Gospel Story Finder

However, when I became a young adult, I was faced with more temptation and put in a more spiritually stale environment than I had ever been in before.
In South Korea, young adult men are required to serve in the military for a few years. When I was in the middle of my military service after serving my mission, I felt more alone in my faith than ever—for many reasons.
For one, it was hard being separated from other Church members and my family, but another difficulty was being surrounded by things that go against our standards. For example, alcohol is everywhere in South Korea, especially in the military. After drills it was common for everyone to meet to drink together. When they found out I didn’t drink alcohol, they did whatever they could to force me to. In their eyes, I wasn’t just sticking to my values—I was going against culture.
Unfortunately, it was also common for my fellow soldiers to talk about women in a worldly and sexualized way that made me feel uncomfortable. It was a challenge to hear their bad language every day. Additionally, I couldn’t attend church, partake of the sacrament, attend the temple, or do much of anything gospel related during this time.
For a while, I felt so alone and wondered what I could do to feel the Spirit and keep my faith strong. How could I stand in holy places when I didn’t have a choice to?
After a while of struggling, I decided that I needed to take responsibility for feeling the Spirit, even in a worldly environment. One thing that helped me was bringing my scriptures I used on my mission along with me during my service. It truly is the little habits we do each day—reading our scriptures, praying, and looking for opportunities to serve and be more like the Savior—that keep us connected to the Spirit.
One day I came across 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says, “God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
While reading that scripture, I realized that even though I felt alone, Heavenly Father was with me. If I continued to reach out to Him and my Savior, They would help me find a way to faithfully endure my military service and come home with a testimony stronger than before.
The scriptures became a lifeline for me during this time when I was disconnected from church and other members. Talking to Heavenly Father each day and reading my scriptures kept me connected to Him and reminded me of my divine identity, which was another key to surviving spiritually.
Remembering that I am a beloved child of heavenly parents kept my foundation of faith strong, especially when I was faced with temptation.
When I finished my military service, I prioritized spiritual habits more than ever. Being able to attend the temple, partake of the sacrament, and be fully invested in the gospel was such a contrast to the environment I had been in for the previous two years. I now feel the fulness of the blessings, comfort, and joy that the gospel of Jesus Christ offers us. And I’m glad I remained faithful until this was possible.

I am reminded of a story retold by President Howard W. Hunter:

“It told of the less-than-spectacular career of a quarterback on the football team of a small, rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear he was not going to be all-state or all-American. Indeed, it didn’t look like he was going to be all-anything, except perhaps all battered and bruised. He was the fourth of the four quarterbacks.
By season’s end he had never been called into a game and had given up hope. During the final game of the year he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled down on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then it came again, right from the coach’s lips, ‘Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!’
What should he do? His first impulse was to lapse into a coma. His second was to pretend he didn’t hear. His third was to say, ‘Wait, coach. Wait while I put on my shoes.’ He did the only manly thing. Strapping on his helmet as he ran, he made straight for the huddle; his white-stockinged feet were conspicuous to the players on both teams, as well as to the spectators and the coach, who also must have been ready to lapse into a coma.
He called the play, but the shock of his first game was obviously a little disconcerting. By the time he took the snap from center he had forgotten the play he had called. His teammates moved to the right, but he gamely went left. There, alone against the world, he met the opposition head-on and was swallowed up in the snarl of the onrushing linemen.
He said later, ‘No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes.’”

Nothing is more inspiring than to see youth praise God by honoring him on his holy day. Let me recount the story of one of them to you. Eric Liddell had been raised in China by missionary parents. When he returned to Scotland for his education, he discovered while playing rugby that he was fast on his feet. Those who watched him run called it sheer artistry. He was a wild runner, technically imperfect, but with exultant, liquid speed.
As Liddell continued to run, he began to receive honors. Friends pushed him to train for the Olympics, but his devoutly religious sister, Jennie, thought it would turn his attention from God. She knew he couldn’t be half-hearted about anything and she said, “Be honest with me. How much time will you have left for God?”
But Liddell’s father advised him differently. “Run in His name … and let the world stand back in wonder.”
And wonder it did. Liddell became known as the “Flying Scotsman,” making the 1924 British Olympic team with ease. On the way to Paris for the games, however, a reporter tossed him a question that startled Liddell. “What about Sunday? Do you think you can beat the Yanks?”
Liddell had not known that the heat for the 100-meter race he was scheduled to run in was on Sunday. The news made him a quiet passenger, and his sister’s words echoed in his mind: “Your mind’s not with us anymore, Eric.” It was heartbreakingly clear to him what he had to do. He could not run in the race, even if it meant undoing all the years of training, even if it meant disappointing his teammates.
They took the news badly, and Lord Birkenhead, who was leading the group, took it worse. “Won’t run?” he bellowed and turned red. He simply couldn’t understand.
Liddell responded, “I’m not sure that I understand. … I’ve run, driven myself, and run and run again for three whole years just to be on this ship. I gave up rugby, my work has suffered, I’ve even deeply hurt someone I hold very dear. Because, I told myself, if I won, I would win for God—it was his will. And now I find myself sitting here destroying it all, with a couple of words. But I have to. To run would be against God’s law.”
The pressure on Liddell didn’t end there. In Paris, he was called into a special meeting with Lord Birkenhead and the Prince of Wales himself. Had he no allegiance to king and country? “There are times,” said the Prince, “when we are asked to make sacrifices in the name of that loyalty. Without them, our allegiance is worthless. As I see it, for you this is such a time.”
Liddell was uncomfortable, but unmoved, and the tense situation was only resolved when a teammate entered the room and offered to give up his spot on a 400-meter race on Thursday so that Liddell could still run.
That Sunday at church, Liddell read from Isaiah 40:31. [Isa. 40:31] It was not an easy day for him, for he longed to be running for the gold, but he told the congregation what he told himself: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
Later that week at the 400-meter race, he had his chance to take the Lord at his word. As the runners lined up at their marks, rumors circulated among the crowd that Liddell would never win this race. He was a sprinter, fast in the short haul, but could he take this quarter-mile distance? But as he stood at the line, Liddell received a boost that the crowd didn’t know. One of the top runners on the American team handed him a folded piece of paper that read, “In the Old Book, it says, ‘He that honors me, I will honor.’”
Liddell won that race that day. He got his gold. In doing so, those who watched believed he had passed the supreme test. He had found the courage to throw his head back, push his heart until it almost burst, and cross the finish line ahead of all contenders. But that was not really the supreme test. The supreme test he had passed on the boat on the way to France, in the meeting with the Prince of Wales, and again that Sunday while he watched the race he might have run. The supreme test in any life is whether one can stick to his highest ideals when glory or expedience pressures us away from them. (Excerpted from W. J. Weatherby, Chariots of Fire, Dell/Quicksilver, pp. 50–165.)

Six-year-old Jason rode down the street on his new red bicycle. It was the first time he had ridden his bicycle without his eleven-year-old brother, Ray, riding along beside him. Jason grinned as he thought about his big brother. Ray wa fun to be with. But now Ray had gone on an errand for Mother, so Jason was riding by himself.

“'Aaaa!' he called as he pedaled past his mother.
She smiled and waved at him. Jason didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to wave back, but he gave her a big smile. When he turned around and pedaled back to his house again, his mother motioned for him to stop. Born with a very bad hearing loss, Jason wore a hearing aid in each ear. The only sounds that he could hear were very soft and unclear, so Jason had only recently begun to learn to talk.
“Jason,” Mother said, at the same time using sign language, “I’m going into the house to do dishes now. It will soon be dark. Please come inside in just a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Jason tried to form the word with his mouth as he finger-spelled.
Mom smiled and rumpled his hair before she walked into the house, and Jason pedaled his bike down the street again. It was exciting riding with a rush of the wind against his face. Jason pedaled faster and faster. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going. “Aaaa!” he cried delightedly.
Then the cry froze in his throat as he stared at the unfamiliar houses that he was passing. The bicycle wobbled and nearly fell over before Jason could come to a stop. He looked around him with wide, frightened eyes. Where am I? he wondered.
Jason turned his bicycle around and pedaled back toward the nearest corner. He peered at the houses in the gathering darkness. They were all strange. Jason choked back a sob. How would he ever get back to his own home? He couldn’t ask anyone for help. He pedaled up and down the streets looking for a familiar sight, but it was no use. The longer he searched, the more confused he became.
Soon it was dark, and Jason had never been so frightened. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly there came to his mind a picture of his family kneeling in prayer, and he thought, I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me!
Jason got off his bicycle, then knelt on the sidewalk and folded his arms. Dear Father in Heaven, he prayed silently, I’m lost. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Jason opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a familiar face, but no one was there. He could see lights shining through the windows of nearby houses. He though about his family in his own home and about how much he loved them. Maybe I’ll never see them again. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought. Then the words I am a child of God! Popped into his mind. They were from a Primary song that his mother had taught him.
“You can learn to say the words if you try,” she had said as she signed to him. “Then you can sing it with your voice, your hands, and your heart.”
Jason had tried. It was hard, but he could sing it well enough for his family to recognize it. Now he loved to sing it often, even though he could barely hear the sounds that he made. He knew that there was beautiful music inside him, though, because he had such a happy feeling when he sang.
Maybe, Jason thought, I won’t feel so scared if I sing. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and began, “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. …”
As he sang the last few words, Jason opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he saw: His big brother was coming down the street!
“Aaaa!” Jason cried, leaping to his feet. “Aaaa!”
Jason started to run. He didn’t stop until he ran straight into his brother’s open arms. Ray caught him in a big hug, swinging him off his feet.
“I’d never have found you if I hadn’t heard you singing that song!” Ray exclaimed. “You’ve sung it so many times at home that when I heard it in the darkness, I knew just who was singing. It led me straight to you!”
Jason couldn’t follow all that Ray was saying, but he knew that he was safe, and he knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

I give you an example of how this works. Let me share with you an experience of President Heber J. Grant. While he was a member of the Council of the Twelve, when asked by the President of the Church to submit names, he repeatedly submitted that of a very good friend of his for consideration to fill existing vacancies among the Twelve. The man was never chosen, and President Grant is reported to have said at one time that if he ever became President of the Church and there was a vacancy to fill, he would call that man because he was so well qualified.

After he became President and it was necessary to fill a vacancy, he told the Lord that he knew whom he wanted, but that he wanted to select that man the Lord wanted and would like to have. The name of Melvin J. Ballard, whom President Grant knew slightly, but not too well, came into his mind and kept recurring to let him know that he was the man who should be called; and he was nominated by President Grant and approved by the Twelve.

Patrick watched the other boys from his ward laugh together as they hiked the trail. He tried not to frown. They were still ignoring him.
Patrick didn’t understand. Normally, he got along with the other kids in the ward. Especially Brett and Tyson. But two days before the trip, Marcus started telling the other boys that they shouldn’t hang out with Patrick any more. That was all it took. Suddenly nobody would talk to him no matter how hard he tried.
This was going to be the worst camping trip ever.
Tall pine trees grew so close together on both sides of the trail that Patrick could barely see the blue sky above. They were way up in the mountains with no houses anywhere. Even better, they were headed to a lake full of fish. But Patrick didn’t care. What was the fun of going camping with kids who didn’t want to be around him?
“Something wrong?” Dad called. “Normally you’re at the head of the pack.”
Patrick turned around. Dad wasn’t far behind. He was walking with the other adults and using his favorite walking stick. Dad had volunteered to come as one of the leaders.
“No,” Patrick said. “I’m fine. I just … want to walk a little slower today. That’s all.”
Dad glanced up the trail at the rest of the boys. Patrick squirmed. Did Dad realize the other kids didn’t want to be around him?
Dad nodded his head slowly. Then he flashed a big smile and took a few quick steps to catch up to Patrick. “Sounds good to me,” Dad said. “Sometimes I like walking a little slower too. Let’s walk together.” Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a granola bar. “Hey, how about a snack?”
“My favorite!” Patrick said. “Thanks!”
“Any time, buddy. I think I’ll have one too.”
They walked together for a few minutes without talking, each of them munching on a granola bar.
“Look at that!” Dad pointed up in the trees as they rounded the next bend in the trail. “I think it’s an eagle in its nest.”
Patrick stretched his neck to see. “Wow!”
They started talking about eagles. Dad knew so much about nature. Afterward, Dad kept pointing out other cool things along the trail. He even told Patrick a knock-knock joke he hadn’t heard before. Patrick laughed out loud. Then Patrick told Dad some jokes of his own. Dad chuckled every time.
By the time they got to the lake, Patrick was feeling better. But then his shoulders slumped when he saw the other boys run off to the far side of the lake with their fishing poles. They never even looked in his direction. He wanted to cry.
“You know, Patrick,” Dad said in a quiet voice. “I’m glad we’re here together. I sure love spending time with my special friend.”
Patrick turned away from the other boys and faced his dad. Dad reached down and squeezed his shoulder. “You up for a little fishing?”
Suddenly Patrick didn’t mind so much that it was just the two of them on this side of the lake. He grinned. “Yeah! Let’s try that spot over there!”
Before long Patrick and Dad were laughing and having a great time together. They even caught a few fish, but that wasn’t the luckiest part of the day for Patrick. The luckiest part was having such a great dad as his friend.

On one occasion, I was to interview a man on behalf of the First Presidency for the restoration of his priesthood and temple blessings.

After his marriage in the holy temple, and after having three wonderful children, the man was unfaithful to his wife and his sacred covenants. A single woman became pregnant and wanted an abortion.

The husband’s saintly wife pleaded with the woman to have the baby and promised that she would raise the child, once he was born, with her own children.

The single woman thoughtfully agreed not to end the pregnancy.

It had now been 10 years. The humble sister sitting in front of me loved the boy as her own and told me of her husband’s efforts to make amends and to love and care for her and the family. The father wept as she spoke.

How could this noble woman of God take a child as her own who could be a daily reminder of the unfaithfulness of her husband? How? Because she found strength through Jesus Christ and she believed in the sacredness of life, the holiness of life. She knew the unborn child was a child of God, innocent and pure.

Imagine putting in that kind of time and effort for an entire year. That’s what Erin Johnson of the McLean Virginia Second Ward did. She got up close and personal with the Mormon pioneers so she could make a presentation for National History Day.
“I read 45 books for the project. I got some of the books from the library, and people loaned some of them to me. I also read journals from ancestors and relatives,” says Erin.
The work didn’t stop when Erin finished reading, though. She then put together a ten-minute dramatic presentation depicting the struggles the pioneers experienced as they crossed the plains.
During that ten minutes, Erin takes the audience through trials on the plains such as a mother burying her small child by the side of the trail, and then on to Utah, where the Saints set up an orderly, productive society.
“Each family member had a job on the trail, even the children,” says Erin in her presentation. She presents a short account of a pioneer child gathering buffalo chips to burn. She points out that everyone’s job was important on the trail—glamorous or not.
All her hard work paid off when Erin won third place in the Junior National competition, as well as a special award in her state division. High praise for a 12-year-old who had to prepare, set up, and perform her presentation with no help from anyone.
“I think it’s important to be well educated and work hard,” says Erin. “I also have a much greater appreciation for my ancestors and what they went through after doing this project.”
Erin says she now also appreciates her own family even more than she did before.
“They’ve helped me a lot,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without their support.”

Years ago, after graduating from Utah State University, I accepted a job in Colorado, USA. My wife, Janine, and I had only been married for a few years, and we moved our limited belongings to our new apartment to start the next chapter of our lives.
Both my family and Janine’s lived in Utah, and we wanted to spend our Christmas vacation with them. I diligently saved up vacation time at work so we could spend two weeks with them and other friends in Utah during the Christmas break. We planned to make the drive a few days before Christmas, leaving after I worked a half-day in the morning.
The night before we planned to leave, I took down all the Christmas decorations and got rid of the tree so I wouldn’t have to do it when we returned after the new year.
The next morning, Janine mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well that week. I told her she should probably see a doctor before we left for two weeks. Then I went into work for my half-day.
When I returned home at noon, our apartment was empty. This happened before cell phones, so I didn’t know where Janine was or how to contact her. I sat in the apartment worrying about lost travel time.
Janine called about an hour later. She was in the hospital, and a medical team was about to operate on her. I rushed to the hospital and briefly met with the doctor. He explained that Janine’s life was in danger and that they needed to operate immediately. As Janine and the staff went into the operating room, I went into the waiting room.
Although I’ve always been a strongly independent person, I remember the immense sense of isolation I felt as I sat for what seemed like forever in that waiting room. With the lack of cell phones and the speed in which the events progressed, neither Janine’s family nor mine knew what was going on. The crushing loneliness was almost unbearable as I worried for the life of my young wife.
Finally, the doctor came into the room and announced that the operation was a success. I replied, “Great! Because we’re going to Utah for Christmas.” The doctor was quick to correct me: “Son, you don’t understand. Janine will need to remain in town for two weeks for observation.” Those words hit me hard. “Two weeks?” With the doctor’s statement, I realized we were not going anywhere for Christmas.
Janine stayed in the hospital for a few more days. When we finally drove home after dark, I dreaded entering our apartment, which was now stripped of all holiday cheer.
As we slowly made our way across the parking lot to our apartment, I saw a dark shadow next to our door and wondered what it could be. When we got closer to the door, I realized it was a small Christmas tree. I knew immediately who had left it.
After going inside and helping Janine into bed, I brought our Christmas tree inside. It was clear to me that my buddy Mike had left it for us. Mike was one of the first friends I’d made when we moved to Colorado. He was a college student and a father of two children, so I knew finances were tight for him. The tree he’d brought was less than three feet tall and very thin. By all worldly standards, it might not have looked like much, especially compared with our original tree. But I knew it was the best he could afford, and I felt great appreciation for it. To me, it was a magnificent tree—much better than our original because of the sacrifice it represented from my friend. Nothing could have been a better gift. I spent the rest of the night decorating our new treasure, which turned out to be the most outstanding Christmas decoration that year.
Once we returned home, the ward Relief Society quickly sprang into action and took care of meals for the next few weeks. They also brought entertainment for Janine and me to enjoy while she rested. Many visits from ward members followed. Being new to the ward, we didn’t initially know many people, but we soon got to know many of them from their visits.
That Christmas remains one of my most cherished memories. Mike ended up becoming a lifelong friend from whom I’ve learned many lessons of service. When I think back on this experience, Matthew 25:37–40 comes to mind:
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Eric Blanchard, a two-time state wrestling champion from St. Anthony, Idaho, is back wrestling again after nearly losing his life in an accidental shooting incident. Although Eric came perilously close to death and the bullet still remains lodged in his back, he followed doctor’s instructions and worked hard to get back into shape. Doctors determined that it was too dangerous to remove the bullet but that it would not affect his recovery if left where it was.
Eric succeeded in his third season and was nearly as strong as ever. He barely lost in overtime in his attempt for his third state championship. Eric is a priest in the Chester Ward, Ashton Idaho Stake.

Long, long ago in the far northern wilderness before white men arrived and built cities and roads, there lived Little Squirrel, a Chippewa Indian boy.
One night as Little Squirrel was sleeping in his deerskin wigwam, the roar of a mountain lion awakened him. He sat up on his blanket bed and peered through the wigwam opening into the moonlit forest.
In the darkness all around him, in the caves and in the thickets, lived the wild forest creatures. Little Squirrel’s eyes penetrated the darkness for their shapes. His ears listened for their sounds. The Chippewas thought of wild ones as people—four-footed forest people. Some of them were enemies, but most were friends. Often one would live in a wigwam, sharing the family’s food and shelter.
Little Squirrel knew the forest people well. He knew their names and secrets. He had learned to speak their language. One of them had even lived with his family for awhile.
Six summers past, his father had found a black mother bear dead in her den, a tiny cub crawling over her. Because a Chippewa would never leave an animal to starve, his father had brought the bear cub home and put it by his little son, who was nestled in a linden cradle. “For you, Little Squirrel,” he had said.
As Little Squirrel grew, he romped and wrestled with the cub. His first steps were taken by her side as his fat fingers clutched her thick black fur. He loved the bear. He called her Bear Sister.
Together they gobbled up berries that grew in tangled thickets. Side by side they searched for honey hidden deep in bee tree holes.
But one day without warning, the bear vanished. She ambled off into the pine trees and did not return. Little Squirrel cried when she first went away. He missed their fun together. He missed his furry sister snuggled on his blanket bed during the cold northern nights.
His mother had told him Bear Sister had gone into the forest to find her own bear people.
But Little Squirrel had never ceased looking for her. As he looked into the forest, he listened for any sound from her.
Suddenly he saw something—a shadow moving through the pines. His black eyes sparked with excitement. It might be Bear Sister, he thought, and his heart was filled with hope.
Trembling like an aspen in the first warm rush of summer, he stepped out of the wigwam. The shadow moved before him, but he only heard its sound. Almost without thinking, he slipped through the trees, following the footfalls that crunched down the leaves. His thoughts were with Bear Sister.
Indian boys were encouraged to go for midnight walks in the wilderness. Watching the ways of the forest people was their school. They learned how the beaver people trim trees and build dams. They listened to the owls chirring to their owlets—they listened to the owls’ secrets so they too could be wise. Little Squirrel moved ahead swiftly, silently, following the sounds of the shadow.
Suddenly in a shaft of moonlight the shadow turned into an elk. His heart cried out. It wasn’t Bear Sister after all. Little Squirrel sighed and sat down on a log as the elk sauntered off.
An owl hooted from the pine boughs above. Little Squirrel’s eyes searched until he found the owl. Then he scanned the trail of stars scattered over the deep dark of the sky above. He was once again absorbed in the wonders of the wilderness.
The pines began to whisper and the owls began to scold him. “Go back to your wigwam,” they seemed to be saying.
I must go, he decided as he stood up and began his walk back to the village. His thoughts were of the wigwam, warm and safe.
Halfway around a rocky ledge overgrown with thickets, he suddenly stopped. What was that sound off there in the depths of the thicket? he wondered. He stood as still as a tree trunk. Again he heard it. His heart began to beat like the wings of a giant bird. It sounded like the grunt of a bear. In the black shadows of the night, he watched and waited. Then in the distance he saw a dark form emerge from behind the rocks. It was a bear!
The moonlight dusted the bear’s fur, but Little Squirrel was too far away to be sure of the color. If it were Bear Sister, would she remember him?
Instinctively he began to sing a song—softly, sweetly, so this bear and all others might know of his love for them. Because of his Bear Sister, he could never harm nor kill one of their people. This was the way of the Chippewas, and this was the message of his song.
Little Squirrel sang of how his father had found a bear cub in the forest many moons ago. He sang of hunting berries and of searching out bee trees; he sang of a bear and a boy together on a blanket bed.
As Little Squirrel sang, the bear moved its head back and forth, growling softly. The boy knew the bear understood the song. He knew the bear understood how he felt in his heart, for the Indians and forest people knew each other well. But Little Squirrel could not be sure if this were really his own Bear Sister.
Then a young bear cub appeared from the rocky den, and the heart of Little Squirrel almost burst within him as it beat a steady rhythm to his soft bear song. And suddenly it didn’t matter even if this were not Bear Sister, for all bears were his friends!
The she-bear grunted to her cub, an owl chirred to its owlet, and the wind began to whisper to the treetops.
By the time Little Squirrel reached his deerskin home, all the forest people had heard of the little Chippewa Indian and his love for the forest people.

“Girls, we have a challenge,” Sister Reed said as she rushed into the living room, where Kendyl, Marie, and the rest of the eleven-year-old girls were waiting to start their Achievement Day activity.
“What’s wrong, Sister Reed?” Kendyl could tell that their leader was worried.
“A family just moved into the ward, and they have an eleven-year-old daughter named Sara.”
The girls cheered. “But that’s good news,” Marie said.
“Yes, it is good news, but Sara’s mother just told me on the phone that Sara’s having a hard time with this move. She misses her friends back in their old ward, and she hasn’t left the house since they moved in.”
“I remember when I moved here last year,” Morgan said. “It was really hard at first. I feel bad for Sara. I wish we could make her feel better.”
“I do, too,” Sister Reed said. “And there’s one more thing I haven’t told you yet. Today is Sara’s birthday.”
“Let’s have a party for her,” Rebecca suggested. “That would help her feel better.”
“Yes, a surprise party!” Cindy exclaimed. “Let’s hurry and plan it.”
Half an hour later they were ringing Sara’s doorbell.
A pretty lady with her blond hair in a ponytail, answered the door. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“We’re on a scavenger hunt,” Marie answered. “We wondered if you had any of the things on this list.”
The woman looked doubtful. “We just moved in, so everything’s in boxes.”
Marie handed her the list, “Would you mind looking, please. It’s important that we find all these things.”
The lady smiled. “OK, I’ll look.” She read down the list, and when she got to the bottom, she started to laugh. “Well, well, I guess I do have one thing on your list. I just happen to have a ‘girl named Sara.’”
The girls giggled and looked knowingly at each other.
“Just a minute, I’ll go get her.”
A few moments later, the lady reappeared with a girl who had blond hair and who was holding a brown puppy.
Sara was a little shy at first, but her mother suggested she show the girls her new bedroom. It was decorated in blue checked wallpaper with bright sunflowers. Her bed had a fluffy down comforter on it, and she had her very own curio cabinet full of porcelain dolls.
The girls asked her all kinds of questions about the new puppy, where she used to live, who her best friend was back in her old ward, and if she was excited to start school the next day.
By the time Sara answered their questions and told them about her doll collection, she felt comfortable with the girls and was excited when her mother gave her permission to go with them on their scavenger hunt.
Sara’s mom smiled happily as she told the girls good-bye.
They went from house to house in Sister Reed’s neighborhood, gathering the rest of the items on their list, which included flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, and chocolate chips. “What are we doing with all this stuff, anyway?” Sara asked. “I’ve never been on a scavenger hunt that had cooking ingredients on the list.”
The girls looked at each other and smiled secretly. “You’ll see,” Rebecca said. “We have just one last stop to make.”
Sister Reed was watching out the window when the girls walked up the driveway. She gave them a thumbs-up signal that everything was ready. They knocked on the door, and she invited them inside.
“Wow!” Sara said, noticing the balloons and streamers, “Are you getting ready for a party?”
“Surprise!” they yelled. “Happy birthday, Sara.”
“For me?” Sara gasped!
The girls laughed and hugged her, and so did Sister Reed. “Welcome to our ward, Sara. I’m your Achievement Day leader.”
“I can’t believe it,” Sara said. “How did you know?”
“We talked to your mom, silly,” Kendyl said. “Now, come on—let’s go make those cookies we scavenged for. I’m starving.”
While some of them stirred and baked, the others folded newspaper hats and decorated them with curly ribbons and glitter. Sara asked them for suggestions on what she should name her new puppy. Cindy said, “Name him Brownie,” as she licked a gooey beater. Morgan suggested naming him Chocolate Chip and calling him “Chip” for short.
“Chip,” Sara said thoughtfully. “Chip. Hey, I like it!”
“OK, girls, it’s time to give Sara your presents,” Sister Reed said.
“You didn’t have to get me presents. The party was more than I ever dreamed of.”
“These are special presents,” Sister Reed said, “the kind you can’t buy from a store or wrap with fancy paper. Rebecca, why don’t you start.”
“OK,” Rebecca said. “Since I live right around the corner from you, I’m going to pick you up for school so we can walk together.”
“Thanks, Rebecca, I’d really like that.” Sara sounded relieved.
Morgan offered, “I’ll go with you to school lunch. I know which line is the fastest and which servers give you the most dessert.”
“That would be great! Thanks.”
“And I’d like to play with you at recess,” Cindy said. “Do you know how to play four-square?”
“Kind of, but I’m not very good.”
“I’ll teach you, OK?”
“OK,” Sara smiled.
“For my gift,” Marie said, “I’d like to take you for ice cream sometime. Have you tried pistachio-almond with hot fudge?”
Sara shook her head. “No, but it sounds really delicious.”
“And my gift,” Kendyl said, “Is to have a scrapbook party. I called my mom, and she said I could invite all of you.”
The girls screamed with excitement. Sister Reed took the last batch of cookies out of the oven, while they jabbered about their plans for the scrapbook party and all the different snacks they would bring.
The girls crowned Sara with a glittery, sparkly birthday hat they had made especially for her. She smiled proudly as they sang “Happy Birthday.” When she blew out the candle, she realized that she didn’t even need to make a wish. Her wish had already come true. Her prayers had been answered.

I was supposed to wake up, hop in the shower, get dressed, and then head to seminary. That’s how it always went, anyways.
But this morning, my routine was interrupted by my mom coming in to tell me that one of my soccer teammates had died in a car accident the night before. I was stunned. My teammate was gone?
Only a few weeks after the death of my teammate, one of my close friends took their own life.
I attended two funerals that month—my first encounters with death.
In a lot of ways, my friends’ deaths didn’t seem real, and they had a big impact on my testimony. As time went on, I found myself wondering again and again if what I had been taught all my life about resurrection and the plan of salvation was true. And although I might have tried to say the words, I wasn’t sure if I really believed that I would see my friends again someday.
But I hoped that I would.
I thought of my two encounters with death while I was studying 2 Nephi 9:21–22, which talks about the Savior, saying, “He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children … that the resurrection might pass upon all men.”
I really wanted the plan of salvation to be real. I wanted to believe that Jesus Christ had overcome death and that because of Him we would all be resurrected. So, I acted according to that hope. I did my best to believe, even if I wasn’t completely sure.
Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”
Death, though painful, is part of God’s plan for us. But we can trust in the Savior, who died that we all might live again. This is the amazing promise of Easter. Knowing this doesn’t always make the pain of losing my loved ones go away. But now I have hope and peace that I, and everyone I love, will be resurrected and that if we are sealed in the temple and keep our covenants, we can live together again (see Doctrine and Covenants 88:14–17, 27–31; 132:15–21).
This Easter, learn about the truthfulness of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the Resurrection, and everything joyful that’s encompassed in the plan of salvation. Choose to believe. Know that because of Christ’s sacrifice and perfect love for us, death is not the end.
It’s OK if all you can do now is have faith that the plan of salvation is true. As you continue to live the gospel and to hope, your hope, like mine, can also blossom into a testimony.

About this time, according to Darryl’s father, “Darryl told me that he, too, would like to be a missionary and help spread the teachings of our Heavenly Father. I told Darryl that since we have four children of our own and five adopted children, we could never afford to send him on a mission. He simply said, ‘Paint me a Mormon picture and have it reproduced and I will sell the prints for my mission fund.’”
Darryl’s father, a talented artist, worked for two years to complete a painting entitled “A Family Is Forever.” The Quesada family decided to give the original to President Kimball and are selling prints of it to build the mission fund that will send not only Darryl but other members of his family on missions.
Darryl has a strong testimony of the gospel, and he is inspired by the stories of valiant missionaries in the Book of Mormon. He writes, “I know the Church is true and that it is the only true church on this planet; also that the Book of Mormon is the record of the Lamanites. I know the Church is true because we have a prophet who talks with God. That is why I want to go on a mission—to teach the gospel to the many, many people I meet. The reason I wanted President Kimball to have the original painting is because he is the closest man to God on the earth today.”
President Kimball thinks Darryl is pretty special too! He said that in his mind Darryl and other boys like him “exemplify a new generation of Lamanites emerging in the Church who are prepared for missionary service.”

A few weeks after our son was born, my wife and I were invited to meet with a campus stake president. As we met with him, he asked me a question and as I started to give the response, I
instantly knew the answer I was giving was not coming from me, but through me. I quickly confirmed this fact when I saw the look on my wife’s face. I remember the feeling I had at that moment. I was able to be an instrument which the Spirit was able to shine through. This was the beginning of a great opportunity as we were both extended a call to serve in one of the YSA wards on campus. Serving in the YSA ward helped me trim my lamp and add oil to my reserves. Along with the blessings I received, I also witnessed how the Lord helps those who are stuck and not progressing become freed from the burdens that are holding them back.

It’s Sunday morning, and 45 sisters of the Bugambilias Ward in Guadalajara, Mexico, sit in council. After the opening hymn, Relief Society president Yara Ramirez invites some of them to share experiences from their lesson the week before.
After the sisters share their experiences for a few minutes, Sister Ramirez writes a single word on the board before taking her seat back in the circle.
“Unity,” it says.
Under Sister Ramirez’s direction, they turn to Mosiah 18:21 and read, “… having their hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another.”
“What can we as a Relief Society do to put this scripture into practice?” she asks.
The sisters think for a few moments. “Well, the youth can’t go to the temple,” one sister shares. “There aren’t enough adult sisters to go with them.”
“I had no idea,” says another, looking surprised. “If you don’t know there’s a need,” she asks, “how can you help?”
“That is why we’re here,” answers Sister Ramirez. “There are needs like this that I learn about during ward council that we can all help with.”
“Why don’t we make a calendar?” someone suggests. The group now becomes more interested. “I think the youth have a scheduled time at the temple one Thursday a month.”
“I’m having trouble going to the temple myself,” admits a young mother in the group. “I haven’t been there in a long time, and I’ve been feeling a bit self-absorbed. I would love to go and serve,” she says.
Several others nod in agreement. They too find it difficult to attend as often as they want.
Another young mother suggests that they trade babysitting with each other and take turns going to the temple.
Then the sisters start asking each other where they live and who lives by which youth. They discuss how they could take turns helping the youth get to their activities.
“Well, we’ll need to get to know one another too,” someone says. “We should have activities!”
Sisters continue to comment, offering suggestions and asking questions.
At the end of the council, Sister Ramirez asks her secretary to summarize the minutes. “How did you all feel during the council?” she asks.
They respond that they felt more aware of everyone’s needs, that their service was needed, and that they were among friends.
“Based on what we’ve experienced today, what specific actions do we want to focus on this month as a Relief Society?” she asks.
As a group, they decide to have a potluck meal that Sunday after church, start playing volleyball on Thursday nights, make a calendar for attending the temple, and plan how to help youth get to activities.
“We’ve experienced unity today,” Sister Ramirez concludes, inviting each sister to think of ways she could serve during the week. “The Holy Ghost will continue to give us promptings as we act individually and as a Relief Society. I invite you to be ready to share your experiences next Sunday.”

For example, my older sons, who grew up when the Beatles were popular, wanted to follow the current fashion fads. Now, I don’t like fads, have never liked them, and probably will never like them. But I decided to let them win—with moderation. Why?
Because I felt that I was winning in all of the areas that really mattered. My sons could be classified as “good boys.” They went to early morning seminary (6:25 A.M.), attended Church meetings regularly, paid their tithing, were average in Scouting, made above-average grades, served as my home teaching companions, were faithful in their priesthood assignments, and fulfilled their chore responsibilities around the home.
The only negative thing they wanted to indulge in, in my estimation, was some of the fashion trends. But compared to everything they were doing that was right, or at least satisfactory, style, in my opinion, was not really significant.
Did it corrupt them? No. Because at the same time, they were doing all the important things. Both of the older boys have completed full-time missions now and still look like missionaries today, several years after they returned.

In December 2004, I was serving as a full-time missionary in Lins, São Paulo, Brazil. The local ward and branch decided to participate in Brazil’s annual “Natal sem Fome” (Christmas without Hunger) program. Teaming up with several other entities—including soldiers from the Brazilian army, mail carriers, and members of other faiths—we passed through several neighborhoods collecting food that would later be given to the needy of the city. We also used this as a great opportunity to give out pass-along cards, or “friendship cards” as we called them. About 2,000 cards were given out.
Many of the members commented on the great feelings they had felt as they served and shared the spirit of Christmas under the hot Brazilian sun. It was an impressive sight to see the soldiers handing out pass-along cards from a church they didn’t even belong to.
One week later we received 127 requests for the Joy to the World Christmas DVD featuring the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The next week we received 22 more. My companion and I started teaching these people and were able to enter into many homes as a result of this project.
I will never forget the joy and love of that special project, when we helped spread the gospel and bring relief to many families’ hunger. Both spiritual and physical hunger were lessened.
I know that through small and simple things (such as a pass-along card) many great and wonderful things (such as the salvation of the souls of men) come to pass. This experience was evidence that many opportunities surround us during Christmas and other seasons to bring forth this marvelous work and a wonder.

One of my most insightful spiritual experiences occurred when I was thirteen or fourteen years old.
I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the Church was a large part of my life. One day the Aaronic Priesthood boys in our ward went to Welfare Square for a service project.
We were assigned to unload a large railcar full of lump coal. We were to climb up on the load and throw lumps of coal off to either side of the track.
At first, it was fun, a new adventure. It was fairly easy to toss the coal off. However, as we worked our way down into the railcar, it became necessary to pick up the lumps, raise them over our heads, and throw them over the side. By then we were getting tired and very dirty. The lumps of coal seemed heavier and heavier. It became a difficult task.
I remember going home that night and taking a bath. I had coal dust all over me. It was in my throat and nose. I could taste it and smell it. I felt terrible and decided that I would avoid doing anything like that again.
A few weeks later my family celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday. Under my parents’ guidance, we had prepared little boxes of food for the widows in our neighborhood. My sister and I made popcorn balls and wrapped them in waxed paper. My mother made cookies. We also added fruit and some candies to the boxes. We took these gifts to the homes of five or six widows.
No lights were burning in the last home. We knocked and waited, but no one came to the door. Just as we were about to leave, we saw a light appear at the end of the long hall. Then we heard the footsteps of this elderly sister, who lived alone. She opened the door, greeted us, and invited us in.
As we walked down that long hallway. I felt the cold. There was no heat at all in the house except in the small room at the end of the hall, where she invited us to sit down. A fire was burning in the small fireplace there.
We presented the elderly sister with our gift, sang some Thanksgiving songs, then began to talk about the things for which we were grateful. When it was our hostess’s turn, she said, “One of the things I am grateful for is that you came tonight instead of last night. This afternoon I received a delivery of lump coal from Welfare Square, and so we are able to all sit here and enjoy this fire.” I realized that I had helped make the coal available to her.
That was an impressive experience for me. I sensed as never before the importance of the gospel principle of caring for others. I saw the earlier experience of unloading that coal in an entirely different light and with an entirely different spirit. That Thanksgiving experience has affected me the rest of my life.

It is Sunday evening, and the home of Abilio and María Elena Samaniego in Asunción, Paraguay, is alive with the sounds of family. The three unmarried children are there, along with the three married children and their families. Now dinner is over, and the adults visit while the grandchildren play. This morning was the homecoming of a missionary son, so this evening is a time of reminiscing, laughing, teasing.
It’s no surprise that the focus of the conversation tonight is on Church and family, because it was the Church’s emphasis on families that attracted Brother Samaniego nearly twenty years ago. “I saw how much the missionaries loved my family,” he recalls. “They showed me how to love my children. My heart was softened, and I accepted their message.” The family was baptized in 1974. Brother Samaniego learned to be a patriarch in his home. Now, he is also a stake patriarch.
Family members reminisce about how the Church has blessed their lives. As they talk, a blanket of love descends upon them. Tears and testimony flow freely.
They recall the years when they lived five kilometers from the nearest branch. “Since there were eight of us, it cost too much for bus fare,” remembers their oldest daughter, Yenny, who is now the mother of four children and the wife of stake president Gregorio Figueredo. “So we all had to walk—two hours each way. We made that trip every Saturday for Primary and Mutual. And since Sunday meetings were held both morning and afternoon, we would make the round trip twice—a total of twenty kilometers. When it was really hot, we would sometimes take our lunch and sit under a tree between meetings. From the day we were baptized, I don’t remember that we ever missed a meeting.” Now, all six children and their families are faithful and active in the Church.
The boys remember getting dressed in white shirts and ties when they were as young as seven or eight and going out to teach with the full-time missionaries. Several family members, including fifteen-year-old Carolín, have served stake missions. Now, all three Samaniego sons have completed full-time missions.
The girls recall their mother encouraging them to date members of the Church, even though there didn’t seem to be many young LDS men around. “Surely there is a mother somewhere who is preparing a special young man for you,” their mother would tell them. Now, all three of the children who are married were married in the temple.
Sister Samaniego reflects upon her years teaching early-morning seminary. “We would get up each morning at 5:00. While I was teaching the class, my husband prepared breakfast for the family and all the students. Then everyone would leave in time to get to school by 7:00 A.M.” Before Sister Samaniego was released as seminary teacher, she had taught all six of her own children. She also taught them all in Primary, Sunday School, and Mutual. Currently, she is ward Relief Society president.
Someone pulls out a scrapbook with photographs showing the Samaniegos and other “pioneer families” building their chapel. And they talk about how the Church in Paraguay has become more respected because of the examples of members.
The hour is late, but no one wants to leave. Memories lead to more memories, and now several conversations are going on at once. “I am very fortunate,” says Brother Samaniego quietly. “My heart rejoices tonight as I see and listen to my children and their families. ‘Man is that he might have joy.’ That is what I feel today!”