Gospel Story Finder

My husband and I now have four kids. We’ve learned the dance and the juggle of parenthood. In the beginning, I began most days at 4:00 a.m. to get some painting in before my kids woke up. I tried to paint six days a week, even if some days only allowed 30 minutes. I started each painting session with prayer, knowing I wasn’t much without the Lord’s help. I prayed not only to be enabled in my art but also to know what was most important that day and committed to putting His purposes first. Progress wasn’t fast, but it was steady.

Fast forward 12 years from my graduation day. I was having a moment of discouragement. Life seemed too full. Motherhood had been more challenging than I had anticipated. I sat at my easel crying, wondering if I would ever really be able to become the great artist I had dreamed of being. I felt impressed to pull my old journal off the shelf, and I turned to my entry on April 30, 2006, the day after my graduation. I had totally forgotten my remarkable experience with President Nelson! Somehow the whirlwind of life had almost eroded it from my memory. There before me were words from the current prophet, “Absolutely!” The tears turned to ones of gratitude as I looked back at all I had been able to accomplish since that time, and I also looked forward with hope.

A few months later, I got a call from one of the Ensign magazine’s designers, asking if they could use one of my paintings on the inside cover of the November 2018 general conference issue. I was floored! Growing up, the first thing I had always done when getting the Church magazines was to peruse them for paintings. Now one of my pieces would be in there! Then, when I was told that they wanted to pair my painting with words from President Nelson, I could see the hand of God encouraging me forward.

I still have a long way to go on my artistic journey, but I’m so thankful for President Nelson’s hope in the Lord and in us. I’m thankful for his optimism and his confidence. I know that as we exercise faith in the Lord we will be able to do great things, even things we once thought impossible. “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).

There is a tale of a certain Jewish rabbi who was enjoying the sunrise with two friends. He asked them, “How do you know when the night is over and a new day has begun?”
One of them replied, “When you can look into the east and can distinguish a sheep from a goat.”
The other then responded, “When you can look into the horizon and distinguish an olive tree from a fig tree.”
They then turned to the wise rabbi and asked him the same question. After long reflection, he replied, “When you can look into the east and see the face of a woman or the face of a man and can say, ‘She is my sister; he is my brother.’”

While pneumonia often came as a complication of influenza, it wasn’t always the case. Herman Kerr Danielsen had just been honourably released from his missionary service in Belfast, and then passed away on 8 March 1919. He was preparing to return home when he contracted pneumonia. The physician noted that influenza did not precede the death, “as so often is the case at the present time.” It was a tragedy; the energetic missionary was known for being fearless and was “always ready to bear his testimony to the truth, and he made sincere friends wherever he went.”16 For his loved ones it was noted that:
“It should be consoling to those who are called upon to mourn his death in a foreign land, so far away from home and friends, to know that he performed a good mission; that his labours were acceptable to the servants of the Lord; that he was loved by the saints who knew him. and that, undoubtedly, he was called home for a wise purpose, which will be made plain in the due time of the Lord.”
The Saints in the Liverpool, Newcastle, and Irish conferences held him dear in their memories and treasured their associations with him.

Years ago a friend told this experience. He was 17 years old and with his companion stopped at a cottage in the southern states. It was his first day in the mission field and was his first door. A gray-haired woman stood inside the screen and asked what they wanted. His companion nudged him to proceed. Frightened and somewhat tongue-tied, he finally blurted out, “As man is God once was, and as God is man may become.”
Strangely enough, she was interested and asked where he got that. He answered, “It’s in the Bible.” She left the door for a moment, returned with her Bible. Commenting that she was a minister of a congregation, she handed it to him and said, “Here, show me.”
He took the Bible and nervously thumbed back and forth through it. Finally he handed it back saying, “Here, I can’t find it. I’m not even sure that it’s in there, and even if it is, I couldn’t find it. I’m just a poor farm boy from out in Cache Valley in Utah. I haven’t had much training. But I come from a family where we live the gospel of Jesus Christ. And it’s done so much for our family that I’ve accepted a call to come on a mission for two years, at my own expense, to tell people how I feel about it.”
After half a century, he could not hold back the tears as he told me how she pushed open the door and said, “Come in, my boy. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“They kicked me out of school because I’m a Mormon,” says seven-year-old Raúl. That may seem like a big price for one so young to pay. But Raúl doesn’t think so—even though he was happy at the school, had lots of friends there, and loved his teacher.
Raúl Ever Aquino Gonzales was a first grader in a religious school in a small town in Paraguay—and was the only Latter-day Saint in the school. One day, he says, “people started criticizing the Church without knowing anything about it. They were saying things that aren’t so.” Raúl—a likable, outgoing boy—felt he couldn’t just sit there without saying anything. “I tried to defend the Church by telling them they were wrong,” he explains. “I was expelled because I wouldn’t conform.”
Now Raúl, still a first grader, is enrolled in a different school. “I’ve already told the people at the new school that I’m a Mormon,” he says. And with a grin, he adds: “But they didn’t kick me out!” His best friend in his new class is also a member of the Church.

The first time I attended a Church meeting, I heard many words that didn’t make sense to me. Who were the Beehives? What was the Aaronic Priesthood? the Relief Society?
If this is the first time you have attended a Church meeting and you are feeling confused by something you don’t understand, do not worry! I was clueless too. But I still remember the impressions, the new feelings of peace and joy I experienced. I did not know it then, but the Holy Ghost was whispering to my ears and to my heart, “This is right.”

Some years ago president David O. McKay told from this pulpit of the experience of some of those in the Martin handcart company. Many of these early converts had emigrated from Europe and were too poor to buy oxen or horses and a wagon. They were forced by their poverty to pull handcarts containing all of their belongings across the plains by their own brute strength. President McKay relates an occurrence which took place some years after the heroic exodus: “A teacher, conducting a class, said it was unwise ever to attempt, even to permit them [the Martin handcart company] to come across the plains under such conditions.
“[According to a class member,] some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded.
“An old man in the corner … sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it, then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
“In substance [he] said, ‘I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there, too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.
“‘I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.’” He continues: “‘I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“‘Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.’” (Relief Society Magazine, Jan. 1948, p. 8.)

I used to be guilty of judging by appearance back in the days when I could see, before I lost my sight because of diabetes. I remember in particular my girls’ glee club teacher in junior high school. She was about as plain as a person could be, with limp hair and a pock-marked complexion. She wore drab clothing, and even in conducting the choir she seemed to be a shy, backward person with about as much personality as a soda cracker. I am ashamed to admit that she was subject to many rude remarks and cruel jokes behind her back from us girls.
One day at the end of the school year, some friends of mine thought it would be funny to leave an anonymous note on her desk telling her what we really thought of her. I was elected to do the dirty work. But as I went into the empty room to leave the note, I couldn’t do it. Instead, overcome by what I now suspect was the Spirit, I quickly wrote a note thanking her for her efforts in leading the glee club and told her I had enjoyed singing.
As I was leaving the note on her desk, she entered the room. I was frozen to the spot as she walked to the desk, picked up the note, and read it. As I watched, I was astonished to see tears come to her eyes and flood down her cheeks. She clutched the note to her heart and in her mild way said, “Thank you.”
As I looked into her eyes at that moment, I believe I saw her clearly for the first time. I felt like I saw straight into her soul and sensed at once her loneliness, her pain, and her gentle goodness. At that moment, I loved her with a love that was far more powerful than anything I had ever felt for my favorite teachers. The Lord permitted me to see her heart as he sees it.

On the evening on the 21st of September, A.D. 1823, while I was praying unto God, and endeavoring to exercise faith in the precious promises of Scripture, all of a sudden a light like that of day, only of a far purer and more glorious appearance and brightness, burst into the room, indeed the first sight was as though the house was filled with consuming fire; the appearance produced a shock that affected the whole body; in a moment, a personage stood before me surrounded with a glory yet greater than that with which I was already surrounded. This messenger proclaimed himself to be an angel of God, sent to bring the joyful tidings that the covenant which God made with ancient Israel was at hand to be fulfilled, that the preparatory work for the second coming of the Messiah was speedily to commence; that the time was at hand for the Gospel in all its fullness to be preached in power, unto all nations that a people might be prepared for the Millennial reign. I was informed that I was chosen to be an instrument in the hands of God to bring about some of His purposes in this glorious dispensation.
I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this country and shown who they were, and from whence they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known unto me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient Prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22nd of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my hands.
These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long, and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the whole. The volume was something near 15 cm. in thickness, a part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its construction, and much skill in the art of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument, which the ancients called “Urim and Thummim,” which consisted of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breast plate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim, I translated the record by the gift and power of God.

For example, I honor those special souls who face challenges of parenthood with unwavering faith in their Maker. To a family dear to Sister Nelson and me, a son was recently born. This child was afflicted with multiple anomalies affecting virtually every system of his little body. Two operations were required in his first week of life. More will be necessary. When I spoke with the child’s parents, they did not ask, “Why did this happen to us?” Instead, they declared: “We know that this child is meant for us. God has entrusted this special baby to us. We will love him and care for him to the best of our ability.” Thank the Lord for such parents!

Illustration by Allen Garns
For a long time, I felt the desire to bake bread or make some extra food and just drop it off to someone in our ward to share my love and the Lord’s love with them, but I had never done it.
I love to cook, but only my husband and I are at home now. So I make smaller meals because huge meals usually take us several days to finish.
One night I decided to make some lasagna. Instead of making one large pan, I made two smaller pans. That way we would eat one for dinner, and I could give the other pan to someone who needed it.
I called the Relief Society president to see if anyone needed a meal brought to them. She mentioned a single mother who worked and had two children. That afternoon, I texted the mom and told her that I had made an extra lasagna and wanted to bring it over to her and her family.
She texted me back and said, “That is so weird! Sure, that would be great!” She was still at work, but her children would be home, so I could bring it over anytime.
A little while later, she texted me again and asked, “Did you know it was my birthday today?” I assured her that I had no idea. She replied, “Well, happy birthday to me!”
When I took the meal over, she had just gotten off work. She was thrilled, as were her children.
On Sunday, she found me at church, and with tears in her eyes, she told me that every year on her birthday, her grandmother would make her dinner—and it was always lasagna. Her grandmother had passed away the year before, and that was the first birthday her grandmother wouldn’t be there to make lasagna for her.
When I dropped off lasagna on her birthday, it strengthened her testimony that the Lord is aware of her and loves her. And it strengthened my testimony that if we make ourselves available to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands, He will show us where we can serve.

In the spring of 1970, our priest had announced that we would be selling our school to the Mormons. “You Chileans think that the Catholic Church is the only religion,” he said.
I thought, “Of course, what else?”
Our priest continued, “All of you will write a report on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Since the LDS mission office was only two blocks from our home, I went there to find information for my school project. When I got home, I looked at the pretty pamphlets about the Church and at the Book of Mormon. My copy of the book contained Moroni’s special promise right on the first page:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moro. 10:4–5).
When I read that promise, I received a spiritual witness that those words were true and that the Book of Mormon was true. But I was fifteen and not ready to be “religious,” so I decided not to do anything specific about my feelings. My interest had been stirred, though, and I earned the best grade in the class with my report on the Mormons.

A few years ago, when I was in the navy during World War II, I received orders to report to the fleet headquarters at Pearl Harbor. My family took me to Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay, where I boarded the plane there, an old sea plane called a Pan-American clipper. On board that plane were some high-ranking medical officers going out to prepare and build up the hospital support because the battle of Tarawa would be taking place within a few weeks. Because of my rank, I was assigned to sleep in a sleeping bag out in the tail of that plane, where I could see the starboard engines as we were flying over San Francisco, which was under military blackout. It was black as we were flying out into the Pacific, and I thought the starboard engine on that old Pan-American plane was on fire. I couldn’t sleep as I watched it throughout the entire flight.

During that sleepless night I wondered about my own life and whether I had been living up to the opportunities that would be mine and the responsibility that would be mine as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood—the responsibility to be an example and to live the way I should so that I would be able to fulfill the calls that might come to me. In that sleepless night I took an inventory of myself, of my attitudes, wondering if I was doing all that I might. Even though I had always accepted my Church assignments, I wondered if I was fulfilling them with all of my heart, might, mind, and soul and living up to the responsibility, the blessing, that I received as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood and what would be expected of any of us who received this blessing.

Looking back on that sleepless night, I thank the Lord for His blessings today and for all that I have had the opportunity to be involved in. I try always to live the gospel to the fullest, to do everything I am called on to do with all of my heart, might, mind, and strength, to fulfill any call that might come to me so I may be qualified to do whatever I might be asked to do someday.

Amid my despair, I remembered a time that our ward held an activity called “Christmas in Bethlehem.” Ward members came dressed up as if they were living at the time Jesus was born. Erica, who was four years old at the time, wore a hand-me-down long, white dress and a scarf wrapped around her head. The culmination of the evening was a reenactment of the Nativity in a mock stable decorated with bales of hay and a manger. A young couple with their newborn played the parts of Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus.
As we gathered around the nativity, I noticed that Erica was missing from my side. I panicked until I caught a flash of her white dress near the nativity. Then my panic shifted from fear for her welfare to fear that she would disrupt the scene. I was about to call out to her, but I paused and watched as she made her way to the manger.
Erica quietly knelt next to Mary and looked up at her as if to get her permission. Then Erica reached out and tenderly caressed the sleeping baby. I was not the only one who noticed. Others soon quieted and watched as she knelt close to the baby. A tender feeling permeated the group as they realized that this baby was the Christ child for Erica.
In my grief, this Christmas memory brought feelings of peace and comfort as I recalled my young daughter’s devotion. My mind had been full of questions about life and death—questions that didn’t seem to matter as much before Erica’s death. As I pondered the Resurrection and the Crucifixion, I identified with Mary. She loved her newborn Son, and she later endured terrible pain and anguish as she witnessed His suffering and death. Christ was not spared the cross, and Mary was not spared her grief.

Finally in July 1959 the plans were completed. Thirty faithful Tahitians had worked, saved, and sacrificed to raise the money necessary to finance a trip to the Hawaii Temple. It had taken much work to bring the Paraita (literally the Big Chief), the mission yacht, into dry dock, to repair it, and to repaint it. Then there had been the problems with the French government. The officials had argued against the proposed boat trip to Hawaii. They questioned why the Mormons didn’t want to head southwest to New Zealand to attend the temple there. “You like the Americans,” they taunted. “That is the only reason why you want to go to Honolulu.” Raituia T. Tapu (the skipper of the mission yacht and later the first stake president of the Tahiti Stake) had difficulty convincing the French officials that the trip north over the Pacific Ocean to Hawaii would be safer than the trip across wide expanses of open water to New Zealand because of the many islands that could be used as shelter in case of storms. When Brother Tapu insisted, “I will have 30 passengers with me, and I won’t take them to New Zealand and face the weather that way,” he convinced the harbor master and the two of them convinced the French governor that the Saints on the Paraita should be allowed to sail to Hawaii.
Brother Tapu not only obtained permission from the French officials, but he also wrote to Salt Lake City to get permission from President David O. McKay. That permission had been granted and everything was ready.
Then a fateful call came from the mission office. Everyone anticipating the voyage was to gather for a meeting at the mission home before the departure.
The president of the French Polynesian Mission, Ellis V. Christiansen, was nervous about the forthcoming meeting. True, permission to take a group of Saints to the temple in Hawaii had been granted by President McKay, but that day a special messenger, Ernest C. Rossiter, a former president of the French Polynesian Mission, had arrived direct from President McKay in Salt Lake City. The news he brought was stunning. The Saints had been asked not to make their long-sought voyage. According to Brother Tapu, President McKay gave no explanation. He merely asked Brother Rossiter to “go and stop them. They won’t make it, and if we allow them to come, we’ll be in trouble with the [French] government. We’ll be responsible for them. So you go and stop them.”
In the mission diary, President Christiansen wrote expressing his anxiety about telling the Saints who were ready to embark:
“I was much concerned and felt I needed the Lord’s help to assist me in giving an explanation to these humble, faithful members, who had such high hopes of receiving their endowments in His Holy House. I fasted and prayed about it. I called a meeting of the priesthood members for July 15, 1959, at 8:00 o’clock, and also asked six of the faithful brethren to come to my room at 7:30, and with the help of President Rossiter we told them of the decision that had come from the First Presidency, and told them that we desired their faith and prayers in presenting the message to the members of the priesthood who would assemble at 8:00 o’clock. After President Rossiter and I had finished talking to these men, they in turn spoke briefly their thoughts, and as I listened a great joy swelled inside me as they told their desire to obey the counsel of our prophet here upon the earth.
“We went to the meeting with the priesthood members. After hearing the message from the First Presidency, [they] expressed their convictions that if this word had come from the leaders of the Church then it must have come through the inspiration of the Lord, and the only way to show their love and appreciation for the blessings He had given them was to be obedient to the counsel given. I then called for a vote, and all hands were raised accepting the decision of the First Presidency.”
So the voyage was cancelled, and neither President Rossiter, nor President Christiansen, nor the faithful Tahitian Saints really knew why the prophet of God had told them not to go. They cancelled the voyage because they had faith in the prophet.
Later, Brother Tapu, the skipper, returned to his boat where a mechanic told him that a small gear was damaged and would only provide 100 to 150 more hours of service. This fact notwithstanding, the boat was launched and anchored. Then, according to the skipper, Brother Tapu, “I layed off everybody except my first mate. I left him on board and told him to keep an eye on the boat and to repair the sail.
“Well, a couple of days later I got a call. I was over here at the mission office working on our local Church magazine. The call was from the harbor master. He said, ‘Hey, your boat’s sinking.’ And I said, ‘What, I just got it out from dry dock!’ He still said, ‘Your boat is sinking. Hurry!’ So I rushed to the harbor and the boat was halfway down. My first mate was underneath the boat checking what was going on. He found that the exhaust pipe from the kitchen was rotten. The repairmen had painted over some very rotten wood and rusty pipe. It had broken and the water went in.
“So what would you say if we were two or three hundred miles away on a lifeboat? If we had sailed according to schedule, we would have been that far on our way when the rotten pipe and wood gave out.”
At the time when the Saints in Tahiti had accepted the counsel of the prophet, they could not understand President McKay’s reason for concern. But now they understood the ways of God. Brother Tapu expressed this knowledge when he said, “That’s why I always had a testimony of President McKay, a true prophet of the Lord.”
Editor’s Note:
This story is well known among the Saints and missionaries in the Tahiti Papeete Mission. Some misconceptions have grown concerning this incident. One is that President McKay told the mission president to sell the boat at the same time the warning was given, and this being done, the boat soon sank. According to Brother Tapu, this is not true. The Church actually bought a new engine fairly soon after this event and kept the boat for about three years. Then the ship was sold and used for about two more years. At that point the government inspectors declared it unsafe for further use. It was then sailed to the other side of the island from Papeete where it rotted and finally sank. It died a very natural death.

Eva stood on her toes. She reached for the box in the cupboard.
“Got it!” she said.
She opened the box. Inside were small Nativity figures made of red clay. She took them out and placed the baby Jesus gently in the manger.
Then it was time to decorate the Christmas tree. Eva helped Mamá and her little brother, Nefi, hang strings of lights and manzanillas. Eva loved the sweet smell of the tiny yellow fruits. When Papá came home, he helped Eva and Nefi put the star on top of the tree.
Eva was glad some of their Christmas tradition were the same this year. Everything else felt so different.
A few weeks ago, a hurricane hit their city in Guatemala. The heavy rain and winds destroyed many houses. Some people were still living in shelters. And many people were sick because of the COVID-19 virus.
Usually on Christmas Eve, Eva’s aunts, uncles, and cousins came over for a big party. Eva and Nefi got to stay up late. They made ponche (punch) with their aunts and played with their cousins. At midnight, everyone went out into the streets, lit firecrackers, and gave hugs to friends and neighbors.
But this year, their family members couldn’t come to visit. And there would be no Christmas Eve hugs in the streets.
Eva felt sad about all the fun she would miss. “Christmas won’t be the same this year,” she said.
Papá nodded. “It is different. But Mamá and I have an idea that might cheer you up.”
“Christmas is about giving,” Mamá said. “Would you like to help us buy food for the families who lost their homes in the hurricane?”
“OK!” Eva said. Nefi nodded.
Eva and Nefi went with Mamá to the store. Eva helped put the food in grocery bags. Then she had an idea!
“Mamá,” she said, “can you help Nefi and me bake cookies for the kids in the shelter? We can deliver them when we bring the groceries!”
Mamá agreed. Eva, Nefi, and Mamá spent several days baking cookies together. Eva and Nefi put the cookies into little plastic bags and tied them with ribbons. Then they put on their masks and walked with Mamá and Papá to the shelter where the families were staying.
“There are lots of kids here,” Nefi said. “Will we have enough cookies?”
“I hope so. Let’s say a prayer,” said Eva. They closed their eyes. Eva quietly prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help us so that everyone here can feel Thy love.”
The children in the shelter stood in a long line. Eva and Nefi gave each child a package of cookies. There were enough for everyone!
As they walked home, Eva didn’t feel sad anymore. She had a big smile on her face. She hadn’t been able to give hugs to her friends on Christmas Eve. But each package of cookies was like a hug from her heart.
This story took place in Guatemala.
Eva and Nefi speak a language called Q?eqchi?. They’re excited that a new temple is being built in Cobán, near their home!
Turn to page 38 for a cookie recipe from Guatemala!

Each of us has an opportunity to serve people through callings and to feel that we are “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). I clearly and profoundly remember that shortly after I was baptized, my branch president assigned me to take the roll for Sunday School classes. I was glad to have this assignment. Each class I would excitedly hold the name list and check off each name. As time went by, I gradually got to know each member of the Sunday School. I soon became acquainted with all the members and would care about those who were absent. I felt privileged and happy that I could do my part for the Lord’s Church. I also felt that the Lord had taught me and blessed me in this assignment.

The invitation to teach in Uppsala was a great academic honor, and it was a personal honor as well. During an earlier visit to Sweden, Paul’s commitment to his standards was tested.
“I had given a talk at a fancy dinner hosted by the king and queen,” Brother Cox recalls. He was sitting next to the queen, and someone stood up and offered a toast in her honor. “There were about 600 people in the room. I looked, and raised wineglasses were everywhere. I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up my water glass and raised it. There was a gasp—people were just amazed I would do that.
“After the toast, as I sat down, the queen leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, ‘You are very wise.’ That was eight years ago, and now they’ve invited me back again. I think you gain respect from people if you’re true to what you believe.”

After that devastating wildfire, I was contacted by local firefighters, who said they had received a box in the mail. It was from a 10-year-old boy in Chicago, Illinois. He had sent his favorite toy to be given to a boy in our community who had lost his home in the fires. He included a note saying he had watched our city burn and wanted to do something to help.
I’ve often thought of that child. What made a young boy across the country want to actually do something? And that little action blessed the lives of many along the path to getting that toy to the boy in our community who had lost all his toys.
It was the simple question, “What can I do about this?” and he did it!

This scenario might be all too familiar to you: A classmate you considered to be your true friend has left your friendship behind to hang out with the popular crowd. What’s more, she has started to make decisions that break gospel standards and has started to make fun of you for not doing the same.
How would you respond? Do you feel bitter about how your friend left you behind? Or do you try and live the sweet, Christlike attributes of love and forgiveness? Sure, you already know which path is the path the Savior would have you follow, but when your emotions are hurting, it’s not always easy, is it? Follow the bitter and sweet paths to find out where each response leads.
You can’t believe your friend would publicly ridicule you in front of your classmates. You start to develop negative inward feelings toward her.
As your negative feelings continue to grow, you stop talking to your friend. After all, she hurt you.
When your other friends ask you what happened, you unleash all the pent-up feelings of anger you have. It feels good to get it out.
Your former friend hears you said mean things about her. She continues to mock you in front of her new friends. To get back at her, you talk about the bad choices she is making with anyone who will listen.
You and your former friend continue to say mean things about each other and grow further apart. Any chance of a friendship appears to have been destroyed.
You want to help your friend but aren’t sure how. You begin by praying for guidance. (See Matthew 5:44.)
You decide to take your friend aside for a one-on-one chat. You tell her that you’re hurt by her words and actions but still love and care about her. (See Matthew 18:15.)
Although your friend continues to make choices that you know aren’t right and sometimes still makes fun of you for living the gospel, you continue to invite her to wholesome activities and Church events. (See D&C 31:9.)
You text your friend to see how she’s doing and tell her you miss spending time with her. She admits she is confused and thanks you for caring. (See Proverbs 15:1.)
You realize that whether or not your friend chooses to hang out with you anymore, that doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly. You commit to being nice no matter what, and doing so brings you peace—even on the hard days. A lot of hard work remains, but you’ve started to feel true compassion and now know how sweet being a real friend can be. (See Ephesians 4:32.)
Truly forgiving someone can have sweet rewards. Forgiveness is a conscious choice: it is entirely up to you! Through prayer to Heavenly Father and the strength that comes from the Atonement of Jesus Christ, you can develop the capacity to forgive those who have wronged you. You can overcome bitter feelings to develop the strength to forgive, help others, and repair friendships. Learning to forgive can be truly sweet!