Gospel Story Finder

Again, as a young Navajo boy growing up on a reservation and as the only Mormon in my family, I was tempted many times by friends whose values were not as lofty as my own. Even my own flesh and blood, my own brothers and sisters, tried me.
Two, three, four of my brothers were so determined for me to live their way that one day they attacked me and attempted to bind my arms and legs. When I became helpless, they would pour wine and beer into me. But the plan didn’t work. I resisted. I fought back with all the strength and courage I had. I managed to escape and run away from them. But I still loved them and asked Heavenly Father to forgive them.

All that day Randy and I waited for the neurosurgeon to arrive with word about our baby’s test results. When he finally came at 10:30 P.M., he spoke in a cold, deliberate voice:
“Your daughter has no chance for a normal life,” he said bluntly. “She has no brain.”
Mere words can’t describe how we felt. I was stunned by his callousness as he continued, seemingly oblivious of the torture Randy and I were suffering.
“Her brain simply never formed. All she has is the brain stem, which is the bare minimum necessary to keep her alive. It controls all the involuntary functions—the heart, respiration, digestive system, and reflexes. She will never roll over or crawl or walk. She will not advance in any way. She’s blind and deaf. She will never respond to you in any way, and she will have to be fed through a tube.”
He guessed that she would live about six months at the most.
When he walked out of that hospital room, all our hopes for our baby girl left with him. Randy and I threw our arms around each other and struggled to pull our shattered emotions back together. We had tried to prepare ourselves for the news that she might be retarded, but we had never dreamed it would be this. It felt like the entire weight of the world had crashed down on top of us.
When Abby Ruth, as we named her, was three days old I had held her only a few times, and that all-important bonding relationship between mother and child hadn’t taken place. Late that night, feeling forced into making a decision that I didn’t want to make, I walked down to the intensive care nursery to see her. I stood next to her bassinet and watched her stare blankly into space. One of the nurses came to stand next to me, and I shook my head sadly.
“The poor little thing doesn’t have any idea of what’s going on, does she?” I asked quietly.
The nurse turned to me and spoke with conviction. “Maybe her mind doesn’t know, but her spirit does.”
That simple statement hit me with a tremendous impact. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
Later that night I dreamed that a beautiful young woman with long, waving blonde hair and dressed in a flowing white robe came walking toward me through a mist, with arms outstretched to greet me. I knew then that when my time comes and I leave this world, Abby will be there waiting for me in all her perfection. Knowing that, how could I turn away from her in her hour of need?

These two principles are depicted in one of my favorite books called, The Hiding Place. It is a true story of the extraordinary adventure of Corrie Ten Boom--a courageous Christian woman who became a militant heroine of the anti-Nazi underground in Holland.

Her family had been engaged in hiding people from the Nazis in their home. Eventually, the protective acts of the Ten Boom family were discovered and they were sent to the dreadful concentration camps. Despite the misery, filth and disease they experienced in the various camps, Corrie and her sister, Betsie, always seemed to find a reason to rejoice.

On one occasion, Corrie was overcome with joy to have a compact Bible smuggled in to her. It became a source of strength to her and the other prisoners as she whispered its divine messages to the hungry souls of her cell mates. When Corrie and her sister Betsie, eventually ended up at Ravensbruck, the notorious women's extermination camp, she did not succumb to despair and depression. Rather, she continued to find God's influence in her tragic situation. She wrote, "Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew everyday more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God (through their secret Bible readings), grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory" (pg. 195).

On page 198, Betsie demonstrated her spiritual maturity when she expressed gratitude for her appalling circumstances. When the sisters and other women prisoners were assigned to the large room, known as Barracks 28, they were horrified to find the place swarming with fleas. As Corrie asked how they were supposed to live in such conditions, she discovered that Betsie, her more spiritually mature sister, was asking God aloud "Show us. Show us how." Almost immediately, Betsie answered her own question when she said excitedly, "Corrie! He's given us the answer! In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!"

Corrie wrote:
"I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the bible from its pouch. 'It was in First Thessalonians,' I said. 'Here it is: 'Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all.' It seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck.
'Go on,' said Betsie. 'That wasn't all.'
'Oh yes: 'to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus ---'
'That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!'
I stared at her, then around me at the dark, foul-aired room.
'Such as?'I said.
'Such as being assigned here together.'
I bit my lip. 'Oh yes, Lord Jesus!'
'Such as what you're holding in your hands.'
I looked down at the bible. 'Yes! Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages.'
'Yes,' said Betsie. 'Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!' She looked at me expectantly. 'Corrie!' she prodded.
'Oh all right. Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds.'
'Thank You,'Betsie went on serenely, 'for the fleas and for--'
The fleas! This was too much. 'Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea.'
'Give thanks in all circumstances,' she quoted. 'It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstances.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us.'
And so we stood between the bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong."

Well, it wasn't until several days after, when Betsie had spent some time away from the cell being treated for an illness, that she explained to Corrie why the fleas were a blessing to them. (pg. 209)
"'You know we've never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room, (referring to Barracks 28).Well, I found out.'
One afternoon when there had been some confusion with the knitting group and they asked for a supervisor to come and settle it, Betsie announced that 'she wouldn't step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?'
Betsie could not keep the triumph from her voice; 'Because of the fleas! That's what she said, 'That place is crawling with fleas!'
My mind rushed back to our first hour in this place. I remembered Betsie's bowed head, remembered her thanks to God for creatures I could see no use for."

As a young man I considered and learned the doctrine of eternal marriage and family. This was of great interest to me and a determining factor in my conversion. I had witnessed the breakup of my parents’ marriage; I had seen sorrow caused by death without spiritual knowledge and friends marrying without temple ordinances. I wanted to avoid these tragedies.
The true concept of marriage and family, the unit composed of a husband, wife, and children sealed together, was instituted at the beginning by God to create eternal families. That foundation principle became my vision and my goal and also reality as my companion and I were sealed in the temple in Zollikofen, Switzerland. As a husband and father and later as a grandfather, I was and still am responsible for the development, temporal support, protection, and salvation of my family.

May I offer counsel of a general nature, first with comments about General Authorities. We recognize them as instruments in the hand of the Lord, yet realize that they are ordinary human beings. They require haircuts, laundry services, and occasional reminders just like anyone else. President Benson once shared with us a story to illustrate. He said:
“Orson F. Whitney … was a great man to concentrate. One day when he was traveling by train, he was so preoccupied that he did not notice the train pass the station where he was to get off. So he had to [be driven] back to where he should have been. Meanwhile the stake president waited and waited. … Finally when he decided that something had more than likely happened to Brother Whitney and he was not going to make it, they commenced the meeting. As Elder Whitney approached, he was greeted by the opening hymn, which was ‘Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.’”
We honor such a man because of his extraordinary calling. His official acts are valid on earth and in heaven. Well do I remember the first time I met one of the General Authorities. It was a feeling beyond description. Though I was but a boy, immediately—almost instinctively—I rose to my feet. Even now I feel that same way when one of the Brethren enters the room. A General Authority is an oracle of God.

You know that feeling where you’re surrounded by people but still feel completely alone?
Since leaving my home country of Uganda and moving to Dubai for work, I’ve felt lonely almost constantly. Back home in my neighborhood, people greeted each other on the street. We knew each other. We supported each other. I had many friends and family who were of my faith.
But it’s not the same here. I live in a very different culture, in a big city and surrounded by people who work busy jobs. And even though I do attend my ward and have tried to get to know other young adults and ward members, our busy work schedules make it almost impossible to see each other for more than just the couple of hours we spend at church each week.
Dubai is big and glamorous, and I’m grateful to be here. But it can be so overwhelming, especially when you’re feeling lonely. People have so much here and seem to have their lives figured out. However, as I’m living among all this fancy stuff and these beautiful buildings, I sometimes wonder:
What am I doing with my life? Is this even the right place for me?
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained that “a sense of belonging is important to our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being.”1 I hadn’t realized just how essential that sense of belonging was until I didn’t feel it anymore—not at church and not anywhere, really.
How was I going to find it now, far from everyone I loved?
Over time, I started to recognize “the centrality of Jesus Christ to belonging.”2
As much as I still missed my friends and family, I began to see that I hadn’t been separated from everyone in my life when I’d moved—I still had a Savior and a loving Heavenly Father who always wanted to stay connected to me.
So I started doing what I could to connect with Them better every day. I began listening to Come, Follow Me study podcasts when I went running. I put in my headphones at work and listened to the scriptures while I was completing tasks.
Most importantly, I learned what an amazing gift it is to be able to pray directly to Heavenly Father. I speak to Him more frequently and more thoughtfully than I ever have before. When I feel lonely, I pray and feel His comfort. When I’m typing up an email and trying to stay patient with my coworkers, I pray and ask Him for help.
I love what President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said about prayer: “To those … who are struggling with challenges and difficulties large and small, prayer is the provider of spiritual strength; it is the passport to peace. Prayer is the means by which we approach our Father in Heaven, who loves us. Speak to Him in prayer and then listen for the answer. Miracles are wrought through prayer.”3
By making time for Them in my life, especially through sincere prayer, I began to see that although I wasn’t surrounded by my people and my own culture, I could still be surrounded by the Spirit and feel God’s love.
Things are still hard, but I have hope for the future. And I’ve come to believe what Brother Milton Camargo, First Counselor in the Sunday School General Presidency, taught: “The Lord Jesus Christ lives today. He can be an active, daily presence in our lives. He is the solution to our problems, but we must lift our eyes and raise our sights to see Him.”4
I’m still lonely at times, but I know that I will always, always be able to pray to my Heavenly Father and access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Standing or kneeling, alone or in a group, I can pray.
I can cry to Heavenly Father.
I can give thanks.
I can ask for guidance and protection.
And through my covenant connection, I know that I, a daughter of a loving Heavenly Father, will always belong to Him. Through His guidance, I can feel confident that I am in the right place, doing what He would have me do.

We started meeting with the Reverend and put together a proposal to the church to secure some funding. All Saints was opening their doors to asylum seekers twice a week for drop-in sessions where an individual could get a cup of coffee and cake, needed clothing, as well as advice, ESOL support, someone to listen to them, or just an entertaining round of chess to break up the monotony that they feel. They had recently run out of funding. The Church agreed to give £15,000 to provide much needed warm clothing and toiletries as well as vouchers for underwear, school uniform and shoes. We were all thrilled.

David Arellano was 13 years old when he shyly entered the room full of people and stood behind everyone to take his first piano lesson by memorizing the cardboard keyboard. Within three weeks after David began practicing on a teclado, he was accompanying the congregation of his Cotama Ward with simplified versions of the hymns. He was so overjoyed, he wept.
During the next summer, David traveled with his father to New York City, New York, on a trip for the family merchandising business. David’s shyness did not interfere with his desire to play the piano in front of strangers. In fact, at the ward they were visiting, he bravely made himself acquainted with the organist and, as a result, he was given opportunities to play while he was there. Later, he was also asked to share his talents at a ward in Las Vegas, Nevada. However, the most thrilling moment came when David was invited to play the organ in the tabernacle in St. George, Utah. He returned home with wonderful memories of sharing his budding talent.

It is about two such boys and two good men that I’d like to talk tonight, for they form the central theme of my remarks.
The boys are special young men, like all of you and the men are choice leaders in church and community. I met one of these fathers and his five-year old son just a few days ago. The father told me of a recent conversation with his boy in which he explained that elections are coming soon and that he is being urged to run again for the office of mayor. “Shall I run for mayor?” he said.
“Uh-uh,” said the lad.
“Well,” said the father, “some church leaders are coming to our stake next week and they may ask me to continue to serve as stake president. Shall I say yes if they ask me?”
“Uh-uh,” said the boy.
“What do you want me to do?” the father laughed.
His son said, “I just want a regular dad.”
The other story was equally interesting and significant to me. This family has a tradition of educational accomplishment and the father was shaken a bit when his wife brought him their high school son’s report card with his first C on it. Dad brooded over the matter and when the son came home invited him into the study, sternly confronted him with the card, and said, “Son, what is this I see on your report card?”
“Well, Dad,” replied the boy, “I hope you see the five As.”

These words reminded me of the story of the famous American heavyweight boxer Joe Louis Barrow. Known to the world as Joe Louis or the Brown Bomber, he is one of the most storied champions in heavyweight boxing history. Even early in his career, his rise to becoming the heavyweight champion looked inevitable. But, after a streak of wins against top contenders, Louis became complacent and began to stray from the daily routine that made him excellent. In 1936, in New York City, he faced a fighter named Max Schmeling. The stakes were high, as the fight represented the conflict between American democracy and German fascism. Schmeling won the fight in the twelfth round by knockout. The loss devastated Joe Louis and many in the United States. One attendee noted the reaction,
“I walked down Seventh Avenue and saw grown men weeping like children, and women sitting in the curbs with their heads in their hands. All across the country that night when the news came that Joe was knocked out, people cried.” [1]
Sadly, Louis was “unprepared or unqualified for what could have been his finest hour.”
He regrouped, rededicated himself to a productive daily routine, and set out for redemption. The following year, he became the heavyweight champion. And a year later, he beat Schmeling with a first-round knockout. He remained the champion for nearly 12 years and had a streak of 25 successful defenses of his title. Louis’s later life was difficult and tragic, but he is credited with a quote that has great meaning.
He said, “A champion doesn't become a champion in the ring, he's merely recognized in the ring. His ‘becoming’ happens during his daily routine.”

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening, years ago, in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony gained, and the family fortified.

When I think about light and the many different meanings it has, I reflect on an experience I had last June.

For several years I have had the opportunity to participate in a team race that takes runners through some of the most beautiful scenery in the state. The event starts in Logan and winds through the Wasatch Back to finish in Park City. It is called the Ragnar Relay Series, and each team consists of two vans, with six people packed into each van. Each team spends more than thirty hours together with no sleep, not much food, and few rest spots. Each team member runs three different routes, and the whole team runs a total of more than 180 miles. What an adventure!

Last year I wasn’t quite as prepared as usual after badly spraining my foot a few months before. Just so you know, I was the oldest on the team and by far the slowest runner. Everyone else on my team was really fast. After my first run of nearly six miles, I was okay, but it had been really hard and I had gone pretty slow.

Soon after, our van was starting to get ready for our second leg of runs when my friend Greg mentioned that maybe I should run a shorter leg that was half the length of what I was supposed to run. At first I thought, “Oh, that’s thoughtful of him—he’s concerned about my foot.” But I soon realized that he just didn’t want me to slow down the team.

So I took the shorter run. However, it put me on an unfamiliar course. It was one of the few runs that took place on a trail in the middle of nowhere at 2:00 a.m. There was no lighted path, and there were no signs or obvious markers. I wore a headlamp and a blinking red reflector. My headlamp was the only source of light through the two and a half miles of switchback trails. As you can imagine, it was a bit disconcerting, and it was very challenging to stay on the path. I had to stop a few times to shine my headlamp around for fear that I was off of the course. During the entire run I was scanning for any sign of a light, a marker, or even a blinking reflector from someone. Occasionally I would see in the distance a small red light with an arrow and run in that direction. Once I had passed the arrow, I would scan again, trying to find another red light.

Finally, toward the end of my run, I saw a few runners ahead and followed their lights to the finish. Soon after, a couple of runners came in behind me and thanked me for leading them to the end. Evidently they had been following my light all the way in.

I have never before read such a profitable and edifying publication as the Liahona (Spanish). I’m a young person who has never really cared to read. And when I started to read the magazine, I didn’t think I would find anything that would motivate me to search the scriptures and help me understand the message of the Lord Jesus Christ. But as I read the January 2000 issue, the talk “The Faith of a Sparrow: Faith and Trust in the Lord Jesus Christ” by Elder H. Bruce Stucki of the Seventy had a real impact on my life—so much so that I have continued to study the scriptures.
Thanks to our Heavenly Father and His missionaries, I have found the truth, and I am going to be baptized. Thank you for preparing missionaries to teach people like me.
Alexi Antonio López López,Oriental Ward, San Miguel El Salvador Stake
Note: Brother López was baptized on 18 March 2000, shortly after this letter was written.

“Why don’t you ever come with us?” the girl shouted. “Don’t you want to be a part of our group?”
It was the end of spring, and school was almost out. During breaks we played soccer outside, and I was the goalkeeper. As goalkeeper I was used to dodging and blocking oncoming attacks from the field. However, this game was different because I had to dodge and block attacks coming from the sidelines too.
In between the offensive assaults of the other team, I was being interrogated by a couple of girls in my class who were standing on the side of the field. To avoid their questioning, I would have welcomed the other team over for a free shooting contest, but I was not having much luck that day.
“So why don’t you ever come to our parties?” she continued. “Don’t you want to have a little fun?”
“A little fun!” I thought. Being at a party with my classmates, playing silly games, and feeling forced into uncomfortable situations was not my idea of fun. I’d rather stay at home.
“We’re all trying to get to know one another, and you are never there,” came another attack from the sideline.
“That’s right!” I said. And I would have explained why if I felt she and the others really wanted to understand. But I doubted it. How could they? I was the only Latter-day Saint in my school, and none of them understood much about the Church or its standards.
“Don’t you like any of the girls in our class?” she asked.
“It’s not about not liking them,” I said. “I’d just feel uncomfortable.”
“But why?” she poked.
My team had just lost the ball, and all the guys were now running in my direction.
“Why would you feel uncomfortable?” she poked again.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as my eyes focused on the approaching ball. Her voice was the only thing I heard, and the constant “why,” “why” kept echoing in my head. My opponent was clear for the shot, and I could see that the ball was going to hit me hard. But I was ready. He kicked the ball, which bounced off my hands with a loud slap. “Yes! Another assault successfully frustrated,” I thought, grinning. I grabbed the ball and threw it down the field to my teammates and then turned to face my other opponents.
“So?” she said.
My heart was still racing from the excitement of the game. “The reason I’m not coming to your parties is …” I started, then paused, thinking for a moment.
“Is?” she repeated a little anxiously.
I looked down the field again to see the opposition approaching fast. My heart picked up a couple of beats, and I knew I had to finish what I started to say. “Is because I am saving myself for someone special!” I blurted out.
“What!” she exclaimed.
My opponents were upon me, and my attention was again fixed on the game. The ball whistled through the air, penetrating my defenses. The other team cheered, while the girls stood there laughing.
“Saving yourself for someone,” she said, giggling. “So what is her name?”
I felt embarrassed. Although I didn’t have anyone special in mind, I still knew that one day I would meet my future wife, and I needed to be worthy to take her to the temple. That’s why I didn’t go to their parties.
My hands still tingled and my heart continued to race as I walked home later, yet there was a slight grin on my face. I might have suffered humiliation on the field that day; however, I walked away feeling victorious.

On August 18, 2022, we went to the branch in Sideseawi. We had no way to contact the branch president to tell him we were coming. We just went and hoped to find him.
When you think of Tanna, think of jungle roads. We drove our pickup truck as far up the mountain as we could. Then we left it and started walking. It took us three hours to reach the village. All we had to eat were coconuts we found along the way.
When we reached the village, the branch president was not there, but his counselor was. We talked to him about missionary work, and then it started to rain. When it starts to rain in Sideseawi, people try their very best to find a safe area. We hurried down the mountain to our truck.
When there’s no rain in Tanna, it’s safe to drive. But when there’s rain, that’s when it’s scary. When we reached our truck, we started driving but soon got stuck crossing a river.
We tried to push the truck out, but that didn’t work. So, we called the district president for help. Help came and we tried again to move the truck, but the rains kept coming bigger and bigger. Several rivers were filling and flowing down from different areas around us.
Those who were helping us got out of the river, but we held tightly to the vehicle’s seats as the river rose. We didn’t want to abandon the truck. The water was now up to the truck’s door handles on the current side.
We called our mission president, Mark Messick, and told him what was going on. “Right now the water is getting bigger and bigger,” we said. We asked if it was OK to save our lives and leave the truck.
“Thank you for giving me a call,” President Messick told us. “It’s OK! Leave the truck where it is and find a safe place now!”
We were close to where two rivers met. The other river near us was already big and fast, but the river where we were was still small, like it was waiting for us to get out. But then, boom!
Someone shouted from the riverbank. Elder Nalin, from Tanna, understood the warning: “Water!”
Our truck was stuck sideways, with the rising current rushing against Elder Toa’s door. Elder Nalin got out first. Elder Toa had to climb into the back seat and out the door on the other side of the cab to get out. He quickly looked on the back seat for our baptismal forms and scriptures but didn’t see them. He thought Elder Nalin had already taken them. As soon as Elder Toa got out, the river took the truck.
If water ruined the forms, we would have to return to areas we had visited and redo interviews. We would also have to fly back to the mission office in Efate to get more baptismal forms and then return to Tanna.
As we watched the truck being swept away, Elder Toa finally spotted the scriptures and the baptismal forms on the back seat. “How can this be possible?” He wondered how he had not seen them before.
While we were still in the river, we called on the power of God to protect our scriptures and baptismal forms. We had faith that He could save them according to His will.
Then we got out of the river and knelt and prayed about the truck and our baptismal forms and scriptures. We couldn’t see the truck anymore, but we knew that everything was going to be fine.
People from Sideseawi found the truck later that day and called the district president. The truck had been carried about 820 feet (250 m) downstream. Everything in the truck was wet, except for our baptismal forms and scriptures! They were dry, sitting on top of some pamphlets, notebooks, and manuals.
We gathered a group to help us get the truck out of the river. The truck had to dry out but was quickly repaired. It had no dents or scratches.
After the storm, we mostly walked to the different branches in Tanna. When your legs get tired of walking, you walk with your heart.
Over the next few days, we finished our baptismal interviews and baptized 114 people, many of them families. One branch had 48 people ready for baptism. We started interviewing them at 7:00 a.m. When we finished, we saw the sun going down.
A flood of trials may come into our lives, but we testify that our faith in God’s power will bless us. Not even Tanna’s flood of water could overpower our Heavenly Father’s flood of blessings.

During the time I was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I was called to be president of the quorum. With the urging and assistance of a dedicated and inspired quorum adviser, I worked diligently to ensure that each of the young men attended our meetings regularly. Two of them were a particular challenge, but with our perseverance and love and a little persuasion, they began to attend meetings and participate in quorum activities. However, as time passed and they left the ward to pursue education and employment, each of them drifted back into inactivity.
Over the years I have seen each of these two dear friends at various functions. Whenever I do, I place a hand on their shoulder and remind them, “I’m still your quorum president, and I won’t let go. You mean so much to me, and I want you to enjoy the blessings which come with activity in the Church.” They know I love them and that I’ll never ever give up on them.

Several years ago, in this same setting, I shared the example of a family who lived close to a large amusement park. They would drive by the park often, and each time their young son would ask, “Daddy, can we go there? I really want to go there and play on all the rides.”

The father would try to deflect the question by simply saying, “Maybe tomorrow we can go.”

This little interchange repeated itself week after week until finally, early one Saturday morning, the boy came running into his parents’ bedroom. He jumped on the bed, startling both of them, and exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “Daddy, tomorrow is today!”

This interesting play on words—­tomorrow is today—illustrates a valuable point. Commence­ment ceremonies naturally point to the future, to the exciting opportunities ahead, and to everything you hope to accomplish. But to a great extent, your success in life and how you prepare for the responsibilities that will ultimately be yours depend on the accumulation of small and simple things you do each and every day. No matter what your ambitions for the future are, you achieve them step by step, one day at a time. In this sense, tomorrow truly is today.

You may know that before one is considered for employment at BYU, or at any other Church institution, an interview with a General Authority is required. Not long ago I interviewed a very brilliant individual for a position at BYU. His training was in a discipline that could possibly pose some challenge to his testimony. I asked him whether he had ever wavered in his faith or whether he had, in the course of his study, ever lost his testimony. He answered the question very candidly and told me, yes, he had. His integrity was impressive. I asked him how he had overcome the challenge. The answer was very simple. He said, “I went back to my missionary journals and read them in order to rediscover what I once knew to be true.”

Let me share the story of one of our most beautiful hymns, “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
The poetess, Emma Lou Thayne, struggled for three years to help her oldest daughter through a severe mental illness. She’d done everything she could to find peace and help for a diagnosis she knew little about, calling it the “bleakest time I had ever known.”
In the midst of that heartache, Sister Thayne was asked by the Church to write music for a youth conference. One day, she retreated to a quiet room in the basement and penned these pleading, sacred words (in part):
“Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.
He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and friend.
Gentle the peace he finds …
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.” [18]
After writing those beautiful lyrics, Sister Thayne called her friend Jolene Meredith and asked her to compose the music. Sister Meredith had battled mental health struggles of her own. “She understood every word I’d written,” Sister Thayne recalled. “She sat at her piano … and as I read a line, she composed a line. By noon, we had our hymn.”
The two women privately referred to it as the “Mental Health Hymn”—and the Gethsemane they were both thinking of… included the mental suffering and emotional anguish that the Savior took upon Himself for all who suffer. [19]
What I love about this story is how these faithful women used their suffering for good!

My sister reads her scriptures every night for seminary. I try to read my scriptures each night now, too. One night my sister and I decided to watch a movie and sleep downstairs. After the movie I felt afraid and went upstairs to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t go to sleep, so I listened to Primary songs. Then I read my scriptures. I was able to fall asleep without feeling scared. The Primary songs and scriptures made me feel peaceful and happy.Rachel Cottle, age 9, West Bountiful, Utah