Gospel Story Finder

Tara listened as her mother talked excitedly on the phone.
“That’s wonderful, Kevin,” Mom said. Kevin was Tara’s older brother. “We’re so happy for you!” Mom continued. She was crying and laughing at the same time.

Mom hung up the phone and turned to Tara. “Kevin and Chrissy got a call from their social worker. He said that Family Services has a baby girl for them.”

Kevin and his wife, Chrissy, had not been able to have children. LDS Family Services was helping them to adopt a child.

“Will Kevin and Chrissy take the baby to the temple?” Tara asked.

Her mother nodded. “After the adoption is final, Kevin and Chrissy will have her sealed to them, just like you were sealed to us.”

Tara thought of something. “I’m going to be an aunt!”

“That’s right,” her mother said. “Aunt Tara.”

Tara grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

I want to share a story with you that you are all pretty much familiar with, but this time I want you to become part of the story, if you don’t mind. Imagine the following:
Imagine that you live at the time of Christ. You work in the city of Jerusalem but live four miles outside the city, and so you have to walk to and from the city every day. You also understand that it is the law that when any citizen of Palestine, which you are, meets a Roman Soldier, and there are plenty of them around, that he can legitimately compel you, the citizen, to carry his belongings for one mile, regardless of where you are or in what direction you may be going. So, here is the scenario that I want you to picture in your mind: Are you ready?
It is Friday afternoon at the end of a long week of work. You are tired and anxious to get home. You decide to stop at the market before you leave the city, to pick up a few food items. You do so and put them in a sack, and fling it over your shoulder. As you go out of the city gate and begin your journey home, you have this feeling come over you—that just because it’s Friday and just because you are tired, and just because you have four miles to walk, it is going to be just your luck to run into a Roman soldier on the way home. Do you ever get those kinds of feelings, that just because of how things have been going on a particular day, something crazy is going to happen? You just know it! Well, that’s the way you are feeling today. You walk a couple of miles. It’s dusty and hot. The bag over your shoulder is kind of heavy, and you can’t wait to get home, get a cold drink, and put your feet up to rest. You keep walking and you begin thinking, “Oh, I’ve come over two miles already! Maybe I’ll be lucky after all. Maybe that was just one of those crazy thoughts I get because I am tired!” Then you see an object off in the distance on the road. You can’t tell exactly what it is, but you keep walking, hoping that it isn’t what you think it is. As it gets closer you can see that it is clearly a Roman soldier, and he’s a big one! You keep walking on the opposite side of the road from him, of course, and look down at the road pretending not to notice him. But, you know that he is looking right at you, and you know exactly what he is going to ask you to do! Finally you can see his feet. You pretend not to see him, then you hear a big voice roar at you, “You—come and carry my stuff!” You have only a half mile to go before you get home, and he is going the other way! He has a huge metal shield and heavy iron sword, plus a large sack on his back, and he throws them down in the dust at your feet! Of course you don’t want to leave your own sack at the side of the road, so you have both his things and your sack to carry! Picture yourself picking up his sword and shield, and his sack, as well as your sack, and trying to get them situated on your shoulders. This isn’t going to be easy. Now, brothers and sisters, would you mind closing your eyes and picturing yourself walking with the soldier while I ask you some questions about how you might be feeling as you make this journey? Would you do that?
You begin walking—just picture it in your mind. Question: Who is in control in this situation? What might be some of your thoughts and feelings toward the soldier as you walk? We all know how anger, frustration and resentment can build up within us at moments like these. Another question: Where would you walk—beside him, in front of him, behind him—and why? Would you be talking with him? Would there be any conversation at all between you? Now, after walking for some time lost in your thoughts and feelings, you notice the mile marker is coming up on your right. There is just a short distance to go to complete your obligation to him, and he cannot force you to go any further! But then you have this crazy thought come into your mind and heart—“I think I’ll go another mile, just to see what happens!” And the more you think about It, the more excited you become. Your heart begins to beat faster within you. You get a big smile on your face. Your step quickens, and you feel new energy flow into you; you can’t wait to step across that line! Now you’ve had these kinds of thoughts and experiences haven’t you—to go an extra mile, to do something good that no one is expecting you to do? It’s so fun! You decide that you won’t say anything; unless he asks, you will just keep going! Joy fills your heart. This is one of the most exciting moments you’ve had recently! At the very moment you step across the line into the second mile, everything changes! He stops in his tracks with a look of unbelief on his face, and yells, “Hey you, what are you doing?” You look back at him, and tell him you just decided to go a little further with him, and turn and keep going. He starts to follow you; he actually hurries to catch up with you and walks beside you. He then stops you—puts his hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eye—he wants to know why you are doing such a crazy thing? Yes—things are very different now in this second mile—you are now in control—and you now have great opportunities and privileges that you didn’t have before during the first mile!
Brothers and Sisters (you can open your eyes now), the moment we step across the line into the second mile in living the gospel of Jesus Christ, everything changes from what it was during the first mile. The biggest change will probably be within us, but it can also have a powerful ripple effect in the lives of those around us. Some of the sweetest, most delicious, and greatest blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ are found only in the second mile, but we have to go the first mile in order to get into the second.

Although I acted as if I didn’t care, I really did want to win. After all, the opportunity to be the high school Homecoming queen only comes around once in a lifetime. And, it seemed to me, this was my one and only chance to be considered royalty.
When my name was announced as one of the three nominees, I was surprised. I wasn’t a cheerleader, and I wasn’t dating the quarterback. I’d created my own niche in school—doing activities that weren’t necessarily in the spotlight.
This would be a crowning accomplishment to have in my high school years, I thought. Royalty, huh? I could get used to that title.
The winner would be announced at halftime of the Saturday afternoon football game. The day before the game, I was sitting in my seminary class. People around me were predicting who would be crowned queen. Still wearing my facade of apathy, I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I’d survive even if I didn’t win. And remember, I told myself, it doesn’t matter if I’m royalty or not.
My heart pulsing heavily, I looked up at the teacher, hoping to divert my attention from the Homecoming chatter. Behind him on the bulletin board hung the same Mormonad poster that had been on my bedroom wall for years.
“It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.”
My heart soared as I read again, but understood for the first time, how to look at life. Homecoming queen or not, I could concentrate on a more important thing—to be nice. If I did that, I would always be royalty in a more important, eternal sense.
Saturday came quickly, but halftime did not. The sun shone brightly on the brown October day, my 17th birthday. When the time approached, my dad escorted me to the field as the spectators watched us girls teeter out in our high heels. The announcer began, “We’d like to announce our Homecoming queen, …”
My mind wandered as I reminded myself of Friday’s realization. No matter how important or unimportant I might be, I could be royally nice to those with whom I came in contact. When I came back to reality, they were crowning the girl next to me as queen.
As I walked off the field, I smiled inside and out.
Although I’d missed my chance to be a high school queen, I hadn’t missed my opportunity to recognize my royal beginnings. We have a noble birthright, and that can’t be changed. I also realized that I should care whether I was royalty or not in a spiritual sense. Apathy has no place in our royal relationships with our Heavenly Father.
Unlike the Homecoming queen contest, it’s entirely up to us to accept the royal gifts and blessings our Father in Heaven offers to us. The Lord has crowned us all with eternal importance, and one way we can honor this noble birth is by treating others with the respect and consideration they deserve and letting that be more important to us than worldly honors.

As the usual family festivities of Christmas Eve were drawing to an end, I felt that can’t-wait-until-morning feeling of excitement!
I was eight years of age and the oldest grandchild in my large extended family. Every few minutes, a parent, aunt, or uncle would open the door and exclaim about hearing the faint sound of bells. I could hardly wait for Santa to arrive! Yet Grandpa still insisted on going caroling first—a family tradition. “Santa will never come!” I thought.
As we hopped into our frost-covered cars, we realized it was a lot later than we normally left. The small town where we lived in Idaho was very quiet and cold. Some family members worried that we shouldn’t go caroling so late, but my grandpa insisted that we should visit a couple houses.
As we drove down the small, tree-covered lane, we could see no hint of light in the tiny log cabin belonging to “Old Jim.” Jim was a good friend, and he had a big heart. He had been a widower since I could remember.
“Surely Jim wouldn’t care if we didn’t stop!” I moaned. Santa Claus would miss us for sure!
But my good grandfather persisted: “Just quietly gather by the bedroom window and start with ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’”
Our voices were unsteady at first, but strength lies in numbers, and it wasn’t long until the music swelled into a beautiful, harmonious melody.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
There was still no light on in Jim’s home, but we continued to sing.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth 1
The cabin door opened.
In the moonlight, we could see tears run down Jim’s face. As he embraced us all, he cried—really cried. After a time, he wiped the tears of joy from his face and said to us, “I have waited all year for you to come. You are my Christmas. And when the clock turned 9:30, I thought I had been forgotten. I was so disappointed. I had gone to bed, for there was no reason to stay up anymore.”
Our hearts were filled. As Jim motioned us into his home and turned on the light, we could see that he indeed had been expecting us. His kitchen table was beautifully set, and there was everything from Christmas cake and cookies to cold meats cut and laid out waiting for us to eat. The cups had been carefully counted and lovingly filled with sweet apple cider, so as “not to miss a one of you,” Jim added.
Jim said we had been his Christmas? Not so. Jim had been ours.
The gift of love we received that cold Christmas Eve was more wonderful than anything Santa could ever have left under our Christmas tree. And it was a reminder that the Lord wants us to minister to His children as He does—one by one, bringing His love with us (see 3 Nephi 11:15–17; 17:21).

In 1904, he and a few others founded a settlement called Sauniatu (“Preparing to Go Forward”), a small sanctuary for the Saints in the mountains of Upolu. Shortly after the first chapel was built, the small cooking house behind it caught on fire and, despite the efforts of the people to carry water from the river, the fire spread rapidly, endangering the chapel itself. Then people noticed that Opapo had climbed atop the chapel and sat astride its roof-beam. Raising his right arm, he looked to heaven and said, “Father, we can spare the small house, but we cannot spare the big one. In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, I command the wind to change.”
It did; the small house collapsed, and the chapel was saved. Not only was the chapel spared, but the Sauniatu Saints’ faith was strengthened at a very difficult time.

“I had the desire to one day become a missionary like them,” Bishop says. “Unfortunately, I was already too old to serve a full-time mission. So, I decided to use my gift as a communicator to spread the knowledge I acquired following my conversion.”
Bishop says he invited all his friends and acquaintances to meet with missionaries and come to church with him.
“Bishop is completely friendly and engaging,” Sister London Litchfield, former mission leader in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, shared. “He doesn’t see any boundaries between friendships, which I think is part of what makes him such a great missionary. Quite frankly, he is an inspiration to us.”
Bishop hasn’t kept count of how many friends and acquaintances he has introduced to the gospel. But several years ago, he set a goal: to help bring three people into the Church every year. And he has done just that—every year, without fail.
Last year, he helped teach five people in January alone, so he increased his yearly goal to 10. But it appears he could have aimed higher. By June, he had helped 13 people join the Church.
He has spoken to many of his family and friends about the gospel already, but Abidjan is a densely populated city, and his friendly, outgoing nature allows him to strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone: banana vendors, families walking along the streets, or other drivers stuck in traffic with him.
“I first build a friendship with people I meet in my neighborhood, then as our relationship grows, I introduce them to the gospel,” he explains.
“We often think that they’re very difficult conversations to have,” said Wade Litchfield, former president of the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission. “But they’re not at all scary to him. They’re natural to him.”
And Bishop’s advice to young missionaries or anyone for sharing the gospel? “Don’t be afraid. Show a good example. Be patient and let your love for God and your fellow men be above everything else.”
Bishop’s conversations about religion with friends and with strangers—the “friends he may someday meet”—stem from a place of caring. That genuine care for others is just part of his nature. And he may have perfected the most powerful, loving approach to missionary work in putting love, compassion, and a “mark of attention” above all else.

Despite critical food shortages, the Poles went out of their way to make sure Kevin and his mother were fed. “It was great to see how the people would help each other. They would help us, too, even though we were foreigners. They would bring food from the farms so we could eat. They wanted me to do well as a pianist, to be well fed so that I could practice hard, have good lessons, and do well in the competition.
“I know the Lord watched over my mother and me at all times,” Kevin said. “He helped me to prepare and to perform at my best. He also helped us make some wonderful friends, and I think the Lord used them as an instrument to bless our lives.”

“Savannah, have you thought about helping build the battery-powered car?” Mr. Murdock asked. “You could compete in the engineering fair.”
Savannah looked at her science teacher. She never thought she was very good at science, but maybe it would be fun to join the team building the car.
“Do you think I’d be good at it?” Savannah asked.
Mr. Murdock smiled. “Well, I can tell that you are sharp and have a unique way of looking at things,” he said. “That’s just what the team needs! Why don’t you come to the team meeting today?”
Savannah promised to think about it.
During lunch Savannah told her friends about Mr. Murdock’s suggestion.
“Do you really want to do that?” Amber asked. “It sounds pretty boring.”
“I don’t know,” Savannah said. “My grandpa’s an engineer, and I think it’s interesting.”
“It’ll just be more schoolwork for you to do,” Tess said.
Amber nodded. “Totally. Hey, why don’t you come downtown with us after school? My mom’s driving us.”
“No thanks,” Savannah said. “The team meeting is after school, and I want to go.”
Savannah knew her friends didn’t understand why she would pick building a car over shopping, but she wanted to try it.
After school Savannah went to Mr. Murdock’s classroom. During the team meeting, Savannah got more and more excited. Designing and building a car sounded really cool!
But as Savannah walked home, she remembered what Amber had said. What if it was boring? What if she got too busy with the car to see her friends? What if they stopped liking her?
“I really want to join the team,” Savannah told Mom that night. “But Amber and Tess think it will be boring.”
“Well, why do you want to join?” Mom asked.
Savannah thought for a minute. “I want to know how things work,” she said. “And maybe I want to be an engineer like Grandpa.”
“Those sound like good reasons to me,” Mom said.
They sounded like good reasons to Savannah too. Still, she worried about her friends.
“There will be lots of times when your friends say one thing but you think another,” Mom said. “It’s important to base your choices on what you feel is right.”
That night Savannah thought a lot. She asked Heavenly Father for help making her choice. Eventually she decided what she would do. She felt peaceful and excited.
The next day Savannah talked to Mr. Murdock. “I’ve decided to join the team,” she said.
“You’ll spend a lot of time here after school,” he said.
“I know. I’m looking forward to it.”
For the next month, the team met twice a week. Savannah volunteered to come up with a design for the car. After hours of drawing and throwing away ideas, she finally had one for the team to build. She loved working on this project! Even when she wasn’t working on it, she was still thinking about the car and how they could improve it.
The day of the fair, the car was ready. Savannah hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Amber and Tess, and it had been scary to try something new, but she was glad she had joined the team. Maybe it wasn’t the popular choice, but for Savannah, it was the right one. She imagined Jesus smiling at her. He hadn’t always made popular choices either, but they were always the right ones.
After testing more than 50 entries, the judges awarded Savannah’s team second place!
She couldn’t wait for next year’s fair. She already had a few ideas.

One day I witnessed that great joy while casually sitting beside a friend. He had recently been called as a mission president, and I thought, “What could I share with him at this important time in his life? I endeavored to see in this friend what I thought the Lord might see in him. I desired to say something that would be of importance to him at this time. I had a wonderful feeling of love for my longtime friend and felt prompted to share the thoughts that came into my mind.
“I guess at a time like this,” I said to him, “one feels an increased urgency to be a pure vessel through which the Spirit can work unrestrained. Yet isn’t it a marvelous thing to know that you will have access to that great power, that inspiration, and even revelation every day while you and your missionaries are still striving for perfection?”
Almost immediately his eyes were moist. His chin quivered and he said, “You must have known I needed to hear that.”

Ten days after Mary Ann gave birth to Emma Alice in Montrose, Iowa Territory, on 4 September 1839, duty again called her husband away—on a mission to England. Brigham was so ill that he could not walk without help; his whole family languished with sickness as well.

At their sad parting, Mary Ann said to Elder Young, “Go and fill your mission, and the Lord will bless you, and I will do the best I can for myself and the children.”9 She trusted in God and rejoiced that she had the strength to see her husband off on his journey.

“Hello, Brother Berger? This is Dallin Wright speaking. I’m Greg’s quorum president, and we missed him at Scout meeting tonight. I’m calling to see if he is ill or something else is wrong so that he wasn’t able to come.”
“His what? Deacons quorum president, huh? Glad you won the election. I expect my son’s got something better to do than tie square knots.”
Dallin didn’t stop there. He went to the elders quorum president.
“President Roanes, this is Dallin Wright. I’m president of the deacons quorum. I …”
(With a slight chuckle) “Oh yeh. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling on quorum business. I understand that Greg Berger’s father is a member of your quorum. You see, we’re trying to reactivate Greg and feel that it’s his father who’s hindering his spiritual growth. That’s why I called you. I wondered what you were doing to help Brother Berger.”
“Well, uh … I … uh … that is …”
“I see. Well, I was wondering if you could see what you could do with Brother Berger … especially help him give the proper parental support and guidance for Greg’s quorum activities. So is it all right if I call you again a week from tonight and find out what progress you’ve made?”
“I think I’ve just been called to repentance!”
The dialogue reads like a script, and it was—part of this year’s June Conference activities—but more importantly, the circumstances actually existed, and a deacon spurred an elders quorum president to work with an inactive elder, thus helping both father and son.

To illustrate, I think I would like to share with you one of my failures. I suppose some people think I have never experienced failure. I have. Let me tell you of one such instance.
Sixty-three years ago, while serving as a missionary in the British Isles, my companion and I taught, and it was my pleasure to baptize, a young man. He was well educated. He was refined. He was studious. I was so proud of this gifted young man who had come into the Church. I felt he had all of the qualifications someday to become a leader among our people.
He was in the course of making the big adjustment from convert to member. For a short period before I was released, mine was the opportunity to be his friend. Then I was released to return home. He was given a small responsibility in the branch in London. He knew nothing of what was expected of him. He made a mistake. The head of the organization where he served was a man I can best describe as being short on love and strong on criticism. In a rather unmerciful way, he went after my friend who had made the simple mistake.
The young man left our rented hall that night smarting and hurt by his superior officer. He said to himself, “If that is the kind of people they are, then I am not going back.”
He drifted into inactivity. The years passed. The war came on, and he served in the British forces. His first wife died. After the war he married a woman whose father was a Protestant minister. That did not help his belief.
When I was in England, I tried desperately to find him. His file contained no record of a current address. I came home and finally, after a long search, was able to track him down.
I wrote to him. He responded but with no mention of the gospel.
When next I was in London, I again searched for him. The day I was to leave, I found him. I called him, and we met in the underground station. He threw his arms around me as I did around him. I had very little time before I had to catch my plane, but we talked briefly and with what I think was a true regard for one another. He gave me another embrace before I left. I determined that I would never lose track of him again. Through the years I wrote to him, letters that I hoped would give encouragement and incentive to return to the Church. He wrote in reply without mentioning the Church.
The years passed. I grew older as did he. He retired from his work and moved to Switzerland. On one occasion when I was in Switzerland, I went out of my way to find the village where he lived. We spent the better part of a day together—he, his wife, my wife, and myself. We had a wonderful time, but it was evident that the fire of faith had long since died. I tried every way I knew, but I could not find a way to rekindle it. I continued my correspondence. I sent him books, magazines, recordings of the Tabernacle Choir, and other things, for which he expressed appreciation.
He died a few months ago. His wife wrote me to inform me of this. She said, “You were the best friend he ever had.”
Tears coursed my cheeks when I read that letter. I knew I had failed. Perhaps if I had been there to pick him up when he was first knocked down, he might have made a different thing of his life. I think I could have helped him then. I think I could have dressed the wound from which he suffered. I have only one comfort: I tried. I have only one sorrow: I failed.

In closing, there is a story told by President Kimball. I wish I had it here to quote verbatim, but I shall have to do it from memory and pray that I will not mutilate it too much. He said, in substance, “I went to visit a friend. He met me at the airport. ‘How do you like my car?’ he said as he showed me his luxurious limousine. On the way from the airport to his home, he stopped the car, we got out, and he said, ‘See all this? From the mountains on the right hand over to the river on the left—it’s all mine.’” The way Brother Kimball said “mine” made you feel the covetousness that man had in his possessions. Then they proceeded to his home, which was truly a palace. President Kimball said, “I spoke at his funeral not long ago. They buried him in a piece of land the length of a tall man and the width of a heavy man, and as I returned from the cemetery I observed the cattle in the field, seemingly unaware that there had been a change of ownership.”

As a very young boy, I was intrigued with oil paintings. I spent many hours not only enjoying, but carefully examining the brush strokes still visible in the hardened paint. I was especially fascinated with the way the colors were mixed and placed one beside another.
It was exciting. Finally, upon growing older, I could restrain myself no longer. I just had to try it!
I obtained a few supplies, and then one night, after all the rest of the family was sound asleep, I ventured to paint.
My first attempt was to copy a painting of a beautiful landscape. Carefully I painted the sky—all of it—in all its detail. I even tried to make my brush strokes look like the ones I saw on the original. When the sky was finished, I painted that magnificent mountain; every stroke of it! Then, the trees—one at a time, of course; and then, the lake. On and on, I moved downward until finally that final blade of grass was placed in the only small white space remaining at the very bottom of the canvas.
Nothing could have kept me from awaking my father and mother to show them the “masterpiece.”
Actually, considering all that I had not yet learned, the painting was not too bad. At that stage in my development, I didn’t notice that the colors reflected by the lake were not very consistent with the colors from which those reflections came, or that perspective lines and size relationships were terribly distorted.
It was not until I enrolled in college art classes that I came to realize that great artists do not produce a finished product by starting at the top of the canvas and by moving systematically to the bottom. Instead, they clearly envision the entire image they wish to portray and then proceed to develop all parts of that image somewhat simultaneously.
By adding one line here and another there, and by applying paint, here a little and there a little, a balanced and coordinated composition finally emerges into reality.

Jesus was nice to everyone, and He always helped people. I try to be like Jesus by helping my family. I like to put things away and help clean around the house. I try to be cheerful about doing my chores. I also like to make people feel better. If I see someone who is sad, I go over and try to cheer them up. One time when I had to get my chicken-pox shot, there was a girl my age who had to have her shot, too. She was crying, so I went over to tell her that it wouldn’t hurt much. I stayed by her until it was my turn to get my shot. When I came back out, I told her it wasn’t bad at all. She smiled at me and wasn’t scared anymore. I felt good that I helped her feel better. I always feel good when I help someone.

As things will happen, the teacher whose class this was attended the banquet where I was to receive the award. I couldn’t resist telling a story about one of my experiences in her class. She was a very exacting and precise lady who dressed every bit the part of the old schoolmarm. She stood straight as a toothpick, had no shape, wore long, black dresses and a big bob in her hair at the back, and she used to carry a ruler around and was very adept at using it. Quite a motivator.
I was having a problem of being tardy to this class. One morning she kept me after class and said, “Young man, if you’re tardy one more time, I’ll see to it you’re dropped from the varsity ball team.” Now, that was one method to get through to me; so I took a vow with her that I’d be tardy no more, and for many days I did very well. Later one morning when I had only about five days to go until the end of the semester, I was running about two minutes behind. I was pedaling my bike as fast as I could down Hollywood Boulevard. I go on campus, parked and locked it, and ran across the quad and into the liberal arts building where my class was located. Just as I entered the building, the bell started to ring. The tardy bell lasted twelve seconds; that’s the time I had to go the length of the hall. Standing at the end of the hall in the doorway of my room was my teacher. She had her hand on the doorknob, and I knew that the second the bell quit ringing she’d close it. I started to run. The building had highly polished tile floors. I had on a pair of leather shoes, and I wasn’t getting much traction. I could see she was eager to close the door. I ran and finally got some traction. I could sense just before I got to the door that the bell was going to quit, so I drew up on all the prowess I had. I went into a hook slide. I actually slid the last twenty feet, thanks to the highly polished floors. I slid right by her under two desks; and I remember that as I passed her I looked up and hollered, “Safe!”

I would like to share my testimony on obedience and how the Lord taught me to trust Him during one of the most difficult periods of my life. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, my world felt uncertain and unstable. I was filled with fear, anxiety, and many unanswered questions.
During that time, I received the opportunity to attend FSY 2025, with the theme “Look unto Christ.” My first reaction was to refuse. I questioned how I could leave my mother and focus on anything else while my family was going through such pain. And at that time obedience felt confusing because my heart was torn between fear and faith. I prayed sincerely, asking the Lord what He wanted me to do.
At the very last moment, I chose to be obedient to the prompt I felt to attend FSY 2025 despite my worries. This decision was not easy. Obedience for me meant trusting the Lord more than my fears and believing that He could use this experience for a greater purpose. While at FSY, I learned that looking unto Christ is an act of obedience choosing Him when life feels overwhelming.
Through obedience, the Lord strengthened me. My anxiety softened, my faith deepened, and I felt peace that I could not create on my own. I realized that obedience does not remove trials, but it prepares us to face them with Christ by our side.
When I returned home, I shared what I had learned with my parents. The strength I gained through obedience did not stay with me alone; it helped my family as well. I saw how the Lord multiplied my small acts of obedience into comfort, reassurance, and renewed faith for those I love.
This experience taught me that obedience is not always about understanding the outcome, it is about trusting the One who leads us. I testify that when we choose to obey the Lord, even when it feels painful or uncertain, He blesses us in ways we cannot foresee. As we look unto Christ and follow His guidance, He carries us and our families through every trial. ?

On October 25, 1995, Derrick Parke, of Carey, Idaho, died suddenly of a heart defect while playing racquetball with a friend. At the time of his death, he was attending his first semester at Ricks College and had just completed his mission papers. Derrick was known as an outstanding athlete in football, basketball, and track. He was an example to many for his sportsmanship, athletic ability, integrity, and kindness. The following is adapted from his father’s talk, given at his funeral.
As the bishop of the Carey First Ward, I was given the unique opportunity to interview my own son prior to filling out his mission papers. When the interview came to a close, and Derrick was about to sign his name on the line, I said, “Derrick, wait a minute. I want all the cards on top of the table. Are you worthy to go on this mission?”
He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Dad, I am.” And with that, he took the pen in hand and signed his mission papers.
Three days later he died.
But I don’t think that this was coincidental. Heavenly Father had a hand in this. I know that Derrick had a far greater mission to attend to, and that’s why he was taken. As I look back upon his life, there was never a better time for him to go. It was Derrick’s time to go home; he was ready. He lived his life in such a way that he was ready.
The walls of Derrick’s room are covered with laminated pictures of his success stories in sports; his trophies line the foot of his bed. But at the head of his bed is an 8-by-11-inch picture of the Savior. Derrick had his priorities in order. He knew what was first. He knew that the Lord was first, and that these other things were second.
I know that many young people would envy some of the successes that he’s had in sports. But the greatest success is to have the Savior by the head of your bed and to recognize that great blessing in your life. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that Derrick knows that too. And Derrick knows that because he understood why he was on the earth.
It was this understanding that drove Derrick to do what is right. I know he had his personal prayers. He read the scriptures and attended seminary. The way Derrick lived his life showed that he loved the Savior.
President Boyd K. Packer once said that most people live and die, without knowing why they are here (see Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 16). But that was not the case with Derrick. He knew why he was here. He had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only was he desirous to be a missionary, but he was willing to pay the price to be worthy to serve a mission. And like everything else he did, he paid the price.
And because of this, he was ready to serve wherever the Lord chose to call him. It just so happened that the Lord called him home.

Throughout my life, I have struggled to feel like I fit in. Growing up, I was labeled as “overly sensitive,” and my big emotions affected every aspect of my life. I felt like I was always too loud and too emotional.
As I got older, this insecurity about my personality began to affect my mental health. But I also noticed something else—the way my body looked depended on how I felt mentally. Sometimes, when I was in a cycle of depression, I lost weight quickly. In other times of my life, I gained weight quickly. For me, it felt like my emotions and body were tied closely together, and that made it hard to love what I saw in the mirror.
As I dealt with these struggles, my insecurity deepened. It made me wonder:
How could I find my place in God’s plan if I couldn’t find my place in this world?
When I was in college, I received my endowment. As I attended the temple for the first time, I was filled with a lot of peace, but I wasn’t entirely clear on what I had learned.
So, I decided to worship in the temple regularly to better understand. I also prayed to Heavenly Father with specific questions so I could understand what He was trying to teach me.
When I did this, the Spirit taught me that I could draw strength from my divine identity—even if I felt insecure about my personality or how I looked. The endowment ceremony in the temple showed me that a loving Father in Heaven created our unique bodies and spirits for a specific purpose—to come to this earth and become like Him.
Over time, the more often I worshipped in the temple, the better I felt about myself. This didn’t come instantly or perfectly, but for me, a combination of therapy, medication, and prayer was what I needed to create a healthy sense of self-image.
I now understand that my body and emotions are not a burden—they’re a blessing from Heavenly Father! And I’ve found that when we continually stand in holy places, even when we are going through a hard time, we will be blessed.
While the temple gives me a better understanding and perspective, there are still times when I struggle with a deep sadness about my mind and body. And I know there are others who may feel the same way I do.
For those who battle mental or physical challenges, I have found that standing in holy places anchors me to Jesus Christ and helps me endure those bad days. Now I love who I am and strive to improve every day—because I have found my identity as a daughter of God.
I promise that knowing your divine nature will change how you see yourself, and this knowledge will give you peace when you need it most.

One night our ward held an activity that we had spent hours preparing for. After the activity a young investigator said goodbye to me but a few minutes later returned and asked, “Bishop, when do I need to come back?” I told him Sunday, and the boy quickly said, “No, isn’t there another activity?” He had had such a good time with the youth of our ward that he wanted to come back.
I also conversed with a visiting couple who had attended the activity and asked them what they had thought. The husband said, “Since we got here, we have felt peace and tranquility,” which his wife affirmed with a nod of her head. I was surprised by this because when they first arrived, there had been a lot of people talking and making a racket. But he continued and looked at me and asked, “That’s the Holy Ghost, right?” Surprised, I could only say yes.
There had been a lot to do to get ready for this activity, so that night when everything ended, the only thing I had wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Because of how tired I was, I had not been able to think over my conversations with the investigators. When I got home, I said my prayers and got into bed, but I couldn’t sleep; in my mind I pictured the Lord smiling. It was a smile of acceptance. At that moment I began to remember the wonderful things that had happened at the activity.
I understood that the diligence and love of the ward members had made it possible for the hearts of those three investigators to be touched. I understood that the smile of acceptance was for what we were doing. I couldn’t avoid crying, and I felt so grateful for the gift that the Lord gave us. He had given us a smile of acceptance. I testify that the Lord’s words are true; that when we bring but one soul to Him, great will be our joy in the kingdom of the Father (see D&C 18:15).