Gospel Story Finder

Finally Wilford arrived in Memphis. Tired and dirty, he went to an inn.
“I am a minister, traveling without purse or scrip,” he told the innkeeper. “I would be happy to preach in exchange for food and a bed.”
“You don’t look like a minister,” the innkeeper said. “This man says he’s a preacher!” he called out to the men nearby. The men laughed and gathered around. Wilford looked at them. He had never preached to so many people. They looked more frightening than a bear or a pack of wolves.
Wilford said a silent prayer. The Lord had protected and provided for him and healed his knee. Surely he could teach these men. “Do you want to hear what the Lord has to tell you?” he asked.
“Bring it on, preacher!” they jeered. Wilford knelt and prayed aloud. He asked the Lord to tell him what those men needed to hear. Then he gave a talk and told the men to repent. When he finished speaking, the room was quiet.
“You’ve earned a bath, a meal, and a bed, preacher,” the innkeeper said. “Anytime you’re in Memphis, you can stay here, but that’s enough preaching.”
Wilford knew he had taught with the Spirit. He had arrived in his mission field prepared.

I met my wife, Ann, when we were both singing in choirs at the University of Utah. For a short time after we married, we lived in the same area where I grew up. We had very little money. Sometimes when we went on a date, Ann popped a bag of popcorn and we drove downtown in our old car to a movie theater. We didn’t have enough money to buy tickets, so we sat in our car and ate our popcorn while we watched the interesting people going into the theater! While I was getting my law degree, I drove an oil truck to earn money to support our family. Our first three children—twins and another daughter—were born in one year!

Robert L. Marchant told the story about when he was a young missionary in the Mexican Mission. He and his companion were new in the mission field and were not known by all of the missionaries. One day they were in their missionary quarters when sister missionaries came by tracting. The young elders, without disclosing their identity, invited the sister missionaries in and began a gospel conversation with them. The sisters did not recognize the elders. The sisters were not well versed in the doctrine, and the two elders who were hiding their identity soon had them tied in doctrinal knots. With a feeling of frustration, one of the sister missionaries began to cry, and as she did, she bore her testimony simply, powerfully, and beautifully. Elder Marchant and his companion were stricken in their hearts and were ashamed of themselves because the simple testimony of these sister missionaries came through and penetrated their hearts.

When my friend Kamryn was 10 years old, she contracted a rare but permanent eye disease that infected the cornea of her right eye.4 At times, when the associated pain became constant and unbearable, Kamryn could not endure any light. Her parents, worried she might go blind, would darken the windows of her bedroom to try to keep her comfortable. Kamryn’s mother, Janna, recalled:
“About four months after her diagnosis, I walked into her dark room. As my eyes adjusted, I could see Kamryn curled in the fetal position on her bed. She was in so much pain that she didn’t move or even cry when she heard me come in. She just lay there with both eyes swollen shut.
“I knelt by her bed, took her hand in mine, and squeezed it three times—our secret code for ‘I love you.’ Normally she would squeeze back four times for ‘I love you more,’ but she didn’t respond. She was in too much pain. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I looked at my once-vibrant 10-year-old crumpled in a ball. My heart broke.”
Janna said a silent, heartfelt prayer.
“I told Heavenly Father that I knew He knew best, but I prayed, ‘Please help her.’ As I sat there praying, a wave of warmth washed over me. I felt calm as a thought about the Savior Jesus Christ came to my mind: ‘He is the light. Find Him in the dark.’”
Janna lifted her head and whispered in Kamryn’s ear: “You have to find the Savior in the dark.”
Afterward, Kamryn fell asleep listening to hymns and scriptures on the Church library app.
When her eye infection flares up, Kamryn finds the Savior in the dark.
Photograph courtesy of Kamryn’s family
Kamryn’s disease lies dormant most of the time, but when she suffers flare-ups, Janna and her husband, Darrin, comfort her and again put blankets over her bedroom windows. During those painful times, Kamryn says, “I’m just finding the Savior in the dark.”5

At the end of 1988 I was enjoying my calling as second counselor in the bishopric in Ciudad Ojeda, Venezuela, but I had a pressing concern. I had been a member of the Church for over a year, but I had not yet received my temple blessings.
One day a friend from the nearby city of Maracaibo came to visit. Before long we had struck up a conversation about spiritual matters.
Suddenly my friend was prompted to say, “Brother Troconiz, I believe that Heavenly Father wants you to go to the temple and receive the eternal blessings He has promised His children.”
“I cannot go,” I replied. “There is no temple here in Venezuela, and a trip out of the country is very expensive. I don’t have the money.”
He thought this over for a moment and then said, “If you really want to go to the temple, Heavenly Father will provide a way for you to go.”
I replied, “If Heavenly Father will provide that kind of help, I will go!”
From that moment on I was filled with faith and hope that I would be able to go to the temple. The next day I called the stake leaders and was told that a trip had been scheduled to the Lima Peru Temple, the closest temple at the time, in January. The trip would cost 16,500 bolivares and would cover the plane ticket, food, and lodging.
The days went by, and the deadline for turning in the money was fast approaching. I tried to earn the money, but I was no closer to having what I needed. My faith never faltered, however. I was that sure that Heavenly Father would provide a way.
Not long before the deadline, I received a telephone call from a former employer. The person calling addressed me by name and said, “You were employed by this petroleum company five years ago. When you left, your benefits were not calculated correctly. Please come in and pick up the check we have issued in your name.”
I went to get the check the next day. When I looked at the amount, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The check had been issued for exactly 16,500 bolivares!
On January 17, 1989, I entered the Lima Peru Temple and received my temple endowment. My friend was right. Heavenly Father had provided a way for me to go to the temple. As Nephi declared, “The Lord is able to do all things … for the children of men, if it so be that they exercise faith in him” (1 Nephi 7:12).

Jane Allgood Bailey wasn’t about to give up the light of her new religion. She would not be defeated by the cold, starvation, and sickness on the plains of Wyoming. She grasped hands with other women to wade through icy streams. They came out on the other side with their clothes frozen to them, but they carried on. On the trek, her 18-year-old son, Langley, became ill and was so weak that he had to be pushed on the handcart much of the way. One morning he rose from his bed on the cart, which had frozen canvas for bedding, and he went ahead of the company and lay down under a sagebrush to die, feeling that he was too much of a burden. When his faithful mother found him, she scolded him and told him: “Get on the cart. I’ll help you, but you’re not giving up!” Then the family moved on with what was left of the Martin-Willey Handcart Company.

Upon arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Langley was still alive! He was 18 years old and he weighed only 60 pounds. That 18-year-old boy was my great-grandfather. I’m grateful for the preservation of his young life and for the fortitude and stamina of his noble, courageous mother, who was a light to her family and kept her son going in spite of deathly odds.

The summer I was 16 we lived in Las Vegas. I was hoping to spend the three months of vacation spending time with friends, but my dad had other ideas. If I wanted to date or put gas in the car, I needed a job. So, along with a couple of buddies, I applied for a summer position with the city.
Both my friends got the jobs they’d requested—one as a lifeguard, the other as a youth counselor at an elementary school. But I was offered a position as a recreational assistant for handicapped children. Like many teenagers, I was uncomfortable around disabled kids. But when I learned that the job paid $1.75 an hour more than my friends were making, I decided to give it a try. I’m glad I did. Besides learning patience and unconditional love, I was taught an especially important lesson by a blind boy named Russell.
Because of his disability, Russell needed a lot of help. And for some reason, he selected me as his helper of choice. Roller skating, bowling, hiking, whatever we did, he wanted me there guiding him through it. Except when we swam. Russell was terrified of water. He spent every swim day seated against a wall by the pool, refusing to go in.
One afternoon I hopped out of the water and slid over next to him. He was alone and seemed to be contemplating.
“What are you thinking about, Russell?” I inquired.
He paused, then asked, “Bryant, do you know how to swim?”
I considered myself a pretty good swimmer, so I exaggerated, “Russell, I’m the greatest swimmer in the world.”
As soon as I had responded, Russell leaped to his feet and half jumped, half fell into the diving end of the pool. Startled, I dove in after him, pulled him out, and laid him on the concrete. He was coughing, but luckily he was okay.
I was upset. “Russell,” I yelled, “why did you do that?”
“You said you could swim,” he replied, choking. “I believed you. I knew you would come in after me.”
Now, I’m not saying that was a smart thing to do. But I learned a significant lesson that afternoon. Russell had faith. He had asked, believed, and acted. He knew I wouldn’t let him drown.

Talk about anticipation! Thinking about the ward social Friday night was what kept me going all week. Other girls in the ward were sure to be there, and Church is the only place I can relax and not feel different.
Mom and I left early to pick up Sister Grogan. We found her balancing her crying three-year-old on one knee while feeding the baby in his high chair. Her house was a mess, and she was too.
“I guess I’m not going,” she told Mom. “The babies are fussy, and I can’t handle that tonight.”
Mom picked up the crying toddler. “You need this night out,” she told Sister Grogan. “I’ll stay with your children, and you drive on to the social with Trisha.”
Sister Grogan brightened up. “I can’t let you do that,” she protested weakly.
Mom said “Nonsense,” and started to push her toward the bedroom.
I looked at Mom, and she looked as tired as Sister Grogan did. They both needed this night out.
I took the toddler from Mom. “You’re going to the ward social, too,” I said. “I’m staying with the children.”
“I can’t let you do that.” But she looked as hopeful as Sister Grogan had.
“No problem,” I said. “Go have fun.”
I may not have had fun tonight, but I sure feel good inside!

While accompanying President Dieter F. Uchtdorf to Eastern Europe last year, I marveled at the faith and courage of the Saints. One priesthood leader in Ukraine told us of being called to the branch presidency in the spring of 1994, only six months after his baptism. This would require becoming public with his faith and helping to register the Church in the city of Dnipropetrovs’k. It was at a time of uncertainty in Ukraine, and openly showing faith in Christ and in the restored gospel could mean difficulty, including the possibility of losing his job as a pilot.

The priesthood leader told us, “I prayed and prayed. I had a testimony, and I had made a covenant. I knew what the Lord wanted me to do.” Courageously, he and his wife went forward with faith, unashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I sat next to my dad in a strange new place. This church lacked crucifixes and gilded paint. There was no altar. The walls were simple, and the stand was a wooden podium that could not be considered ornate in any way. The “minister” wore a business suit instead of the robes I was used to. No statues, no candles, no procession.
I was an outsider in this church and, as my dad insisted, we were going to stay the entire three hours. This was the first time I had been to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My dad was Catholic too, but he had been attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for a year. At first I felt alone and out of place sitting in the simple meeting hall, but things quickly changed. Despite the fact that my presence had not been announced, many people welcomed me and introduced themselves.
I stayed with my dad during sacrament meeting. When Sunday School began, I went to the adult class because I wasn’t sure how I would fit in with the youth. The stake president, who had become friends with my dad, was also my allergy doctor, and he had a son who was about my age. He wanted me to go with his son to Sunday School, but I was content staying with Dad the entire three hours.
Ten minutes after Sunday School began, Brent Williams, a good friend of mine who started Catholic school with me that year, walked in and recruited me to go to the youth Sunday School class. I was shocked. I just kept thinking, “No, Brent’s not a Mormon. That’s impossible.” I guess I had assumed I would never meet a Mormon outside of a church building. It’s as if I thought they couldn’t go to public schools or Catholic schools with other kids.
Now I had a best friend who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Brent introduced me to everyone in Sunday School and, within 10 minutes, I had 10 best friends.

After my grandmother died, my cousin moved in with me and became my guardian. My cousins are my best friends, but the change was still really hard. I had to learn to do all the chores that my grandmother used to do. I had to wake myself up for school and take care of the house.
My bishop had always talked about self-reliance, so I searched about it in Gospel Library. It helped me learn to stand on my own two feet.

This story took place in the USA.
Maddie put her dance shoes into her bag. Dance class had just ended, and it was time for lunch. She met her friend Ashlynn at the door.
“What did you think of that new song?” Maddie asked as they walked to the lunchroom. Their class was going to dance to a new song for their final show of the year, in front of all their families.
“It’s OK, I guess,” Ashlynn said.
“Some of the words seemed kind of weird,” Maddie said. “I don’t like it very much.”
Maddie thought she’d be embarrassed if her parents and little sister watched her dance to music like that.
Ashlynn shrugged. “My brother really likes it. He plays it a lot.”
“Oh.” Maddie looked down.
All day the song played in Maddie’s head. She didn’t like how it made her feel. But Ashlynn didn’t think it was bad. Maybe it was OK.
Maddie remembered a home evening lesson her family had about music. Mom said that good music can help people feel the Holy Ghost. And music with bad words could make it harder for them to feel the Spirit. Maybe the Holy Ghost was telling her the song wasn’t good.
She frowned. The song didn’t have any swear words. Was it still bad?
When Maddie got home, she told Mom about the song.
“Can you look at the words and see what you think?” Maddie asked.
Together they found the words of the song online. Maddie watched Mom’s face as she read.
Mom frowned. “I can understand why you don’t like it,” she said. “It doesn’t have swear words, but I don’t think it’s a good song for fourth-graders to dance to. I’ll ask your dance teacher about it tomorrow.”
The next day, Mom talked to her teacher, Mrs. Slater, at school. Maddie was worried that Mrs. Slater would be upset, but she wasn’t! She said she understood why Mom didn’t like the song. But she said it was too late to change the music.
“Maddie doesn’t have to dance to the song,” Mrs. Slater said. “She can sit out for that dance.”
Sitting out by herself sounded scary. Maddie decided to ask Ashylnn to sit out with her. Ashlynn said yes!
When the day of the dance show came, Maddie met Ashlynn in the hall.
“I’m glad you’re going to sit out with me!” Maddie said with a smile.
But Ashlynn didn’t smile back. “I’m not going to sit out after all,” she said, adjusting her skirt. “I’m going to dance with everyone else.”
Maddie felt sick inside. She didn’t want to sit out alone. But she still didn’t feel good about the song.
Maddie lined up with the others and danced to the first song. Then it was time for the next song.
Her heart pounded. She said a little prayer in her heart. Then she took a deep breath, walked to the side of the stage, and sat down.
Once she was off the stage, Maddie felt much better. She watched her classmates dance. When they were done, she clapped. She felt happy and warm.
Maddie smiled. It was scary to sit out all by herself, but she felt good that she had listened to the Holy Ghost.
Illustration by Susana Gurrea

The young women of the Stevensville Montana Stake wanted to do more than just camp at their last girls’ camp; they also wanted to do some good. Reaching out to needy children around the world, the young women put together 72 hygiene kits and gathered around 250 toys and stuffed animals to be distributed by LDS Humanitarian Services.
This project helped the girls realize how blessed they are to have what they have. Many talked of wanting to do more and said they were grateful that the Church has the ability to send these items to people who are truly in need.

Clay said quietly, “I ran the marathon today. Twenty-six-point-two miles. It was a killer.”
“You should have told us!” Mom said. “We would have come to cheer you on.”
He looked at me. “I thought about what you said about praying. The whole time I was praying that God could help me understand why Ryan died and help me know that he wasn’t gone for good. Near the end of the race, I was the only one in front. I don’t even remember passing the other runners. It was like Ryan was running next to me, saying, ‘Go for it. You’re gonna win. Listen to your feet; keep up the rhythm; keep up the pace.’ And I won. I think I understand now. Ryan was like a sprinter. His race was quick, over in a few seconds. The rest of us are going for distance, though we don’t know when our own race will end.” His eyes filled, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand.
His voice dropped. “Ryan’s alive. His spirit is still alive.”
Elder Martin turned to Clay. “You’re right. You will see him again and be with him.” His eyes shone.
Elder Weiss said, “Hey, Clay, you’ve inspired us to start running every morning. What if we come by here on our way and pick you up? We can do some running together, and you can give us some pointers.”
Clay nodded. His breathing had slowed. He looked more healthy and alive than he’d looked for a long time. “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.”
I watched the elders pedal away, smiling and talking like brothers, their long coats flapping behind them, ears already red with cold. Even though they wore dark suits, they seemed as bright as our flowers against the dull sky. Part of the pattern was becoming clear to me, and I knew those two young men would be connected to our family forever.

Jeffrey Holland’s father, Frank, was a different kind of pioneer. An Irish convert to the Church, Frank ended his formal schooling with the seventh grade. But he diligently sought education on his own, becoming a public accountant and civic leader in St. George. Some who came under his influence still speak of the impact of his love of the Book of Mormon and still remember his Sunday School lessons. He was the kind of father who helped organize Little League baseball in the community after his son lamented that there were no baseball teams for boys his age.

Last year during a trip to Europe, I visited my old place of employment, Lufthansa German Airlines at the Frankfurt Airport.
To train their pilots, they operate several sophisticated full-motion flight simulators that can re-create almost any normal and emergency flight condition. During my many years as an airline captain, I had to pass a check flight in the flight simulator every six months to keep my pilot license current. I remember well those intense moments of stress and anxiety but also the feeling of accomplishment after passing the test. I was young then and loved the challenge.
During my visit, one of the Lufthansa executives asked if I would like to give it a try again and fly the 747 simulator one more time.
Before I had time to fully process the question, I heard a voice—sounding astonishingly like my own—saying, “Yes, I would like that very much.”
As soon as I said the words, a tsunami of thoughts flooded my mind. It had been a long time since I flew a 747. Back then I was young and a confident captain. Now I had a reputation to live up to as a former chief pilot. Would I embarrass myself in front of these professionals?
But it was too late to back down, so I settled into the captain’s seat, placed my hands on the familiar and beloved controls, and felt, once again, the exhilaration of flight as the big jet roared down the runway and took off into the wild blue yonder.
I’m happy to say that the flight was successful, the aircraft remained intact, and so did my self-image.
Even so, the experience was humbling for me. When I was in my prime, flying had become almost second nature. Now it took all my concentration to do the basic things.
My experience in the flight simulator was an important reminder that getting good at anything—whether it be flying, rowing, sowing, or knowing—takes consistent self-discipline and practice.

Setting time aside every week to rest, regroup and focus on my relationship with God is not something I’ve every found easy. In fact, for many years, the Sabbath was the busiest day of my week.
In 2023, my tendency to cram as much into my schedule as I could took its toll. I hit burn out hard. Trying to juggle a job with full-time study, two busy and responsible church callings, family, turbulent mental health, exercise, as well as a busy social schedule became an impossibility.
With a hitherto unprecedented dip in mental health, with pretty dangerous lows, I pushed on, trying my best to keep on top of everything I’d been doing. Because of my lack of energy, low mood and a distinct lack of motivation, things started to slip. Though I was still going full steam ahead, none of my responsibilities were carried out effectively or efficiently. So, shame heaped on top of the pile.
I prayed constantly for more energy, for things to turn around, and received no miraculous boost. Instead, I received the same response: “Keep the Sabbath holy.” I was irritated. With the attitude of a spoiled child, I took this to mean God wasn’t answering my prayer, and wasn’t offering help.
Instead of heeding the instructions given, I dug my heels in and resorted to working twice as hard, despite experiencing less than half the productivity I could usually expect.
Before long, it was obvious to a lot of people I was struggling to keep on top of everything. People at work were noticing something was up, and someone close to me, whose advice I value greatly, also suggested to me that I keep the Sabbath holy.
Embarrassingly, I was reluctant at first because I found it so counterintuitive to take a day to rest and focus on the Lord when there was so much going on. Nevertheless, after feeling a disconnect with the Spirit, especially on the Sabbath, I started following the promptings.
Almost immediately, I felt rejuvenated, my mind clearer to organise and plan my time. Intentionally keeping my focus on the Lord and His gospel on the holy day brought great blessings, temporal and spiritual.
Heavenly Father blessed me with an increase in energy, a strengthened ability to effectively manage my time, and a deepened relationship with Him and Jesus Christ. The Lord gave me a much greater appreciation for the blessing of the Sabbath, and a testimony of the words spoken by the Saviour Himself: “The Sabbath was made for man” (Mark 2:27).

Being brought up in the Church, I was always told by my friends and family that this was the true church. But I never really bothered to find out for myself. I just assumed it was true because everything pretty much made sense and my parents seemed so sincere about it.
I had always planned to go on a mission, partially because I felt I was expected to and also because I felt I needed to. After I received my mission call, I really began to wonder about the truthfulness of the Church. But I had never prayed about it, and now that I was close to going on my mission I didn’t have the courage to ask.
While at the Missionary Training Center, I was in high spirits. I was enjoying the knowledge I was gaining. Still, in the back of my mind the thought still lingered. I needed to know for myself if the gospel was true, but I continued to push the thought away.
One day my teacher finished giving a great lesson. He then bore his testimony and challenged each of us to find out for ourselves that the Church was true. I felt the lesson was aimed specifically at me. That night, I asked Heavenly Father to help me know that what I was doing was right and that the Church was true.
I finished my prayer and waited and waited. Feeling nothing, I became discouraged and went to bed.
A couple of days later, I was studying the scriptures when I read: “Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good; and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:1–3).
These verses helped me understand the need for patience. A few days later at a fireside, we were talking about our prophets. I’ll never forget that night. It was the first time I had ever felt the Spirit so strongly. Toward the conclusion, we stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” I was overwhelmed. I knew the Holy Ghost was testifying to me; I also knew that the current prophet was leading the true church.
I recently returned from serving in the Tucson Arizona Mission. I am grateful for that special day in the MTC. I learned it’s never too late or too early to pray about the truth. The Lord always answers our prayers.

“Cassie,” Dad called, “will you please see if the morning newspaper is here yet?”
Cassie walked slowly to the front door. She stopped a moment, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Please, please let there be a story about a circus or a football game on the front page.”
She opened the door and glanced at the paper resting on the porch. “War Escalates” shouted the big, black headline. She quickly rolled up the paper with the headline out of sight and ran to give it to Dad.
That morning was the time for Cassie’s class to talk about current events. All of the students brought newspaper articles to share. Jason brought the story about the war. Miranda brought an article about a hurricane. Cassie’s clipping was about a dog who could water-ski. Cassie’s teacher reminded her that a story about a dog was not exactly a current event, but Cassie didn’t care. The entire current events bulletin board was covered with stories about wars, disasters, and crime. Cassie pinned her cute picture of the dog where she could see it easily.
Cassie was glad to get home after school. She did her homework and helped Mom with the dinner dishes. Dad invited her to tell him about her day while he watched the news on television. Just as she started telling her dad about the funny article she had taken for current events, the television showed pictures of children who had been hurt when a bomb exploded.
Cassie ran to her room and closed the door. She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with pillows. Her throat was tight, and her stomach felt sick. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
After a long time, Cassie heard a soft knock on the door. “May I come in, Cassie?” her mother asked quietly.
“I guess so.” Cassie’s voice was muffled by her pillows.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad day at school?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly,” Cassie mumbled through the pillows.
“Would you like to talk about whatever is bothering you? I can come back later if you want to be alone for now.” Mom sat down on the edge of the bed.
Cassie rolled over onto her back, and the pillows slid to the floor. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then finally said, “Mom, does Heavenly Father love everyone the same?”
“Yes, He does.”
“Then why are there wars where people get hurt and die? Why are so many people in the world unhappy? If He loves us, why doesn’t He stop the fighting?”
Mom thought for a moment. “Those are good questions. Let’s see if we can find some answers. Do you remember a few months ago in family home evening when we talked about our life before we came to earth? We learned about an important meeting at which Heavenly Father presented His plan for us.”
“I remember,” said Cassie. “Satan wanted to make everyone choose the right so we would all return to Heavenly Father.”
“That’s right,” Mom replied. “Why wasn’t his idea a good one?”
“Because we would lose the right to choose for ourselves.”
“Yes—Heavenly Father knew it was better to let us choose to follow His commandments, even though He knew some of us would choose to disobey and many would not be able to return to live with Him. He also knew that some people would choose to hurt other people, even good people and children. He knew Satan would work very hard to get us to hurt each other, because Satan doesn’t want us to live with Heavenly Father again. He wants us to be unhappy, like he is.”
Cassie rolled onto her side and looked at her mother. She had an important question to ask, but she was afraid to hear the answer. “What if a war starts here? I’m afraid someone in our family will be hurt or killed.”
Mom gathered Cassie into her arms. “Oh, I wish I could promise you that nothing bad will ever happen to any of us. There may never be a war here in our town, but as the world turns more and more to wickedness, there will be more dangers and trials for us to face.”
Cassie began to cry again. “I can’t stand it, Mom. Everywhere I look people are sad. I wish I had been born some other time.”
“There has always been suffering in the world, Cassie, but I think I know how you feel—sometimes it’s overwhelming. Did you know Heavenly Father saved you to come to earth now? You were strong in the premortal existence, and you had just the qualities Heavenly Father knew you would need to be able to handle temptations and hardship.”
“Really?” Cassie thought for a moment. “Then why am I so afraid?”
“Because the world is a scary place for an 11-year-old. But I have several ideas I think will help you. First, when you say your prayers, ask for peace to come to your heart. The Holy Ghost is a comforter, and He can help you feel better. He can’t take away the bad things that happen, but He can make it easier for you to deal with such problems. Second, perhaps you could ask Dad for a father’s blessing.”
Cassie remembered how much better she had felt after her father’s blessing just before school started. “That’s a good idea. I always feel better after a blessing.”
“Me, too,” Mom said. “Another thing I think will help is to try to look for good things. Heavenly Father wants us to be happy. Even though we live in a wicked time, we can still find joy. You can enjoy looking at a beautiful sunset or playing with your brother and sister. Let Dad and me do some of your worrying for you, at least until you’re older.”
“OK,” Cassie sighed happily. “It’s a deal.”
“I know one other thing I hope will help you, but it’s a surprise.”
“When will I find out what it is?” Cassie loved surprises.
“Give me a few days,” Mom answered, smiling mysteriously.
All week Cassie tried hard to do as her mother had suggested. She did feel better after her father’s blessing, and she tried hard to enjoy every day.
A few days later, when she walked into her bedroom after school, she noticed something new. There on the wall, right where she would see it first thing every morning, was an embroidered picture. There were birds and flowers and butterflies on it, and right in the middle were the words of the Savior found in John 14:27: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

My grandma had taught me to pray at night before going to bed. But to whom was I praying? What was he like? Where did he come from? These were questions that couldn’t be answered. I felt as if I was in a dark and dreary world with no hope of light.
Determined to understand more about this mystery, I started attending the church to which we then belonged because Grandma said God could be found there. But it didn’t do much good. It confused me more. They taught me about Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost, which, I was told, belonged to God, and they were all one.
I visited many other churches. When we studied the Bible and the life of Christ, I felt a very different feeling.
I discovered that this feeling had something to do with Christ, the Bible, the Holy Ghost, and God, but I was still confused. I started to pray and have trust in the Lord. Still, there was something missing. Although I could have the feeling while reading the Bible, I couldn’t have that feeling with me all the time.
One teacher told me a way to retain this feeling was by being baptized, so I was baptized. But nothing changed. All churches seemed the same, so I decided to stay home and study on my own. I found myself praying more intensely for the Lord to help me find the true path that led to him. He heard my prayers.
I met a young man in the gym, and we became friends. For the next ten months we shared our ideas and thoughts about many things, but never religion. One day I found that my friend traveled with a Bible, so I asked him if he went to church and what the name of his church was. It was some long name—The Church of Jesus Christ of something something Saints. I wasn’t the least bit interested—it sounded like just another church to me.
My friend later told me he was going to serve the Lord for two years in another country. I figured he was going to be a pastor. As he left, I began to wonder what his church was like, and I began to search for their meeting place.
I found it a few months later, but I also found something more. As I walked through the doors of the meetinghouse, I felt a feeling that is impossible to describe; it was joy, peace, comfort, surety, and happiness all in one. It was like coming home. My questions had now been answered.
The members of the church welcomed me with open arms. At first, I was reluctant to accept these welcomes because it was a little too much. I wasn’t used to so many people. They welcomed me whether they knew me or not. At the end of the meeting time, a calm feeling came over me and I heard the words in my mind, “Debbie, this is the place, and these are the people you have been searching for.”
Looking back, darkness to light, my life in the ghetto was difficult, and a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. At times, while walking around Ricks College in Idaho, I realize all that I have been blessed with. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission in Utah. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances no matter where we are. He desires above all things our happiness.
I often feel that the song sung at my high school graduation was written for me: “This is my quest—to follow the star. No matter how hopeless, no matter how far. To fight for the right, without question or pause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.” I know if I am true to God’s commandments, I will reach that unreachable star.