Gospel Story Finder

When his children were young, Juan José Resanovich of Argentina turned to the Book of Mormon when he had questions about how to teach and raise his children. “My wife and I searched its pages for inspiration for our children, and we always found answers,” he wrote.

The Resanoviches taught their children obedience by pointing them to Nephi’s example in 1 Nephi 3:5–6:

“Thy brothers murmur, saying it is a hard thing which I have required of them; but behold I have not required it of them, but it is a commandment of the Lord.

“Therefore go, my son, and thou shalt be favored of the Lord, because thou hast not murmured.”

“We taught our children that Nephi respected his earthly parents and the things of God,” wrote Juan. “We made a goal that as a family we would have Nephi’s attitude of respect and obedience.

“Each of our children served a mission. We did not have to convince them to serve. They have been good students, good friends, and good children. Our family has a lot to improve, but the Book of Mormon is a tremendous help in reaching our goals.”

“Let’s prepare ourselves to go to the temple” were the words uttered by my husband when I was washing the dishes. I was astonished. Being in the Church for almost two decades and like every other young women, I too dreamt of getting married to an active, worthy, temple-loving returned missionary.
My husband and I knew each other for almost 12 years, and on September 2009, we decided to get married. I had a strong desire to get married in the temple, and when I shared my feelings, my husband insisted that we work together to be strong enough to enter into His holy place. We committed ourselves that we would go to the temple and get sealed in the house of the Lord in three months. The initial days were blissful. But life wasn’t like something that floats around and lands on you like a lucky butterfly. It needs to be tended, like a fire in your heart, by breathing life into a spark over and over again.
Years came and went in a blur of working hard and spinning our wheels. We filled our days with what we thought we had to do. We were careless with our love, sending out sharp words and criticisms and then rushing out the door to our next obligation. We thought we were building a life for our future. But we didn’t see the cracks in what we were building.
Whenever we thought of going to the temple, we became conscious of our failings and felt uncomfortable at the thought of approaching the Lord. We felt unworthy of the Lord’s love and were fearful of His disapproval. We knew that preparation to enter the temple and covenant-making doesn’t happen quickly. It began with baptism, confirmation of the gift of the Holy Ghost, and then it has to grow every day with prayer, scripture study, obedience, repentance, partaking of the sacrament, keeping the commandments, etc.
The day dawned when my husband was called by Bishop Daniel Michael and stake president Nithyakumar to be the second counsellor in the Convent Road Branch. That puzzled us greatly, for we had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power than my husband.
My husband denied initially and said he is not worthy enough to accept the call. It was a great challenge, and after two months he made up his mind. A few days later, my husband felt something strong in his heart that we must prepare ourselves to go to the temple. Temple ordinances are the most exalted ordinances that have been revealed to mankind. We wanted to receive the temple ordinances, make solemn covenants with our Father, feel His Spirit, and receive additional revelation and understanding. As we have heard many temple-returned members bear their testimonies, we wanted to experience that same understanding and assurance of the eternal existence and the unending power of the covenants made. If we are not eternal beings, the temple would have no significance. We wanted to enter the temple and make covenants because we know that we will exist eternally, and we wanted to be with our Heavenly Father and our family in “never-ending happiness.”
We slowly started to resolve our marital differences and felt that it was worth our best efforts. We started to prepare wisely and foresaw the need for adjustment. We started listening to each other and each moment of listening piled up until we could start climbing right up and out of our hole. We added laughter and that made the climbing lighter. We let things go, saw with new eyes, and stood in the each other’s shoes. Serving family, Church members, and friends became enjoyable. All these years we were trying to find happiness by hunting for it, not realising that we will find it as the old woman did her lost spectacles, safe on her nose all the time.
Our understanding of our eternal perspective helped us both to love and respect each other and overcome selfishness as we worked through our differences together. We partook of the sacrament, sought for forgiveness, strived to keep the Lord’s standards, and felt proud to worthily carry a temple recommend. The more we stood for true principles, the more we felt the Lord’s help to overcome temptation.
We started preparing spiritually, mentally, and financially. We worked on our family tree. We knew that our ancestors were waiting and praying for hundreds of years for their ordinances to be performed. We felt great and awesome to do that part of work for them. We were able to collect 42 names. On May 14, 2017, we went to the temple. We did not understand much when we did our own endowments and got sealed. I was taken in disbelief when I saw my dream come true where I dreamt of sitting in a room on a chair and a person with white dress speaking to me. I saw the same room, the same chair in which I was sitting during my initiatory and a person in white dress speaking to me. I went back to the patron house and reflected on my dream as though it happened just few days back. When we did baptisms for our ancestors and began to seal them, we felt the Spirit so strong in us. My husband didn’t serve his mission but was blessed to baptize nearly 60 people who are dead. When we did endowments for our ancestors and as we entered into the celestial room, we both held our hands together, prayed for few minutes. There were scriptures lying next to us. When we randomly opened the page, it turned to Doctrine and Covenants 38:7–15. We were overjoyed to see the promised blessings.
I know that Heavenly Father wants to bless us. His greatest blessings come when we enter the temple to receive sacred ordinances and when we make and keep sacred covenants. We feel we have reformed ourselves. Our hearts are full of thanks for the Saviour’s Atonement that assures us that ‘though [our] sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isaiah 1:18). I am grateful for my family. We are really blessed to live in a time when the Lord has inspired His prophets to provide significantly increased accessibility to the holy temples worldwide and invite each of you to have a current temple recommend and visit the temple more often. All of the ordinances which take place in the house of the Lord become expressions of our belief in that fundamental and basic doctrine of the immortality of the human soul. As we redouble our efforts and our faithfulness in going to the temple, the Lord will bless us. We leave you this testimony that when you prepare, “set specific goals, considering your circumstances, of when you can and will participate in temple ordinances. Then do not allow anything to interfere with that plan. This pattern will guarantee that those who live in the shadow of a temple will be as blessed as are those who plan far ahead and make a long trip to the temple” (Richard G. Scott, “Temple Worship: The Source of Strength and Power in Times of Need,” Liahona, May 2009, 43).
Finally, I quote from President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95): “Let us be a temple-attending and a temple-loving people. Let us hasten to the temple as frequently as time and means and personal circumstances allow. Let us go not only for our kindred dead, but let us also go for the personal blessing of temple worship, for the sanctity and safety which are provided within those hallowed and consecrated walls. The temple is a place of beauty; it is a place of revelation; it is a place of peace. It is the house of the Lord. It is holy unto the Lord. It should be holy unto us” (“The Great Symbol of Our Membership,” Ensign, July 1994, 5).
May the Lord continue to bless you and your families when you prepare to enter his holy House as He did ours. I strongly bear this testimony in the precious name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, amen.

“I have seen that promise fulfilled in my own life and in the lives of others. A friend of mine served as a mission president. He told me that at the end of every day while he was serving, he could barely make it upstairs to bed at night wondering if he would have the strength to face another day. Then in the morning, he would find his strength and his courage restored. You have seen it in the lives of aged prophets who seemed to be renewed each time they stood to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. That is a promise for those who go forward in faith in their priesthood service.”

Words expressed lightly and without commitment can be destructive to trust. I once had a young man in our home who had come to install a kitchen range. He was well dressed, well mannered and very skilled. As I worked in the kitchen, we visited while he did his work. I learned he was a student about to graduate and had some ambitious and worthy goals. I asked if he were married and he replied he was not. I suggested that he would be a mighty good catch for some young woman. Then he stopped what he was doing and looked at me seriously and said, "How can you tell when you can trust someone?" His question took me by surprise, but then he explained that he had a girlfriend and she had told him how much she loved him and wanted to be married to him. Then, rather abruptly, he learned she was seeing someone else. His inclination to trust had been damaged.

It is important that we can stand behind the words we speak. Just as it is important to take your car to a mechanic you can trust or to put your money in a bank you can trust, how much more important to place your heart or your feelings in a relationship you can trust. Make a conscious effort to be a man or woman of your word. How could we possibly be prepared to make and keep sacred covenants if we have not learned to be honest in word? Relationships of trust are the foundation of sacred covenants and should never be taken lightly.

A sister wrote me about her feelings toward a relative who had abused her as a child, leaving her with a painful physical condition. In her words, “I have to live with the pain and try to function around it.” She wrote, “At times I [felt] angry and wonder[ed] why I had to suffer the abuse in the first place and why must I continue to pay a price now.”

One day, as she listened to a talk in church, her heart was touched. The Spirit bore witness that she should forgive the man who had wronged her and that she could do so with the help of our Lord Jesus Christ. Her letter explained: “The price for that sin has already been paid by Him in Gethsemane. I have no right to hold on to it and demand justice, so I gladly hand it back to Him and rejoice in His love and mercy.”

Her letter described the result of her decision: “My heart is so full of joy, peace, and gratitude and love! Isn’t His work glorious? How I do love Him! Words cannot express my feelings.”

“Mom!” The high-pitched wail made me wince.
What now? I wondered. The children had gone to bed, and I was going about my evening activities. My husband was at a late meeting.
I went upstairs, bracing myself for what I thought was another argument between siblings, and found my youngest child, Michaella, with red-rimmed eyes. “My ear hurts, Mom.”
Oh, no, I thought. Why does this always happen at night? I couldn’t justify the expense of an emergency-room visit for an ear infection, so I used all the home remedies I knew and tucked her in. “Try to sleep now,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as her office opens in the morning.”
Downstairs again, I felt anxious and could not concentrate. I went to the kitchen and halfheartedly began to wipe the counters. Then with a sudden motion I threw down the cloth. I headed back upstairs to check on Michaella, moving softly in case she was asleep. I stopped halfway up. Through the open door at the top of the stairs, I could hear sobs.
I could not take it. I couldn’t just stand by, helpless, while my child suffered. I sank down on the stairs, tears running down my face. I prayed. I pleaded. I trembled as I told the Lord I would do everything I could to help my daughter and then I would leave the rest up to Him. After taking a few deep breaths, I climbed the rest of the stairs, sat on my daughter’s bed, and smoothed her damp hair.
“It hurts bad, Mom.” The usual dimple in her cheek wasn’t there. Her face was pale. Fatigue and pain had made dark smudges under her eyes.
I decided I would not wait until my husband returned; I would risk looking like an overanxious, overprotective, and overreacting mother. “I’m going to call our home teacher, OK?”
Michaella nodded.
I made the call, feeling somewhat awkward. When I asked our home teacher if he would give Michaella a blessing, his answer was, “Of course.” A short while later he arrived, smiling, as if driving out late at night was his favorite thing to do.
While he performed the blessing I felt hope lighten my heavy heart. I thanked him as he left, then put Michaella to bed again. She was asleep within minutes.
The next morning she seemed so much better, I was tempted to skip calling the pediatrician. But I had promised the Lord I would do everything I could.
Later that morning, I watched the doctor closely. She peered through her scope into Michaella’s ear and said, “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” It wasn’t really a question; it was a statement.
“She slept straight through the night,” I said.
I took a mental photograph of the doctor’s astonished face.
I knew then that we had had our own little miracle. No seas were parted, no lepers cleansed, no dead raised. It had simply been a night of peace, without pain, for a little girl.
For me, it was enough.

Recently I went to an Alzheimer’s care facility in Salt Lake City to visit a long-time friend, Mayre Nielsen, who is 97 years of age. I was escorted by a young woman attendant to Mayre’s bedside. As I greeted her, she looked at me with glistening eyes but did not speak a word. I said to her, “Mayre, do you remember when we first met?” Still there was no answer. I continued, “It was long years ago, when you were a member of the Primary General Board and accompanied Sister Monson and me to an assignment in Sydney, Australia.”
I stopped speaking, and the attendant said, “President Monson, Mayre doesn’t know people. She is unable to recognize anyone and doesn’t know who you are. I’ll show you what I mean.”
Turning to Mayre, the attendant said, “Mayre, do you know who this man is?”
Mayre looked at the young woman and said, as clear as clear could be, “Of course. This is Brother Monson.” She then turned back to me, took my hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips. The young attendant also had tears in her eyes as she looked at Mayre in disbelief. Mayre had remembered; Mayre had spoken.
The promise found in the third verse of the beautiful Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” had been fulfilled:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(Hymns, no. 208)

One bishop taught his new deacons quorum presidency these duties. So the young presidency began to talk about what that might look like in their quorum and in their ward. They decided they should start visiting elderly ward members to see what they needed and then do that.

Among those they served was Alan, a rough, often profane, and sometimes hostile neighbor. Alan’s wife, Wanda, became a member of the Church, but Alan was, as we say, something of a piece of work.

Still, the deacons went to work, comically ignoring his insults, while they shoveled snow and took out trash. Deacons can be hard to hate, and Alan eventually began to love them. At some point they invited him to church.

“I don’t like church,” he responded.

“Well, you like us,” they said. “So come with us. You can just come to our quorum meeting if you want.”

And with the bishop’s approval, he came—and he kept coming.

The deacons became teachers, and as they continued to serve him, he taught them to work on cars and to build things. By the time these deacons-turned-teachers became priests, Alan was calling them “my boys.”

They were earnestly preparing for missions and asked him if they could practice missionary lessons with him. He swore that he would never listen and never believe, but, yeah, they could practice at his house.

And then Alan got sick. And he softened.

And one day in quorum meeting, he tenderly asked them to pray for him to quit smoking, and so they did. But then they followed him home and confiscated all of his tobacco stash.

As his failing health put Alan into hospitals and rehab centers, “his boys” served him, quietly exuding powers of priesthood and of love unfeigned (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:41).

The miracle continued when Alan asked to be baptized—but then he passed away before it could happen. At his request, his deacons-turned-priests were the pallbearers and the speakers at his funeral, where they—fittingly—warned, expounded, exhorted, taught, and invited all to Christ.

And later, in the temple, it was one of “Alan’s boys” who baptized that erstwhile deacons quorum president in proxy for Alan.

Everything John the Baptist said to do, they did. They did what deacons, teachers, and priests do all over this Church and all over this world.

I recall a time I was babysitting my younger brother Mark, who was three years old. It was quiet, which meant trouble, so I went into the kitchen. There I found him, simply sitting on the floor playing with a long, sharp, butcher knife he had pulled from the top of the cabinet. It was bright and shiny and obviously attractive to him. I knew that potential danger, and, of course, I took it away from him. He didn’t understand. I had taken away something that was very attractive to him and something that he wanted, so he cried. When I reflect on that experience, I think of how much more infinite our Heavenly Father’s knowledge is of those things which can be hurtful to us.

One evening at Christmastime, my wife and I visited a nursing home in Salt Lake City. We looked in vain for a 95-year-old widow, whose memory had become clouded and who could not speak a word. An attendant led us in our search, and we found Nell in the dining room. She had eaten her meal; she was sitting silently, staring into space. She did not show us any sign of recognition. As I reached to take her hand, she withdrew it. I noticed that she held firmly to a Christmas greeting card. The attendant smiled and said, “I don’t know who sent that card, but she will not lay it aside. She doesn’t speak but pats the card and holds it to her lips and kisses it.” I recognized the card. It was one my wife, Frances, had sent to Nell the week before.
We left more filled with the Christmas spirit than when we entered. We kept to ourselves the mystery of that special card and the life it had gladdened and the heart it had touched. Heaven was nearby.

I emphasize the word shared. My introduction to the board of trustees came as I left the faculty at Stanford to be the president of Ricks College. I attended my first board meeting soon thereafter. My work at Stanford and elsewhere had exposed me to the ways boards of directors and groups of people in business made decisions. But nothing I had seen prepared me for what I saw in that meeting.

President Harold B. Lee, also one of the authors of our foundation documents, was serving as chair. I have now forgotten the issue, but the discussion was lively. I had never seen such frankness without rancor before, but neither had I seen people listen to each other as carefully. In a few minutes, what had seemed to me widely divergent views began to move—I thought so rapidly as to be miraculous—toward a consensus. Just as I began to think I had seen an example of joint revelation beyond what I thought possible among strong leaders, I was surprised by a statement from the chair, President Lee. He said something like this: “I sense that there is someone here still not settled on this matter. I suggest that we hold it for further thought. We can discuss it again in a later meeting.” President Lee had seen or felt, I don’t know which, that there was not yet complete unity. And so an important matter was held off.

That story is not about one day but represents a pattern. Not only does the board of trustees give consistent direction, based on a deep understanding of universities as they have been and of this one as it is, but it gives direction out of unity far beyond a product of counting votes and far above a process of coalition bargaining.

Meet Isaac Sani Dadzie from the Bibiani Ghana District—a young man whose determination to serve led him to discover a valuable skill and build a small business along the way.
It started when the young single adults needed a television hooked up in their building. Instead of waiting for outside help, Isaac took it upon himself to learn how to install and configure TVs and networks. What began as a humble effort to help his YSA group quickly grew into something bigger. With practice and persistence, Isaac mastered the process and has since set up multiple systems for others.
Word of his talent began to spread. Through recommendations from satisfied clients, Isaac built a reputation for reliability and skill—and with that, a small business was born. His journey is a powerful reminder that service, curiosity, and faith can open doors to unexpected opportunities.
Recently, Isaac joined fellow young single adults on a visit to the temple, strengthening both his testimony of Jesus Christ and his vision for the future. Whether in a chapel or a career, Isaac is committed to building—one connection at a time.

More than 150 years ago, a 17-year-old was called by the Lord to introduce the restored gospel to the infant colony of South Australia, where his mother and stepfather were emigrating. William James Barratt of England was ordained by Elder George A. Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve in July 1840. He set sail soon afterward, and began his missionary work in Australia just ten years after the Church was organized.
Elder Barratt had no Missionary Training Center experience, no companion, and his mission president was half a world away in Liverpool, England. It took a whole year for him to get an answer to his letters to Church leaders. He did not even have a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“I feel like a lamb among wolves, going into a land of strangers to preach the gospel,” he wrote.
Yet with the vigor of youth, he came, he served, he testified. And he baptized Robert Beauchamp, who later became president of the Australasian Mission (Australia and New Zealand), and who in turn baptized at least 150 others.

My wonderful neighbor and visiting teacher shared the following experience with me: She and a long-time friend exercise daily by walking together early in the morning.

In the summer, they enjoy the beauty of a well-developed local nature trail--the Teton River Trail--that wanders pleasantly alongside the river.

At one point, they observed that their enjoyment of the trail was fading as the litter along the path was increasing. Their initial reaction was to question why the offenders wouldn't pick up their own trash. Their second reaction was "We ought to do something about this!"

They began to bring grocery bags on their morning walks and filled the bags with trash as they walked.

Eventually, they brought large trash bags with them to finish the task. Their pleasure and enjoyment of the beautiful trail resumed, as did the spiritual nature of the trail.

One Saturday during my mission to Guatemala, my companion and I decided to visit Benita. She and her husband, Isaías, were faithful members of the Church. Isaías was continually in search of ways to bring in enough money to support his family. To supplement his efforts, Benita raised chickens to sell them and their eggs.
When we arrived we could tell that Benita was upset. She explained that, after her husband had gone to work in a distant village, her chickens had all become sick, and one had already died. She knew they could not get by without these chickens. She felt frustrated and helpless.
Trying to console her, we sang some hymns and shared our testimonies. We offered to say a prayer with her. When we said this, her face lit up. She asked me to pray and petition Heavenly Father to bless her chickens. I was caught off guard—I had never thought of chickens as subjects for prayer. But then I thought of Amulek’s admonition to “cry unto [God] … over all your flocks” (Alma 34:20). I realized that Benita’s chickens were her flock.
I gave the prayer, telling Heavenly Father that Benita’s husband was gone, that one of her chickens had died, that the rest were sick, and that she didn’t know what to do. I told Heavenly Father that her heart ached and asked Him to please bless her chickens. Benita thanked us for visiting, and we left.
The next day at church, Benita told us of her chickens’ recovery. Each time I think of Benita, I think of God’s love for us and His desire to bless us—if we will just ask.

Three years ago, Edward Pentreath was attending a large youth activity in England, where he lives, when he remembers feeling the Spirit in an overwhelming way.
“After the evening fireside, I went back to my room. I was praying, and suddenly I realized that this gospel is all true. I was so happy. All I could say was, ‘It’s true. I know it’s true.’ I remember calling a good friend of mine. When he picked up the phone, all he could hear was me saying, ‘It’s true! It’s so fantastic!’”
Now when Edward, a member of Ipswich England Stake, describes the feeling he had that night when the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of the gospel, he describes it as a “warm shiver and a tingle which went through my body.” He has learned to recognize that feeling. He says he feels the Spirit often now that his friends are going on missions and as they have opportunities to bear their testimonies at camp, at youth conferences, or in church.
Edward was just one of the teens the New Era interviewed in the Ipswich England Stake. When we began talking about what it is like to feel the Spirit, a change came over each group. As they talked about this special subject, the teens sat up a little straighter, they were focused on what their friends were saying, and their eyes sparkled. When they told of their own experiences, just like Edward, they could remember in vivid detail what it was like to feel the Spirit.
The teens from the different wards in the Ipswich stake enjoy being around each other. They really like going to youth conferences—or conventions as they are sometimes called—where something as simple as singing together can bring the Spirit. Rebecca Fagg remembers attending her first youth convention as a 14-year-old. “I was struggling a bit and finding attending church to be quite a lot of effort. Then I went to the youth convention. The power of all the youth together made me realize how great it is to be able to go to meetings like that. When we sang, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit. I just burst into tears.”
Music was mentioned several times as a way to feel the Spirit. Seth Spencer, remembering how he felt at youth conference, said, “When you come together and hear about 1,000 people behind you singing, it’s so powerful.”
Simply attending church and doing the things they are asked to do helps these teens in their search for truth. James Mateer said, “I’m deacons quorum president now, and I look out for a few people. I like feeling of the Spirit guiding me. It’s peaceful. I feel happy.”
“I didn’t know what feeling the Spirit felt like until the start of this year,” said Tiago Pereira. “I was speaking to my dad, and he really helped me understand. We were just driving along, and my dad asked me if I had a testimony. At first I said, ‘Well, I’m not really sure.’ Then he asked me to describe the feelings I had when I felt the Spirit. As we were talking, I felt the Spirit again during our conversation. Both of us were crying by the end. It was good. From then on, it’s been easier to understand when I feel the Spirit.”
Seth Spencer summed up the way many of these youth feel about their parents. “My parents are my great teachers and have taught me since I was young to always listen to the Spirit. Whenever you have that warm feeling, that sort of little whisper in your ear, just follow it.”
Since the teens in Ipswich are often the only members in their school classes, they are sometimes put into the situation of teaching their friends, not just about the Church but about truths in life.
In Lucy Fagg’s case, she had to stand up for the gospel in class. The teacher was discussing some things about the Church that were wrong. Lucy tried to avoid confronting her, but her friends kept looking at her and asking, “Is this true?”
Lucy raised her hand. “The Spirit really helped me to know what to say, to tell her and my whole class that I was a member. I also felt comfort, and I was helped to answer the questions that everyone was asking me.”
Mary Mateer had an experience similar to Lucy’s. “One time a girl in my class asked a question, and I couldn’t sit and not say anything. It felt like the Spirit was pushing me. My heart was pounding the whole time. I just remember hearing the Spirit say to me, ‘Speak about Noah. Speak about Moses.’ It was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had. The words concerning Noah were in my mind, clear as day. I remember looking around the room at the people who were listening. You could see they were really listening. I could tell they felt the Spirit and that what I was saying was true.”
Such experiences give the teens here confidence. They know that they are not alone. They can rely on the Lord for help.
For some teens, feeling the Spirit is a daily occurrence. “One of my favorite times is every night when I start reading the scriptures. The Spirit is so strong,” says Joshua Donker. “Every day I look forward to reading my scriptures and writing in my journal.”
When Diogo Serra has a little time left after he has finished taking a school exam, he prays. At first he said very short prayers, but he started thinking that he would pray longer. He says that now “I have a conversation with my Heavenly Father. I tell the Lord about my week, what I’ve done, and ask for help or advice. That really makes me feel closer to Him.”
Some of the teens in Ipswich have felt the comforting Spirit of the Lord when they were in frightening situations. Tirion Guy told a story about being on a boat on the River Thames during a windy, stormy day. “The river was choppy, and it seemed to be getting worse. I remember some of the plates in the kitchen smashed, and the chairs were going everywhere. We had to walk up the sides of the boat so we wouldn’t fall over. While I was on the boat, I felt comforted that everything would be OK. But when we got off, when we were safe and it was calm, then I cried. When I was going through it, I can’t really describe it, but I was comforted.”
Diana Nunes described one thing about the Spirit that everyone seemed to feel but hadn’t put into words. Diana remembered when she had been sent ahead to live with relatives and start school before the rest of her family moved to England. Her father had given her a blessing, promising her that she would have confidence while they were apart. Diana said, “When he finished the blessing, I knew that when I was feeling alone and no one, not even my parents, could help me, the Spirit would be there to comfort me.”
These teens in Ipswich know that there is a place to turn for comfort, for answers to their questions, and to find peace, because they know that the gift of the Holy Ghost has been given to them.

Our little granddaughter (I’ll call her Heather) grew up a happy, bubbly child. She always had a smile on her face. But when she turned 12, all that changed. She experienced anxiety, sometimes felt panic, and began to harm herself. She stayed home from school and hid in her room.
Her parents called me, feeling very concerned. I listened and empathized. But it was not my place to tell them what to do. This was under their role as parents. My job as a grandparent was to listen and offer ideas as they figured out what to do.
They found medical help and therapy for Heather. Over the following months, her progress seemed slow. Her mother arranged for online learning because Heather missed so much school. Heather continued to confine herself to her room and her art.
What could I do?
I knelt daily in prayer for Heather. We prayed as an extended family, but Heather still isolated herself. I wanted God to fix her back to the happy little girl she was.
As I continued to pray, the Spirit reminded me of a teaching by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “Never forget that these little ones are the sons and daughters of God and that yours is a custodial relationship to them, that He was a parent before you were parents and that He has not relinquished His parental rights or interest in these His little ones.”1
I began to pray for God’s will, His timing, and His direction, not mine. I needed to respect that He was Heather’s Father in Heaven. I sought to listen to the Spirit, not just pray in panic for my will to be done. I knew He would take care of Heather. I read and reread 3 Nephi 18:20: “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.” Heavenly Father promised, so I decided I would trust Him.
The Spirit reminded me that I was the grandparent and could love Heather in a different way than her parents. I just needed to show I enjoyed her company. We texted back and forth. We talked about both of us being daughters of God, and we had gospel conversations. She made several pieces of art just for me. I hugged her every chance I got. We cooked together, shopped together, and watched her favorite movies together.
As the months went by, she improved a little. With the help of her mom, she taught a Come, Follow Me lesson in our family videoconference. Other times she shared a scripture. She made cookies with her aunt and played games with her cousins.
Slowly, Heather’s life began to change. She made friends with a girl in the neighborhood while walking her dog. Her parents encouraged her to stay for Young Women class on Sunday, not just attend sacrament meeting. She met a new friend at a youth activity. As Heather felt stronger, she decided she would try to go back to in-person school. She is now doing well at school and enjoys seminary.
With each step Heather took, I felt immense gratitude. I am thankful for her parents, her extended family, the young women and their leaders, and a devoted seminary teacher. I express my gratitude for these angels on earth in my daily prayers.
Heather’s life isn’t perfect, but she has gained wisdom, strength, and courage through this trial. She can again share her happy, bubbly smile with those around her. She is growing into a productive, solution-focused teen. God is Heather’s Heavenly Father and will help her become her best self. Her earthly parents are receptive to the Spirit and seek to guide her life with His help. I still listen when they need to talk, and I always show love.

Very early in my childhood, I became aware of the importance of prayer and the awesome power of the holy priesthood. During the fall of 1942, the United States was involved in a war. My father was trying to finish building our house. He couldn’t get a furnace because all building materials were needed for the war. As the weather became colder, my little sister, Patricia, and I became very ill. She had bronchitis, and I had double pneumonia. The doctor offered little hope that I would live through the night.
Speaking of that “awful night of nights,” my mother said she became desperate as she felt for my pulse and could find none. She said I looked like a little statue lying there on my bed. She fervently prayed to the Lord, promising if I should live, she would give me back to the Lord for His service. During the night, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. As he laid his hands upon my head, I opened my eyes, and from that time on, I began to feel better. I know that through the prayers of my parents and the power of the priesthood, my life was spared.

Such acts of strength and courage are often overlooked in part because they can be misunderstood as acts of weakness when judged by the world’s standards. I learned this in a powerful way while serving as a young missionary in the Mexican town of Ciudad Acuña, which is located just across the border from Del Rio, Texas. At the time, we did not have a chapel in Acuña. So we were given permission to cross the border into Del Rio—where there was a chapel with a baptismal font—to perform our baptisms. As near as I could tell, there was no formal arrangement for such border crossings. The U.S. missionaries had visas that permitted us to cross back and forth, but those who were to be baptized often did not. In what was clearly a different immigration era than we have now, we simply vouched for those individuals, and the border officials took note to make sure the same people returned after the baptisms were performed.

On one such occasion, after ­enthusiastically accepting our invitation to be baptized, the Hernandez family—a young husband and wife—accompanied us to the border crossing. The officials took down their names, and we proceeded to the chapel. All was going well until we opened the door to the closet where the baptismal clothing was stored. There were a fair number of choices for men’s clothing, but Brother Hernandez was a large man. After several attempts to put on the largest pants that were there, it became clear that there was nothing even close to a fit among the choices. I began to panic a bit. The border guards had let the Hernandez family cross without papers so they could be ­baptized, but they were very unlikely to accept that justification more than once. I didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly Brother Hernandez pointed to the closet containing the women’s baptismal clothing and asked, “What about that?”

He was pointing to a large, white baptismal gown on the bottom shelf of the women’s section. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Let’s try it.”

He and I then retired to the dressing room, where I put on my baptismal clothes. I couldn’t restrain myself from watching out of the corner of my eye to see how things were going with Brother Hernandez. He was struggling mightily to get into the dress, wiggling first this way and then that while tugging on the dress to pull it down.

At that point, I thought to myself, “Brother Hernandez, if you only knew how silly you looked, you would be embarrassed, and you would probably just call off the baptism.”

Immediately a clear voice that was not my own came into my mind. It said: “He knows exactly how silly he looks, and he does not care. He knows God wants him to be baptized, and he is determined to do that no matter how silly he looks to others. You should be embarrassed that you don’t recognize what true courage looks like.”

I have read of dramatic demonstrations of courage, such as Parley P. Pratt’s account of the Prophet Joseph Smith rebuking the guards in the Richmond jail,44 but none has had more of an impression on me than the courage and strength of a humble disciple of Christ that I witnessed that night. Brother Hernandez chose to humble ­himself—to let God prevail—and he was determined to do what God wanted, no matter what the cost. He demonstrated a backbone of humility that continues to inspire me today, forty years later.

I was down in a husbands-and-wives meeting in Provo years ago when a lovely sister bore her testimony as to the joy that had come into her home since her husband had become active in the Church. She told about going through the temple with her husband. She told how he had been inactive, how he had smoked and hadn’t been advanced in the priesthood, and how someone took hold of him and finally helped him to become worthy and ready to receive the priesthood; and the bishop had finally given him a recommend to go to the temple. After she had described that wonderful evening, she said, “Here, five little girls came in to be sealed to their father and mother. This man of God pronounced us a family for the eternities.” And as she finished this story and bore her testimony, she looked over the pulpit and down in front of her where her husband was seated. She seemed to forget for that moment that there was anybody there but just the two of them, and she said to him, “Daddy, I can’t tell you how happy the girls now are and how grateful we are for what you have done for us, because, you see, Daddy, except for you who holds the priesthood, neither the children nor I could be together as a family in the hereafter. Thank God for our daddy who holds the key and unlocks the door to an eternal family home.”