Gospel Story Finder

Even the familiar became more meaningful for many participating in the conference. David Howell, a priest in the Bountiful Central Stake, together with other musician friends from school, rehearsed several LDS hymns to present in one of the workshops. “It was the first time I’ve played hymns in a group. We watched people’s eyes water during ‘A Poor Wayfaring Man.’ The hymns brought out whole different feelings in me. I really realized the meaning of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers,’ ‘God of Our Fathers,’ and ‘Firm As the Mountains Around Us.’ I think we really touched others too.”

“I’ll tell you,” Dad said, smiling. “When Uncle Max and I were boys, we loved to play baseball. Every chance we got, we would be outside hitting and pitching and running the bases with the other kids in our neighborhood. Uncle Max loved baseball so much that sometimes he would even roll over in the middle of the night and shake me until I woke up, then tell me about some great play that he’d just made in his dreams.
“One day when we were playing ball, Uncle Max was hit on the collarbone by a fastball. It hit him so hard that it broke the bone.”
“Did it hurt?” I asked, feeling my collarbone.
“Yes, it did,” Dad continued. “But the worst part was that the doctor told Max that he couldn’t play any more baseball until his collarbone healed, which nearly broke Max’s heart. Day after day he’d sit on the porch, wearing his favorite catcher’s mitt and watching us play.
“‘It won’t be long till you’re as good as new,’ Grandma would tell him. But it was long. The bone didn’t heal like it was supposed to, and as the weeks dragged on, Uncle Max stopped coming out on the porch to watch. He didn’t seem to want to do anything. It was like the happiness had gone right out of him.
“Then one day the screen door flew open, and Grandma came bustling into the house with something in a brown paper sack.
“Max was sitting in the rocker, staring out the window. Grandma held the sack out to him and said softly, ‘Max?’ When he finally looked up, she said, ‘This is for you.’
“Uncle Max reached up with his good arm and took the sack. Inside was a small black case, and inside the case was a shiny silver clarinet. Next to my Roger Maris baseball card, that clarinet was just about the finest thing that I’d ever seen.
“As Uncle Max lifted the pieces out of the case, his eyes lit up. ‘Is it really mine?’ he asked Grandma.
“‘Yes, Max, it’s yours to keep.’ She beamed, then sighed. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
“‘Wasn’t it expensive?’ Grandpa asked, a little anxiously.
“Grandma smiled. ‘That’s the best part,’ she replied reassuringly. ‘It was only five dollars, and it’s already paid for. Do you remember the money that I have been saving in the sugar bowl for something special? Well, today as I was looking around at Deseret Industries, I saw it, and I thought, This is it. This is something special—something to put the sunshine back into our Max.’
“After that,” Dad continued, “the air was often punctuated with the sounds of Max learning to play the clarinet. At first it sounded pretty awful. But as the weeks passed, it began to sound more and more like music.”
“But what about baseball?” I asked. “Did he ever play baseball again?”
“Oh, he still loved baseball, all right.” Dad smiled. “But by the time his collarbone was healed, he loved music just as much. In fact, when he attended high school, he was the best clarinet player in the band.
“But you know,” Dad said, looking straight at me, “that clarinet wouldn’t have been sitting on the shelf, waiting for Uncle Max, if someone hadn’t been generous enough to give it away.”

When I was taking a bath one morning I could see what I thought was a bar of soap on a shelf high above me. I reached up to grab it. Suddenly I had a strong feeling that I should not pick it up. I said to myself, “Who knows what could be up there?”
When I stood up to see what was on the shelf, I discovered that the blue and red object I had seen was not my soap but a razor. If I had grabbed it, I could have cut my hand on the sharp edge. The Holy Ghost warned me, and because I listened I wasn’t hurt.Christina G., age 8, Missouri

I learned faith and the application of faith on my mission.

My mission president had a plan to baptize each month. I believe every mission president has that plan. Implementing the plan took great faith. The only thing that changed in regards to the plan was the month and the faith of the missionaries to implement the plan.

I had not baptized for almost three months (one month in my previous area and two months in my present area). Neither did I implement the monthly plan. Finally out of desperation, I decided, as the senior companion, to implement the plan.

The plan required the missionaries to go before their ward priesthood executive committee and prophesize of success. As some of you might know, the ward priesthood executive committee was composed of the bishopric, the HPG leader, the elder’s quorum president, the young men’s president and the seventy’s president (presently known today as the ward mission leader).

The missionaries were to inform the members of the PEC that they had a family that would be presented to the ward on a particular Sunday because we were going to baptize them on the Saturday prior to that Sunday. We were to share their names, where they lived and anything about them. The last thing we were supposed to do was to tell the PEC members that sometimes our families do not get baptized for one reason or another and if the PEC could give us a back-up family. That took faith. To tell someone you’re going to baptize someone and in the same breath tell them they might not get baptize—so do you have a back-up family?

Well, it was the last Sunday in January. We attended PEC meeting. In my journal entry it reads, “This was the day that I showed my faith and went before Priesthood Executive Committee and said I have a family to present before the ward on February 19th and that family will be baptized February 18th.” We presented the name of a mother and her three-year-old daughter. I told them she was married however her husband was not interested. We told the PEC where she lived. I then asked for a back-up family from the ward. The Bishop looked at me and then turned to each member of the PEC and asked, “Do you have a back up family?” High Priest Group Leader, NO. Elder’s Quorum President, NO. Young Men’s President, NO. Seventy’s President, NO.

The Bishop then turned to me and said, “Elder Serrao, we don’t have a back up family but since this a part-member family, I will assign the Seventy’s President to assign her a home teacher.

In all my years as a leader, that has been the quickest that I have ever seen a home teacher assigned to an investigator.

Well, my companion and I left the meeting. My junior companion looked at me, his senior, and said, “What are we going to do now?” He had a legitimate question. We did not know this sister that well. We had visited her once or twice. The sister missionaries taught her at one time but we just didn’t know her that well. My junior companion had legitimate concerns.

I turned to him and told him we are going to work like we have never worked before and we did. We tracted nights and on Sundays and every chance we had. We filled our days with being busy and engaged in the Lord’s work. We saw her and her daughter every chance we could. We introduced her to the members. We made her feel comfortable in church.

We taught her on February 6th and challenged her to be baptized on February 18th. She accepted the invitation to be baptized. On February 7th, she brought her daughter to primary and met the primary presidency. On February 12th, she came to church. On February 14th, she was interviewed for baptism. On February 16th, her husband consented to her baptism. On February 18th, prophesy was fulfilled.

I was transferred out of the area. For the next 6 months, I implemented the plan for the month. I baptized each month and the wards I was in came up with a back-up family and the back-up family was baptized also. Faith became the motive cause of all action and blessings followed faith and works.

During my first couple of years in high school, I was a little embarrassed to be a member of the Church because my religion was so different from those of my friends. I didn’t make much of an effort to share my beliefs.
I felt brave enough only once or twice to invite a friend to church, and each time I was extra careful to make sure it wasn’t on a fast Sunday. If I take her to a testimony meeting first, she’ll never want to come back, I thought. But one summer I learned a lesson about the power of testimony meetings.
School was out, flowers were blooming, and my younger sister Natalie and I were eagerly awaiting youth conference. Natalie, as usual, decided to bring along some friends—nonmembers named Tareneh and Angel. I thought they’d probably like youth conference, except for the testimony meeting.
We all had a great time together going to classes, dancing, and socializing. Then came the last activity of the weekend—the testimony meeting on Sunday.
The Spirit was overwhelming; it seemed to make our hearts expand. I was sure everyone in the room could feel that Spirit, but I still couldn’t help wondering if Angel and Tareneh thought Mormons were weird because they go up to the microphone and pour out their hearts to others.
But before I knew it, Tareneh went up to the microphone to bear her testimony. I couldn’t believe it! She told everyone that although she wasn’t LDS, she knew there was something special about the Church because of the way she felt during the meeting. She, like everyone else, had felt that amazing spirit.
Angel is a little shy and didn’t bear her testimony, but she later told us that she had wanted to. She eventually joined the Church.
That day I learned that a testimony meeting can be a powerful missionary tool because of the strong spirit that comes with it. I also realized it was wrong to let self-conscious, embarrassed feelings get in the way of sharing the gospel. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about being a Latter-day Saint.

At my baptism I received a set of scriptures. I was so excited. The black-bound books had my name engraved on them in bright gold letters. I proudly carried them to church every Sunday. Previously I had had only a Book of Mormon. Now I felt extra special carrying the other scriptures too.
As a new member of the Church, I decided I would read the Bible every day. But that only lasted about a week. I got confused with all the names and years in the first part of Genesis. So I tried just reading during the sacrament on Sundays. After a while I wasn’t thinking about Jesus anymore; I was just trying to piece together who was who in the Bible.
A year later, our family started reading the Book of Mormon together. When we finished the following year, I had forgotten almost everything we had read.
As I became older and could understand things better, I decided to read the Book of Mormon by myself.
I started okay, but soon began forgetting—or thinking I didn’t have enough time. When I did read, it went through my 11-year-old brain like water. I was just reading to read and was not really understanding what the book was saying.
Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.
Now that I have learned to “liken all scriptures unto us, that it might be for our profit and learning” (1 Ne. 19:23), I hope others will learn from my experience and be able to enjoy reading the scriptures too.

I wasn’t part of the popular crowd at my high school, so my circle of friends was smaller than most. I was so shy that I kept to myself most of the time. I was, as the saying goes, “painfully shy.” Indeed, I was so shy it hurt.
One day as I sat down at my desk in history class, another shy girl sat down behind me. We had spoken to each other prior to this, I’m sure, but I didn’t really know her.
As she set her books on top of her desk, her notebook crashed to the floor beside me. I turned to pick it up and noticed the words Seminary—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the cover. I reached down and retrieved the binder. As I handed it to her, I timidly said, “Oh, you go to church on Saturday?”
Her face displayed confusion at the question. “No, why?”
I pointed to the notebook cover. “It says, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Doesn’t that mean you go to church on the last day of the week?”
She smiled and giggled slightly. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about the Mormon Church?”
I answered quite honestly, “Not very much.”
She inhaled deeply again and asked, “Would you like to know more?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied without hesitation.
At that instant her lower jaw must have hit the floor. Her eyes sparkled, and she looked visibly relieved. I found out her name was Yvonne Anderson, and we became friends. Before long we had set a date for me to meet with the missionaries and receive the first discussion. And when I was baptized, Yvonne was there.
I know that notebook did not fall on the floor by accident. And silly as my first question must have sounded, it was golden: it opened up a way for one shy girl to say to another, “Would you like to know more?”
That day in history class, an instant bond was formed. Because of two golden questions, two shy girls became eternal friends.

It was my junior year of high school, and I was taking the usual classes, including advanced placement (A.P.) American history. This was my most important class. I had waited two years to take it and was determined to succeed.
It was a difficult class. We had a test every week, research papers to do, weekly essays to write, and a class presentation now and then. I learned a lot, but I never could seem to do well on those awful tests.
The whole goal of the class was just to pass the infamous A.P. test at the end of the year. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Griffin, saying that it took at least a grade of three or above to pass. Those words rang through my mind night and day all year long.
I worked as hard in that class as I thought I possibly could. I studied every day, met with a tutor, took notes in class, did my weekly essays on time, and paid close attention. I decided the worst thing that could happen would be to fail.
Spring rolled around, and my best friend, Emily, and I began studying together. We discussed, wrote, and memorized. The first evening went smoothly, and when I got home I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me to pass this test. Help me to make this year worthwhile.” My prayer the next night and the next was much the same.
I could feel May 15 coming closer until it arrived. I got up and, just like every morning, got down on my knees and prayed. But this morning was special. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I’ve done everything I can do to pass this test. Please help me.” I went off to school with confidence.
“You may begin.” Those anxiously awaited words were spoken. The test was as difficult as I expected, but I really felt good as I filled in the answers. I finished the test and turned it in. I was so happy it was over, and I was sure I had passed. After all, I had studied and prayed and had even had a father’s blessing the night before.
Weeks went by, and I checked the mail every day for my scores. I thought they’d never come, but they finally did. I was lying down when my mom walked in.
“Kathy, I’m sorry,” she said. “You got a two.”
At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was real. I was so confused. What more could I have done? I was discouraged and upset that my prayers weren’t answered. I had prayed to pass the test, not fail.
I felt this way for about two weeks. Then one day I picked up the Doctrine and Covenants and read: “The glory of God is intelligence” (D&C 93:36).
I tried to ignore the scripture. I didn’t feel intelligent. I felt like a failure. But after a while it dawned on me what I had done wrong. The glory of God is intelligence, not a three or above on an advanced placement test. I was basing my success on the score of an exam! I didn’t even think of how much I had learned in the class. I had forgotten the whole purpose of getting an education. I was more concerned with getting the answers right than pleasing myself and my Heavenly Father. I am so thankful for my education and will never forget this much-needed lesson.

About twelve years ago I had a call early in the morning from a beloved friend who is a physician. He asked me to come to the hospital to administer with him to his infant son, just born and fighting for his life. We reached our hands into the incubator and laid them on this tiny boy and prayed, and then sat and waited with Larry’s mother while he took a turn for the better. We were there when the pediatrician came to announce that he was going to make it. He came through that difficult ordeal with a fine mind and a strong, indomitable spirit. Only a pair of legs that are not quite as strong as they one day will be remain to remind Larry how blessed he is to be alive.

Recently this little boy’s big brother returned from having served an honorable mission for the Lord abroad. A perceptive uncle, observing the reunion at the airport, wrote a letter to Larry that I had the privilege of reading. I asked if I might have permission to quote it and have been given that permission. I would like you to know about a Latter-day Saint boy just ordained a deacon who tries to practice what we preach.

“Dear Larry,” the letter said. “Yesterday I got a lump in my throat without even swallowing a frog; and I got a tear in my eye without even inhaling a hippy’s breath! More than that, I got a picture tattooed on my memory that I’ll never forget.

“It’s only right that I thank you for the lump, the tears, and the picture, for a handsome boy named Larry Ellsworth gave me all three of them … and he didn’t even know it or ask me for a receipt.

“It started when he stood waiting for his brother to return from serving our Heavenly Father as a missionary for two years in a far-off land named Chile. You could see that the two years had been longer for this boy than for anyone else. He was so intense, so pale, so absorbed with just watching and waiting.

“Then to see his face light up when he saw his brother again! It was like a flashlight in a dark room.

“Someone whispered that this wonderful boy had been saving his nickels, dimes, and quarters for two years to buy his big brother a basketball … a more than $30 ‘best there is’ basketball because he loved him! He wouldn’t let anyone else contribute. It was his idea and his gift … the best way, out of money he could have spent for himself but chose not to because he loved someone else so much!

“Then I watched this fine boy stand, without saying a word, at the side of his brother, happy just to look way up at his face, hold on to his leg, and see him home again.

“I have a special love and admiration for both of those boys: the giant who went far away all alone to do what was right and the little brother who waited and planned and remembered.

“Larry, you’re a fine boy. I’m sure that you’ll be a great man … for you have a big heart and a tender conscience. Some can run faster, jump higher, walk farther, play longer just because they had an easier time getting born into this world. That’s no credit to them. But you have more than most to be thankful for, because Heavenly Father sent one of his favorite sons to live in your body … and it’s who lives in a house that makes all the difference. Thanks, Larry, for the lesson an old dumb uncle learned yesterday just by watching. Love, Uncle Dick.”

Let’s start with the assignment to be a ministering sister. Whether you have that assignment as a 10-year-old daughter in a family where the father has died, or as a Relief Society president whose town was recently affected by fire, or when you are in a hospital recovering from surgery—you have a chance to fulfill your call from the Lord to be His ministering daughter.
Those appear to be very different ministering assignments. Yet they all require the preparation of a powerful, loving heart, a fearless faith that the Lord gives no command save He prepares a way, and a desire to go and do for Him.
Because she was prepared, the 10-year-old daughter put her arms around her widowed mother and prayed to know how to help her family. And she keeps at it.
The Relief Society president had prepared to minister before the unexpected fire in her area. She had come to know and love the people. Her faith in Jesus Christ had grown over the years from having received answers to her prayers for the Lord to help her in small services for Him. Because of her long preparation, she was ready and eager to organize her sisters to minister to people and families in distress.
A sister recovering in a hospital from surgery was prepared to minister to her fellow patients. She had spent a lifetime ministering for the Lord to every stranger as if he or she was a neighbor and a friend. When she felt in her heart the call to minister in the hospital, she served others so bravely and with such love that the other patients began to hope she wouldn’t recover too soon.
In the same way that you prepare to minister, you can and must prepare for your call to be a leader for the Lord when it comes. It will require faith in Jesus Christ, rooted in your deep love of the scriptures, to lead people and to teach His word without fear. Then you will be prepared to have the Holy Ghost as your constant companion. You will be eager to say, “I will,” when your counselor in the Young Women presidency says, with panic in her voice, “Sister Alvarez is sick today. Who will teach her class?”
It takes much the same preparation for the wonderful day when the Lord calls you to an assignment as a mother. But it will also take an even more loving heart than you needed earlier. It will take faith in Jesus Christ beyond what has ever before been in your heart. And it will take a capacity to pray for the influence, direction, and comfort of the Holy Ghost beyond what you may have felt was even possible.
You might reasonably ask how a man of any age can know what mothers need. It’s a valid question. Men can’t know everything, but we can learn some lessons by revelation from God. And we can also learn much by observation, when we take the opportunity to seek the Spirit to help us understand what we observe.
I have been observing Kathleen Johnson Eyring for the 57 years we have been married. She is the mother of four boys and two girls. To date, she has accepted the call to be a mothering influence on more than a hundred direct family members and hundreds more whom she has adopted into her mother heart.
You remember President Nelson’s perfect description of a woman’s divine mission—including her mission of mothering: “As mother, teacher, or nurturing Saint, she molds living clay to the shape of her hopes. In partnership with God, her divine mission is to help spirits live and souls be lifted. This is the measure of her creation.”
As nearly as I can discern, my wife, Kathleen, has followed that charge, given to our Father’s daughters. The key appears to me to be the words “she molds living clay to the shape of her hopes … in partnership with God.” She did not force. She molded. And she had a template for her hopes, and to which she tried to mold those she loved and mothered. Her template was the gospel of Jesus Christ—as I could see through prayerful observation over the years.
Becoming a covenant woman in partnership with God is how great and good daughters of God have always mothered, led, and ministered, serving in whatever way and place He has prepared for them. I promise that you will find joy in your journey to your heavenly home as you return to Him as a covenant-keeping daughter of God.
I testify that God the Father lives and He loves you. He will answer your prayers. His Beloved Son leads, in every detail, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. President Russell M. Nelson is His living prophet. And Joseph Smith saw and spoke with God the Father and Jesus Christ in a grove of trees in Palmyra, New York. I know that is true. I also testify that Jesus Christ is your Savior; He loves you. And through His Atonement, you can be purified and lifted to the high and holy callings which will come to you. I so testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Shortly after the initiation of BYU-TV, my wife, Marilyn, received an early-morning phone call from a friend in Pennsylvania. More than 25 years ago we lived near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and became friends with Robert and Kathy Brueninger during the time they were investigating the Church. They joined the Church soon after we met them, and one year later we accompanied them to the Washington D.C. Temple, where they were sealed as a family. They have been stalwarts of the Church for more than 25 years. Their children have grown, attended BYU, found their spouses here, and graduated. The Brueningers have been a model convert family. When Marilyn picked up the telephone, it was Kathy Brueninger on the other end.

She began by saying, “Guess what?”

Marilyn had no idea. “Tell me!”

Kathy then indicated that she and Bob had purchased a DISH Network satellite, which had been installed the night before. That morning Kathy had turned the TV on and was switching channels when suddenly she saw a familiar face. It was the January 2000 devotional in which Marilyn and I were speaking. She was unaware that BYU-TV was even on the DISH Network. As she told Marilyn about her experience, she started to cry. And then she said these words: “For the first time since we joined the Church, I feel fully connected! I can now participate in the BYU devotionals! I can watch general conference and Women’s Conference in my own home! We can watch the CES firesides and relive Education Week.”

As soon as their conversation ended, Marilyn called me at the university and relayed the story.

I have pondered the meaning of the event in Kathy Brueninger’s life and have concluded that we do not fully appreciate or understand the importance of this university to the membership of the Church. Technology is enabling the university to reach the world. It is becoming an incredible asset in the Church’s arsenal to build a worldwide community of Saints--to build Zion. It requires the very best of us! We must meet the challenge!

It might seem like it would be hard to spend Christmas in another country, away from friends and familiar traditions, but Natalie Bone, a Laurel in the Orem Utah Lakeridge Stake, Lakeridge Eighth Ward, will tell you it can be the very best way to spend a holiday.
“It wasn’t really hard to be away,” she says. “It felt like I was really doing something purposeful.”
Natalie and her parents spent last Christmas at an orphanage in Cuautemoc, Chihuahua, Mexico. While they were there, Natalie distributed to the children gifts purchased with money that was donated by members of Natalie’s ward, her classmates, and others who are friends with Natalie’s family.
“I was impressed at how polite and appreciative the children were. They each shared their gifts with the others. I learned a great lesson about being grateful and sharing,” says Natalie.

Just days ago, I learned about a grandmother who rehearsed the Easter story with her four-year-old grandson by using simple replicas of the tomb, the stone that covered the sepulchre, Jesus, Mary, the disciples, and the angel. The little boy watched and listened intently as his grandma shared the burial, closing and opening of the tomb, and the garden scene of the Resurrection. He later carefully repeated the story in surprising detail to his parents as he moved the figures about himself. Following this sweet moment, he was asked if he knew why we have Easter. The boy looked up and with childlike reasoning answered, “Cuz Him’s alive.”

Growing up, I saw many examples of meaningful relationships between married women and their mothers-in-law. I saw mothers-in-law who showed up at difficult times to ease their daughter-in-law’s burdens. I saw women acting as if they were lifelong family members. And I looked forward to having a relationship like that in my own life.
So when I did get married, I was surprised by how much harder it was to get along with my husband’s parents than I expected. I felt hopeless for any chance of a positive relationship with my in-laws. But as time has gone on, I’ve learned that it is still possible to cultivate a good relationship with my in-laws—I just needed to change my perspective and expectations.
My husband’s parents and I have very opposite personalities. And as a young adult trying to adjust to married life, work at a difficult job, and handle college classes, I craved validation. I yearned for encouragement. But what I got from my in-laws—especially my mother-in-law—was criticism.
Their family frequently pointed out each other’s perceived faults. To them it was normal, but it tore me apart when I was the target, especially when it came from my husband’s mother.
I did everything I could to impress her, but it never seemed to be enough. So I oscillated between trying to earn my in-laws’ approval and trying to distance myself from them altogether. As a result, I didn’t want my husband to tell them much about our lives.
Even while distancing myself, however, I still found that criticism seeped into my life. Without realizing it, I accepted the negative messages I was receiving and compounded them with my own. I constantly told myself that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, thin enough—anything enough. This vicious cycle would have existed even without my in-laws, but all our interactions seemed to fuel the fire.
My husband could tell that I often felt hurt or angry by his parents’ words and behavior. He tried his best to balance his love for his parents and his love for me, but it was a difficult and sometimes sore spot in our relationship.
One day, as I was feeling only a shadow of hope, I decided to pray for my in-laws and our unhappy dynamic. And then the realization hit me hard: I would never have the relationship with my mother-in-law that I’d always wanted. I felt sorrow for a moment, but the Spirit came quickly with this gentle thought: “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a good relationship.”
Honestly, it had never entered my head that our relationship could be different from what I’d pictured and still be a positive one.
I’d also never thought that my expectations were part of the problem. I’d wanted my mother-in-law to fit my vision of who she should be, but it wasn’t fair to only accept her if she fulfilled my expectations.
How freeing it was to let go of the expectations I had for my mother-in-law and still believe a better relationship could develop, especially as I relied on the Savior.
As I gave the Savior my feelings of inadequacy and the pain of unmet expectations, I experienced what Sister Michelle D. Craig, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, once described: “Jesus’s miracles often begin with a recognition of want, need, failure, or inadequacy. … [The disciples] gave what they had to Jesus, and then He provided the miracle.”1
I’ve learned that I can focus on my mother-in-law’s strengths, and Christ can help me see her as He does. I have come to appreciate that she is a grandma who cares about her grandkids, that she serves faithfully in her callings, and that she loves the temple—all things I missed when I saw only her disapproval and hurtful words. I can strive to focus on these positive points and find common ground.
And instead of walking the same mental path and beating myself up over and over again, I can stop accepting judgments and unfair expectations from others and repent of shortcomings when I need to.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminded us that “we should not demean or vilify ourselves, as if beating up on ourselves is somehow going to make us the person God wants us to become.” Instead, we should remember that “the grace of Christ offers … salvation from our own persistent self-criticism.”2
When I work on feeling more peace within myself, it gives me a greater capacity to contribute to my relationship with my mother-in-law, including sending her pictures of her grandkids and acknowledging holidays and her birthday in fun ways.
My experience with my mother-in-law is just one piece of me realizing that I need to be at peace with who I am and not let others define me. I can depend on the Lord to heal my imperfections, because “his grace [is] sufficient for [me],” and by his grace I “may be perfect in Christ” (Moroni 10:32).
I hold on to the promise I felt from the Spirit that the Savior can help me continue to grow and that I can continually build a loving relationship with my in-laws by recognizing their personal goodness and enjoying our common ground without molding them to my ideal or trying to fit theirs.
I feel the promise also applies to the relationship I have with myself. When I am kinder to myself and focus on my divine identity (as well as everyone else’s) as a child of Heavenly Father, it positively affects how I interact with others, and vice versa. I can progress when I recognize the power of my Savior to help me overcome my imperfections and to help others do the same.

In 1965, Cliff and his wife, Betty, invited missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints into their home. In 1966, Betty was baptized. Cliff attended Church with her and was asked to play the piano at meetings, and also acted as branch clerk on assignment from the branch president. In 1968, the year the branch was made a ward, he was baptised and called as second counsellor in the bishopric. In 1973, the ward was blessed with a small organ, so his talents were used to accompany the Sunday services, and this has continued ever since.

Of course, many times we are only seed planters; we may never know, in this life, if they sprouted and bore fruit. For instance, on my way back from a recent serviceman’s conference, I was flying in the Philippines from Baguio to Manila and was delayed in the airport. Two French ladies who spoke no English were lost there, so I went to them and asked, “Qu’est-ce que vous voulez? (Where are you going?) Quel est votre (What is your) destination?” It was the same as mine—Manila—so we talked while we were waiting for the plane. They naturally wanted to know why I was traveling to the area so I explained to them about the Church—not about the celestial kingdom and the Angel Moroni, but about how the gospel teaches patience in inconvenient circumstances and why the gospel made me happy. I left them my card and an invitation to contact the missionaries, but I have no way of knowing what will come of that seed-planting.
In one way, it does not matter and I do not need to know—my happiness comes from telling them about the gospel and feeling the Spirit of the Lord helping me. And that happiness is something I can feel every single day if I ask for it.

My first Sunday home, I was lying on my bed and realized I hadn’t looked at Facebook since coming home. I opened it and was overwhelmed by the nostalgia of pictures and videos from before my mission. I love to dance and had started watching some dance videos when I heard my mom call up to my room, “Breanne! What are you listening to?”
I listened more closely and realized how inappropriate the background music was. I was pretty embarrassed that here I was—a freshly returned missionary—listening to music that wasn’t inviting the Spirit.
That experience helped me realize how easy it is to become more relaxed in how much we maintain our gospel standards when we aren’t full-time missionaries. I wanted to stay changed. I wanted to remain the person God had helped me become. Luckily, I recognized that, for me, what I was listening to wasn’t bringing the Spirit and was able to adjust.

Speaking of Brigham Young has reminded me of the Perpetual Education Fund which we have established. It was only a year ago that I first spoke of this in our general conference. The contributions of generous Latter-day Saints have come in to assure us that this endeavor is now on a solid foundation. We will need more yet, but already it has been demonstrated that vast good will come of this undertaking. Young men and women in the underprivileged areas of the world, young men and women who for the most part are returned missionaries, will be enabled to get good educations that will lift them out of the slough of poverty in which their forebears for generations have struggled. They will marry and go forward with skills that will qualify them to earn well and take their places in society where they can make a substantial contribution. They will likewise grow in the Church, filling positions of responsibility and rearing families who will continue in the faith.

I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.

He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”

And so it goes, my brothers and sisters. As this great work moves across the earth, we are blessing now some 2,400 young people. Others will be blessed.

Everyone thought it was the coolest Christmas gift. My nine-year-old brother had just opened a huge bag of colorful, sticky, squishy toy frogs and threw one at the ceiling, where it stuck for a minute before falling to the floor. Excited, he offered frogs to the rest of us, and soon frogs decorated the ceiling, the walls, and the Christmas tree.
My brother felt so much joy from throwing these frogs that he wanted his family to experience it too. Similarly, when we feel the joy that comes from living the gospel, it’s natural to want to share that joy with others. And you can do that by participating in family history, giving your ancestors—and you—gifts that will last for eternity.

A few months ago, I sent a simple note of appreciation to a colleague who was under great pressure to meet significant deadlines. In response to my note, this colleague replied, “You must have been feeling the Spirit today, because I really needed to hear those words. You have no idea how they touched my heart and will keep me moving forward.” Coincidence? No. The Lord knew what was needed, and I am grateful to have helped Him bless another by acting on an impression to speak kind words.