken heart—broken from both my unanswered prayers and my failed relationship. I felt like I had nothing left.
In trying to draw closer to Him, I began reading the Book of Mormon every day with a sincerity I hadn’t been capable of before. And little by little, as I expressed what tiny acts of faith I could to keep my broken heart soft and close to Him, answers started coming.
Eventually I realized that there had been some red flags and unhealthy patterns in the relationship that I had been unwilling to see. I began to understand that God had approved of my agency to move forward in the relationship. I started to see all my unanswered prayers in a different light. And I realized that God had been merciful all along.
Because I felt so broken and vulnerable after this experience, I looked for the most uplifting and wholesome friends I could find. I eventually began dating one of those friends. I learned to take this new relationship very slowly, and we laid a great foundation of friendship and selfless love that eventually took us to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. God answered my prayers, over time and after I had exercised faith in Him.