Gospel Story Finder

As a nurse in the newborn intensive care unit, I care for sick, sometimes very small, babies. One night I was assigned to a little boy born 17 weeks early and weighing just over one pound (0.5 kg). His hands were tiny, his little legs about as big around as my finger, and his feet about the size of my thumb. Because of his severe respiratory problems, doctors didn’t expect him to live through the night.
A quiet hush falls over the entire unit when a newborn is fighting for life. There is increased stress on everyone, especially the baby’s nurse, and tonight that was me. His parents had been with him most of the day, but they were exhausted. His mother had returned to her room for some much-needed rest.
The baby’s private room contained an isolette (incubator), monitors, ventilator, and IV pumps, which were keeping him alive. Because he was so ill and needed such intensive care, I wasn’t assigned any other patients that night. I would be at his side all night, busy with medications, monitoring, treatments, and tests.
As the night wore on, I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were his mother. The heartache would have been unbearable.
I gently washed his face, touched his little hands and feet, gingerly changed and positioned him in a soft new blanket. I wondered what else I could do for my little patient. What would his mother do? What would Heavenly Father want me to do?
This precious, innocent little spirit would soon be returning to his Father in Heaven. I wondered if he was afraid. I thought of my own children. When they were young and scared, I had sung to them. “I Am a Child of God” was their favorite. Choking back tears, I sang to the baby.
As a nurse I saw the tubes and the blood, counted the rise and fall of the baby’s chest, listened to the beating of his heart, and watched the numbers on the monitors. As a Latter-day Saint I saw a celestial spirit and marveled at the plan of salvation.
As the night progressed, his health deteriorated. He eventually developed a condition that caused him to bleed into his lungs.
In the morning my little patient slipped silently through the veil. He left his mother’s arms and was “taken home to that God who gave [him] life” (Alma 40:11).
I grew closer to the Savior and Heavenly Father that night. I developed a greater understanding of the Lord’s love for mankind—and His love for me. I was reminded, even surprised, by the depth of love I felt for Him. And I felt a desire to be more kind, more gentle, more forgiving, more compassionate—more like Him—one day and one heartbeat at a time.

For me, that’s my dad. He has a December birthday. He passed away just after Christmas nearly 18 years ago.
My dad always had a job that required travel.
He traveled by airplane at a time before headphones or earbuds. There was no screen in the back of the seat in front of him. No online entertainment. No mobile phone, tablet, or laptop computer.
Back then, to pass the time while you traveled, you had three choices: sleeping; reading a book, magazine, or newspaper; or talking to the person sitting next to you.
My dad always chose the third.
He came home from every trip with a story about his seatmate. His or her life story!
I don’t know how much my dad gave up about himself. But he had an uncanny ability, a listener’s gift. People felt comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to share their personal stories—heartaches and triumphs and everything in between.
And because my dad was ever an optimist, a true disciple of Jesus Christ, I know people left their flights known, heard, loved, happy, and a little more optimistic than when they boarded.

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.

“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’

“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry … to accomplish it.’

“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two players from the other team while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it dropped through the net.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth-grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored 15 points a game. Secretly I wished Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told our class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would shout, “Go, Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second-grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second-grade class after gulping down my sandwich. When I saw all those faces staring at me, I was nervous. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball with Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed quickly.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again,” she said.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them. It really had little to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game. I started grinning, but I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go, Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

Elder Kelly R. Johnson remembers well the day he was called as a bishop at age 31. That same day he was diagnosed with Bell’s palsy—a condition in which the muscles on one side of the face become paralyzed or weakened.
It was a challenging time, not only because of the discomfort and embarrassment caused by the condition but also because of his many new responsibilities. But that difficult time became a blessing.
“Not knowing what the long-term situation would be, I developed a compassion for individuals that has been with me through the rest of my life,” he said. “I really learned that people go through tough and sad things they can’t control that impact their abilities, feelings, and confidence.”

In early 2019, Sister Setaita Ata began her mission in the Joao Pessoa Mission in Northeast Brazil. Some months later, she suffered a complex knee injury and had to return to Australia for protracted medical treatment.
Still keen to complete her mission, Sister Ata was cleared for missionary service a year later and was transferred to the Melbourne Australia Mission. Then in October 2020, she suffered yet another health challenge: a series of debilitating migraines.
Along with her physical pain, she also felt responsible for hindering her companions from working to their full capacity. With this burden heavy on her mind, Sister Ata reluctantly spoke to her mission president, fearing that she would have to leave the mission field early.
Imagine her delight to learn that she could continue to serve the Lord—that her medical needs could be managed while she completed the rest of her mission. When President Houghton explained that she could be transferred to a service mission, Sister Ata accepted immediately, even before she knew how it would work. The very same day Elder and Sister Nicholls, service mission leaders overseeing Australia, met with her via Zoom to interview her and to explain the process.
As a service missionary, Sister Ata would move back home to continue with medical treatments, but she would have to keep up her regular missionary schedule of daily prayer, scripture study, and exercise. Elder and Sister Nicholls would prayerfully consider Sister Ata’s unique strengths to determine the best way for her to contribute to the gathering of Israel.
When they met again to work out the new terms of her missionary service, the Nicholls’ noted that Sister Ata is blessed with a beautiful talent for the visual arts, that she has a great sense of compassion and a gentle strength of character. Sister Ata expressed her desire to serve in the temple, and after some discussion, with prayer in their hearts, they sculpted a unique new assignment for her:
District leadership: Sister Ata would serve as a leader for all the service missionaries in her district.
Artistic service: She would create visual art pieces that inspire faith in Jesus Christ and in His gospel.
Temple service: She would work in the office at the Australia Melbourne Temple for an agreed amount of time every week.
“I knew I had a talent with art” Sister Ata says, “but I hadn’t used it for a long time. I now realise that Heavenly Father wants me to use art to serve others.”
Thinking about the health struggles that hindered her mission in the beginning, Sister Ata would not have chosen those challenges for herself, but she knows that she is now receiving abundant beauty for ashes.2
“If anything, my transfer into a service mission helped me [to] realise what Heavenly Father has given me,” she says. “A big part of my service mission is doing the Lord’s will and just enquiring of Him. It goes back to a lesson in Come, Follow Me: if you have a desire to serve, then enquire of the Lord and He will direct you to know what to do and how to serve.”

When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, the member of the bishopric who advised the deacons quorum came into our quorum meeting the Sunday before Thanksgiving and said, “I hope we won’t have one family of this quorum who won’t kneel down in family prayer and have a blessing on the food this Thanksgiving.” It was 1943, and our country was engaged in World War II. We discussed our need for a divine blessing for those who were in military service and for all the other difficulties we as a nation were facing. We also talked about the blessings we each enjoyed. Then we were again encouraged to have family prayer.
A heavy cloud settled on my heart. I didn’t know how my family could have family prayer. My father had a drinking problem, and my mother was not a member of the Church at that time. We had never had a prayer in our home, not even a blessing on the food. After quorum meeting I continued to consider the challenge, and finally concluded we would not be able to have prayer.
That evening at sacrament meeting the bishop stood up at the close of the meeting and said, “Brothers and sisters, Thursday is Thanksgiving. I hope we will not have one family in the ward that will not kneel in family prayer. We ought to express our gratitude for the great goodness of our Heavenly Father to us.” And then he enumerated some of our many blessings.
Again it seemed as if my soul were filled with an enormous gloom. I tried to figure out a way our family could have prayer. I thought about it Monday, and again on Tuesday, and on Wednesday. On Wednesday evening my father did not return home from work at the normal hour, and I knew from experience that, because it was payday, he was satisfying his thirst for alcohol. When he finally came at two in the morning quite an argument ensued. I lay in bed wondering how we could ever have prayer with that kind of contention in our home.
On Thanksgiving morning, we did not eat breakfast so we could eat more dinner. My four brothers and I went out to play with some neighbor boys. We decided to dig a hole and make a trench to it and cover it over as a clubhouse. We dug a deep hole, and with every shovelful of dirt I threw out of the hole I thought about family prayer for Thanksgiving. I wondered if I would have enough courage to suggest to my parents that we have a prayer, but I was afraid I would not. I wondered if my older brother, who has always been an ideal in my life, would suggest it, since he had been in the same sacrament meeting and had heard the bishop’s suggestion.
Finally, at about two-thirty in the afternoon, Mother told us to come get cleaned up for dinner. Then we sat down at the big round oak table. Dad sat down with us silently—he and Mother were not speaking to each other. As she brought in the platter with the beautiful golden brown turkey, my young heart was about to burst. I thought, Now please, won’t someone suggest we have a family prayer? I thought the words over and over, but they wouldn’t come out. I turned and looked at my older brother, praying desperately that he would suggest prayer. The bowls of delicious food were being passed around the table; plates were being filled; and time and opportunity were passing. I knew that if someone did not act immediately, it would be too late. Then suddenly, as always, everyone just started eating.
My heart sank, and despair filled my soul. Although I had worked up a great appetite, and Mother was a marvelous cook, I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to pray.
I resolved that day that no son or daughter of mine would ever want to pray and not be able to do it because of shyness or lack of courage. In our family we have family prayers, personal prayers, and blessings on every meal. As one who has known the contrast between families that do not pray and those that do, I know the value of prayer in the home and in the life of every child and youth in the Church. What a blessing it is for us to know that our private, individual prayers are heard and answered by a kind, wise, loving Heavenly Father, and that we can take our problems—no matter how simplistic they may be—to him in prayer!

From 1846 until 1869, when the railroad came to Utah, many members of the Church traveled across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. They came by wagons and on foot. From 1856 to 1860, many pushed or pulled small handcarts with their worldly possessions packed inside. The trip was hard and long, and the Saints who made it to the valley arrived tired, sick, and hungry. Some turned back, and, unfortunately, many died along the way.
In the general conference of October 1856, word came to Salt Lake City of the plight of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. They had started out late and had been struck by an early winter storm in the plains of Wyoming. President Brigham Young adjourned the conference and called able-bodied men to quickly gather supplies and organize a rescue party. Among the many valiant men who rode out of Salt Lake City to help the stranded Saints were young men by the names of C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, David P. Kimball, and Stephen W. Taylor. When they left, they could not have known what would be required of them or what contribution they would make to the building of the kingdom.
Arriving at the banks of the ice-filled Sweetwater River, the rescuers found the handcart companies bogged down in snow 46 centimeters deep. Men, women, and children among the group were too weak to cross the river. Their energy was spent; their strength was gone; and no doubt they felt the effects of frostbite, hypothermia, and extreme fatigue.
It was then that these strong young men made a sacrifice that few are ever called upon to make. They waded into the stream time and time again, carrying members of the company across the icy stream. Back and forth they crossed until every member was safe on the other side and on their way to shelter and finally into the Salt Lake Valley. These young men, by then cold, wet, and suffering themselves, joined the ranks of the heroes that day. They were not perfect—they were probably regular young men with faults and shortcomings, with their own problems, fears, and weaknesses. But they answered the call of the prophet—they were where the Lord could find them when they were needed to bless the lives of others.

A passage from the novel Les misérables illustrates how priesthood holders can treat those individuals viewed as strangers. Jean Valjean had just been released as a prisoner. Exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst, he arrives in a small town seeking a place to find food and shelter for the night. When the news of his arrival spreads, one by one all the inhabitants close their doors to him. Not the hotel, not the inn, not even the prison would invite him in. He is rejected, driven away, banished. Finally, with no strength left, he collapses at the front door of the town’s bishop.
The good clergyman is entirely aware of Valjean’s background, but he invites the vagabond into his home with these compassionate words:
“‘This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. … What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me [your name], you had one which I knew.’
“[Valjean] opened his eyes in astonishment.
“‘Really? You knew what I was called?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the Bishop, ‘you are called my brother.’”7

Once I acted in the same hasty manner. My wife, Marti, began having problems early in her pregnancy, and I instantly gave her a strongly worded blessing, promising her that her health would be protected and that the baby would live. As soon as I finished I knew that I had acted incorrectly that the unborn baby had actually died.

After fasting and praying, I requested that a fellow priesthood holder assist me to give her a second blessing. This time I carefully listened for the Lord’s guidance and found that I was unable to promise that the baby would live—but rather that Marti would be the mother of other healthy children. That baby did not survive, but we have four children in fulfillment of the blessing. Although in the second blessing I hadn’t said what I wanted to say, Marti and I both enjoyed the peace that comes from the comforting of the Spirit.

“I remember that story of Nephi,” Brother Grossenheider said in his raspy old voice. “I was a deacon once, you know. But I was 16 or 17 years old. I didn’t know they sent young bucks like yourselves to do this kind of work.” He squinted at the sky. “I haven’t been to church in 60 years. But I remember doing fast offerings a few times when I was a deacon.”
He paused. “I’d forgotten all about that.” He turned the envelope over and over in his hands and examined it. “That used to be an important job, fast offerings. The bishop took us around in a wagon, and we loaded that wagon with eggs and tomatoes and carrots and meat, sometimes a chicken or two. And we drove right over to the people who needed it and gave it to them. They surely were glad to get it. Nineteen thirty-six, it was. Lots of people out of work. The Depression, you know.”
He looked keenly at us over his glasses. “No, I guess you don’t. But it was an important job back then. I suspect there’s still people in need, eh.” He looked at us sharply. “You boys look mighty young to be doing important business like this.”
We didn’t answer.
He shook the envelope at us again. “Can’t fit a chicken in here. How does this work?”
Reggie and I exchanged glances. “You just put some money in it,” I said and shrugged again. “Whatever you can afford.”
“Yep,” Reggie said and put his hands in his pockets. “And then the bishop takes care of it from there.”
The old man nodded and thought for a moment. “So I’m Laban, eh?” he said and squinted his eyes at us.
We looked at the ground, embarrassed, and adjusted our feet.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket. “I don’t have much,” he said and slid the dollar into the envelope. Then he stood and slowly walked to us with the envelope, his cane supporting his left side.
“You’ll be back next month?” Brother Grossenheider asked, handing me the envelope.
“Yes, sir, we will,” I said.
He worked his way up the porch steps with his cane, groaning as his legs lifted his body to each level. At the top he turned around and paused as his hard breathing settled to a quieter mode. “You boys close that gate when you leave, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we did.
When we got to the street, Reggie said, “You know, I was thinking how the quorum needs a service project. Maybe next month we could ask Brother Grossenheider about helping with his yard. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go tell Brother Baron.” I turned and ran. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

“One of my fondest childhood memories is of my dog. Mother and Father bought me a collie, and I named him Scotty. Collies are smart, but this dog had an uncanny ability to know what time it was. Every morning Scotty walked with me through the park to the corner and left me there to cross the street on my way to school. He seemed to sense that that was as far as he should go. I live close to school and came home for lunch, and every day at noon Scotty was there to walk home with me and then back to the corner after lunch. At 3:30 he was there again to walk home from school with me. He was as faithful a companion as you would ever want to have. Scotty lived with us many, many years. He and I were inseparable. He was my protector, and ours was a great relationship. I was very sad when he died. I never had a brother, but it didn’t seem to matter because my best pal was Scotty. I hope that other children have pets that mean as much to them as Scotty did to me.”

It’s tough to be the only member or active member in your family. It seems as if the ward is full of ideal families who have family home evening, prayers, and scripture reading—all of which you want to have too. Meanwhile, you sit alone at church or tag along with another family to the ward party. It’s not that you want to change families, but you want your family to change, because you love them and want eternal blessings for them: you don’t want to sit alone in the congregation in the hereafter. Yet you get discouraged when their answer to your pleas is no. At times you might even feel sorry for yourself. But always you clutch on to the hope that someday they will join. Susan also had that hope.
Susan, 16, is a pretty and talented girl, pretty because she’s self-assured, and talented because she’s self-motivated. Rather than cautiously and worriedly dipping her toes into life, she plunges in head first, perhaps blue-lipped and sputtering at first, but having a good time anyway. After her baptism three years ago, Susan channeled her efforts toward home: she wanted her father baptized.
“I knew if my dad was baptized, Mom would come. So that was my number one goal,” Susan recalled. “I figured I could accomplish it by myself because I knew my parents kind of liked me, so I figured they’d want to do this,” she said with bold confidence. “I tried everything,” she added more humbly.
“I tried being forceful, but that didn’t work. Then I tried making them feel sorry for me. I told them that I had to sit in church by myself and sing by myself, and that everybody else was with their families. That didn’t work either.”
Although she sometimes felt discouraged, Susan would not give in. “After I learned more about missionary work,” she continued, “I tried a different approach: I invited them to come to my church meetings. I gave talks in sacrament meeting, and Mom would come. One time I sang in stake conference. I even got a new dress. Mom was going to come, but she got sick, so I went with no hope that either Mom or Dad would be there. We were singing our song when I looked at the back of the chapel and saw my dad coming through the door. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t because I had to sing.
“Another time that Dad came with me was at the ward father-daughter date. While we were sitting there eating our breakfast, I looked at Dad, and the thought came to me that someday he was going to be baptized. Right in the middle of bacon and eggs, I knew it, and I wanted it more than anything.”
But the baptism didn’t happen overnight, and Susan learned more about missionary work. “I knew I couldn’t do it by myself,” she admitted.
One day while walking home from school, Susan saw two parked bikes on her street and two missionaries knocking on someone’s door. The missionaries had been to Susan’s home five times before. Usually they had just come once. But Susan wouldn’t let that block her new excitement. Maybe this time her father was ready.
“I had hoped the missionaries wouldn’t get in to the house they were knocking at because I wanted to talk to them. They didn’t, so I told them about Dad. They told me that they had prayed that morning about where they should tract and were sent to my street. I think the Lord knew that my dad was ready to hear the gospel. Whether anyone else knew it or not, the Lord knew it, and that is all that matters.”
But all wasn’t perfect and easy. There were times when Susan got very discouraged, wondering why things weren’t happening faster. “Then I would have to remember that getting ready for baptism was a slow process for me also. I would look around and see other young people who sat by themselves in church or whose circumstances seemed worse than mine, but they didn’t seem discouraged. Their example helped me to quit feeling sorry for myself.”
Meanwhile, realizing that her example was crucial, Susan also reaped one of the blessings of missionary work—that of preparing and growing herself.
“I had to be as ready as Dad was. I had to do a lot of praying, some fasting, and even some repenting. I realized that missionary work is love and service, that it is telling your mom and dad you love them even if your little brother and sister are listening. I also tried to follow the missionaries’ example of showing love for Dad. I would try not to scream and holler at my family,” she admitted.
The missionaries came to Susan’s home seven times over a five-month period. Each time she could tell that her father was getting closer.
“One night in April I went for my birthday interview with the bishop. Dad came to pick me up after.” Susan continued mischievously, “I hid down the hall so Dad would have to come in and find me. When he came into the church, he asked if he could see the bishop alone. He was in there for about 30 minutes, and I was out in the foyer wondering what in the world they were talking about!
“On the way home I was dying to hear what went on. All of a sudden Dad said, ‘Well, Susie, I guess I’ll get baptized.’ I just sat there. I wanted to cry, but I knew I shouldn’t because Dad doesn’t like us to get emotional. All I said was, ‘Oh Dad, I think that’s so neat.’ That was kind of a dumb thing to say, but what do you say when your biggest goal has just been realized?”
Susan’s father was baptized on April 14th.
But Susan realizes that her missionary work isn’t over yet. “I still get impatient and discouraged at times, but I’ve come to realize that becoming a celestial family is a step-by-step process. And I must understand my parents. I try to do my part. When I’m spiritually down, it shows in the home. So I try to keep my testimony strong by doing what I’m supposed to do; I feel better when I do.”
Susan has learned a lot about missionary work, mostly through trial and error. She has learned that timing and responses are different for different people, that force and pity aren’t successful, that true service is far more important than lip service, that the Spirit must touch the person’s life, and that desire—well, as for desire, Susan isn’t lacking; she keeps on trying, regardless of mistakes, to boldly live the gospel, although it’s sometimes awkward, frightening, and even downright hard.
But positively, Susan summed it up: “My dad wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Church 20 years ago, but after going through a lot of visits from our home teachers, and after many different sets of missionaries, and after he had a daughter who wouldn’t leave him alone—my dad is a member of the Church.”
And when asked about her recent goals, Susan enthusiastically replied, “To have family home evening, family prayer, and to be sealed in the temple to my family—that’s my number one goal now!”

During one conference in Poland in 2010, I met Radu. He was from Romania. We talked briefly, but he soon left on his mission and our paths didn’t cross again until another YSA conference three years later. There we had the time to actually get to know each other a little bit, but I was leaving on my own mission a month later. Radu wished me all the best and said, “Let’s keep in touch.” I didn’t really think he would, but he did. He wrote me letters throughout my mission. There was nothing romantic in his letters, but he became one of my dear friends. And I loved the respect he had for me and for missionary work in general.
When I returned home, Radu and I were both very excited to properly get to know each other—we could finally make it happen after so many years! We picked an affordable place for both of us to meet (which was Belgium at the time) to spend some time together. We talked and talked and talked some more.
We didn’t put any pressure on our relationship. We focused on building a friendship and simply getting to know each other. We always had so much fun together, but we also had very meaningful and profound discussions about the things that matter most. Over the next while, our friendship grew stronger. We Skyped almost daily, and over time we started saying nightly prayers together. We eventually started visiting each other’s country every few months.
After a while, I started feeling anxious because I felt like our friendship was developing into something more. But he was from Romania! I didn’t want to get into a long-distance relationship because a relationship could lead to marriage, which meant one of us would have to move to another country. I didn’t feel ready for that.
One day when I was feeling particularly anxious, Radu reminded me of a simple yet powerful principle. He said, “Let’s pray about our relationship and see how we feel.”
I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought about praying about our relationship earlier. But that was the best advice I received at the time. So I prayed for guidance.
I didn’t expect any specific answer at that moment, but I decided to keep moving forward with getting to know Radu. I hoped Heavenly Father would give me a warning if our relationship wasn’t something I should continue. But over time, the answer I had asked for did come. I had conversations about Radu with my family and friends, and in every conversation I was reassured I was going in the right direction.
Soon I had a funny realization. After having yet another great Skype call with Radu one night, I said to myself, “He really is the best friend I’ve ever had. I want to be his friend forever!” That’s when it hit me. Immediately a voice in my head replied to my own comment, “Well, then you need to marry him!” I knew that Heavenly Father was smiling upon my relationship with Radu. I could see that he was my best friend and that we could be happy together.
So I moved to Romania and married Radu. Never in my mind had I thought I would end up in Romania. But we’ve been married for four years now, and we have a wonderful daughter, Amelia.
I know what you’re thinking—I’m just another one of those young single adults who met my “soul mate” at a YSA conference and things worked out effortlessly. But that’s not true. The reason I tell you this story is for you to stop pressuring yourself to find your eternal companion and instead let God guide you.
Did I go to those YSA conferences to find a husband? No.
Did I think that one of the guys I met there would become my husband? Not really.
Instead I took the pressure off finding whom I wanted to marry and I simply went to these conferences to connect with others and build friendships—which was exactly what Radu and I did in the beginning.
The pressure to find our eternal companion as soon as possible can be so real sometimes. But there is no time limit on eternal relationships. There’s no need to stress over it. Life isn’t about getting married, but rather becoming the best version of ourselves and letting God work His plan in our lives. Yes, we should all go out there, show up, meet people, make new friends, and get out of our comfort zones. But we should do so with the thought, “I’m going to have fun and meet some great friends” rather than “I have to keep my eyes open to find ‘the one’ or I’m going to mess up my entire life plan!”
One thing Radu told me when we were engaged was that although he usually felt a bit stressed around girls he liked, he didn’t feel that way with me. He said because of our friendship, he always felt relaxed and like he could always be himself.
So look for good people to surround yourself with and enjoy where you are now. Because honestly, when you stop stressing out and just choose to build friendships and learn to love who and where you are, that’s when life becomes much more enjoyable.
Radu and I aren’t perfect. We weren’t really looking for the “perfect” person—we were just being ourselves. What I’ve observed is that who you truly are and how you live is what is most attractive to others. When you strive to follow Jesus Christ, you will attract others who are doing their best to follow Him as well.
I’ve also learned that as we become better and have full faith that God is in charge, we will invite His hand into our lives—and when we recognize His hand, there is no need to fear for the future. Remember what the Lord taught Nephi: “And I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my commandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led” (1 Nephi 17:13).
We weren’t meant to put constant pressure on ourselves for not meeting certain expectations or milestones in our own time frame. Truly, Heavenly Father’s time is different than ours—it’s eternal. He has a plan for us to fulfill every blessing we seek. And when we do our best to trust His plan and find fulfillment in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in, that’s when we will find true happiness. His plan will always be better than the one we have for ourselves.

One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.

Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”

In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.

Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”

Valerie and Mama walked to the market. Valerie saw colorful fruits and silver fish. She smelled the beautiful flowers for sale. Valerie looked around. Where was Mama? Valerie was scared. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She whispered, “Heavenly Father, please help me find Mama.” Valerie waited. Then she heard someone calling her name. There was Mama! “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Valerie whispered. Valerie was happy she could pray when she needed help.

“My father was a very precise, strong-willed person who believed in hard work. Pride and service were his trademarks. All of us children earned spending money by doing assigned jobs. I can’t remember ever asking my father for a new bike, a baseball glove, or some candy when he didn’t say, ‘Fine. Let’s work out a plan so that you can earn it.’ I grew up believing in the philosophy of work. Sometimes I have a difficult time understanding young people today who expect everything to be given to them without their earning it.
“When I was a boy, one of my assignments was to keep the front and back lawns mowed and trimmed. One hot summer day when I was pulling weeds along the back fence, my father came out into the yard to see how I was doing. He said, ‘Well, it’s not quite up to standard, Paul.’
“I answered, ‘Who cares? Nobody’s going to see it back here anyway.’
“My father responded, ‘The important thing, Paul, is that you and I know it’s here, and that’s all that matters.’
“I have never forgotten that lesson.”

I’ve always been drawn to the scriptures, largely because of my home environment. I could feel my parents’ love of the scriptures. When I was twelve or thirteen years old, I asked for a Bible for Christmas. I still have that Bible, and it is a treasured possession. Soon after receiving it, I began reading Genesis. It took me a long time to read the Bible from cover to cover, but I really learned to love the Old Testament as well as the New Testament. It taught me a lot of things.

I am grateful that I was privileged to raise my hand to the square and covenant in my mind and in my soul this day, as the Spirit of the Lord was poured out upon this great congregation, that I would sustain and uphold and take the counsel of these great men whom God has called to preside over his kingdom, the First Presidency of the Church—President Harold B. Lee, a seer, a man filled with the spirit of revelation and of wisdom who is on intimate terms with that Lord whose we are; President N. Eldon Tanner, the embodiment of integrity and the basic Christian virtues, who loves the Lord and keeps his commandments; President Marion G. Romney, a spiritual giant, a preacher of righteousness, who knows the Lord and teaches his doctrine. President Romney and I are members of the same family. After I had been told of my call, he said to me, “I think Granddad Redd [Lemuel Hardison Redd] will be glad to receive us.” I said, “I am going to live so I will be worthy to go where he is.” He said, “So am I.”

This tenderness of heart allowed Brother Quasie to be touched by the Spirit when he first heard about the Church. In 1986, when he was 16 years old, the Church was new in the Cape Coast area. One night, a friend invited him to see a movie in the town open market. It was a movie about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the Book of Mormon. After watching the movie, he felt that it was true and wanted to learn more but wasn’t sure how to get more information. Then he met Elder and Sister Nelson from the United States. They taught him the gospel by having Anthony proselyte with them and after a week, they asked him if would like to be baptized. “I decided to be baptized without consulting my parents, who were Catholic. I took that decision independently”, he said.
In those days, baptisms in Cape Coast were done in the ocean. On 30 April 1986, Brother Quasie was baptized on the same beach that the first Ghanaian members had been baptized a few years earlier.