Gospel Story Finder

For a long time I struggled with an eating disorder called anorexia nervosa, where you eat less and less and worry about gaining weight. It affects you mentally—you start to feel guilty for eating and don’t understand your body’s needs. It didn’t help that I constantly saw unrealistic standards online or at school, and I compared myself to my family and others around me.
My eating disorder was definitely something I hid. But my mom noticed the changes in my eating habits. She sat down with me and gave me as much time as I needed to tell her what was going on. There were a lot of tears, but I think the Spirit helped guide her to know I needed help. Together, we made a plan and started gently working through it.
During that time, I also decided to get my patriarchal blessing. I wanted to know what my life could be like outside of the darkness that I was experiencing. I came in asking God, “Who am I?,” “Do You love me?,” and “Why am I here?” The first thing the patriarch said was an answer to those questions. My blessing helps me learn about my true identity and what God has in store for me. Whenever I read it, I feel the Savior’s love for me and remember what I can become with Him.
Even with the support of my patriarchal blessing, my family, my Heavenly Father, and my Savior, it took me a long time to process the feelings I had about my body. It’s still hard sometimes to accept myself for who I am and the way I look. But because of my dark times, I am starting to appreciate the growth and light that come from recognizing my true identity. I’m a daughter of Heavenly Father. I’m a disciple of Jesus Christ. They look upon me with love and encouragement, and that matters more than anyone else’s opinion.

Benson, where are you? It’s time for bed.
I don’t want to go to bed.
Why not?
Because there is a ghost in my room.
There is not a ghost in your room.
Are you sure?
I promise.
Dad, what is the Holy Ghost?
That’s a good question.
The Holy Ghost is a member of the Godhead. His job is to help us feel what Heavenly Father wants us to know and do.
Is He scary?
No, the Holy Ghost isn’t scary at all. We don’t see the Holy Ghost, but we feel Him near. He helps us feel happy.
All right, now close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep. I love you.
I love you too. And I think I feel the Holy Ghost.

“I have seen the Lord’s hand countless times in my life, but my biggest testimony comes from a trial I have endured for 10 years.
“I became pregnant with my second daughter but miscarried at seven weeks. I remember crying and pleading with the Lord but thought, ‘Surely our Savior has a greater plan for this baby than what I need right now.’ The following year I became pregnant and then miscarried again. I asked, ‘God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ (Matthew 27:46).
“Eventually, we miraculously got pregnant and had a healthy baby girl.
“But this was not the end of this trial. Unfortunately, we ended up having four more consecutive miscarriages.
“After moving to a new area and getting a new provider, I was diagnosed with a blood-clotting disorder. With this information, my doctor and I made a plan. I went on to have two perfectly healthy children!
“The Lord’s timing is perfect. This lesson has been the hardest one I’ve ever had to learn. He prepares the way for you and puts people and experiences in your life to strengthen you.”

Mylea Moua’s cousins make fun of her for going to church. Some of her close family members discourage her church attendance. Her friends at school wonder why she would ever want to be a Latter-day Saint.
Mylea’s challenges are not unique in the Twin Cities Second (Hmong) Branch of the Anoka Minnesota Stake. Many of the youth have less-active parents and nonmember family members who mock their religion. It would be easy for Mylea, a Mia Maid, to just quit coming to church. “A lot of Hmong people ask ‘How can the Church help you?’ They reject it,” she says. “I don’t really care what people think, because how I feel makes me happy. But I feel bad for them because they don’t have the gospel.”
Unlike many of the older Hmong generation in Minnesota, Mylea and the other youth feel it’s possible to be both Hmong and LDS. “I do the best I can and try to be a good example,” she says.

Many people would think Paula was doing all she could, but she decided that her peers needed to do more than escape bad situations; they needed chances to participate in good ones. Paula noticed that a large number of athletically talented Hispanic students were not involved in school sports. When she invited them to join her on the track team, she found that the problem was not lack of talent or desire, but a lack of money to provide physical exams, sports insurance, and track shoes.
Paula found a local health facility that was willing to do the examinations for free if each person was prompt for the appointments. She then petitioned service clubs and individuals to give financial aid for shoes and insurance. Donations finally covered costs. The track team got several new members.

The prospect of two years without warm sand and blue-green waves ahead of me sent me surfing with my friend Gaven. At the end of the summer I’d be leaving for my mission in Iceland.
As Gaven and I carried our surfboards down a steep slope, we saw that an offshore wind was shaping six-foot waves into smooth, hollow barrels, beautiful to surfers’ eyes.
At the foot of the hills, cliffs dropped 50 feet down onto a narrow beach. We followed an eroded gully down the bluffs and easily climbed the last ten feet to the sand. Leashing our surfboards to our legs, we paddled out through kelp beds to the distant surf line.
I got in some of the best surfing of my life that day. The air and water sparkled clear and warm, and salt spray felt fresh on our faces. Seabirds wheeled and cried constantly, and the rides were long, fast, and perfect. Gaven and I stayed until after sunset.
As the twilight began to fade, my friend caught a last ride to shore. I looked at the horizon, which promised yet another set of extra-large waves, and waited for one more. I was rewarded by a last long, pounding ride.
I began the long paddle back, but a current pulled against me, and light faded to almost nothing. I finally reached the cliff’s base and discovered that the tide had risen much higher than I’d expected and now covered the beach. Waves rolled in and crashed directly against the cliff I had to climb. At first I shrank from the foaming water and tried in vain to discover an easier way; then I finally got up the courage to try.
The climb up was nothing like climbing down had been that afternoon. Then the cliff had been dry and high above the surf. Now it was slick as sushi, and white water roiled around me as I climbed.
Just short of the safety of the gully, I could go no farther. One last handhold lay just above my right hand, but I couldn’t reach it. That hand held my heavy surfboard, which a leash still attached to my leg. If I dropped it to the water, the waves would catch it and pull me off the rock. I needed my left hand to hold me in place. I was truly stuck.
Gaven, who had already reached the cliff top, suddenly appeared above me. For a moment, my foolish pride told me not to accept the hand he offered. “I’ve come so far on my own,” I thought. “I can make it myself.” But then I gratefully handed him the surfboard that burdened me, and with my right hand freed, I grasped the last handhold and reached the top.

One of my daughters-in-law spent many years feeling that God had placed a pavilion over her. She was a young mother of three who longed for more children. After two miscarriages, her prayers of pleading grew anguished. As more barren years passed, she felt tempted to anger. When her youngest went off to school, the emptiness of her house seemed to mock her focus on motherhood—so did the unplanned and even unwanted pregnancies of acquaintances. She felt as committed and consecrated as Mary, who declared, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.” But although she spoke these words in her heart, she could hear nothing in reply.

Hoping to lift her spirits, her husband invited her to join him on a business trip to California. While he attended meetings, she walked along the beautiful, empty beach. Her heart ready to burst, she prayed aloud. For the first time, she asked not for another child but for a divine errand. “Heavenly Father,” she cried, “I will give you all of my time; please show me how to fill it.” She expressed her willingness to take her family wherever they might be required to go. That prayer produced an unexpected feeling of peace. It did not satisfy her mind’s craving for certainty, but for the first time in years, it calmed her heart.

The prayer removed the pavilion and opened the windows of heaven. Within two weeks she learned that she was expecting a child. The new baby was just one year old when a mission call came to my son and my daughter-in-law. Having promised to go and do anything, anywhere, she put fear aside and took her children overseas. In the mission field she had another child—on a missionary transfer day.

Tears filled my eyes as I ran down the steps of the ballet studio. I had just told my teacher that I would not be in the Cinderella production because of our upcoming family vacation. My teacher told me that if I wasn’t in the Cinderella production it might ruin my chances of being in the Nutcracker, the production that followed.
I was so discouraged when I got home that I went straight to my room and cried. I thought about ballet and all that it meant to me, but I considered quitting because of the many long hours and dedication it required. Then I started thinking about a recent Sunday School lesson. The teacher encouraged us to go to the scriptures when we are in need of comfort. So I got out my triple combination and looked in the index for gospel themes I thought could be related to ballet. “Talent” seemed to stand out the most. I looked up Doctrine and Covenants 82:3, which says: “For of him unto whom much is given much is required.” [D&C 82:3]
After thinking about the meaning of those words, I decided to continue to dedicate time to ballet. I felt comforted, for I knew I had made the right decision.
The following morning I called my ballet teacher and asked if I could still be in the Cinderella production. He said I could, even though I would miss a few rehearsals during my family vacation.
At age 13, I have learned that the scriptures really can help when you seek comfort.

There are so many great young people. One who comes to mind was a well-dressed, good-looking young man, sharp, well-spoken, and contemporary in every constructive way, but he was obviously deeply distressed as he rose to offer a greeting in behalf of the university student body of which he was president. His audience was made up of regents and trustees of institutions of higher education meeting in conference at his school. The group had listened to a series of speeches from educators, noting with approval the abandonment on college and university campuses of the doctrine of in loco parentis, a term that means, as you may know, “standing in the place of a parent.” The schools, the speakers said, no longer accept the responsibility of standing in the place of a parent to the students who attend them. Knowledge, intellect, reason—these are the goods with which these institutions deal; the private life of the individual is not their proper concern.
The young student president said what many of us were thinking:
“I’ve listened to your announcement of the abandonment of the principle of in loco parentis,” he said, “and feel there is something you should know. If in fact the school is no longer interested in or willing to fill that role—if it doesn’t care about us as persons, as good parents would care—then that leaves a great many of us with no parents at all anyplace.”
No further explanation was made, and none was needed.

Elder Monte J. Brough of the First Quorum of the Seventy tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.
They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began for the new year, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

I slammed the plate into the dishwasher and cried in frustration.
“Erin, you can go to that pool party,” my dad said. “You can take a break.”
“It’s not about that!” I yelled as I stormed from the room.
My tantrum wasn’t about Adriane’s pool party. My mom and my youngest sister, Abby, were sick with pneumonia. My dad and I had spent the last week caring for them and trying to keep the household functioning normally. This meant cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, doing laundry, and driving my other two sisters around.
All of these things muffled my nagging worries and fears. I was worried about my family and nervous about leaving for college soon. So I kept myself busy and tried to ignore my fears. I had even planned on skipping Adriane’s party, but I was tired and the thought of a carefree evening, hanging out with friends by the pool, pushed my emotions over the edge. I exploded and took out my frustration on my dad.
I cried for a while in my bedroom. Then, feeling guilty, I went upstairs to see if my mom or Abby needed anything. I found my mother giving medicine to my fever-flushed sister. My mom was barely able to breathe and had been bedridden for days. My dad and I urged her to return to bed. We told her that we could take care of Abby. She wouldn’t listen.
“I’m all right. You two get some sleep,” she said. “Abby needs me.”
I tried not to cry as I watched my mom comfort my 10-year-old sister. She checked her temperature, helped her into bed, then crawled in after her and held her shaking body. Abby stopped moaning and calmed under my mom’s protection.
My mom was more ill than she had ever been. The pneumonia would eventually send her to the hospital for several days. Yet in the middle of her trial, she forgot about herself. Rather than complaining about her own illness, she found a way to ease her daughter’s pain.
I had planned on becoming the martyr that night by staying home to help. Instead, I was embarrassed by my outburst and humbled by my mother’s actions. Watching her, I knew she would do anything to help my sisters and me.
I felt her love that night and wanted to follow her example. I resolved to show those I love that I will be there when they need me, regardless of the personal sacrifice required.

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

A year and a half after my wife, Rebeca, and I married, the company I worked for closed. Suddenly I found myself unemployed.
Rather than look to be hired by someone else, I felt prompted to start my own company. I knew that this challenge could be a complicated one, so I turned to Heavenly Father to confirm what I had felt. Prayer played a vital role in that initial decision and has continued to be crucial since.
In August 2003 I started my own company doing painting, gardening, landscaping, and maintenance work. Things aren’t always easy when you have your own company, especially when starting out. At the beginning of one month, Rebeca and I needed to pay rent for our home. We didn’t have a penny. So one morning we prayed that we might somehow obtain the money we needed. Later that day I was hired for a job that paid enough to cover our rent.

My 86-year-old mother’s health had been declining for several months, and I feared that she would not be with us much longer. My husband and I had planned to travel to Lille, which was 80 miles (130 km) away, for stake conference, but I worried about leaving my sister alone to care for our mother.
I pleaded to Heavenly Father that all would be well while we were gone. Immediately the lyrics “Peace, be still” (“Master, the Tempest Is Raging,” Hymns, no. 105) came to mind, and my fears diminished. We left for the conference feeling calm and reassured that the Lord had heard my prayer and was watching over my mother.
Everything did go well while we were gone.
Some time later, my sister called to ask if my husband, Yves, could come help lift my mother into bed. Shortly after he arrived at my sister’s home, my mother passed away.
Not wanting to relay this news over the phone, Yves called me and said only that my sister was panicked. He suggested I gather some personal belongings because he would be home soon to pick me up.
I began packing my suitcase expecting that I might stay with my sister for a while to help care for our mother. As I began, I felt guided by the Spirit that packing was no longer necessary. I knew that my mother had died. But I also felt peace, just like I had before leaving for stake conference.
Yves arrived home, and he struggled to explain what had happened. To ease his burden, I told him I already knew that Mother was gone.
Knowledge of the gospel continued to support me, and I was able to comfort my sister as we grieved for our mother. Many times I prayed for peace, and each time I felt reassured that Heavenly Father and my Savior Jesus Christ were helping me through my sorrow and pain. Through our faith and prayers we found what the sacred hymn invokes: “Peace, be still.”
Nicole Germe, Pas-de-Calais, France

In December 1837 Joseph Smith cut off from the Church approximately 40 dissenters in a “high and mighty pruning.”5 This action brought persecution, hatred, and threats of bodily harm and death to Brigham, who had vigorously testified against the malcontents and defended the Prophet. His life in peril, Brigham fled Kirtland on 22 December. Shortly thereafter, Joseph and other faithful members left Kirtland as well.

During that winter, Mary Ann and her five children had to fend for themselves while apostates terrorized them, ransacking their home in the pretended belief that Brigham was hiding there. The tormentors “used ‘threats and vile language’ that undid [Mary Ann’s] emotions until her health became frail. This was, she later told her biographer, ‘undoubtedly the severest trial of my life.’”6

In February 1838, Mary Ann, now suffering from tuberculosis, gathered her children and what few possessions the mob had not taken and undertook the long, difficult journey from Kirtland, Ohio, to Richmond, Missouri, to rejoin her husband. “He was so … shocked at the change in her appearance that his first exclamation was, ‘You look as if you were almost in your grave.’”7

Brigham could now devote himself to nursing Mary Ann to good health. The Lord also knew of her desperate need for relief and care. On 17 April 1838, Joseph Smith received a revelation temporarily relieving Brigham from his heavy Church responsibilities, thus allowing him to care primarily for his family and ailing wife.8

As I waited in the long December checkout line, my ears drifted to the conversation ahead of me. The woman in line must have been in her mid-30s, but her disheveled and stressed countenance added at least five years.
As she vented to the cashier, I learned the cause of this lady’s anxiety. She explained how she despised the holiday months, the time of year she associated with long lines, family drama, and the pressure to decorate and be jovial.
“Pressure?” I thought in disbelief. My heart ached for this woman, who clearly had a skewed view of the holidays. I tried to put myself in this woman’s shoes, and I could see what she meant by pressure. There is food to buy and there are goodies to prepare. There is pressure to buy gifts for the kids. Not only that, but we sometimes think the gifts have to be impressive. However, we each have the choice to rise above the commercial pressure of the holidays.
I can think back to one Christmas in which our family budget was extremely tight. We were supporting one of my brothers on his mission to Chicago, and that required us to skimp on nonessential items. The only gift-wrapped item I got that year was a fleece blanket. Nothing extravagant, just a plain blanket. I tried to talk it up to my friends at school and make it seem like it was a really great gift, but there was no use. It couldn’t compare to a video game console.
Since then, that blanket has come to symbolize much more to me. That gift was one of warmth. Yes, it warmed me on those few cold Arizona nights, but it also warmed me with love. My parents gave me more: they gave me fun family traditions, a firm sense of belonging, and a knowledge that true gifts are ones of service, love, and sacrifice. My parents sacrificed their money for my brother’s mission, but they never sacrificed their love for me, our family, and everyone around them as they served that year.
I wish I could go back to the school cafeteria table when my friends asked, “What did you get for Christmas?” I wish I could have answered them proudly: “I got a blanket, a blanket that warms me with the true love of the most wonderful time of year.”

My junior year in high school was the hardest for me. Chemistry, AP history, honors English, and algebra 2 were among the difficult classes that consumed my schedule. How would I ever get through this year? My answer came when I noticed one person in almost all my classes. Darren Hart was a very intelligent 16-year-old. I had known him since our freshman year but only as an acquaintance. Here was my opportunity to get to know him better and see if some of his brilliance would rub off on me. Soon we were studying together. In fact, a group of us got together every other night to do our homework. It proved to be a big help.
In English class, we had the assignment to read Billy Budd by Herman Melville. After reading the book, we were assigned to write an essay on its symbolism, including references to the Bible stories. No problem. I had gone to Primary and Sunday School, so I had a pretty good understanding of the stories in the Bible.
But Darren wasn’t a member of any church, and he was not familiar with the scripture stories. He asked for my help, and I willingly agreed. After all, he had helped me through my other classes. It was the least I could do. I suggested it would be best to write down all the symbolism we could find and organize it into a paper later.
The first reference we came to was Joseph and his coat of many colors. Darren had no idea what this story was about. I knew I had my work cut out for me. I asked him if he had a Bible. He came back with a different version than I was used to. I summarized the stories for him, commenting on how the stories in his translation of the Bible were a little different from the ones in the King James version. He asked me to explain the differences to him.
Darren then began questioning me about my church. I thought, You’re asking me? I don’t know enough. I’m only 16. Where is a missionary when you need one?
I began explaining a few differences between the LDS church and other churches. I tried my best to draw upon my seminary classes and the basic knowledge I had. My throat was dry, and my voice halting as I tried to find the right words.
As I began talking about the gospel, a funny thing happened. I began recalling knowledge I didn’t know I had. I explained gospel concepts in such a way that even I understood them better. My dry throat became moist again, and the trembling in my voice ceased. My tense muscles relaxed, and I felt a calm feeling flow through my body. Darren listened attentively to what I had to say, asking questions when he didn’t understand. What started out as a simple explanation turned into a six-hour discussion. The words came with such great ease, I knew that the Spirit was with me.
The next few days were a little scary. What do I do now? Should I ask him to church? No, he will think I just want to convert him. But I do want to convert him. Maybe I should just leave it alone. No, I must do something.
I finally mustered up the courage to ask Darren to church. “Darren, I noticed how interested you were in my church. Would you be interested in coming with me sometime?”
He immediately replied, “I’d love to!”
Did he just say yes? I can’t believe it. “I’ll pick you up at 8:45 Sunday morning.”
In the months that followed, Darren took the discussions from the missionaries. He began by reading the Book of Mormon and attending church almost weekly. We spent a lot of time studying church subjects and having the missionaries explain confusing gospel concepts to him. Darren was afraid that he would join the Church and then decide that the commitment was too much for him. So he studied and pondered the thought of baptism for a long time. One night the missionaries asked Darren when he wanted to be baptized. He gave them a date, much to my surprise. Tears filled my eyes as an overwhelming sense of joy blanketed my heart. I had been waiting for this for a long time. Now it was all coming true.
On a beautiful spring evening, Darren entered the waters of baptism. The gospel was something I had taken for granted in my life. It was such a tremendous blessing to be a member of the Church, and now I was able to help someone else have that gift.
What if I had passed up the opportunity to tell Darren about the Church? I am glad I was able to have the Spirit with me that evening and that I had the courage to teach what I knew to be true.

Every Sunday night my dad and I sit down together and work on my goals in my Faith in God booklet. One of the goals I wanted to complete for developing talents was to paint a picture of Christ.
After I made the goal, a friend of mine from school invited me to her first communion. The first communion is a very special occasion in the Catholic Church. It is the first time someone can partake of the sacrament. My friend had done a lot to prepare for her first communion, and I knew it was very important to her.
I decided to paint the picture of Christ to give to her as a present. I worked very hard on my painting. After I finished it, I bought a nice frame to put it in and gave it to my friend. She was very grateful for it. It made me feel good inside to give it to her and to be part of her special day.

On October 27, 2021, I fell on my morning walk and broke my shoulder. Three days after spending hours in the ER, my husband and I contracted COVID-19, and I became very ill and had to be hospitalized. There were serious complications that resulted in my body going into septic shock and renal failure.
After four months of ICU stays, intubation, surgeries, dialysis, and rehabilitation, I finally was able to come home.
One of the most spiritual events during this incredible journey was three days before I was first intubated. I could tell I was having trouble filling my lungs. Curiously, I got the idea to sing.
I now see that the Holy Ghost was teaching me, before I entered the deep pit of three months of health problems and hospital stays, to praise God in the hard thing. I had often marveled how Nephi was able to praise God while tied to the mast of a ship (see 1 Nephi 18:9–16) or how Joseph in Egypt could praise God for years as a slave or prisoner (see Genesis 39–41). I could understand being grateful for delivery from trials and lessons after the fact, but how do you praise God in the middle of the hard thing?
That night I found a recording of The Tabernacle Choir on YouTube, from when my husband was a member of the choir, and sang these words with them:
Come to us we pray,
Receive our love,
Behold our joy,
And bless our praising.1
I probably sang that song 15 times that night, one of the most sacred nights I’ve ever experienced. Looking back, I know the Lord was helping me build the ark for the coming flood (see Genesis 6–8) and teaching me a lesson I would need and use for eternity.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that the refining process—who we become in the trial—is definitely a blessing. But the greater blessing is better knowing our beloved Father, His Son, and the Holy Ghost. Elder Christofferson promised, “We can anticipate a growing trust and faith in the Father and the Son, an increasing sense of Their love, and the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Spirit.”2
All three of those promises were realized in this challenging time in my life:
I now trust Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost more than I did before these health challenges. Elder Christofferson counseled: “Allow Them over time to manifest Their fidelity to you. Come truly to know Them and truly to know yourself [see 1 Corinthians 13:12].”3
My prayers became constant, with no formal beginnings or endings—just an endless conversation with my beloved Father in Heaven.
My life was spared so I could witness that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are always with us. Their tutelage during this earthly experience is profoundly personal and intimate. They will leave nothing undone for our good. They were with me every single moment of this unusual trial of facing death, losing all my strength, and relearning every single thing my body once knew how to do effortlessly. My prayers became constant, with no formal beginnings or endings—just an endless conversation with my beloved Father in Heaven, who created me to have this experience so I could learn to trust Him and love Him better.
Depiction of Jesus healing a woman by Mason Coberly
It can be difficult to imagine that adversity, especially pain, is a manifestation of God’s love. But I was spared to witness that God loves us so much, He allows the conditions of the Fall, our own agency, and the agency of others to provide learning opportunities in a world of opposition. We could receive these valuable lessons in no other way.
The most loving instructions I received in the darkest days of complete helplessness were these three words: “Be here now.” I came to recognize that Father didn’t want me to dwell on the “what ifs” or “if onlys” of the past. Nor did He want me to become overwhelmed at the seemingly impossible milestones still ahead of me.
The most loving instructions I received in the darkest days of complete helplessness were these three words: “Be here now.”
The instruction to be here now taught me two valuable lessons: I learned to truly experience all the wretchedness of the experience so I could witness forever that I wasn’t in that place alone. I was succored and supported by Jesus Christ because of His atoning sacrifice.
Even more sacred to me, I learned that if I had wished away that sacred place of here and now, I would miss out on the opportunity He gave me to be here now with Him and to fully be there with the knowledge that in addition to atoning for my sins, His suffering also made it possible for Him to understand my pains and my sickness (see Alma 7:11–12).
Learning to be here now is what has taught me that He truly wants to always be here—with me. Because I sought Him in the wretchedness of that place, I found Him there.
Recognizing the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Ghost has always been one of the most tender evidences of God’s love for me. I’ve always felt profound gratitude for the personal guidance I receive from the Holy Ghost. Because of my illness, I had to relearn to do the most simple tasks, and going through that process meant learning to listen in new, important ways. The Holy Ghost helped me with everything from not eating too fast or taking too big a bite when I was relearning to eat to learning whether to push my limit or back off when relearning how to sit or stand up.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort. I was regularly prompted to say, “Tell me your story.” The Holy Ghost taught me of the heroism of these hardworking, overworked angels and instructed me to testify to them of God’s love for them and to acknowledge their nobility. Focusing on something besides my own miserable condition was important training to think of others before myself when my personal needs were so huge.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort.
God’s love is evident in the lessons learned in each of our personalized curriculums and His unfailing companionship through them.
The most important lesson I learned was to praise Him: to acknowledge unceasingly that He is good; that He has all knowledge, love, light, and power; and that His perfect plan has power to save His children. I rejoice in being a part of it.
Praise is more than gratitude. It implies trust, a sense of God’s love for us personally, and an acknowledgement of His consistent comfort and guidance. Praise saved me from despair.
Elder Christofferson concludes his talk: “In the end, it is the blessing of a close and abiding relationship with the Father and the Son that we seek. It makes all the difference and is everlastingly worth the cost.”4
Francis Webster, a survivor of the Martin handcart company, expressed it perfectly: “The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.”5 I am a witness: it is a privilege indeed.
The image of praise in the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses my joy that God is my Father, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, and that the Holy Ghost is my teacher and testator—that these three are indeed my truest, most unfailing and faithful Friends.
Finish then, thy new creation; true and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory, till in heav’n we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.”6
This beautiful hymn is referencing Revelation 4:10–11:
“The [faithful] fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”
We receive those crowns by virtue of the perfect obedience and generosity of Jesus Christ. He shared His earned inheritance with us, who could never earn it without Him. How fitting that we should cast those crowns at His feet, in eternal praise for His goodness and the goodness of our great Father, who would allow that perfect Son to suffer all our hard things with us so that He could share celestial glory with us.
I was spared to witness that I’ve learned these things by the power of the Holy Ghost. For this priceless knowledge, I praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The author lives in Utah.

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.
This episode came to life again on Sunday morning as Elder Gordon B. Hinckley highlighted the May 29, 1977 Special Combined Conference at the Philippine International Convention Center.
Elder Hinckley’s opening statement was a vividly recounted narrative on how David came as the only Filipino member early in the morning of May 28, 1961 to the American Battle Memorial Cemetery at Fort Bonifacio, where a small LDS group led by Elder Hickley gathered to initiate missionary work in the Philippines.
As he listened to Elder Hinckley’s testimony about him, tears welled in the eyes of David, recalling that thirty-one years before, a worn-out magazine and a chance meeting ushered into his life the greatest moment of truth.
This is the story of David D. Lagman of San Fernando, Pampanga and how he found it—the truth—long before we did.—P. Ocampo, Jr.