Gospel Story Finder

I was never involved in any fights in high school. I’m glad I wasn’t. I’m not very big, and I don’t find great joy in cuts and bruises.
But one time I got into a fight walking home from school that lasted a few weeks. My opponent was only 28 centimeters tall, but this was one of the toughest battles I’d ever fought. This battle was with a magazine.
My high school was within view of our front porch, so I walked to and from class every day. One afternoon, as I stepped across the thin ribbon of green lawn that divided the school’s sidewalk from the road, I noticed an open magazine by the curb. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; then I realized it was pornographic. I quickly lifted my eyes from the gutter and kept walking toward home.
This is how the battle began. Every day as I went to school, and every day as I came home, I had to face the temptation that lay in the gutter.
As I think about it now, I wonder why I didn’t just pick up the magazine and throw it away. But I didn’t even want to touch it. What if someone saw me with it? Or what if my dad saw it in our garbage can? Or what if I picked it up and saw more than I wanted to see?
Each day my mind could come up with some pretty good rationalizations: “It might be good for you to know what’s in there, so you’ll know what’s going on in today’s world,” or “You don’t want to be a sheltered, naive little boy, do you? What’s it going to hurt, anyway? Just repent later. Who’s going to know?”
One day in seminary, our teacher pointed out that Jesus answered each of his temptations with a scripture. That sounded like a good idea.
Looking through my scriptures, I found a verse about battling temptation: “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear” (Alma 13:28).
Another helpful verse came from the New Testament: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13).
This was a formula I could use: humble myself, watch and pray continually, and trust that God would help me find a way to escape the temptation. I began to cross the street in a different place, and these two verses of scripture helped me as the days passed with the magazine still sitting there in the gutter.
One afternoon, as I stepped off the curb, I noticed that the magazine was gone. I could tell by the appearance of the gutters that a street cleaner had recently passed by. A street cleaner—how appropriate, I thought.
God did make a way for me to escape, and together we won the fight. Curiosity, rationalization, and laziness are no match against courage, self-control, and mental toughness.
Victory in physical battles requires strength, muscles, and skill; but the fight is never tougher and the victory is never sweeter than in the battles with temptation. No, I never got into any fights in high school; but with some help from the scriptures, I defeated a 28-centimeter magazine.

One way I chose to serve the Lord was in my eighth-grade music class. I played the bass viol with two other boys. We spent most of the class period in a practice room. There was a big stack of records for a record player in the room. One day Jerry*—one of the boys I practiced with—decided to take the records. I knew that was wrong. I wanted to do the right thing, but Jerry was bigger than me and was known as being a bully.
At home that day, I talked to my dad about it. He said I knew what was right and had a choice. I could ignore it, I could tell on Jerry, or I could face Jerry. That night, I prayed about it and decided what to do. The next day when we had music class, I faced Jerry and said, “Jerry, those records you took don’t belong to you. You can bring them back, and I will say nothing. But if you don’t, I will turn you in.” The next day, Jerry brought the records back. I learned that it may not be easy to stand up for what is right, but when you do, the Lord helps you.

About halfway through my mission, my companion and I were struggling to work well with our ward mission leader. There had been various disagreements, so we decided to talk to the bishop to see what we should do. Deep down, I hoped that the bishop would just have a talk with him and fix our problems for us.
But instead, the bishop had told me that I was being prideful and overly critical of others. I went stomping home feeling misunderstood and frustrated—how could he say that about me? Did he even care about our struggles to share the gospel?
As we walked, I vented my feelings to my companion. But suddenly a phrase came into my head: “The guilty taketh the truth to be hard” (1 Nephi 16:2). It stopped me in my tracks. It was obvious to me that the thought came from the Spirit. My pride may have prevented me from accepting the bishop’s chastisement as truth—but could I really argue with the Holy Ghost?
I was guilty, and God was letting me know it.
In my case, I had convinced myself that I was complaining for the good of the missionary work in our area. And rather than accepting our ward mission leader’s faithful service—imperfect as it seemed to me—I suddenly saw that I was being ungrateful, impatient, and frankly, unkind. Because of the Spirit’s prompting, I could see my actions for what they truly were.
Receiving such direct chastisement from the Spirit was painful, but in the best way. It made me realize that I had to be honest with myself about my flaws.

During my last two summers of high school, my parents sent me to work for my uncle in Idaho. He operated Budge’s Golden Sunshine Honey, a family business started by my grandfather.
My father knew what I was in for. He had grown up “working in the bees.” He wanted me to learn how to work as he did. The job was hard, and there were few benefits, except for one: occasionally, my uncle let me ride his motorcycle.
One day, I decided to go for a ride. The blue skies, the bright sun, and the wind blowing through my hair were exhilarating! For a moment, all the long hours of hard work seemed worth it. Suddenly, the motorcycle sputtered to a stop. I had run out of gas in the middle of nowhere! This happened before cell phones, so I was all on my own.
I thought that my uncle would be upset if I abandoned the motorcycle and walked back to town, so I decided to push the motorcycle home. It was well after dark by the time I reached town. The gas station was closed. I was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
As I pushed the motorcycle through town, I saw my uncle’s truck parked outside the movie theater. I found him and told him what had happened. His response surprised me.
“How could you run out of gas?” he asked.
He walked out to the motorcycle and flipped a switch. He then turned the key and kicked down the starter. To my surprise, the motor let out a roar!
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“There’s a reserve tank in case you run out of gas,” he said. “All you have to do is flip the switch.”
Embarrassed and humiliated, I rode the motorcycle home.

President Joseph F. Smith was five years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Later, Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”8

While I was serving as a missionary in a small town in Wales, my companion and I were tracting a street leading up one of the many hills there. It was a warm summer day. As we reached the top of the hill, the view was beautiful, so my companion and I decided to take a short break to enjoy the view and regain our energy.
As I got an orange out of my backpack, I saw a Chinese lady walking up the hill. I don’t know why, but I waved to her. She happily waved back and walked over to sit by us. We started talking, and she explained that she came up the hill to enjoy the view because it reminded her of God and His love for her. She also told us that she had been ready to go back to China when a job in Wales came up. She took it, believing that God provided this job for a reason she didn’t know.
Soon after this first meeting, we started teaching her in a recent convert’s home and shared many spiritual moments together. One of them I cherish the most. We presented her with a Chinese copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies written in the front. The Spirit was so strong that she started crying.
Not long after, I was transferred to another area. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go back to that area for her baptism, but it will always strengthen me to think back to our first meeting high on a hilltop.
Jurek Bäder, Germany

Elder Kim B. Clark, Area Seventy and president of BYU–Idaho, recently related a story about a deacons quorum whose adviser was discussing prayer with them. Unexpectedly, the deacons quorum president raised his hand and said, “I would like to ask the quorum a question. How many of you would be willing to commit to praying morning and night every day this week?” All the quorum members raised their hands except one young man, who was not confident he could follow through with the challenge. The adviser sat back and watched as the quorum members taught and testified to their peer about prayer, helping him gain the confidence to accept the challenge.

When I was an undergraduate, I had the privilege of studying at the BYU Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies. On one field trip we visited an area in which a large stone tower stood. From the tower a watchman could detect threats before they were visible from the ground, protecting the olive, fig, and grape vineyard from plunder.
Years later I reenacted this scene with my family in family home evening. We live in a two-story home. Our backyard is relatively flat close to the home but descends rapidly into a wooded area. For our family home evening lesson, all but one member of the family stayed on the main floor and looked out the windows toward the backyard. One family member climbed the stairs to a second-story bedroom with a window that also looked toward the backyard.
I hid in the backyard and, unbeknownst to my children, was armed with a bow and arrow. Now, with my skills as an archer, I might have been able to harm someone only by accident, but I looked menacing, and that was enough for our lesson.
As I climbed the wooded ascent toward our home, the members of my family on the main floor could not see me. They saw only the grass and trees in our backyard. I was detected, however, by the child at the upstairs window. Before I could lunge from the woods in surprise, I was spotted, and a warning cry went out to those below.

Returning to the family home evening I described earlier, after I was discovered approaching the home with a bow and arrow, we repeated the experience with some modification. A different child took the post at the second-story window. This time I placed our family home evening treat in the garden, a sunken area just beyond the grass of our yard. As before, members of the family on the main floor could not see the treat. Again, however, the watchman at the second-story window could spot the treat that awaited us.

This year a new Laurel, Sara,* came to our Young Women class. She arrived with many challenges. She is mentally handicapped and is sometimes difficult to understand because her speech is unclear. Sara is home-schooled. Her family brings Sara to midweek activities so she can have some interaction with her peers. When I first met her, I wondered how she would be accepted by the Laurels in my class.
I didn’t have to wonder long, though, because Sara was welcomed with open arms.
One of the first activities she came to was a craft night. All the Young Women were making finger puppets to give to the local children’s hospital. Without prompting, a few girls from the Laurel class invited Sara to sit at their table. She remained there the entire evening, working alongside all the other girls. At subsequent activities, Sara was always included, without prompting from the adult leaders.
Our ward-sponsored “Back to School Dance” at the beginning of the school year was especially memorable. I was in the ward library making a few copies before the activity began. As I was waiting, someone came from behind me and gave me a hug. It was Sara.
I noticed she was dressed up for the occasion. She followed me into the cultural hall and watched the others dance. She tapped her feet to the music and said, “I know this song.”
We weren’t on the sidelines long before one of our class members came over and said, “Hey, Sara, come dance with us.”
Sara leaped from her chair and followed this girl out onto the dance floor.
Sara’s classmates have accepted her in a way that is genuine and caring. When I think of Sara and the other Laurels in my class, I often think of the scripture, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).

Samuel Clement Onawo’s success story was written by Bishop Ashidike Cletus of Shasha Ward, Egbeda Stake in Lagos.
I met Samuel Clement Onawo when I was serving as the first counselor in the bishopric some years ago. That was in the Akowonjo Ward. He came into the chapel one morning with another friend. Both wanted to investigate the Church. He was reserved, humble, and very eager to honestly learn the gospel.
We had some wonderful experiences that made us feel he was a promising young man. Bishop Joseph Okoronkwo took a special interest in him. Samuel got baptized weeks later in 2010.
During one of our interactions with him, it was discovered that he could not read, hence we encouraged him to attend a literacy class, which he did vigorously. He gained tremendous knowledge from the literacy class. Some months later, he indicated an interest to serve a full-time mission. There was no money to pursue this noble cause, so he decided to do any menial or domestic job to save for his pre-mission requirements. He saved as much as he could and went on a mission in 2014.
As a returned missionary, his record was found in my unit and this time I had been called to serve as the bishop of the newly created Shasha Ward. On the 29th of May 2016, he was called as the ward mission leader. I have always used him as a reference point whenever I want to share a good story.
One day, he came to talk to me about a PEF [Perpetual Education Fund] loan. l was glad to have him ask for it because I knew he was going to meet up with the requirements before and after. I gave him my full support and he got the loan.
Today, he has graduated as an electrical engineer. I attended his graduation ceremony in December 2018. He is one of the best among those who took the loan, and Brother Adebayo of the PEF management in Nigeria has not had the occasion to seek repayment. His monthly repayment was always on time.
He feels he can afford to settle down for a family life and take responsibility because he has acquired skills and education. This has been achieved already. We all see him in my unit as a progressing young man with a profound spirit of gratitude.

On April 3, 2022, faithful Saints all over the world gathered in their homes to watch general conference. In the Republic of the Congo, Brazzaville Stake President Belle-Vie Gayouele and his family were among millions of Saints who reverently followed the proceedings via live broadcast, when President Russell M. Nelson announced that a temple will be built in Brazzaville.
Of this sacred experience, President Belle-vie Gayouele said, “We didn’t really expect the temple to be announced at this recent conference. Nevertheless, saints all over Brazzaville and Pointe-Noire (two cities within the country) followed the prophet’s concluding remarks with a ray of hope. When the prophet unexpectedly announced the construction of the temple in Brazzaville, it had an incredible effect. My wife, for example, cried with joy, there were great celebrations everywhere, endless video and phone calls, and that night we couldn’t sleep! My family and I knelt in humility and offered a prayer of gratitude.”

You may have read in the national media in recent weeks the touching story of a woman from Swissvale, Pennsylvania, by the name of Jeni Stepien. In 2006 Jeni’s father was shot by a sixteen-year-old assailant in a robbery. He was mortally wounded, and the family made the difficult decision to donate his organs. Arthur Thomas from New Jersey, then sixty-two years old and suffering from congestive heart failure, was the recipient of Mr. Stepien’s heart.

Late last year, ten years after losing her father, Jeni Stepien was engaged to be married, and her first thought after her engagement was, “Who will walk me down the aisle?”

At her fiancé’s suggestion, Ms. Stepien asked Arthur Thomas—the recipient of her father’s donor heart—to do the honors, and he agreed.

The wedding took place in the church in Swissvale in which Ms. Stepien’s parents had been married. Mr. Thomas suggested that as they walked down the aisle, Jeni grip his wrist, where his pulse was the strongest: “I thought that would be the best way for her to feel close to her dad,” he said, adding, “That’s her father’s heart beating.”

After the ceremony the bride was photographed with her hand on Mr. Thomas’s chest. “I felt wonderful about bringing her dad’s heart,” said Mr. Thomas. “If I had to, I would’ve walked.”

Experience #1
A caring student asked my suggestions one day of how she could help her inactive sister. This sister had fallen away from the Church and wanted nothing more to do with it. As the student explained her sister's tragic situation, I simply said, "I wish your sister could come to Ricks College. This is such a great place for young people to gain a testimony. I just know that would help." With a sad face the student responded, "Sister Bednar, my sister has been a student at Ricks College."
A sower goes out to sow seed. Some seed falls by the wayside and is eaten by the birds. Maybe the heart that is long and skinny could represent this sister. She hears the word of God. But with no room in her heart for the gospel, she allows Satan to take the word from her heart, and she falls away.

When Dinah Boitumelo Rakwela received word that her brother was going to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she felt confident in her opinion that the Church was false. Over the years she had visited many churches—where she received brochures about Joseph Smith—and she believed their negative information. Convinced of his error, she went to see her brother to talk him out of his decision.
With her brother, she discussed until midnight the “mistake” he was about to make. Finally, he said, “It is too late to discuss this anymore, but I need to tell you one thing.” He bore his testimony and said: “This is the Church of Jesus Christ and I do not want to join any other church.” She felt defeated; she knew that he had made up his mind. He gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. She didn’t want anything to do with it and when she returned to her home, she put it on the highest shelf in her bedroom—a place where she could ignore it.
Dinah has always loved reading, and one day—a few years later—she needed a book. As she was searching her bookshelves, the Book of Mormon fell off its upper shelf and landed open at Chapter 10 of Moroni. She read the open page and was struck by Moroni’s words. This caused her to read the entire book of Moroni and then to start at the beginning in 1st Nephi. She read steadily for two days, and when she finished the book, she knew that it was the word of God.
By this time, her brother was serving as a missionary in the Cape Town South Africa Mission. She called his home ward bishop—whom she had met before his departure for his mission—and when she told the bishop that she wanted to join the Church, he insisted that she needed to be taught the lessons. But Dinah did not want the lessons; she just wanted to be baptized!
So following this bishop’s counsel to be properly taught by the missionaries, she and her mother—whom she had also convinced to read the Book of Mormon—traveled eight hours each weekend from their home in Serowa (Botswana) to Gabarone (Botswana). There they were taught by the missionaries and attended church services before returning home. In due course, both Dinah and her mother were baptized.
Despite having no organized branch or ward in their village, they met and studied with other members. Together they regularly fasted and prayed for a branch to be organized. Eventually, a member of the Church who held the Melchizedek Priesthood moved to their village and a branch was formed. She considers this a miracle, explaining, “Everything is possible with God.”
Today, Sister Rakwela is a member of the Mochudi Ward in Botswana and serves as a Sunday School teacher. And her brother—the one who joined the church despite her efforts to dissuade him—is Elder Clement Matswagothata, who currently serves as an Area Seventy in the Africa Southeast Area.

It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”

The next place of gathering for the Saints was Nauvoo, a city they built on land reclaimed from an Illinois swamp. Newcomers came seeking refuge (1) and to help build the new temple (2, 3).

One group of Latter-day Saints who gathered to Nauvoo was led by a free black woman who had embraced the gospel in Connecticut and shared it with her relatives. When the Saints in that area prepared to leave for Nauvoo in 1843, Jane Manning and eight members of her family joined them. Unfortunately, when the group boarded a boat in Buffalo, New York, authorities denied the Manning family passage. Rather than turn back, the party began walking toward Nauvoo, 1,300 kilometers away. It was October, and the weather was turning cold.

“We walked until our shoes were worn out,” Jane said, “and our feet became sore and cracked open and bled until you could see the whole print of our feet with blood on the ground. We stopped and united in prayer to the Lord. We asked God the Eternal Father to heal our feet and our prayers were answered and our feet were healed.”

The group arrived in Nauvoo late in the year, and the Prophet received them with gladness. “You are among friends now,” he told them, “and you will be protected.” “You mustn’t cry,” he told Jane specifically, “we dry up all tears here” (“Biography of Jane E. Manning James,” LDS Church Archives, 2, 3–4).

Listening among the television audience to his very first talk as a General Authority was President Faust’s widowed mother; she wept with joy over the call that had come to her son. Not only was there fine parental training, but important training was given, too, by pioneer and convert grandparents. For instance, Grandmother Faust told young Jim stories of her having heard Brigham Young speak in the Tabernacle. Decades earlier, President Faust’s great-grandfather, a young German emigrant going through Utah on his way to the California gold rush, met a young lady in Fillmore. He was so attracted to her that he later panned just enough gold to pay for a wedding ring and then hastened back to marry her and later join the Church!

As a boy of fifteen I was called to preside over a quorum of teachers. Our adviser was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”

I responded with a warm “Yes.”

Then he proffered, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”

This time I answered, “Yes, sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.

He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The next day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived. He took me to his loft, which was in a small barn at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about ten days and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”

I followed his instructions. Upon releasing them, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold, my adviser, and asked: “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”

“Come on over,” said he, “and we’ll have a look.”

As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob?”

I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”

Then he reached up to a special nest and handed to me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience, “Come on over and we’ll see if she returned here.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”

“We’ll have him there this week,” I volunteered.

This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that, indeed, Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon; the only bird in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the teachers quorum president every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience to help me prepare for opportunities which lay ahead.

A true story from the USA.
Kimber pointed to the cups on the counter. She stomped, groaned, and pointed again.
Mom turned around. “Do you need something?”
Kimber pointed to the cups again. Making a fist with her pinky finger out, she made a curved line by her mouth, the sign for juice in American Sign Language.
“Oh. You’d like juice,” Mom said.
Kimber nodded, waiting while Mom poured her a cup.
Kimber’s speech delay made it hard for her to speak out loud. She didn’t like the way her voice sounded when she made mistakes. It hurt her ears! When other people corrected her, it hurt her feelings. She used sign language with Mom at home, but things were getting harder at school and at church because most people didn’t know sign language.
She saw a speech therapist every few days to help her practice talking. But it was still hard. She felt so frustrated.
A few days later in Primary, Kimber sat and listened to the lesson. They were learning about prayer. “You can talk to Heavenly Father about anything,” Sister Dees said. “He will always answer.”
Kimber liked to think that Heavenly Father answered prayers. But how was she supposed to talk to Him? It was hard to use that many words.
At family scripture time that night, Kimber and her little brothers listened while Mom and Dad took turns reading. Kimber liked to listen to Dad’s soft voice while Mom pointed to the words on the page so Kimber could follow along.
“Call upon his holy name, that he would have mercy upon you,” Dad read. “Yea, cry unto him for mercy; for he is mighty to save.”
“Cry unto him?” her brother Hunter asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means to pray,” said Dad. “If you were in trouble, you would cry out for help. Asking in prayer is crying to Heavenly Father for help.”
Kimber nodded. She often felt like she needed help. But how could she cry to Heavenly Father without talking out loud?
“These next verses are all about prayer,” Mom said. “We can pray about anything—our family, our food, and anything we might need.” Then she kept reading. “‘When you do not cry unto the Lord, let your hearts be full, drawn out in prayer unto him continually.’”
Mom paused and looked at Kimber. “That means if you pray in your heart and mind, Heavenly Father hears you.”
Kimber felt a hopeful, happy feeling. Maybe Heavenly Father really could hear her prayers, even if she didn’t use words out loud. She could pray in her heart.
That night, Kimber knelt by her bed with Mom for bedtime prayers. Usually Mom said the prayer while Kimber listened. But this time, Kimber wanted to try praying in her heart.
My turn, she signed, pointing to herself and folding her arms. She closed her eyes and thought about all the things she wanted Heavenly Father to know. In her mind, she told Him what she was grateful for. She told Him how hard it was to talk. And she asked for His help.
Soon she felt a feeling of peace from her head to her toes.
When she was done, Kimber opened her eyes.
Mom gave her a hug. “Good praying, Kimber.”
Kimber smiled. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her. And she knew the peaceful feeling in her heart was His answer.

Comforting the sick and helping them be positive takes sensitivity to the Spirit. At one point in my life, I had not slept well in many months, usually averaging about two to three hours per night of disrupted sleep. I was suffering greatly from anxiety and exhaustion; I had been to many doctors to no avail. Finally, a friend referred me to a Latter-day Saint doctor who immediately gave me a proper diagnosis. But what he said next was a surprise: “Merrilee, the most important thing you need to do is to turn your anxiety over to God.” He then encouraged me to meditate each day for a short time on “The Living Christ: The Testimony of the Apostles.”

I had tried this meditation a few times without success, but I was desperate for healing. The next day, I quietly meditated on the powerful words, “We offer our testimony of the reality of His matchless life and the infinite virtue of His great atoning sacrifice.”2 A thrill ran through me as I began to ponder the testimony of our great Healer and knew that I had found comfort and peace in my soul.

As we study the scriptures in order to emulate Jesus in His works of healing, we read of Jesus doing one thing over and over: He paid attention to those around Him.

Christ noticed people. He spoke with the Samaritan woman despite cultural taboos. He took time to bless the children. He ate with publicans and sinners and ministered to lepers and outcasts. He gave His attention to each.

As followers of Christ seeking to learn His healer’s art, we can begin to look upon people with the eyes of Christ. We can take the time to say hello, to smile, to ask about their day. We may never know the healing balm that our efforts may be to those around us who are lonely, depressed, sick, weak, or suffering. Even simple gestures of love can have a powerful influence.

As we do the works of Christ and participate in the healing of others, great blessings will flow. As Christ stated, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). To Him who healed each of us, to Him who has wrapped us in His loving arms more times than we even know, to Him who has offered us the healing balm of His Atonement, we can offer our small efforts to help heal our brothers and sisters. This is truly the healer’s art.