Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by J. Beth Jepson
I never felt like I didn’t belong at church until my husband, Cameron, and I began struggling with infertility. The children and families who had typically brought me joy to see at church now started causing me grief and pain.
I felt barren without a child in my arms or a diaper bag in hand. In Relief Society, playgroups were announced, moms chatted, and it seemed every lesson tied back to motherhood.
I felt lost.
I didn’t have a child to bring to playgroup. I didn’t have personal stories to share about rearing my child in the gospel.
I desperately wanted to be a part of the conversations about motherhood and to make friends with the sisters in my ward, but I felt like there was no connection between us because I wasn’t a mother.
The hardest Sunday was our first one in a new ward. Because we didn’t have kids, we were asked if we were newlyweds and when we planned on starting a family. I had gotten pretty good at answering these questions without letting them affect me—I knew they weren’t meant to be hurtful.
However, on this particular Sunday, answering those questions was especially hard. We had just found out, after being hopeful, that we were—yet again—not pregnant.
I walked into sacrament meeting feeling downtrodden, and answering those typical “get to know you” questions was hard for me. During the sacrament, I scanned the congregation looking for other young couples without children whom my husband and I could relate to. We didn’t see anyone else.
But it was Sunday School that truly broke my heart. The lesson—intended to be about the divine role of mothers—quickly shifted gears and became a vent session. My heart sank and tears silently flowed down my cheeks as I heard women complain about a blessing I would give anything for.
I bolted out of church. At first, I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to experience that feeling of isolation again. But that night, after talking with my husband, we knew we would keep attending church not only because the Lord has asked us to but also because we both knew that the joy that comes from renewing covenants and feeling the Spirit at church surpasses the sadness I felt that day.
That experience happened four years ago. Time has passed. And I still don’t have a baby in my arms or a diaper bag in my hand, but I know now more than ever that I do belong in church.
While processing my own grief, I’ve become more observant of those around me. I still scan the congregation, but now I try to notice those who might have come to church feeling like they don’t belong. And I’ve learned that we all feel like we don’t belong at times.
In the Church, there are widowed, divorced, and single members; those with family members who have fallen away from the gospel; people with chronic illnesses or financial struggles; members who experience same-sex attraction; members working to overcome addictions or doubts; recent converts; new move-ins; empty-nesters; and the list goes on and on.
Each of us may feel that our trials or circumstances prevent us from belonging, but the truth is that our unique lives and our individual adversities are actually what make us belong in Christ’s Church the most.
The purpose of being a member of the Church is to follow Him. We belong with our Savior, and so we belong in His Church. He has told us, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
The Savior invites us to come unto Him—no matter our circumstances. We come to church to renew our covenants, to increase our faith, to find peace, and to do as He did perfectly in His life—minister to others who feel like they don’t belong.
There might be times when I’m the only one in Relief Society who doesn’t have children. And times when people still ask why we don’t have children. Those times may be difficult, but for as many difficult experiences, there are even more joyful ones.
Feeling the Spirit at church and showing my love for my Savior will always surpass any feeling of being alone. I know there is peace in Christ. I know there is healing in attending church. I know we’re blessed as we keep going. Our trials may be different from others’ at church, but our personal experiences can help us become more empathetic to others who may feel like they don’t belong. And as a result, those experiences can unite us.
I know that by sharing my testimony and opening my heart, I can help others come to understand that they—and each and every individual—belong in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I once visited a charming town in Iceland. Right away, I noticed that the traffic lights were shaped like hearts! I asked about it and learned the story.
Years ago, people in Iceland were having a hard time. The town decided to do something to help people be happy again. They called it the “Smile with Your Heart” project. They changed the traffic lights and asked people to hang hearts from windows. The hearts helped everyone remember to love others and have hope.
One person told me the project was to help remind them to be kind to one another. They also said it helped them stop and think about what matters most in life.
This showed me that no act of kindness is too small. Something as simple as a heart-shaped traffic light can remind someone of their worth, give them hope, and help them get through another day.

Samuel and Anna-Maria Koivisto showed both commitment and willingness. Soon after their marriage, the Koivistos moved from Finland to Sweden to pursue career opportunities. After arriving, Brother Koivisto was invited to visit with President Leif G. Mattsson, a counselor in the Göteborg Sweden Stake presidency. Because Samuel did not speak Swedish, they spoke in English.

Following a brief visit, President Mattsson asked Samuel to serve as a ward mission leader. Samuel pointed out the obvious, “But I don’t speak Swedish.”

President Mattsson leaned over his desk and pointedly asked, “Did I ask if you could speak Swedish, or are you willing to serve the Lord?”

Samuel answered, “You asked if I was willing to serve the Lord. And I am.”

Samuel accepted the calling. Anna-Maria also accepted callings. Both served faithfully and learned to speak beautiful Swedish along the way. Commitment and willingness to serve the Lord have characterized the lives of Samuel and Anna-Maria. They have taught me that when we serve, we use the talents we have, and the Lord then helps us accomplish His purposes.

With Sister Hafen here today, I've been thinking of a moment when I was president of Ricks College and we went with the basketball team to Kansas for the national tournament. The team did very well that year. As they were playing in the semi-final game, our little group of Ricks fans were in the big arena cheering the team on. Our cheering section included a few local Church members and some local people who had just been attracted to the team during the tournament. At half-time, a woman came to talk to us. She said, "I've been watching you people cheer." She turned to Marie and said, "I have to know which one of those boys on that Ricks basketball team is yours, because I've never seen a mother cheer so hard. Which one is it? We want to cheer for him too." As Marie wondered what to tell her, I said, "They're all hers."

My mother and father served as mission leaders for the New Zealand Auckland Mission. Prior to their serving, they met with President Thomas S. Monson, who gave them specific instructions “to lift the people up.” While serving as mission president, my father started to experience significant headaches and occasional dizziness which warranted a medical examination. After being examined by the doctors, an early diagnosis of a brain tumor was relayed. The doctor immediately cautioned my father to move gently, slowly, and quietly, and to always keep his head very still until the results were more conclusive. When my father heard the instructions, he immediately started to shake his head furiously back and forth while saying simultaneously that “President Monson promised me protection while I am serving.”

When my father’s faith inventory occurred, he was not found wanting—his symptoms dissipated, his diagnosis changed, and he served vigorously and faithfully to the end of his assignment.

We were packing for a short trip to the mountains of northern New Mexico, and I was loading the last of the children and supplies into the car. My wife appeared at the door and said cheerfully, “Well, we’re all set!” As she was pulling the locked door closed, I realized I didn’t have my keys! I yelled quickly, “DON‘T SHUT THAT … door.” Too late.
In an instant I was irritated. I said to my wife, implying she was to blame, “My keys are in the house!”
Fortunately, a forgotten open window allowed us access to the house without the loss of much time, and my feelings dissipated. I “forgave” my wife for having caused me emotional pain.
Later, as I thought of the experience, I realized I had found it convenient to blame my wife because it was a way of justifying my own failure. By my hostile feelings I could make it appear that she was the guilty one and that I was a helpless victim.
The truth is that my irritation was not due to her behavior at all. It was, instead, the product of my own unwillingness to accept the responsibility of my actions, and obviously, she hadn’t needed my forgiveness—but I certainly needed hers.
The real issue was my need to repent of the feelings I had. Had she been in some kind of transgression, then the solution to the problem would have been for her to repent and me to forgive. In this case, however, only my repentance was necessary to restore us to oneness. I understood also that my repentance, my giving up of my feelings of resentment, would have been necessary whether she had been guilty of anything or not. I saw that I could not be both unrepentant (or unforgiving) and compassionate at the same time. These are two incompatible attitudes.
This almost trivial incident illustrates some important truths about forgiveness, charity, and compassion. I’ve learned that these Christ-like attitudes are the foundation for dealing with the big problems as well as the little ones that may beset a marriage. They can lead to oneness in even the most strained relationships.
As a marriage and family therapist, I occasionally meet people who feel that problems in their marriage are much too large to ever be resolved. Sister Flagg (not her real name) was one of them. She shared with me her feelings of helplessness about being in a loveless marriage. When I asked her to imagine her life one year from now and to describe what her marriage would be like then, her expression shifted from discouragement to despair. She was sure her marriage could never be different. She doubted she could ever love her husband; he was aloof, uncaring, wrapped up in his own world. He rarely took time for her—for them. He wasn’t physically abusive, but distant from her.
I saw the following as features of her situation: (1) She felt helpless in the face of what she saw as a hopeless situation. (2) She was emotionally burdened by the isolation from her husband. (3) She was convinced that she was a victim of circumstances, that she was trapped and miserable because of her husband’s actions. (4) She saw the gospel as a nice set of ideals that didn’t adequately address her circumstances. (It was as if she were insisting that her brand of suffering was an exception to the application of gospel principles.)
I am convinced that the gospel of Jesus Christ is the solution—a very practical one—to problems in marriage. Even though some husbands and wives see scriptural counsel as too “abstract” or too “idealistic,” I see continually how the gospel is the source of personal and marital happiness and that it has the answers to solving problems in marriage.
Consequently, I sought to explain to Sister Flagg how three important gospel attitudes—forgiveness, charity, and compassion—could help her and her husband resolve their difficulties. I tried to help her see that just as I felt that my wife had “caused” my irritation when I was locked out of the house, Sister Flagg was unjustly blaming her husband for “causing” her misery. Whether my wife had been guilty or not, I was wrongly accusing her of causing my reaction. My feelings of resentment were my way of refusing to feel compassion for my wife. Sister Flagg was in a similar position: whether her husband was guilty or not, her feelings of helplessness were a way of showing how impossible it was for her to view him compassionately.
Now, I am not saying that her husband was innocent, that the solution to her problem was “just in her head.” I am suggesting, however, that her way of viewing her circumstances was part of the problem. By insisting she was helpless, she was producing hopelessness.
Suppose Brother Flagg was, indeed, as aloof and uncaring as Sister Flagg said he was, that everything she reported was true. By living gospel principles, she could still do much to improve her situation. Although there is no guarantee that her husband would respond and change, she could still rid herself of her bondage of helplessness and despair, and create a better life for herself and, hopefully, for her husband as well.
If people in Sister Flagg’s position were to realize that they can do something about their problems, they would have begun to solve the problem. I remember working with a man who, like Sister Flagg, felt helpless; he was sure that nothing he could do would change the problems in his marriage. Although his feelings of helplessness were real, they were not produced by his situation; rather, he had produced them himself as a way of showing who was to blame. They were his “proof” that he could do nothing about his circumstances except be defeated by them. Harboring these feelings was his way of achieving vengeance against his wife for her “wrongs.”
What could he do about these feelings? Like Sister Flagg, he could give them up in favor of the Christ-like attitudes of forgiveness, charity, and compassion. He can’t feel both helpless and forgiving simultaneously; he can either continue to insist he is helpless, or turn his heart to the Lord—and begin to solve the problem.

Shortly after my call to the Seventy, I was assigned to serve in England. Sister Rasband and I took our two youngest children, Shannon and Christian, with us. We quickly realized what a sacrifice it would be for them, particularly for Christian. He was 17 years old and looking forward to his senior year of high school with his friends and the athletic competitions, which he would now miss back home.
To help Shannon and Christian adjust to this new place, we decided to go to the Preston England Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. We had not done this in our busy lives back home. The minute we walked into the temple baptistry, everything changed.
After performing the baptisms, Christian put his hand on my shoulder and sincerely asked, “Dad, why haven’t we ever done this before?”
Preston England Temple baptistry
I learned an important lesson that day. The temple had changed our perspectives, brought us peace and joy, and spiritually lifted us more than any football tournament or basketball game ever could. If you have a chance to attend the temple, I encourage you to go as often as possible. Take your ancestors’ names and perform baptisms and confirmations for them. Your experiences in the temple will bring peace and joy to you and others here and in the life to come.

My companion handed me an envelope and said, “Sister Jones, I think this is for you.” I looked at the return address and was pleased to see my cousin’s name printed neatly in the corner. I had just been transferred to a new city from the other side of southern France and didn’t think anyone back home in the United States was aware of my new address. I opened the envelope and read a short note in which my cousin said that she had recently received an e-mail from her French pen pal after eight years of no contact.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.

A true story from Nigeria.
Gift leaned against the edge of the boat and watched with wonder as the water slapped its sides. She reached down toward the waves, the spray gently tickling her arms. This was her favorite journey. She and her family were on the way to Grandfather’s village, and with each moment, she moved closer to a world more wild and free than the city she was leaving behind.
In the city, Gift blended in. She was one in millions. Sometimes that felt nice—to just be herself, without anyone caring too much about what she chose to wear or do. But in her grandfather’s village, it was different. There, Gift was unique. She was a princess—the granddaughter of a wise king.
After two hours, the boat docked. The longest part of the journey was still ahead: six hours by bus. She knew she would be tired, but soon she would be with her grandfather again. That made it all worth it.
It was a bumpy ride. Gift tried to pass the time by looking at cloud shapes she saw out the window and watching the beautiful land blur past. The sun was beginning to set when the bus pulled to a stop. Finally! Grandfather! Gift leapt from the bus and ran to the village house.
She searched inside for Grandfather. She searched the inner courtyard, where her mother had kept goats as a child. She searched the bedrooms, where at night she’d have to close the windows to keep out the mosquitoes. She searched the yard behind the house, where she’d worn the robes of royalty—bright scarves and a paper crown—to attend the village council.
There, Gift saw Grandfather peacefully sitting on a bench, overlooking the family garden. Gift smiled.
“Grandfather!” she called.
Grandfather stood and opened his arms wide. “My dear girl,” he whispered as he wrapped her in a warm hug. “Sit and rest with me.”
“I’ve missed you,” Gift said.
“I’ve missed you more. I’m glad you are here.” Grandfather paused for a moment and then asked, “Do you know how special this garden is?”
Gift shook her head.
Grandfather pointed to the tree in front of them. “This is the family tree,” he said. Gift noticed that it looked old and strong.
“The tiles on the ground around the tree have the names of our ancestors. We must always remember our family.”
Gift didn’t recognize many of the names on the tiles. How could she remember someone she didn’t know? “Tell me about them, Grandfather,” Gift said.
Grandfather read the names one by one and told Gift the stories of her ancestors. As he spoke, Gift realized that in some ways, these were also stories of her. She had a lot in common with these family members she had never met.
In that moment, Gift understood something important. It wasn’t just the waves and the land that made her feel free here. It was a connection to her family that she felt in this village with Grandfather.
Grandfather told stories until the stars danced in the sky.
Finally, Grandfather sighed. “We’d better go inside.”
“Just one more moment,” Gift said.
Gift walked to the tree and gently touched its bark. Then she looked at the tiles on the ground, remembering the story of each ancestor. One day, she would visit the temple and perform sacred ordinances for them. Because of them, she was here now. She’d do her part to return the gift they’d given her.
Grandfather reached out his hand for hers, and Gift took it. With one final look back at the family tree, Gift headed inside, where more of her family were waiting to greet her.

I once saw a news article about some truly amazing children from the Bridgewater, Massachusetts, area. Danny Keefe, age six, suffered a severe brain hemorrhage after birth, and his parents worried that he might have some serious developmental delays. Danny wears a jacket, a tie, and a fedora to school every day and has some speech problems. He is also the official “water coach” for the Peewee Football League Bridgewater Badgers, an older group of fifth-grade boys.

Some of the kids at school started picking on Danny for the way that he spoke and for his choice in outfits. The boys on the football team heard about this and decided to show their support for Danny by starting a Danny Appreciation Day and dressing up just like Danny. The quarter­back of the football team said:

We heard that Danny was getting picked on, so we thought that we would all have a day to dress up like Danny. We thought we would all come to school like Danny and sponsor Danny to show Danny that we love him—that we love him very much.8

In my view, these boys are superheroes—better, in fact, than so many of the superheroes we see in the media. They were able to defend someone who was being hurt without resorting to aggression themselves.

On the final night of the performance, one of the microphones wasn’t working. “With minutes to go until the start of the show, the directors still couldn’t get this person’s microphone to work. One of the backstage managers began to walk through the halls and ask everyone in sight to say a prayer, asking for help with the technical difficulty,” Brie recalls. “Before bowing my head, I looked around me to see every single cast member humbly bowing his or her head to pray in faith to our Father in Heaven. Sure enough, as we sang the opening number and started the show, all of the microphones were working perfectly.”

Jennifer Johnson, 15, of Arvada, Colorado, is confined to a wheelchair and is deaf, but thanks to the help of friends, family, and ward members, she often feels just like “any other kid.”
Jennifer was born with spina bifida, and has had more than 25 surgeries in her short life. Recently, “News for Kids,” a nationally syndicated television program, featured Jennifer going through her classes at school and working at home with her sister Julianne to accomplish their chores.
Jennifer, a Mia Maid, loves going to church and attending Young Women activities. With the help of many, she’s attended YW camp for the past two years, which has been a real treat for her.
She also gets along well at school. “Kids sometimes make fun of me and tease me,” she says. “But I want to be treated like any other eighth grader.”

During my mission in the British Isles, I had one companion I thought was difficult to get on with. One night, I was reading a very touching story in the New Era about charity. After that, I prayed to Heavenly Father that I would be able to develop more love for this other missionary. The next two months of our companionship turned out to be the most successful time of my entire mission.
Fredy NebelZurich, Switzerland

Many wrote to tell how the issue on the Savior helped clear up misunderstandings about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Barbara Mayes of Flagstaff, Arizona, USA, reported a comment from the woman who comes in to clean her home: “I have noticed many things that point to the idea that you believe in Jesus. How can that be? You two are Mormons. Are you Christians?” Sister Mayes gave her a copy of the March Ensign and they began a conversation. “As she reads, she continues to ask significant questions, and a closed heart has been opened,” said Sister Mayes.

Several years ago I, along with six other single women in my age range, had the unique and unexpected opportunity to meet with Relief Society general president Bonnie D. Parkin. We spent a little more than an hour together talking about our lives as single women in the Church.
That meeting was one of the real blessings of my life that year. As we sat around the table in Sister Parkin’s office, we spoke of the challenges and the blessings in our lives. At the end she asked us if we had a final comment we wanted to make. I raised my hand and pronounced, “The Church is the best place to be a single woman.” Given the opportunity over the course of that short hour to bear my testimony of service and loyalty to God, I had genuinely deepened my testimony of my role in the Church. I knew what my role was before, but I needed that forum to articulate it and deepen my conviction of its importance.

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the Holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the president, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

The family looked confused. My missionary companion and I had been teaching them the first discussion, and they didn’t seem to understand about the Holy Ghost. We talked about the Spirit and about how they could know the Book of Mormon was true.

As I related this experience to this family we were teaching, the Spirit touched me and I knew the truth of what I was saying. Almost trembling, I testified, “The Lord knows me personally! He was watching over me that day, and He continues to watch over me today. He is aware of my individual needs. He knows you personally too, and He will answer your prayers as you pray with faith.”

I went home that evening, grateful for the knowledge I had gained. By relating my experience, I was blessed to understand the Lord’s love for me. Truly a testimony is found in the bearing of it.

In the fall of 2022, I coached a community flag football team of kids from 4th grade to 6th grade. When we started the season, we were not all that good. When we ended the season, we were still not the best. However, I was very proud of my team who had put forth extreme effort and improved greatly over the course of the season. In our final game—the only game we won—the other team’s player was racing for the end zone and it looked hopeless for my team. Suddenly, I saw sprinting from the other side of the field one of my players who had not given up. He followed the other player all the way down the field, reaching the other team’s player just in time to pull the flag before the touchdown was scored. That was tenacity. Not giving up on defense was a principle we had worked on as a team over and over again in practices. More than anything else that was accomplished during the game eclipsing the mistakes we made, and more important than the end score were the efforts given by the players. If my team can cause such feelings of delight and happiness in me because of their efforts, think of how worthwhile it must be to our Heavenly Father to see our efforts to obey his commandments.

The story is about a girl named Eva. There are two important things you should know about Eva. One is that she was 11 years old in this story. And the other is that she absolutely, positively did not want to go and live with her great-aunt Rose. Not at all. No way.
But Eva’s mother was going to have surgery that required a lengthy recovery. So Eva’s parents were sending her to spend the summer with Great-Aunt Rose.
In Eva’s mind, there were a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea. For one thing, it would mean being away from her mother. It would also mean leaving her family and friends. And besides, she didn’t even know Great-Aunt Rose. She was quite comfortable, thank you very much, right where she was.
But no amount of arguing or eye-rolling could change the decision. So Eva packed up a suitcase and took the long drive with her father to Great-Aunt Rose’s house.
From the moment Eva stepped inside the house, she hated it.
Everything was so old! Every inch was packed with old books, strange-colored bottles, and plastic bins spilling over with beads, bows, and buttons.
Great-Aunt Rose lived there alone; she had never married. The only other inhabitant was a gray cat who liked to find the highest point in every room and perch there, staring like a hungry tiger at everything below.
Even the house itself seemed lonely. It was out in the countryside, where the houses are far apart. No one Eva’s age lived within half a mile. That made Eva feel lonely too.
At first she didn’t pay much attention to Great-Aunt Rose. She mostly thought about her mother. Sometimes, she would stay awake at night, praying with all her soul that her mother would be well. And though it didn’t happen right away, Eva began to feel that God was watching over her mother.
Word finally came that the operation was a success, and now all that was left for Eva to do was to endure till the end of summer. But oh, how she hated enduring!
With her mind now at ease about her mother, Eva began to notice Great-Aunt Rose a little more. She was a large woman—everything about her was large: her voice, her smile, her personality. It wasn’t easy for her to get around, but she always sang and laughed while she worked, and the sound of her laughter filled the house. Every night she sat down on her overstuffed sofa, pulled out her scriptures, and read out loud. And as she read, she sometimes made comments like “Oh, he shouldn’t have done that!” or “What wouldn’t I give to have been there!” or “Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard!” And every evening as the two of them knelt by Eva’s bed to pray, Great-Aunt Rose would say the most beautiful prayers, thanking her Heavenly Father for the blue jays and the spruce trees, the sunsets and the stars, and the “wonder of being alive.” It sounded to Eva as though Rose knew God as a friend.
Over time, Eva made a surprising discovery: Great-Aunt Rose was quite possibly the happiest person she had ever known!
But how could that be?
What did she have to be happy about?
She had never married, she had no children, she had no one to keep her company except that creepy cat, and she had a hard time doing simple things like tying her shoes and walking up stairs.
When she went to town, she wore embarrassingly big, bright hats. But people didn’t laugh at her. Instead, they crowded around her, wanting to talk to her. Rose had been a schoolteacher, and it wasn’t uncommon for former students—now grown up with children of their own—to stop and chat. They thanked her for being a good influence in their lives. They often laughed. Sometimes they even cried.
As the summer progressed, Eva spent more and more time with Rose. They went on long walks, and Eva learned the difference between sparrows and finches. She picked wild elderberries and made marmalade from oranges. She learned about her great-great-grandmother who left her beloved homeland, sailed across an ocean, and walked across the plains to be with the Saints.
Soon Eva made another startling discovery: not only was Great-Aunt Rose one of the happiest persons she knew, but Eva herself was happier whenever she was around her.
The days of summer were passing more quickly now. Before Eva knew it, Great-Aunt Rose said it would soon be time for Eva to return home. Though Eva had been looking forward to that moment since the day she arrived, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it now. She realized she was actually going to miss this strange old house with the stalker cat and her beloved great-aunt Rose.
The day before her father arrived to pick her up, Eva asked the question she had been wondering about for weeks: “Aunt Rose, why are you so happy?”
Aunt Rose looked at her carefully and then guided her to a painting that hung in the front room. It had been a gift from a talented dear friend.
“What do you see there?” she asked.
Eva had noticed the painting before, but she hadn’t really looked at it closely. A girl in pioneer dress skipped along a bright blue path. The grass and trees were a vibrant green. Eva said, “It’s a painting of a girl. Looks like she’s skipping.”
“Yes, it is a pioneer girl skipping along happily,” Aunt Rose said. “I imagine there were many dark and dreary days for the pioneers. Their life was so hard—we can’t even imagine. But in this painting, everything is bright and hopeful. This girl has a spring in her step, and she is moving forward and upward.”
Eva was silent, so Great-Aunt Rose continued: “There is enough that doesn’t go right in life, so anyone can work themselves into a puddle of pessimism and a mess of melancholy. But I know people who, even when things don’t work out, focus on the wonders and miracles of life. These folks are the happiest people I know.”
“But,” Eva said, “you can’t just flip a switch and go from sad to happy.”
“No, perhaps not,” Aunt Rose smiled gently, “but God didn’t design us to be sad. He created us to have joy! So if we trust Him, He will help us to notice the good, bright, hopeful things of life. And sure enough, the world will become brighter. No, it doesn’t happen instantly, but honestly, how many good things do? Seems to me that the best things, like homemade bread or orange marmalade, take patience and work.”
Eva thought about it a moment and said, “Maybe it’s not so simple for people who don’t have everything perfect in their lives.”
“Dear Eva, do you really think that my life is perfect?” Aunt Rose sat with Eva on the overstuffed sofa. “There was a time when I was so discouraged I didn’t want to go on.”
“You?” Eva asked.
Aunt Rose nodded. “There were so many things I wished for in my life.” As she spoke, a sadness entered her voice that Eva had never heard before. “Most of them never happened. It was one heartbreak after another. One day I realized that it would never be the way I had hoped for. That was a depressing day. I was ready to give up and be miserable.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing for a time. I was just angry. I was an absolute monster to be around.” Then she laughed a little, but it was not her usual big, room-filling laugh. “‘It’s not fair’ was the song I sang over and over in my head. But eventually I discovered something that turned my whole life around.”
“What was it?”
“Faith,” Aunt Rose smiled. “I discovered faith. And faith led to hope. And faith and hope gave me confidence that one day everything would make sense, that because of the Savior, all the wrongs would be made right. After that, I saw that the path before me wasn’t as dreary and dusty as I had thought. I began to notice the bright blues, the verdant greens, and the fiery reds, and I decided I had a choice—I could hang my head and drag my feet on the dusty road of self-pity, or I could have a little faith, put on a bright dress, slip on my dancing shoes, and skip down the path of life, singing as I went.” Now her voice was skipping along like the girl in the painting.
Aunt Rose reached over to the end table and pulled her well-worn scriptures onto her lap. “I don’t think I was clinically depressed—I’m not sure you can talk yourself out of that. But I sure had talked myself into being miserable! Yes, I had some dark days, but all my brooding and worrying wasn’t going to change that—it was only making things worse. Faith in the Savior taught me that no matter what happened in the past, my story could have a happy ending.”
“How do you know that?” Eva asked.
Aunt Rose turned a page in her Bible and said, “It says it right here:
“‘God … will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.
“‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”
Great-Aunt Rose looked at Eva. Her smile was wide as she whispered, with a slight quiver in her voice, “Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard?”
It really did sound beautiful, Eva thought.
Aunt Rose turned a few pages and pointed to a verse for Eva to read: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”
“With such a glorious future,” Aunt Rose said, “why get swallowed up in past or present things that don’t go quite the way we planned?”
Eva furrowed her brow. “But wait a minute,” she said. “Are you saying that being happy means just looking forward to happiness in the future? Is all our happiness in eternity? Can’t some of it happen now?”
“Oh, of course it can!” Aunt Rose exclaimed. “Dear child, now is part of eternity. It doesn’t only begin after we die! Faith and hope will open your eyes to the happiness that is placed before you.
“I know a poem that says, ‘Forever—is composed of Nows.’ I didn’t want my forever to be composed of dark and fearful ‘Nows.’ And I didn’t want to live in the gloom of a bunker, gritting my teeth, closing my eyes, and resentfully enduring to the bitter end. Faith gave me the hope I needed to live joyfully now!”
“So what did you do then?” Eva asked.
“I exercised faith in God’s promises by filling my life with meaningful things. I went to school. I got an education. That led me to a career that I loved.”
Eva thought about this for a moment and said, “But surely being busy isn’t what made you happy. There are a lot of busy people who aren’t happy.”
“How can you be so wise for someone so young?” Aunt Rose asked. “You’re absolutely right. And most of those busy, unhappy people have forgotten the one thing that matters most in all the world—the thing Jesus said is the heart of His gospel.”
“And what is that?” Eva asked.
“It is love—the pure love of Christ,” Rose said. “You see, everything else in the gospel—all the shoulds and the musts and the thou shalts—lead to love. When we love God, we want to serve Him. We want to be like Him. When we love our neighbors, we stop thinking so much about our own problems and help others to solve theirs.”
“And that is what makes us happy?” Eva asked.
Great-Aunt Rose nodded and smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes, my dear. That is what makes us happy.”
The next day Eva hugged her great-aunt Rose and thanked her for everything she had done. She returned home to her family and her friends and her house and her neighborhood.
But she was never quite the same.
As Eva grew older, she often thought of the words of her great-aunt Rose. Eva eventually married, raised children, and lived a long and wonderful life.
And one day, as she was standing in her own home, admiring a painting of a girl in pioneer dress skipping down a bright blue path, she realized that somehow she had reached the same age her great-aunt Rose was during that remarkable summer.
When she realized this, she felt a special prayer swell within her heart. And Eva felt grateful for her life, for her family, for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and for that summer so long ago when Great-Aunt Rose taught her about faith, hope, and love.

A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother who lived some distance from town was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then “put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, ‘I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?’” The immediacy of the Prophet’s response is significant. Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.