Gospel Story Finder

After my parents were married, one of Dad’s first callings was to teach a family history class. During this time he became personally committed to doing family history work. His law office calendar had many afternoons blocked off to go to the Los Angeles public library to do genealogical research. He started preparing six-foot-long (1.8 m) family group sheets, which he bound in sturdy ledgers.
Dad would also gather data and connect with our relatives. He sent hundreds of letters to his relatives as he discovered who they were. He peppered our family vacations with visits to cousins, aunts, and uncles. From this I learned of the good that can be done when you sacrifice a pleasant day of vacationing.

Hermann Mössner was nervous as he walked into the chapel. He and his friends from the English prison camp were still in their uniforms, marked with the letters “P.O.W.” Everyone knew those letters stood for “prisoner of war.” What would the members of the branch think? Would they see him as their enemy?
Hermann was from Germany. After being forced to fight in World War II, he had been captured by British soldiers and sent to the prison camp. This was the first time he’d been allowed to go to church since being captured.
Hermann took a deep breath as he sat down on one of the benches. He could see the branch president, George Camm, sitting at the front. President Camm was Hermann’s friend. Seeing him smile made Hermann feel better.
Several months ago, President Camm came to visit Hermann at camp after hearing that he was the only member of the Church there. At first Hermann was a little worried. Would President Camm hate him? Their countries had fought against each other in the war, after all.
But when Hermann and President Camm met, they smiled and shook hands. Then they prayed together. They sang songs and talked about the gospel. They even took the sacrament together.
“I love you, my brother,” Hermann said when President Camm had to leave. He saw tears in President Camm’s eyes as he waved goodbye.
After that, President Camm visited Hermann every Saturday. During the rest of the week, Hermann did his best to live the gospel. He shared his testimony with the other prisoners while they worked in the fields. He answered their questions while they carved wood after a long day’s work. Sometimes he prayed with them.
“Hey, Hermann,” one of the prisoners had said one night. “Could I join you and Mr. Camm on Saturday?”
Hermann looked up from the block of wood he was carving. He smiled. “Of course!”
“May I too?” another prisoner asked.
Hermann and President Camm were very excited to teach more of the prisoners. Soon some of them even wanted to be baptized!
And now, as Hermann looked around the chapel at the families waiting for church to start, he felt peace. Some members were nervous around Hermann at first. But soon everyone came to trust him. The other prisoners who wanted to learn about the gospel got permission to leave camp to go to church with Hermann on Sundays. Later, Hermann was even called to be the branch Sunday School president.
Time passed, and Christmas got closer. Hermann wanted to do something to thank the members who had been so kind to him. Then he had an idea! It was almost time for the branch Christmas party. Hermann gathered more blocks of wood and started carving. One by one, he turned the blocks into little cars, elephants, planes, trains, and horses.
Finally the day of the party arrived. Everyone ate food and sang Christmas songs together. Hermann and his friends from camp sang Christmas songs in German.
Then Hermann pulled out a big bag. Inside were 40 wooden toys! Hermann gave one to each Primary child. It was a Christmas they would never forget.
After three years in the prison camp, Hermann returned to his family in Germany. Years later, Hermann visited the same chapel in Leeds, England, he attended as a prisoner of war. Some of the grownups there told him they still had the wooden toys he had carved for them when they were children!
See Come, Follow Me for Moroni 7–9 and Christmas.

Third, the Master Healer can comfort and sustain us as we experience painful “realities of mortality,” such as disaster, mental illness, disease, chronic pain, and death. I have recently become acquainted with a remarkable young woman named Josie who suffers from bipolar disorder. Here is just a little of her journey toward healing as she shared it with me:
“The worst of the darkness occurs on what my family and I have deemed ‘floor days.’ It begins with sensory overload and acute sensitivity and resistance to any type of sound, touch, or light. It is the apex of mental anguish. There is one day in particular that I will never forget.
“It was early in the journey, making the experience especially frightening. I can remember sobbing, tears racing down my face as I gasped for air. But even such intense suffering paled in comparison to the pain that followed as I observed panic overwhelm my mother, so desperate to help me.
“With my broken mind came her broken heart. But little did we know that despite the deepening darkness, we were just moments away from experiencing a mighty miracle.
“As a long hour continued, my mom whispered over and over and over again, ‘I would do anything to take this from you.’
“Meanwhile, the darkness intensified, and when I was convinced I could take no more, just then something marvelous occurred.
“A transcendent and wonderful power suddenly overtook my body. Then, with a ‘strength beyond my own,’ I declared to my mom with great conviction seven life-changing words in response to her repeated desire to bear my pain. I said, ‘You don’t have to; Someone already has.’”
From the dark abyss of debilitating mental illness, Josie summoned the strength to testify of Jesus Christ and of His Atonement.
She was not healed completely that day, but she received the light of hope in a time of intense darkness. And today, supported by a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and refreshed daily by the Savior’s living water, Josie continues on her journey toward healing and exercises unshakable faith in the Master Healer. She helps others along the way. And she says, “When the darkness feels unremitting, I rely on the memory of His tender mercies. They serve as a guiding light as I navigate through hard times.”

In my young adult years, I spent a lot of time wondering about my future. Mission, marriage, education, career—all of these were open questions, and I didn’t have many answers. I was willing to fulfill whatever mission the Lord had in mind for me, if I could only find out what it was.

My patriarchal blessing gave me the big picture of my life’s purpose. But in some ways I felt like I was trying to find my way to the grocery store using a map of the solar system. What if I made a wrong turn somewhere? Would I still be able to find and fulfill the mission the Lord had for me?

Years beyond my 20s now, I can finally recognize that my life has unfolded in the very way described in my patriarchal blessing many years ago. That certainly wasn’t because I knew exactly what I was doing and where the future would take me. I most definitely didn’t.

My life had some twists and turns and disappointments that made me wonder if it was going off track. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. The Lord always knew where I was and where He wanted me to go. I kept trying my best to follow His commandments, serve Him, and listen to the Spirit. Even though I often couldn’t discern it at the time, I now recognize that His hand was always guiding my life.

On an August night three years ago, the Thornton family was in Roseburg, Oregon, at a baseball game. Before making the two-hour drive home to Reedsport, they stopped at a park to eat. The weary family then climbed back into their van that was stuffed with baseball equipment. At 11:30 P.M. the van pulled into their driveway, and the sleepy riders crawled out only to discover that six-year-old Greg wasn’t with them. Everyone panicked!
“Our focus wasn’t on anything except where he might be,” said LaRee Thornton, Greg’s mother. “We called 911, and it put us right through to the Roseburg police. My husband, Steve, started explaining the situation, and they said, ‘It’s OK. He’s right here.’ A Good Samaritan had found Greg alone at the park, shaking with fear. The man had wrapped him in a blanket and taken him to the police station.
Everyone wanted to go back to Roseburg to get Greg, but only Mom and Dad went; the rest of the family stayed at home, prayed, and waited. “It was 2:30 A.M. when we got back,” Mom continued. “Everybody had stayed up. Nobody wanted to sleep alone in their bedrooms that night, so we all slept in the living room together. Now we always want to make sure we know where everyone is. We’re kinder to each other and appreciate one another more.”

It was a cold spring in Denmark. I had just begun my full-time mission, and my testimony was struggling. I was a convert of only 19 months and full of insecurities about facing a foreign country, a language I couldn’t speak, and a maze of streets I couldn’t fathom navigating. My once gratitude-filled prayers soon became sour accusations: “God, why have you left me all alone?”
One morning I pled with Him in prayer. But instead of asking “why” with anger in my heart, I begged for a witness of the gospel’s truth and suppression of my doubts.
After praying, I flipped my scriptures open. I landed on Deuteronomy 31:6: “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”
My heart was full of joy as I realized the answer to my prayer: God had been there all along. He was simply waiting for sincere prayer rather than accusations of abandonment.
God will never leave me, even when all seems hopeless. And we can feel His sunshine through prayer and His scriptures.

When I was seven years old, our family tragically lost my younger brother, who was only six years old. It was a very hard time for my parents; the pain of losing such a young son was immense to them and perhaps very unfair. Instead of blaming someone or something, I saw my parents seek comfort in the gospel and in the Savior. This helped them to develop and to increase their faith in Christ and in the hope that one day they could see their beloved son again. That faith and hope which they developed over the years helped them bear the loss of their son with courage. The temple was one of the keys for them to gain enough understanding and strength to cope with this difficult physical separation. Because they had received the sacred ordinances of the temple many years before, these covenants gave them hope that they could one day rise up as parents and children again.

“Look, [Mom] !” [Becky] said. “There are [two] [birds] in the grocery store.” “Yes,” [Mom] said. “There are [two] [birds] . [I] wonder how they got inside the store.” [Becky] helped [Mom] put [apples] in the [cart] while she looked at the [birds] . Then [Becky] helped [Mom] put [bananas] in the [cart] as she kept her [eyes] on the [birds] . When [Becky] put the [oranges] in the [cart] , she [saw] the [birds] take flight. She watched as the [birds] flew back [and] forth. “The [birds] are tired,” [Becky] said. “How [can] we help them?” Then she remembered a story she had heard about a [bird] that got lost in the [tabernacle] . People tried opening all the [doors] [and] chasing the [bird] out with a [net] . But the [bird] would [not] fly out any of the [doors] . Finally, a man named John said a [prayer] . Heavenly Father answered John’s [prayer] [and] helped him know what [to] do. “Turn off all the [lights] ,” John said. “[And] close all the [doors] except [one].” Then the [bird] flew out the [door] . [Becky] ran [to] a woman who worked at the store [and] told her about the [bird] in the [tabernacle] . “Thank [you],” the woman said. “What a good idea.” [Becky] smiled. [Becky] was glad she could help Heavenly Father’s [birds] [too] .

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” I told my five-year-old daughter as she snuggled on my lap. A smile spread over her face.
“Oh, goody,” she said. “Then I get to see Brother Jay.”
Gratitude filled my heart. How thankful I felt for a loving, caring Primary teacher who had eased our transition to a new ward following a move. Leaving our home in the U.S. Midwest and relocating 1,350 miles (2,173 km) away had been traumatic for the whole family but especially for our preschooler, Season. Shy by nature, she feared new situations and was apprehensive about attending church our first week in a new ward.
Brother Jay, a gentle, dedicated man, blended just the right touch of humor and affection to win Season’s trust. On that first Sunday he crouched down, took hold of her hand, looked into her eyes, and said, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ll have fun in our class.”
As the weeks passed, Season looked forward to Sunday more than any other day of the week. As soon as we arrived at church, she scanned the congregation for her teacher. He would smile in greeting.
Throughout the years Brother Jay remembered each student with little gifts for holidays and birthdays. When Season’s birthday approached, the most important guest she wanted to invite to her party was Brother Jay.
Could he have any idea how influential he had become in our little girl’s life? Would he ever guess how much his words and actions were internalized by his group of five-year-old Primary students? Could he possibly know how much it meant to me, as a mother, to have him be part of my daughter’s life?
Later, Season advanced to Brother Edward’s class, and her wonderful Primary experience continued. How thankful I am for all the conscientious, well-prepared, humble men and women who had a positive spiritual influence on Season’s life.

My name is Rachell. I live in a little town called Frannie, Wyoming. It is a farming community. There is a small grade school here, a post office, and a few small businesses. Frannie has a gas station that also sells a few groceries and other things.
I am the only girl in my school who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My closest friends at school are good people, but none of them belongs to the Church. Sometimes I have to stand up for what I know is right. Usually my friends respect me for it.
One Saturday about three months before I turned eight, I was playing with a classmate at her house. We played with dolls and then put in a movie to watch. I could soon tell that the movie wasn’t one I should watch because it had swear words in it, so we turned it off and decided to go to the gas-station-store for some bubble gum. I didn’t have any money with me, but I thought my friend had some.
When we got to the store, my friend took a package of gum, handed it to me, and whispered, “Take this.”
That’s when I found out that she didn’t have any money. “No!” I said.
“Just take it,” she insisted.
I tried to put the gum back, but again she said, “Take it!”
I felt nervous and scared and confused. I took the gum, and we left the store, pretending that we didn’t have anything.
I felt bad inside. What I had done was wrong. My friend wanted me to go back to her house, but I felt like going home. When I walked in the door, my mother was there, and I told her what had happened.
We talked about honesty and repentance and what Jesus Christ would want me to do. I wanted to make things right. Mom offered to go back to the store with me so that I could correct my mistake. I was a little afraid to go back, but the feeling that I needed to right my wrong was stronger than my fear.
When we got to the store, I told the lady who worked there what I had done, apologized, and paid for the gum. With tears in her eyes she thanked me for being honest. I was still shaky when I left the store with my mom, but I felt much better.
When it was time for me to be baptized a few months later, I felt good about the bubble-gum experience. I knew that even though my action had been wrong, I had done what Jesus Christ would want me to do by correcting my mistake. I felt clean inside.

My friend and I were kicking a rock back and forth as we walked to school. I kicked the rock and it hit the side of my neighbor’s truck and made a small dent. I was scared that I would get in trouble, so I decided not to tell anyone. When I got home from school, I felt worse and worse until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I told my parents what had happened. My dad took me over to my neighbor’s house, and we told him about it. My dad asked if we could clean the truck as payment. We spent a long time cleaning the inside and outside of the truck, and when we took it back I felt much better. I was glad that the Holy Ghost had helped me to choose the right.

When we arrived in Ethiopia, we found one member of the Church, Brother Harry Hadlock from Seattle, Washington. He was overjoyed to meet two brethren of the priesthood. On Sunday morning, the three of us held a testimony meeting and then, with our priesthood, blessed and passed the sacrament. The Spirit of the Lord was present. Because we had a deep yearning to help our Father’s children who were suffering, we offered a special prayer that rain might come to that drought-stricken area. We felt a deep sense of the importance of our mission. I knew that if we called upon the Lord to bless the land, the elements would be tempered. We prayed, brethren, for rain. During the balance of the time we were in Ethiopia it rained every day wherever we traveled. We were grateful to our Heavenly Father because the rain was a special witness to us that he was aware that his sons, bearing his holy priesthood, were about his business in that part of the world.

While in fourth grade, my son, Taylor, was one of 12 semifinalists in a spelling bee. In the semifinals, Taylor tied with another boy for a spot in the finals. The tiebreaker was a “spell-off” in which each student wrote a series of words, which was then checked by a judge. On the last word of the series, the judge ruled that the other boy had spelled the word incorrectly. Taylor was declared the winner and awarded the final spot in the evening competition.
The judges congratulated the winners and were handing out certificates when I saw Taylor’s hand go up. He informed a judge that he, too, had misspelled the last word. The judge had misread his handwriting.
The judges met and announced another spell-off. Taylor didn’t win this time. The principal and Taylor’s teacher saw me crying and thought it was because Taylor had lost. I quickly explained that I could not be more pleased with my son. He had chosen to be honest regardless of the cost. I am grateful that Taylor had the courage to be like Jesus Christ and choose the right.

I learned important lessons about life through playing sports, whether I was shooting hoops with a friend or playing on basketball and football teams. One of the lessons I learned was how to make decisions. For example, I grew up loving to play basketball more than football and played college basketball for two years. When I was given the opportunity to participate in college football, I knew I had to commit to one or the other, and I had questions about what I should do.
My parents taught me that when I needed to make a big decision in my life, I should get out a piece of paper and a pencil, draw a line down the middle of the paper, and then write down the pros on one side and the cons on the other. After that, I was taught to call upon Heavenly Father to help inspire my thoughts. I learned to keep writing the pluses and minuses on both sides of the paper about the decision I was making, and to take my time. I found that as I did this with patience, it was amazing to see how the Lord revealed thoughts that were not originally there to help me with the process. Finally, when I made my decision, I went to the Lord again in prayer and took time to just listen, so I could sense if He agreed with my decision.
We don’t always understand what the Lord is revealing at the time that He’s giving us inspired thoughts. If you had asked me before I sought heaven’s help about my decision, and I had been told to stop playing basketball and to start playing college football, I would have thought, “Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” But that was the prompting the Lord gave me. Even though I didn’t know why, I knew by the confirming feeling in my heart that I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do. I had gone through a process that allowed me to have confidence in my choice. That knowledge helped me through some rough times.

May I share with you brethren my personal experience as a teachers quorum president? The member of the bishopric who had responsibility for us invited the new presidency and secretary to come to his home for leadership training. He wanted our ideas concerning how we should go about our newly given duties. We obliged—on condition that he would invite his wife, Nettie, to serve us some of the meat pies for which she was famous. This he agreed to do. Brethren, isn’t it remarkable how we men will obligate our wives to do things—often without notice? The resulting meeting was one of the best I have ever attended. We were taught to the level of our understanding and inspired to look after our quorum members.
After a delicious meat pie smothered with gravy, we asked the bishop’s counselor and his wife to join in a game of Monopoly. I am certain they had other things to do, but they willingly complied with our request.
I don’t remember who won the Monopoly game, but I have never forgotten the lessons learned that night in Church government and in the administration of a priesthood quorum.

The air was chilly as my friends and I walked around the playground. We stopped at the red swing set. Usually, I loved to swing high and feel the wind blow through my hair. But when I sat down this time, I didn’t move. Ruth and Amruta sat in the swings next to me and didn’t swing either.
“I’m scared,” Amruta said. “Are you?”
I kicked the sand under my feet. “Yeah. Especially when I watch the news.”
“Me too,” Ruth said. “I’ve slept in my mom’s bed all week.”
Last week there had been a terrorist attack. Everyone was talking about it. Mom told me a terrorist attack was when bad people hurt other people who haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t understand everything that had happened, but it made me want to cry.
After Mom tucked me into bed that night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about the people who had died or been hurt. How did their families feel? I wanted to help them, but I didn’t know how.
When I got home from school the next day, Mom looked a little more cheerful. “Our neighborhood is going to have a lemonade stand. We’ll raise money for the firefighters who helped during the attack. Do you want to help?”
“Yes! How will the money help the firefighters?” I asked.
“Well, it could help them pay for doctor visits. Or it could help their families,” Mom said.
“Let’s do it,” I said. Finally, something I could do!
On Saturday, Mom, my brother, and I spent all morning baking Mom’s special triple-chocolate-chip cookies to sell at the lemonade stand.
That afternoon we carried trays of cookies to the street corner. Our neighbors were waiting for us with pitchers of lemonade and plastic cups. A boy from school waved at me.
“Hey, Aaron!” I said. “Are you helping sell stuff too?”
“Yeah! This lemonade stand was my mom’s idea.”
“Cool! Want to try a cookie?” I asked.
After eating chocolatey cookies and sipping sweet lemonade, Aaron and I hung up signs that said, “Lemonade Stand” and “Help the Firefighters!” All afternoon Aaron and I waved at cars, poured lemonade, and traded delicious cookies for crisp dollar bills.
Even when people didn’t stop, they honked their car horns and waved as they drove by. Mom said it meant they thought we were doing a good thing.
Then Aaron’s mom passed around a card to send to the firefighters. It had pink and red hearts on it. I signed my name and wrote, “Thank you for saving lives!” I drew a heart and a smiley face too.
By the end of the day, I was tired, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
“I feel better now,” I told Mom as we walked home.
“I’m so glad. When you help others, you are being like Jesus. And the Holy Ghost can help you feel safe and happy.”
When I went to bed that night, I thought about how happy the firefighters would be when they got the money and card. And I thought about how happy Heavenly Father is when we serve others. I snuggled up in my blankets and smiled. I wasn’t scared anymore.

I eagerly glanced down at the basketball summer league schedule, and saw to my dismay that 8 of the 12 games were on Sunday. What was I going to do? I don’t play on Sunday.
I looked across the room at my talented teammate. I had worked so hard to win the starting forward position, and if I didn’t play, I was going to lose the job to him. But I had decided a long time ago to never play on Sunday, and that wasn’t about to change now.
The coach finished up his speech by saying, “Congratulations on making the team. The first practice is tomorrow at five. See you then.”
The team slowly filed out the door as I sat nervously in my seat. I knew my course of action, but that wasn’t going to make this any easier. I hesitantly walked up to the front of the room and said, “Hey coach, I have a little problem.”
“What’s that, Brad?” he asked.
“Well, I was looking at the schedule, and I saw that there were eight games on Sunday. I won’t be able to play in those games,” I said with a shaky voice.
“How come?” he asked with a surprised look on his face.
“It’s a religious thing. I believe in keeping the Sabbath day holy and part of that is not playing sports on Sunday,” I responded, feeling a little awkward with the situation.
“Okay, well listen. I would still love to have you for the other games—that is if you still want to play,” he said with a smile.
“I would love to,” I said, and we shook hands as if to seal the agreement. I turned and walked out the door, feeling less awkward and more satisfied.
True, I wasn’t going to play for most of the league games and I might lose my starting position, but I felt good all the same. If I hadn’t made the decision early that I was never going to play on Sunday, I might have chosen differently. But I knew I would be blessed for keeping the Lord’s commandments. I confidently walked away from that room knowing that everything was going to be all right.

My fondest childhood memories are of my family piling into our big gold van and fleeing the flat deserts of Texas toward the mountains and rivers of the West. As we climbed in elevation, my father, a geologist, would point out the window at rock formations and explain how the layers were deposited just so and how the rocks contained a record of past processes that quietly shaped the landscapes in front of my eyes. My mother would take pictures of wildflowers, collect pine cones, and revel in the turning of the seasons.
Their love for nature was contagious, and I fell in love with the world of living things too.
Years later, while serving my mission among the mountains and forests of Alaska, I developed an even deeper respect for the connections between God’s human and nonhuman creations and decided to devote my life to the conservation and study of nature.
Throughout my studies, I’ve been encouraged by principles of earth stewardship taught by prophets, apostles, and other Church leaders. For example:
At the beginning of this dispensation, the Lord told Joseph Smith that He wanted the Saints to be “accountable, as [stewards] over earthly blessings, which I have made and prepared for my creatures” (Doctrine and Covenants 104:13).
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “As beneficiaries of the divine Creation, what shall we do? We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”1
In 2019, Sister Sharon Eubank, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency and president of Latter-day Saint Charities, discussed the connection between God’s children and the earth by stating: “Some people will say, ‘Isn’t there something more important to do? Shouldn’t we be caring for the poor versus caring for the earth?’ And my question is, are they not linked so inextricably that we can’t do one without caring for the other?”2
And finally, President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke these words directly to our generation in March 2020: “I see … your commitment to a more sustainable future for all of God’s children and creatures and the earth. Whether it is environmental, economic, or social, I would hope you will continue to find creative solutions to help protect the future for all of God’s children in our world. We should do whatever we can to protect and preserve the earth, to make life better for those who will live here. We have a divine stewardship, as noted in Doctrine and Covenants 59:16–20.”3
These teachings and many others4 highlight our responsibility to care for God’s creations, both today and for future generations. So how can we as young adult Latter-day Saints respond to these prophetic teachings more fully today? Here are a few ideas to consider.
In the past few decades, nations across the world have been experiencing increases in pollution, deforestation, drought, species extinction, biodiversity loss, and other challenges that are intensifying.5 We need to always keep in mind that God created this earth for us, His children, and it’s our responsibility to care for and protect it (see 1 Nephi 17:36; Doctrine and Covenants 59:20; 103:13).
We can start by learning more about these and other environmental problems that may exist in our communities and countries. As Latter-day Saints, we’re taught to be informed about “things both in heaven and in the earth, and under the earth; … things which are at home, things which are abroad; the wars and the perplexities of the nations, and the judgments which are on the land; and a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:79). Surely the Lord wants us to care about the issues that affect His creations—both this earth and its inhabitants.
Learning about the role we play in our local ecological communities can also help us discover how our individual actions affect the environment. In our increasingly connected world, people’s individual actions on one continent are now collectively contributing to the environmental effects felt by God’s children in other parts of the world (for example, things like rising sea levels, food shortages, plastic pollution, and invasive species). This relationship with our global neighbors provides a whole new meaning to the commandment to “love [our] neighbour as [ourselves]” (Matthew 22:39).
It’s good to learn about environmental problems, and even better to do something about them. Here are a few practical steps you can take:
Go outside and learn about the plants, animals, and ecosystems around you. Knowledge leads to understanding and respect; use field guides, online resources, or apps to get to know God’s creations more personally.
Choose to walk, skate, cycle, carpool, or use public transportation where available. You can enjoy the outdoors a little bit more while at the same time reducing pollution.
Buy local. This has the double benefit of directly supporting your community and cutting carbon emissions (products grown or made locally don’t need to travel as far).
Plant a garden. There are few food sources more sustainable or personally fulfilling than growing your own!6 As a young adult, you might have limited space, so start small by growing an herb garden or consider joining a community garden.
Reduce, reuse, recycle. Consume less, carry reusable grocery bags and water bottles, and check what materials are recyclable in your city.
Use less water and energy. Things like taking shorter showers, turning off lights, and unplugging appliances when not in use can all add up.
Get involved. You could consider volunteering or supporting reputable environmental groups.
Vote. Take the time to be educated, and vote the way you feel will best affect environmental issues and policies.
Be “anxiously engaged in a good cause” (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:26–29). We’ve been taught the principles—now it’s time to act on them.
You don’t have to feel overwhelmed by this list: to start, choose just one item and put energy behind it. Doing something is better than nothing. In doing these simple acts of environmental service, you may feel that your contribution doesn’t matter, that it won’t make any difference against the magnitude of the world’s ecological issues, but remember that “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
In spiritual matters, we don’t stop choosing the right just because the world is growing more wicked! We know that our small acts of kind service won’t stop all the evil in the world, but we continue to perform them anyway, blessing lives in the process. We can have a similar attitude toward the earth and her inhabitants.
Throughout my life, I’ve had the privilege to travel and conduct research in many different countries and landscapes. Despite the drastic differences in species, climate, and human culture that exist on our planet, there is one unifying principle among each of these ecosystems: they are all connected and beautifully alive.
When Christ returns to this earth—a world He created to sustain us physically and spiritually, and one that He commanded us to preserve—I, for one, hope to have done my best to take care of His beautiful creation.

By permission, I share two sacred, unusually spiritually direct experiences told by friends about Jesus Christ uniting families by healing even intergenerational conflict. “Infinite and eternal,” “stronger than the cords of death,” Jesus Christ’s Atonement can help us bring peace to our past and hope to our future.

When they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my friend and her husband joyfully learned family relationships need not be “until death do you part.” In the house of the Lord, families can be united eternally (sealed).

But my friend did not want to be sealed to her father. “He was not a nice husband to my mother. He was not a nice dad to his children,” she said. “My dad will have to wait. I do not have any desire to do his temple work and be sealed with him in eternity.”

For a year, she fasted, prayed, spoke a lot with the Lord about her father. Finally, she was ready. Her father’s temple work was completed. Later, she said, “In my sleep my dad appeared to me in a dream, all dressed in white. He had changed. He said, ‘Look at me. I am all clean. Thank you for doing the work for me in the temple.’” Her father added, “Get up and go back to the temple; your brother is waiting to be baptized.”

My friend says, “My ancestors and those that have passed on are eagerly waiting for their work to be done.”

“As for me,” she says, “the temple is a place of healing, learning, and acknowledging the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”

Second experience. Another friend researched diligently his family history. He wanted to identify his great-grandfather.

Early one morning, my friend said he felt the spiritual presence of a man in his room. The man wanted to be found and known in his family. The man felt remorse for a mistake for which he had now repented. The man helped my friend realize that my friend had no DNA connection with the person my friend thought was his great-grandfather. “In other words,” my friend said, “I had discovered my great-grandfather and learned he was not the person our family records said was our great-grandfather.”

His family relationships clarified, my friend said, “I feel free, at peace. It makes all the difference to know who my family are.” My friend muses, “A bent branch does not mean a bad tree. How we come into this world is less important than who we are when we leave it.”

“The first thing is always beauty. Sorry, that’s just the way it is. I mean, there are things you can do. I mean, you can help yourself out. …”
He is blushing, all six feet three inches of him, because he is in a Young Women meeting, not in the high school gym. He is our male expert for our dating lesson today, and I think the only reason Jodi asked, “What’s the first thing that attracts a guy to a girl?” was to capture his brown-eyed attention. Only now he’s not looking at her. He’s staring at the floor, embarrassed to have been so openly honest in church.
Serves him right, I think. I don’t ask my question: What if a girl is ugly and fat but funny, smart, and considerate? Is beauty such a vital virtue that a girl can’t be considered for a date without it? Anyway, what does he know about “helping yourself out”?
I say that because I’ve been helping myself out for the past three years. I do it with a rattail brush and Sticking Pretty hair spray, with Glitter n’Glo eye shadow and Perfectly Pink lipstick. I even practice a weight-loss program called Body Be Good. But I am 16 years old, and I am just as pathetic as I was before self-help. I am five feet tall and weigh 165 pounds. My hair is 22 inches of beetle-brown seaweed. My eyes are blue BBs, legally blind, buried beneath the inch-and-a-half thick lenses of my steel-rimmed glasses. My mouth is in its fourth year of orthodontic intervention, and my face ought to be intervened with too—by a dermatologist. I imagine this is the self-help to which Dr. Dating refers.
It is noon. The lesson ends, and I plod out of the Young Women room while Jodi simpers about our stellar speaker.
All the way home, I stare out of the car and remember the first thing is always beauty. My pudgy cheeks and frazzled hair hover in the window, superimposed on all the trees and houses that we pass.
“What are you thinking about, Marie?” Dad asks when he spies me in the rearview mirror, moping at my reflection.
“Nut’uhn,” I grunt.
“What?”
I gulp, deciding it’s worth a second opinion. “Dad, what first attracted you to Mom?”
He grins over at Mom like they met yesterday. “Well, I saw her across the room at a stake young adult dance. And I thought, Wow, she’s pretty cute!”
My mouth twists. “That was it?”
“Well, what did you want?” he laughs. “Shooting stars? An angel overhead saying, ‘Hey, George, she’s the one?’”
I scowl at my shoes. Two to none. The first thing is always beauty.
“Why do you ask?” Mom asks as she turns to face me.
“Never mind,” I sulk.
Lunch is a Body Be Good banana shake. Mom and Dad and Anna eat baked potatoes and talk about Sunday School. When Mom asks me what my Laurel lesson was about, I mutter, “Datin’” and don’t clarify when she tells me to enunciate.
“Can I be excused?” is all I say.
Mom looks at Dad and nods, and I head to my bedroom.
I look at the picture of the Bountiful Utah Temple above my bed and shake my head to shoo away thoughts of self-pity.
That’s when I remember the family’s love and romance expert, my Grandpa John, who courted my grandma via the postman while he was in Europe during World War II and she was in Casper, Wyoming. Grandpa and Grandma passed away when I was little, but Mom still tells the stories about how they fell and stayed in love. Mom has all of Grandpa’s letters to Grandma. I will make it a survey. Grandpa is source number three.
The letters are in Mom’s closet on the high shelf, so I have to lug a chair to reach them. I create a clunking racket as I rummage through journals and baby books and photo albums. Mom comes in to ask me what I’m doing.
“I’m just looking for Grandpa’s letters.”
“Marie, is something bothering you?” Mom raises an eyebrow, but I’ve found the letter box. I pull the chair back to Dad’s desk and retreat to my room with the letters from the expert.
“Dear Emma,” reads the first one I open. It smells like smoky dust. “Hello beautiful. I miss the glow of your pretty face. …”
I quit there and tally the score: three to zero.
“Think beautiful,” I whisper to myself in the mirror. I’ve shed my glasses, so I have to squint with my nose an inch from the mirror to scrutinize my reflection. My eyelids are glittering. My lips are pink. My eyelashes are lengthened with Anna’s mascara. I twirl pieces of my hair onto the top of my head to configure an elegant up-do. Twisting my face from side to side, I experiment with different expressions. But even in profile, my cheeks are too pimply. My eyes are too tiny. My hair is too fuzzy.
I shake down my hair. It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. I have no beauty. I return my glasses to their perch on my nose.
The next Young Women lesson is about eternal marriage. Bishop Wright and his wife are this week’s guest lecturers. They are gentler and more profound than Dr. Dating. They do not talk about beauty, except as it exists in the house of the Lord. I feel my insides tingle. It is my deepest desire to go to the Lord’s house so I can return to live again with Heavenly Father.
Sister Wright’s eyes moisten when she bears testimony of the temple. “Girls,” she says, “we may joke sometimes about being better than men, about being better looking, smarter, or more sensitive. But the truth is neither men nor women can achieve exaltation alone. In 1 Corinthians 11:11, we read, ‘Neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord.’ Only with your eternal companion can you attain the highest degree of glory in the celestial kingdom.”
I feel a warmth within my chest, and I know her testimony must be true. But my stomach lurches. I have a question which I am too frightened to ask. What if a girl is ugly and fat, with no beauty to which an eternal companion will ever be attracted? I picture my reflection in my mirror under the up-do, and I shudder, and it’s not because I feel the Spirit.
Mom has told me ever since I could read that I can always find answers in the scriptures. I have never wanted an answer as badly as I want one now. When we get home from church, I tell Mom that I feel funny, and I don’t want lunch. I shut myself in my room. Frantically, I look up all the scripture weddings I can remember: Rebekah, Rachel, Esther. They are numbers four, five, and six in my first-thing-that-attracts-eternal-companions survey. I devour the words.
“And the damsel was very fair to look upon. … And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her” (Gen. 24:16, 67).
Four to zero.
“Leah was tender eyed; but Rachel was beautiful and well favoured. And Jacob loved Rachel; … And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her” (Gen. 29:17, 20).
Five to zero. My heart squeezes Spandex-tight.
“And he brought up … Esther … and the maid was fair and beautiful; … And the king loved Esther above all the women” (Esth. 2:7, 17).
Six to zero.
It isn’t fair. No beauty, no hope, no exaltation.
My door creaks, and in steps Mom. “Marie, what’s the matter?” She sees my scriptures and my watery eyes. “What are you doing, honey? What’s wrong?”
It splutters out of me all at once. “Boys will only love you if you’re beautiful. It’s always the first thing. They aren’t attracted unless you’ve got beauty. They don’t get attracted, you don’t get married. You don’t get married, no exaltation. I took a survey. You and Grandma and Rebekah, Rachel, and Esther. And I’m never getting married! I’m never going to be able to live with Father in Heaven! Look, look at this verse. “I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. … A virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins … bearing a child in her arms” (1 Ne. 11:13, 15, 20).
Mom touches my arm gently and lifts my scriptures from my hands, “Bearing a child,” she slowly repeats and looks at me with soft eyes. “Marie, may I read you another scripture about that child?”
She doesn’t wait for a response. “He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.
“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: … he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows” (Isa. 53:2–4).
She pauses while I lower my chin into my chest.
“Maybe … maybe you’re right, Marie. Maybe men only love and desire that which they think is beautiful. After all, they didn’t love our Savior. They despised Him. They crucified Him.”
I shake my head slowly. “But He was the most beautiful of all.”
Mom doesn’t respond. Her eyes are expectant. She wants me to say more.
“They just …” I pause. “They just couldn’t tell.”
“Why not?”
“Well, they didn’t recognize it. They couldn’t tell that it was beauty. He was beautiful because …” I blow a frustrated gust of air through pursed lips. “I can’t explain it. He was beautiful in the way you just can’t see.”
Mom nods in agreement and reads, “‘Therefore, what manner of men ought ye to be? Verily I say unto you, even as I am’ (3 Ne. 27:27). Marie, you don’t have to look like Grandma or Esther or Rachel or Rebekah. For all we know, their kind of beauty was as invisible as our Savior’s. The only beauty you have to cultivate is His. If you can be beautiful like He was beautiful, you won’t have to worry about winning an Isaac or Jacob. Men who saw no beauty in our Savior may also not see your beauty. But men of Christ, acquainted with His grief, will come to love you and say, ‘She is the most beautiful of all.’ There may be pain caused by those who don’t know you, but you will draw closer to the Savior as you emulate Him. And until your Isaac or your Jacob comes, you will know that Christ has borne your grief and carried your sorrows. And He will comfort you.”
She places my scriptures back in my lap, squeezes my hand, and drops me a tissue for my sniffling nose. Then she slips out of my bedroom and closes the door. After a minute, I wipe tears and mascara and Glitter n’Glo off my eyelids. In my heart I feel a beauty that I know must be His.