Gospel Story Finder

His house key is in the lock. He’s home from work and about to step inside. In the kitchen, real life is scattered all around. The baby is crying. The three-year-old just poured milk—not in a glass but all over the counter. The seven-year-old needs some daddy attention. And dinner isn’t ready.
With a deadline at work tomorrow, a head buzzing from rush-hour traffic, and a Church meeting tonight, he’s hoping she will greet him with some relief.
Hearing him come in, she is glad a relief party has arrived! But when she sees his face fall as he looks around, she defends herself: “Look—I work all day too. I’ve been with these kids nonstop, and I really need a break. Will you please fix this macaroni and cheese and help with the kids?”
In the heat of her request, his hope evaporates into exasperation, and he is about to react.
At this crossroads of their busy day, these two have some choices. Will they use this moment to practice being the kind of companion each has covenanted to become? Or will each one default to past conditioning—familial and cultural? Certain attitudes and ideas have crept into the very air they breathe, challenging them as they try to work with each other rather than against each other.
That couple we saw at the kitchen threshold share a commitment to the promise of eternal family unity. But equal partnerships are not made in heaven—they are made on earth, one choice at a time, one conversation at a time, one threshold crossing at a time. And getting there is hard work—like patiently working through differing assumptions about who was bringing relief to whom that night or any of thousands of nights like it.
As milk drips from the counter, she holds a box of macaroni and cheese in her hand, he faces a deadline and a meeting, and both feel the pull of weariness on their faces. How would people in a covenant, balanced relationship handle such a moment, and how could the next few moments help create an equal partnership?
Young wife, do you see in him someone who has worked all day to bring sustenance to your table? Young husband, do you see in her someone who has worked all day to make nourishment of that sustenance? Can you both see beyond the doing of the day and remember the inestimable worth of the being to whom you are married?

With Danielle and Michelle Hancock of the Lakeside First Ward, Show Low Arizona Stake, you might think you’re seeing double since they are identical twins, but the sisters are ace spellers trading off taking first and second in their district competition for the past three years.
In the past, Michelle won the county spelling bee and went on to win the Arizona State Spelling Bee. She represented the state in the national contest.
This year, Danielle won the county spelling bee and went on to the state competition. She took second place but only after setting a state record for spelling bee rounds. She participated in 82 rounds with the final 61 rounds just between her and the eventual state champ.
Both girls are honor students, and both were awarded All Sports Awards from their schools for making all the sports teams this past year.

Zeb didn’t need anyone to remind him that it was Saturday as he came into Mumma’s warm kitchen with an armload of firewood for the stove. The beanpot, burbling gently in the oven, gave off a tantalizing aroma of molasses, pork, and beans. The boy sniffed in anticipation as he dumped the sticks into the woodbox. Twelve-year-old Zeb enjoyed the traditional Maine Saturday night baked-bean dinner.
Hattie, his older sister, pulled a kettle of water to the front of the stove. “The water’s boiling now, Mumma,” she announced.
“OK, Hat, I’m ready,” Mumma declared, coming in from the pantry with two covered cans full of brown-bread batter. She eased the cans into the kettle for their steam bath, then looked out the window toward the cove where the seawater washed onto a rocky beach. “Zeb, did you hear Daddy’s boat when you were outside?” she asked.
“Well, no … I didn’t,” the boy replied sheepishly. “I was playing my trumpet in back of the barn. With Daddy and Bubba gone lobstering, I figured it was a good chance for me to get in a few licks of practice. The band’s going to have a concert at school Tuesday. You know, Mumma, Daddy and Bubba don’t seem to appreciate my music.”
Zeb and his mother shared a wry smile. But Hattie, arms akimbo, said indignantly, “Why, Zebadiah Beale! I never once heard Daddy say a hateful word to you about that trumpet, although everybody knows that you can make more racket with that horn than a cat with its tail caught in the door.”
Zeb shook his head. “I see you have no ear for music either.” He darted in back of Hattie and gave her apron strings a tug. While Hattie fussed and retied her apron, Zeb escaped to the pantry and fished a doughnut out of the brown crock. Munching contentedly, he eased back into the kitchen as Hattie was saying, “It looks like we’re going to have company. Here comes Effie Nash.”
Zeb watched with interest as a figure in a plaid coat came up the steps. She must be about Mumma’s age, he thought, but she doesn’t act like any adult that I know. People said Effie was “lacking,” but Zeb thought her way of thinking made about as much sense as anyone else’s. He remembered seeing Effie in town one day with her shoes on the wrong feet. When someone had pointed the fact out to her, she’d said, “Why, I find they wear longer if I change them around once in a while.” Maybe shoes do last longer by switching them around, Zeb mused.
Hattie opened the door, and Effie came in. She was wearing her shoes on the proper feet today. Getting right down to business, she announced, “Ma said to tell you to save three lobsters when Matt gets back. She wants them for dinner tomorrow. Ahh-choo!”
“Good gracious, Effie,” Mumma said, handing her a handkerchief, “how did you catch such a cold?”
“I’m sure I don’t know—SNIFF—unless it was because I had a hole in my mitten when I was hanging out the wash yesterday morning.”
Hattie had a sudden attack of coughing, and Zeb gave her a warning poke. Mumma said hurriedly, “We’ll be sure to save the lobsters for you, Effie. Won’t you sit down and stay awhile?”
“No, thanks. I have to get back home. Ma’s waiting for me to help her with supper.”
The door banged shut behind Effie, and she trudged down the path toward the road.
Mumma looked out the window and drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, my! Look at that fog coming in off the ocean.”
Fog! Zeb felt a hard knot of fear form in the pit of his stomach—Daddy and Bubba were still out there somewhere! When great fog banks rolled in from the sea without any warning, small fishing boats sometimes got lost because the fishermen couldn’t see the shore or any familiar landmark.
Mumma, Hattie, and Zeb grabbed their coats and ran outside and down to the edge of the cove, anxiously listening for the sound of a motorboat. As the fog thickened, blotting out even the outlines of the spruce trees behind them, all ordinary sounds were muffled into an eerie silence.
Mumma cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “MATT? BUBBA? … MATT!” But the fog seemed to wrap her cries in dirty cotton wool and drop them into the cold gray water near her feet. Putting her arms around her children Mumma sighed, then took a deep breath and turned to Hattie and Zeb and said, “Our voices aren’t going to carry far enough to be heard, so let’s build a bonfire on the beach. Maybe Daddy and Bubba will see the glow from it. You two go up to the shed and start lugging firewood. I’ll get some brush together. Don’t forget to bring matches back with you.”
“I’ll get the matches from the kitchen, Zeb, and be right back,” Hattie panted as they scrambled up the path toward the woodshed.
Zeb nodded and began pulling sticks off the woodpile. Hattie was back in a minute, shoving a box of wooden matches into her coat pocket. They worked quickly, and soon both had as much wood as they could carry. “C’mon, Hat! That’s enough for the first trip,” Zeb cautioned as Hattie seemed intent on loading herself like a pack mule.
They stumbled back down the path to the edge of the beach, hardly able to see where they were going. When they reached the rocky shore, they peered uneasily through the thick mist, trying to find Mumma.
“Is that you, kids?” Mumma’s voice sounded as hollow as a ghost’s, until she finally emerged in front of them. “I’ve piled a lot of brush near the edge of the water. Follow me, and we’ll get some wood on it.”
Walking single file, they approached the heap of brush, where Zeb and Hattie dropped their loads. Zeb arranged a few sticks loosely on top of the tinder, then lit a match to it. The fog and the sea air had dampened the once-dry brush, but it finally crackled and flared and caught fire.
“Mumma, you keep it going. Hat and I’ll go back for more wood.”
Zeb and Hattie were clambering up the path when they heard footsteps. Zeb, leading the way, almost bumped into a tall heavyset figure wearing oilskins and gum boots.
“Hold on there, Zeb. I don’t aim to be trampled to death,” Mr. Nash’s voice boomed out somewhere over the top of Zeb’s head.
“Daddy and Bubba haven’t come back yet, Mr. Nash,” Hattie blurted out. “We’ve built a bonfire down on the shore, and we’re going to get more wood.”
“Let me give you a hand,” Mr. Nash said, turning back up the path with them. “Effie said your Pa wasn’t back when she was over at your house. When the fog came in, I thought I’d check on you. It’s going to take a lot of wood to keep that fire going. Hattie, why don’t you scoot over to Peavys’ and tell them what’s happened. Those two Peavy boys can help carry wood too.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Hattie said gratefully. She turned down the road toward the Peavy house, while Zeb and Mr. Nash plunged on up to the shed. Zeb felt better in the comforting presence of this big man, who seemed to know just what to do. The tight knot in his stomach loosened up a little as he listened to Mr. Nash’s matter-of-fact voice.
When they brought their wood back to the shore, Mumma was standing by the fire. “Well, Bertha,” Mr. Nash greeted her, “any sign of them yet?”
Mumma shook her head. “Not a sound.” She shivered and hugged her coat closer around her.
“It’ll take time for them to get to the cove here after they spot the fire,” Mr. Nash said. He threw more wood onto the fire. As it blazed higher, Zeb saw several figures coming toward them out of the fog with Hattie in the lead. They all carried armloads of wood. Zeb blew a sigh of relief.
But afternoon wore into evening, and in spite of the enormous bonfire, no one could hear the sound of a motorboat. It’s no use! thought Zeb in despair. They can’t see the fire through the fog. What else can we do? …
And then Zeb knew!
He charged through a knot of people coming down the path and bolted up to the house. “Hurry! Hurry!” he muttered to himself as he clattered upstairs to his room. Grabbing what he had come for, he sped back to the shore. On the rocky edge of the cove, Zeb raised his trumpet to his lips.
Out across the water, cutting cleanly through the vapor banks, the clear notes of a Sousa march pealed forth. Hardly stopping for breath, Zeb played through all the music he’d practiced for the band concert. With a stamina he never knew he had, he played on, switching to the old songs he’d known all his life. He was in the middle of “God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand,” when Mumma’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Listen! Do you hear it?”
Zeb lowered his trumpet, and from out of the mist came a faint throb of a boat engine. Then silence. Everyone strained to listen. There it was again, a faraway motor!
“Keep playing, boy, keep playing! You’ll guide them in!” roared Mr. Nash, pulling off his moisture-laden hat and slapping it against his leg.
Zeb lifted the trumpet to his swollen lips and began the old familiar hymn again, playing it as a joyful processional. The put-put of the motorboat grew louder. Suddenly a boat loomed out of the fog, lighted by the bonfire on shore.
Mumma was the first one out onto the dock, her racing feet barely touching the wooden planks. Hattie and Zeb were close behind her.
Matt and Bubba were quickly up on the dock, hugging Mumma and Hattie. Then Zeb, still holding his trumpet, was grabbed in a bear hug by his father, while Bubba pounded him on the back.
Daddy’s eyes were bright as he said only half-teasingly, “I’m sure glad to find you at the end of that trumpet, Son, instead of the Angel Gabriel!”

Years ago, our family attended a fair. We enjoyed the rides until it got dark. On our way to the car to go home, I put my hand in my pocket and realized that the keys to the car, the house, and my office were gone!

The fairgrounds were full of people, but we found a quiet spot (as quiet as you can find during a busy fair) and stood together to pray that the keys would be found. We then walked through the fair and looked for the missing keys.

As we moved along, we saw a policeman. We thought that maybe someone had found our keys and delivered them to him. We approached the policeman and asked, “We’ve lost our keys. Do you happen to have them?”

He asked if we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A bit confused by that question, I answered, “Yes.”

The policeman then asked me to describe the keys. I did so, and he told me that he had them.

“Why did you ask if we were members of the Church?” I asked as he handed me the keys.

“Because you have a vial of oil on your keychain,” he said. “My father has one just like it. He is a member of your church.”

Experiences like this have blessed our family to trust Heavenly Father and to know that the Savior is with us and will help us.

When I was a child, my parents took me to church only occasionally. I was baptized and ordained a deacon, but attending church was not a big part of our lives. By the time I was 14, I wasn’t attending church at all. I was in the middle of yet another custody battle between my parents. When I moved in with my mom, I had no motivation to study, because I saw no purpose in my life. A lot of people stayed away from me in my new school because I wore black clothing and combat boots. My grades were terrible. That was the year I entered ninth grade.
One day I was visiting my grandma when she told me that if I would graduate from seminary, she would give me $100. For me that was a lot of money. I said I’d think about it.
When I went to my new school to register, the school counselor signed me up for three shop classes because other classes were full. I didn’t want to take shop, and then I remembered Grandma’s offer. Suddenly the idea of getting out of shop and getting $100 sounded pretty good. I signed up for released-time seminary. I went to class, but I sat in the back and participated as little as possible.
One day I got to seminary class late, and the only seat available was on the front row. I sat down and heard our teacher, Brother Peck, say, “I don’t know why, but I feel like we need to watch this today.”
We watched How Rare a Possession, a movie about how the Book of Mormon affected the lives of different people. As the movie ended and we got up to leave, something unexpected happened: I realized that I felt peaceful. It was such a foreign feeling that I wondered what it could mean. An impression came: I was feeling the Spirit. At that moment I knew the Book of Mormon was an inspired book.
I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.
When general conference came, Brother Porter gave us an assignment to watch at least one session. I put off the assignment until Sunday morning. When the session started, I rolled over in my bed and turned on the TV. As I watched President Thomas S. Monson, then the Second Counselor in the First Presidency, talk about the history of the Church in the German Democratic Republic, I felt that same feeling of peace. I recognized it as the Spirit testifying that I was listening to prophets. That afternoon my mom and brothers went grocery shopping. I stayed home to watch another session.
By that point I had made two very important decisions: I would live the gospel, and I wanted to get married in the temple. But I wasn’t going to spend two years on a mission. Then our seminary teacher gave some lessons on missionary work. By the end of the week, I knew that going on a mission was the right thing to do.
I went to the bishop to get a recommend for my patriarchal blessing. Through that experience, I learned that God had a plan for my life. That knowledge helped me form my own plans for the future. My grades improved, and I started getting involved in clubs and activities at school. I was assigned to be a home teacher with a neighbor, who taught me about service and how a priesthood holder should live.
Despite the changes I made, my life wasn’t easy. In some ways it became more difficult. Going to church meant more conflicts with my family over the kinds of activities we engaged in on Sunday and the kinds of movies we watched. Most of the time I went to church by myself. I missed out on dinners, movies, and visits to amusement parks. But that was more than made up for by the Spirit I felt. The Holy Ghost comforted me in difficult times and taught me as I read the scriptures.
When I graduated from high school and seminary, my grandma gave me the promised check for $100. I thanked her and told her I didn’t want it, but she insisted. The testimony I had gained of a loving Heavenly Father, the Savior, the Holy Ghost, the restored Church, and prophets who lead us today was worth far more than any amount of money.

“I remember being called into the bishop’s office for an interview,” said Elder Steve Lloyd of the Casper (Wyoming) Fifth Ward and the Switzerland Geneva Mission, “and realizing that I’d been thinking about the same things the bishop had. He said the Lord had called me to be the first assistant in the priests quorum, and I realized the Spirit had been preparing me to accept the call. It would be tough to be a missionary and not have had experiences like that with the Holy Ghost. You might not recognize what it was when it tried to prompt you.”

May I share with you a beautiful missionary experience I encountered recently? I saw a miracle performed by one of your missionary sons who so dearly loved an investigator. I met this gentleman at a special fireside. He said, “I appreciate very much the young Mormon missionary who taught me the most important thing in life and gave me happiness. Sometime I would like to extend my sincere appreciation to the parents who taught him to so live the gospel.” With tears in his eyes, and as he was holding my hands, he said, “Oh, Elder Kikuchi, I thank our Heavenly Father for this glorious gospel,” and then he related the following story:
“One day eight years ago, on my way home from work, I was hit by a hit-and-run driver. For eleven days I was unconscious, and for two years I was in a hospital. When I was finally released from the hospital, my wife had left me and had taken the children with her. We had had a fine family life before the accident, but my life became a total wreck. I was lonesome and depressed, for I had lost my most precious possession—my family. I attempted suicide many times. My only living came from welfare. I was emotionally and physically exhausted; I had become a living vegetable. I couldn’t walk, so I would transport myself by rolling over on the floor and crawling on all fours.
“One evening I went to the hospital to see my doctor for the final results of a series of operations. He told me there was no hope for recovery. Though I had expected him to say so, it was still very shocking for me. All was lost. As I approached a railway bridge on my return from the doctor’s, I wept to see my own face in the wet reflection on the pavement. It was a pitiful sight.”
Brothers and sisters, just when he was about to jump in front of the oncoming train, he met one of your missionary sons.
Cottage meetings began immediately. In them, Mr. Sugiyama learned that the gospel is true, that Jesus Christ is our Savior, Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and the true church of God has been restored in this last dispensation.
As usual, missionaries invited him to church; however, because he couldn’t walk, he said he wouldn’t be able to come. But on the morning of the Sabbath, he awoke early and bravely headed for the church. Though it was close, it took him nearly three hours to traverse the distance between his home and the closest station to the Yokohama chapel. The Yokohama chapel is situated high upon a hill. From the station to the church it took him almost an hour, although ordinarily it would take a person only five minutes. He would cling to the wall, then fall down, only to struggle again to his feet. He finally reached the chapel where the sacrament was in progress. The missionaries had never expected him to come to church. But Brother Sugiyama felt the pure love of God from the missionaries and members and felt himself drawn to it.
Shortly afterward, Brother Sugiyama followed the Lord’s commandment by becoming baptized.
The morning following his baptism, he woke up bright and early. He stretched his legs out in preparation to roll over as usual. But this time, brothers and sisters, something was different. He felt strength in his legs, and his whole body surged with power. He sat up and gradually, eventually, stood on his feet. He hadn’t stood in years without other supports. He walked away that morning! He found that his body had been made whole.
Brother Sugiyama said, “Love hath made me whole, and I will go in peace in the Lord’s way.” Brothers and sisters, miracles are not the only evidences of the true Church of God, but we can learn much from the miracle performed by the Lord through a great young Mormon missionary who loved his investigator so much.

Jacob’s heart pounded as he bent into position. He shifted his weight back and forth at the starting line. The starter pointed his gun straight in the air and everything went silent.
“Bam!”
Jacob dashed into the water and began kicking his legs and churning his arms as fast as he could. This was Jacob’s first triathlon, and he wanted to do his best. He had been training hard. He was on the neighborhood swim team, and he had competed in a lot of running races. He knew he had a good chance of doing well.
Jacob finished the 50-meter swim in second place and ran to his bike. He dried off, threw on his shirt and shoes, fastened his helmet, and pedaled out of the transition area.
Jacob was supposed to ride about two miles (3.2 km) on his bike, but he wasn’t sure how long it would take. He came to an orange cone, but there wasn’t anyone to direct him. It looked like another boy had turned around at the cone, so he did too. He pedaled back to the transition area and got ready to run.
Jacob ran the last part of the course so hard he thought his lungs would burst, but he felt good when he crossed the finish line. He felt even better when he realized he was in first place!
He found Mom in the crowd, but she wasn’t smiling. “Jacob, are you sure you did the bike part of the race right?” she asked.
“I think so,” Jacob said.
“Your time is so fast,” Mom said. “I think you missed part of the course.”
“Let’s go walk through the bike course,” Dad said. “You can tell me where you rode your bike.”
Jacob and Dad started walking along the course, with Dad holding the course map. When they got to the orange cone, Jacob saw other bikers going past the cone—not turning around. Dad checked the map. The cone wasn’t the turn-around point. Jacob had accidentally missed a third of the course.
Jacob held back tears. He knew he had to tell the race officials he had made a mistake, but he didn’t want to. That meant he would be disqualified and that he wouldn’t get the first-place trophy.
Jacob walked up to a race official. “Excuse me,” Jacob said. “I wanted to tell you that I made a mistake. I missed a part of the bike course, so my time probably shouldn’t count.”
“It took a lot of courage to tell us that,” the official said. “Thanks.”
Jacob nodded, but his eyes filled with tears. Mom gave him a hug.
“I want to go home,” Jacob said. He felt tired and defeated.
But then he heard the race official on the microphone.
“It’s been quite a race!” he said. “And we saw a great example of good sportsmanship today. We had a boy who would have won first place, but he was honest enough to admit that he made a mistake on the bike course. I want everybody to give him a big cheer.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. It took Jacob a second to realize what was happening. They were cheering for him! Not because he had won, but because he had done the right thing.
On the way home, Dad told Jacob stories about other athletes who had made mistakes. He learned that everybody makes mistakes. He also learned that sometimes being honest gets you the biggest cheer of all.

The Thomas family lived on a farm about ten miles from town. Although Tommy and Mary loved the trees, the stream where they swam in the summer, and all the animals and chickens, they were often teased about their plain clothes and country ways by their city-bred schoolmates.
Tommy, in the fifth grade, wasn’t bothered much by the teasing, but Mary, only a first grader, almost cried whenever her best friend, Cathy, asked her why she always wore plain cotton dresses and sturdy walking shoes.
One day, when Mary came home from school looking very sad and thoughtful, Mama asked, “Why the long face, Kitten?”
“Mama, why don’t I have any frilly dresses or shiny shoes?”
Mama sat down at the wooden kitchen table. “Honey, sit down, and I’ll try to explain it to you.”
Mary slid onto a chair and propped her chin on her hands.
“Your papa and I both grew up on farms, but we went to the city after we were married. When you were just a baby, Papa and I decided that it would be better for all of us to move from the city, so we bought the farm.”
“Why did you and Papa leave the farm in the first place if you liked it?” Mary asked.
“Remember last week when you went to Cathy’s birthday party and you told me how new and fancy Cathy’s house is?”
“Yes, Mama,” Mary answered.
“That’s why Papa and I went to the city. We thought that people in the city had nicer things than we had. But we found out that the ‘nicer things’ weren’t as important to us as the life-style that we could have on a farm. Papa earned a good salary in the city. I got a job there, too, but that meant that I couldn’t be home with you and Tommy. It costs more money to live in the city and buy all the things that people there tend to think are important to have.”
“But what does that have to do with why I can’t have pretty store-bought dresses?”
Mama continued patiently, “On the farm Papa doesn’t make as much money as he did in the city. And I don’t have a regular, paying job. We have plenty to eat, but the money we make has to go for equipment, mortgage payments, seed, and other necessities. Maybe when we’ve finished paying for some of the equipment, we can buy more things, but we just don’t have money for extras now.”
Mary understood better, but how she longed for some of the things her classmates had! Looking up at Mama, she asked wistfully, “Would Heavenly Father be upset if I prayed for a frilly dress?”
“I don’t think so, Kitten. But remember that Heavenly Father only promises to give us what’s best for us. He doesn’t always give us what we simply want.”
“I understand, Mama,” Mary answered with a smile. “May I go out and play now?”
“OK,” Mama said as she hugged Mary before the little girl scampered outside.
Tommy had come in during the conversation and had stood quietly listening.
“Mama, do you really believe that Heavenly Father will make a way for Mary to get a dress?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Tommy,” Mama said slowly. “But I know that she’s still too young to completely understand why she can’t have one.”
“I understand, Mama,” Tommy said as he banged out the door. “I’m going to help Papa till dinnertime.”
Mama lowered her head and prayed, “Heavenly Father, we thought that we were doing the right thing to come here, but children can be cruel to each other. It hurts me to see Mary and Tommy teased and ridiculed. Please help us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mama quickly rose from her chair. There was baking to be done. On Saturdays people in town gathered at the community center, where baked goods, handicrafts, and other things were brought to be sold. Mama had learned years ago that she had a talent for baking. And the small amount of money she earned with her baked goods was needed for necessities. Last year’s drought had hit the farm hard.
Papa had often said that she sold her wares too cheaply, but she always replied that she made a fair profit. Papa knew that she gave away a loaf of bread or a cake or a pie when someone looked hungrily at the goods and Mama knew that he couldn’t afford to buy anything. Papa was pleased that Mama did it and that she always masked her charity by saying that the item wasn’t selling well or that it would become stale at home. In that way she made the recipient feel that he was doing her a favor.
That night, as Mama heard the children’s prayers, tears came to her eyes when Mary timidly asked, “Please, Heavenly Father, may I have a frilly dress?” Mama was to hear this plea repeated many times during the next few weeks, for Tommy always included Mary’s request in his own prayers.
Spring planting began, and soon school would be out. Mary was confident that Heavenly Father would provide a fancy dress for her to wear on the last day of school. Mama had racked her brain to find a way to get a dress for Mary, but all the available money had gone for seed and fertilizer. Then, one lovely Sunday afternoon as the family sat in the living room after church, they heard a thump outside the front door.
“What’s that?” Papa asked as he rose from his chair. He opened the screen door. “It’s a big sack of something,” he called to the others. They crowded around him as he untied the cord and opened the sack. “Pecans!” he exclaimed. “Why would anyone leave a huge sack of pecans at our door?”
Mary, who had watched the sack-opening expectantly, wailed, “I didn’t pray for pecans.” She went back into the house.
“What are we supposed to do with them?” Tommy asked. “They’ll go bad before we can eat them all.”
Mama knew what to do with them. If I can only make my idea work, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Please take them into the pantry, Tommy. I’m sure that whoever left them knew that we would find a use for them.” Her eyes gleamed with hope.
The next morning at breakfast, Mama tried to keep her excitement from showing as she said to Papa, “I’ll need the truck for a while this morning, honey. I’ll be back to help with the planting as soon as I can.”
“OK. What’s up?”
“It’s a surprise,” she answered with a happy smile. “If it works out, you’ll all know soon enough. Right now it’s time for school, kids.” Mama gave them a hug and scooted them and Papa out the door. She was impatient to get her plan under way.
Finally she was on her way to town. She went directly to the small bakery on Main Street. Half an hour later she emerged with several boxes, which she loaded into the truck. Back at the farm Mama hurriedly stored the boxes in the pantry, changed clothes, and headed for the fields, humming a tune.
Papa looked up. “You got back quickly,” he commented. “From the look on your face, I’d say that things went your way. Are you going to tell me about it?”
“Not yet,” Mama replied, grinning. “I won’t be able to help you as much on the farm for a couple of weeks, though, and I’ll need the truck for about an hour every day.”
Each morning, as soon as the children left for school and Papa went to the fields, Mama worked in the kitchen. And each afternoon she put things in the boxes she’d obtained, loaded them into the truck, and went to town, always returning with a happy smile.
Finally, one Saturday morning Mama announced, “I must go into town by myself for a little while, but when I come back, I’ll have a surprise for each of you.”
“Well, Mary, Tommy, let’s get our chores done,” Papa said. “Working will make the time pass faster.”
With everyone helping each other, time did indeed pass quickly. They were setting the dinner table when Mama bustled in with several packages. She handed the first one to Papa, who quickly opened it.
“The new LDS editions of the scriptures!” he exclaimed. “I’ve really needed them in teaching my Sunday School class. Thank you, honey.”
Mama held out a second package, saying, “Tommy, here’s your surprise.”
Tommy’s present was a catcher’s mitt. “It’s just what I’ve been wanting. How’d you know, Mama? I tried not to let on.”
“You’ve been a regular Spartan about it, Tommy,” Mama told him. “But mothers have ways of knowing such things.”
Mama handed the last, and biggest, package to Mary, who had been sitting quietly all this time. “Here’s yours, Kitten.”
Mary slowly opened the box, then squealed with delight. In it lay not one, but two beautiful, frilly dresses—one blue, the other a soft, pale green. “Mama, oh, Mama! Heavenly Father does answer prayers!” she exclaimed as she hugged the dresses to her. “Thank you, Heavenly Father! And thank you, Mama!”
“Now, dear,” Papa said, “tell us how you managed all this.”
“Well, I bake a really good pecan pie, and when Heavenly Father provided that big sack of pecans, I made a deal with the bakery. They furnished all the ingredients except the pecans and ran a special the rest of the month on pecan pies. I did the baking for a percentage of each pie sold, and they sold very well! Even after tithing, I was able to buy these gifts.”
“But, Mama,” Tommy interjected, “where is your gift? You got us what we wanted. What did you get for yourself?”
“I got the best gift of all,” Mama replied.
“What’s that?” Mary asked, puzzled. “I don’t see any more packages.”
“My gift is seeing the pleasure on your faces. I got the joy of giving.”
“I didn’t pray for pecans,” Mary said, “but Heavenly Father knew what we needed and gave us much more.”
“He always does, honey. He always does,” Mama said softly.

After graduating from high school, I felt impressed to visit all four of my grandparents. I had some free time, and I realized that I might not have this opportunity again, so I spent one week with each set of my grandparents.
I spent my time going through old boxes, reading old letters, and looking at old pictures. I recorded my grandparents’ life stories, walked around cemeteries, and visited where my grandparents and their relatives had lived and worked. It was fun! I learned so much about my ancestors, my grandparents, my parents, and myself. I realized that I wouldn’t have the life that I have if it weren’t for my ancestors.
After my trip, I came back with about 1,000 of my ancestors’ names and have been able to do the temple work for many of them. Following the promptings of the Holy Ghost and visiting with my grandparents was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
Shenley P., California, USA

As a new mission president in the fall of 2011, I was excited to be out among our missionaries. My wife, Emily, and I decided to do apartment inspections and visit every pair of missionaries in the mission.
As we traveled from Guatemala City to one of our more remote zones, known as Sololá, we learned that a demonstration was blocking the road in front of us. Demonstrations in Guatemala can take hours, and there is usually no way to get past them. But when we inquired about a possible detour, we learned of another route. That route, however, came with the following warnings:
It is not a great road.
Make sure you are not on the road after dark.
Bands of robbers frequent the road.
Like any zealous new mission president and wife, on Emily and I went. After driving a while, we came to a spot on a dirt road that looked like a steep drop-off in front of us. Emily joked that we should get the camera out and take pictures as we went over the edge.
Years earlier, when I was a young missionary in Guatemala, I had learned that a small branch dragged onto the road meant “proceed with caution.” It might even mean “stop.” I had seen a branch but failed to register what it meant.
A moment later, we found ourselves dangling off a 20-foot (6 m) ledge where a bridge had washed out. I managed to climb out my side, but Emily could not open her door. When she tried to climb over the seat and come out my door, the vehicle began to rock. Obviously, it was a very disconcerting moment.
Many thoughts ran through my mind. I could see the headlines: “New Mission President Drives over Embankment Where There Was No Bridge, Resulting in Severe Injury to Wife” or “New Mission President and Wife Missing after Being Robbed on a Road They Should Not Have Been Traveling on.”
Not knowing what to do, I paused outside the vehicle and pleaded with Heavenly Father, “Please help me in my moment of carelessness.” Can you believe that a large banana truck suddenly pulled up behind us? The driver and passengers saw us and came over to laugh and enjoy the predicament of the silly gringo. They pointed out the branch on the road. Literally, it was just a twig.
Then, to our miraculous blessing, they retrieved from their truck the only chain I saw in three years of service in Guatemala. Before they left, they cut down a tree and pulled it across the road. I think they wanted to make sure that the next North American to come by did not make the same mistake.

One warm summer afternoon a tiny girl reached on tiptoes to ring a doorbell. After a moment the door swung wide and there stood a beautiful twenty-year-old princess with golden hair and large, expressive blue eyes. To a small child she might have been Cinderella. But this princess was taller, more regal than any pictures of the cinder girl. And she was as real as her name—Sally Peterson.
“Elizabeth!” Sally smiled down at her little visitor. “How wonderful to see you! Come in! Come in!”
“I just brought you this,” the little girl beamed, as she thrust forward a letter, then turned happily and walked down the stairs murmuring, “Now that wasn’t one bit scary.”
It wasn’t scary. And it shouldn’t have been. Sally was her special friend. As Junior Sunday School chorister, Sally had taught songs to Elizabeth and many others like her over a period of five years. But now she wasn’t “Sally our song-leader”; she was Miss Utah of 1972. And one small girl expressed the feelings of many:
Dear Sally
I love you
Love
From Elizabeth

A youngster was assigned by his father to move a large rock. The boy tugged and pushed, and he lifted and struggled unsuccessfully. Some friends were enlisted, but even together they could not move it. Reluctantly he reported to his father that he could not budge the rock.
“Have you done all that you could?” asked the father.
“Yes,” said the boy. “I’ve tried everything.”
“No, Son, you haven’t,” said his dad. “You haven’t asked me.”
Why do so many of us, “heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ” (Rom. 8:17), fail to go to Him, to keep in touch with our Father? He is anxious to help, but He wants us to learn our need for Him, to open the door to Him.
The prophet Isaiah said, “And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you” (Isa. 30:18).

I am Brooke Ellis. When I was six, my dad went over to meet the neighbors, who were just moving in. They had a minivan, and it was filled with kids. He noticed that there was a girl who was just about my age. Her name was Clarissa Shinn. He brought me over to meet her. At first we were kind of shy with each other. But one day while my mom was still at Girls Camp with the Young Women, Clarissa and I were running over to my house and I glanced down and saw something gold and green on her finger. I stopped and so did she, and I noticed it was a CTR ring. I said, “Clarissa, are you LDS?” She said, “Yeah.” I told her that I was, too. I later found out when my mom got home that she had been fasting and praying for a girl my age who was also a Latter-day Saint to move into one of the three houses that were empty in our block. Clarissa and I are still great friends, and I know that Heavenly Father loves me and answers prayers.
Clarissa Shinn and Brooke Ellis, ages 9 and 10West Lafayette, Indiana

What are some of the best ways to gain a better understanding of someone else’s faith? You could go to official online sources, and that’s pretty good. But if you only search online, that won’t always give you the whole picture. When it comes to really understanding a faith, you can learn a lot by talking to the people who practice it.
And that’s just what some young people in California, USA, are doing.
The mission statement of the Interfaith Youth Council of Orange County (IYCOC) says their goal is to help youth “come together to promote respect, understanding, and appreciation for the integrity of each other’s beliefs, cultures, and traditions.” One way it does this is by hosting an annual Faith Forum and Festival.
Last year’s festival was held on a beautiful Sunday afternoon near the grounds of the Newport Beach California Temple. Over 150 youth from more than a dozen different faiths were able to take a tour of the temple grounds and ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Missionaries from the California Irvine Mission served as tour guides. They fielded questions from the youth about the basic beliefs of the Church and about the temple. These youth were seeking greater understanding of Latter-day Saints’ faith, and they knew this was a great way to get it.
“It’s better to understand other people’s faiths and not just think of them the way you think they are,” said Mohammed, a Muslim. “You need to actually know what their religion is.”
Nazee, a Zoroastrian, agreed. “These interfaith events bring people together and promote respect and understanding for all religions. I want to reach out to more people to help them to learn about other faiths.”
After the tour, the youth met in a nearby stake center to talk about and share their beliefs. Youth from various faiths were seated at tables together. They asked each other about their traditions and beliefs, their struggles in practicing their faith, and how their faith affects their views of current social issues.
As the youth expressed their beliefs, the conversations became more open. Latter-day Saint youth were able to share their feelings about being sealed together as families for eternity in temples, helping and serving others, why we emphasize the full name of the Church, and even what it’s like walking for miles and miles on a pioneer trek.
In the same discussions, youth of other faiths shared their own beliefs, values, and challenges. One young man of the Sikh faith said he has to live his faith stronger since he is no longer in India surrounded by others of his faith. A Jewish young man expressed the challenge of keeping the Sabbath day holy in today’s society. A young woman shared what it’s like to be one of only three students of her faith at her school.
Some from other countries remembered the joy of celebrating their traditions back home and how it’s different in America, where they’re not as widely celebrated. Others expressed hope that someday there wouldn’t be so many negative stereotypes about their faith.
Representatives of various religions from the youth council stood at the front of the meeting and lit an electric candle as they stated their hope about religion.
“I light this candle in hopes of peace and unity,” Mohammed said.
“I light this candle to support faith education,” Lizzie, a Hindu, said.
“My hope is that we can all find respect for each other that we didn’t have before,” Jessie, a Protestant, said.
Daniel C., who served as the vice president of the interfaith youth council, represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and said he hopes “that we can find similarities between our faiths.”
All youth participants took a moment of silence in unity and respect for each other.
“We want there to be more respect and less alienation,” Daniel said. He has attended many “house of worship” tours with the council over the last few years, visiting places such as the local Jain Center, Sikh Center, Buddhist Temple, Islamic institution, and Zoroastrian Center.
“I have much more respect now that I have made friends with people of other faiths and have seen what’s important to them,” Daniel said. “I learned that all religions are rooted in the values of doing good to others and serving your fellowmen. Most religions have beliefs similar to the Golden Rule.”
Daniel’s friends who have participated on the interfaith youth council expressed similar understandings and desires. Raj, of the Sikh faith, said, “I think that these experiences have shown us a lot of the similarities between our faiths, and as a result of that, it’s comforting to see that people are feeling the same way you do.”
“At the end of the day, everyone wants peace, unity,” Mohammed said. “No one wants terrorism; no one wants to hurt others. They just want to have a good society and a good community.”
Learning about different faiths and cultures helped him get rid of misconceptions, Raj said. “There’s so much more to it than what I previously thought. I want to reach out to more people for them to learn about other faiths as well.”
Paige M., one of the Latter-day Saint participants, said, “I think if we can join together with other religions and realize our commonalities instead of our differences, then we can help protect religious freedom and be able to come to understand what everyone else is talking about, gaining a respect for what they believe.”
Understanding, respect, friendship, and love. These are things that people of all faiths strive for. And when we strive for them together, it can be a very powerful thing.

It was a cloudy Sunday morning as I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the breakfast dishes. My two youngest children were watching a scripture video in the family room by the kitchen. I was lost in thought, and my cheeks were wet from tears. I couldn’t get my mind off the cancer that had invaded our home. My husband had been fighting it for several years, but now it had spread. My faith seemed to be wavering. My mind was crowded with “what if?” thoughts.
Suddenly the scripture video interrupted my thoughts with words from a calming voice: “Peace, be still. …
“Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 4:39–40).
I dropped the dishrag and turned to look at the TV. The video was about the Savior calming the storm. It was as if the words had been spoken to me by the Savior Himself. A feeling of warmth and peace flooded over me. It was a reminder to stick to the faith I had learned so much about through the years of cancer. It was a faith buttressed by words in my patriarchal blessing.
I received my patriarchal blessing when I was 15. One sentence that then seemed just to describe a part of my temple marriage now held great promise for me. It spoke of the righteous priesthood holder I would marry and said that he would “help thee, guide thee and aid thee, not only in thy youth but clear into thy later years.”
As I read and reread my patriarchal blessing during the years of battling cancer, that sentence gave me great hope. Each time, I found renewed faith in the promise of our future together. I remembered the great comfort that the Spirit had given me when my husband was first diagnosed. I memorized that part of my patriarchal blessing, and when cancer tests came back with poor results, I remembered that promise.
I learned to let the Savior carry us, I learned that I must keep my faith constant, and I learned to combat mounting fears with faith. The video that morning reminded me to rely on the Lord.
Having faith gives me the ability to let Jesus Christ carry my burden. Just as the people of Alma who were in bondage did not feel the burden on their backs (see Mosiah 24:14), so it is for our family with fighting cancer. Our family has been able to face cancer without feeling the burdens it could bring.
Learning the Painful Lessons
“Difficulties come into our lives, problems we do not anticipate and which we would never choose. None of us is immune. The purpose of mortality is to learn and to grow to be more like our Father, and it is often during the difficult times that we learn the most, as painful as the lessons may be.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2012, 111.
My husband still undergoes tests to track the cancer cells or to find possible tumors. We still have medical bills and the remaining side effects of treatments. And I still pray every day that my husband will have no more cancer. I pray that we will both live to old age. I also say to Heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.”
I do not know when the “later years” spoken of in my blessing will come. I hope the words in my blessing mean that my husband and I will be able to go on a mission when our children are raised. I hope they mean that my husband will lead our horse while giving rides to our grandchildren and will bounce our grandchildren on his knee. But I know that whenever God takes him from this earth, it will be in His time.
I no longer worry about when those “later years” are. It does not matter. I trust that the Lord will honor that promise made to me in my patriarchal blessing. He has taken care of us through these years, and He will take care of us in the future.
If you have not received your patriarchal blessing, consider talking to your bishop or branch president about receiving one. If you have a patriarchal blessing, do you read and ponder it often? Do you have faith in the Lord’s promises?

When youth from one ward in Birmingham, England, needed to raise money in order to attend stake youth camps, they knew just what to do: it was time to roll up their sleeves and teach nunchaku lessons. And origami lessons. Oh, and some one-on-one rugby training sessions for good measure.
After leaders counseled with the bishop and obtained his approval, ward members pulled together to support the youth in their efforts by holding a ward auction for promised services. At the auction, people could bid on all manner of “I owe you”-type services. The youth donations included manicures, basketball lessons, shoe shining, gardening help, babysitting time, ukulele lessons, and more.
The adults pitched in as well. Their donations ranged from a personal tour of a prison by the prison governor to chauffeur services for a day and even to a tutorial from the bishop on how to buy and sell on eBay. In the end, the ward raised enough money for the youth to attend the camps, all while having fun and getting to know one another by serving in creative ways.

Prior to travel restrictions caused by the current pandemic, I was returning home from an international assignment which, due to scheduling issues, created a Sunday layover. I had time between flights to attend a local sacrament meeting, where I was also able to share a brief message. Following the meeting, an enthusiastic deacon approached me and asked if I knew President Nelson and if I had ever had a chance to shake his hand. I answered that I did know him, that I had shaken his hand, and that, as a member of the Presiding Bishopric, I had the opportunity to meet with President Nelson and his counselors a couple of times each week.
The young deacon then sat down on a chair, threw his hands in the air, and shouted, “This is the greatest day of my life!” Brothers and sisters, I may not throw my hands in the air and shout, but I am eternally grateful for a living prophet and for the direction we receive from prophets, seers, and revelators, especially during these times of challenge.

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family.

Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.

From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. As one of those descendants I bear solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

To begin, I would like to share a story about a time in my life when my faith in the Lord and my faith in myself were tested—and ultimately strengthened—as I felt Him by my side.

On a Sunday evening in November 2020, my husband and I were having our regular planning session for the coming week and reviewing our schedules to make sure we were on top of things. At the time, our three children’s ages were two and a half years, eighteen months, and almost six months. We had three babies under three, both my husband and I worked full-time, my husband served in our ward’s bishopric, and both of us were involved in many other community and family activities. All that definitely made for a hectic schedule!

As we talked, we recognized that it was going to be a busy week. But with joint resolve to make our gospel study more of a priority amidst the busyness of our schedules, we decided to start waking up a half hour earlier than our babies so we could begin our days with gospel study instead of trying to fit it in somewhere else.

The next morning, Monday, November 16, we did just that. It was a peaceful morning filled with the Spirit. As I read that week’s Come, Follow Me assignment in Ether 6 about the Jaredites boarding their barges and commending themselves unto the Lord with the hope of reaching the promised land,2 I had some very specific impressions that I felt I needed to record. I am grateful for the Gospel Library app, which makes recording thoughts and promptings so easy!

My study that morning felt especially powerful for some reason, and I was grateful I had the prompting to record my thoughts. I am a firm believer in the power of recording experiences when we feel the Spirit teaching us, and in this case it would prove especially meaningful in my life.

As my husband, Tom, and I were finishing our study, we heard our sweet babies starting to stir. Our oldest two, Isaac and Zoey, shared a room, and Benny, our youngest, was sleeping in the nursery. Being a little older—and anyone with toddlers can attest to this—Isaac and Zoey had a tendency to get much louder much quicker if we didn’t go get them right away when they woke up, so we went to their room first. We got them dressed, as we normally did, and then I ­finished getting them ready while Tom went to get Benny. A few seconds later, every parent’s worst nightmare became our reality. Benny had stopped breathing as he slept. Despite our most desperate prayers and the heroic efforts of first responders, our angel boy unexpectedly and tragically passed away from sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS).

Over the course of the next few days, I recognized that this was an experience where the rubber met the road with my faith. Did I really believe that what I had been teaching my children was true, that families are forever? Did I believe that the Lord could sustain us through what felt like an insurmountable trial and somehow make it be “for [our] good”?3 Did I believe that I could trust the Lord to comfort me in my pain and to wipe away this brokenhearted mother’s tears?4

I did—and I do. In some ways I know it, and in all ways I believe it. This experience strengthened my faith in the Lord in every way and reminded me of the importance of having faith in Him throughout our lives. Because when we do, He “will not leave [us] comfortless.”5 Through Him, we will find “peace . . . which passeth all understanding.”6

That first night after Benny had passed away was without question the darkest night of my life. I couldn’t sleep, so to avoid disturbing my husband, I went out to our family room. I turned on every light in the house because I was afraid that if I didn’t, the darkness would overtake me. I tried everything I could think of to calm my heart, and then I turned to my scriptures, because I knew they always brought me peace and light—and I desperately needed both in those dark moments. I opened up the Gospel Library app, and there, staring back at me from the screen, was not only the story of the Jaredites again7 but also my own thoughts on having faith in and trusting the Lord when times got hard. I would like to share some of those thoughts with you now, thoughts that I had recorded before my world turned upside down but that I now realize were a tender mercy from the Lord to one of His daughters who would soon be in need:

From Ether 6, verse 3: “The Lord doesn’t want us to live in darkness and will do His part to help us live in light, but we have to have faith in Him and do our part.”
From verse 4: “Sometimes I feel like we have to do this in our lives: just commend ourselves to the Lord and take a big leap of faith! It’s reassuring to read scriptural examples of people who did just that.”
From verse 7: “The vessels were so well built that the water couldn’t penetrate them. That didn’t stop the storms, but it did protect the people. We will face rough waters in our lives, but we can build our testimonies such that outside forces can’t penetrate them. It’s up to us.”
From verse 8: “The Lord knew what He was doing. Even though He was sending winds, those winds were getting the people to the promised land. In our lives, trials may seem difficult and sometimes we feel like we’re going to drown, but if we trust the Lord, everything will keep pushing us to where He needs and wants us to be.”
From verses 9 and 10: “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the verse about how they couldn’t be broken and how they had light comes after the scripture about how they praised the Lord always. Gratitude is such a game changer!”

Now, none of this was groundbreaking. But reading these thoughts again with the perspective I now had of losing our angel son, I was amazed to think that the Lord loved me so much that He would have the Holy Ghost inspire me to write down thoughts that just moments later would take on new meaning in my life and be an anchor for my faith that I would need in the coming days and months.

Two days later, Tom and I went to purchase a burial outfit for Benny. As we were standing at the register to pay, I noticed the return-policy sign behind the desk. Tears immediately started flowing as I realized that the return policy didn’t apply to us because this tiny white outfit would be going into the ground to be buried with our son. Not a second later, though, the hymn “Be Still, My Soul” came over the speakers—talk about a tender mercy! The second verse particularly spoke to my heart: “Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake To guide the future as he has the past.”8 I then had this flash moment when I was able to look back on my life and see instance after instance in which the Lord had been there for me and had carried me through. I knew I could trust and have faith that, as this song said, He would undertake to guide my future as He had always guided my past. I could have faith in Him moving forward because I had had so many experiences with Him before. I knew who He was, and I knew that He loved me and was aware of me. Because of that, I knew I could trust Him. My faith was based on who He was, not on who I expected Him to be or even who I thought I needed Him to be as I went through that particular experience.

Looking back, I realize I have had many moments—including the days and weeks after Benny passed away—that I liken to my own walks along the road to Emmaus.9 Just as those disciples later realized that the Lord had been walking with them, I am confident the Lord has always been by my side, even though at times I might not have seen Him—whether that was because I wasn’t looking or because I was expecting something different. I am also grateful that, like those disciples, eventually my eyes have been opened and I have been able to recognize the miracles He has provided along the way. In fact, once I started looking for the wonders the Lord was working in the days and weeks after Benny had passed away, I was simply amazed. There were so many miracles that I started capturing them in an online journal—walkswithbenny.com—because I didn’t ever want to forget how good the Lord was to us. Every miracle brought us closer to Him, and I love looking back on those miracles now; they continue to strengthen my faith in the Lord and in His love.