Gospel Story Finder

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

It started out as an ordinary Primary lesson. I was standing in front of my class of eight-year-old boys and girls, telling them a story about one of the latter-day prophets. When I finished, I began to question them about the moral the story taught. Everyone in the class wanted to answer my question—everyone, that is, but Robert.
I thought nothing of it. He was new in the class, and I thought he was probably just shy about speaking out on his first day. But as the answer was given and as we talked about it, I noticed that Robert’s face got more and more troubled. He wasn’t understanding the idea.
The week before, I hadn’t had time to finish the lesson I had prepared. I knew there wasn’t much time again now, and so I told myself I couldn’t make the other children wait until I had explained it again for Robert’s sake. I decided to go on. After all, I told myself, we will probably go over this idea again some other time.
I made one quick look around the room to make sure the rest understood. As my eyes passed by Robert’s, my heart froze. In an instant it seemed as though his face faded away and in its place I saw that of my three-year-old son, Sam. Startled, I just stood there, staring at Robert as if I expected the transformation to happen again. It didn’t then, or ever again.
Later that evening as I thought about the incident, I began to feel guilty about what I had done. Suddenly I was looking ahead five years from now; Sam was sitting in what had been Robert’s chair, and I had been replaced by another teacher. She was telling the same story I had told and was getting the same response from my son that I had received from Robert.
She looked at Sam and saw that he didn’t understand. But she proceeded right on with the lesson anyway, saying to herself, “We will probably go over this idea again some other time. Maybe he’ll understand it then.”
I watched Sam sitting alone on his chair, his feet not even touching the floor. I watched him as the rest of the class hurried on with the lesson, leaving him bewildered.
Then I realized the impact of what I had done. I had passed over a child of God simply because I couldn’t be bothered. I had lost an important teaching moment. I had been given the opportunity to place a child closer to his Father in Heaven, but had turned my back.
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that day—that only when I have done my best on behalf of all the children I teach can I pray for the best from another teacher on behalf of my own child.

55 years ago, two faithful missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, were where the Lord wanted them to be, and doing what the Lord wanted them to do, as they were tracting house to house in the Sandhills area of Wailuku, Maui. It was a hot day and in those days the missionaries did not have cars but walked everywhere.

Elders Dwight Flickenger and Michael Mickelson walked down our long driveway and knocked on our front door. My mother, Katherine Gima, was home and opened the door. Seeing the Elders, she quickly but politely stated that we were Christian and that she was not interested in hearing what they had to say. She had them wait on the porch as she went to get glasses of cold water to quench their thirst. My mother actually had 2 older sisters, Ethel and Lillian who had joined the Church on Oahu, so she had heard a little about the Church and knew that these were Mormon missionaries.

My brother and I were attending St. Anthony School, a Catholic school. We were not catholic but my parents felt like this school would give us a good education so we were enrolled there. In fact, my mother refused to join the Catholic Church because being the extremely practical person she was, she could not understand or accept their doctrine of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost being one person. How could 3 people be one being?

So as my mother took the empty glasses of water from the missionaries and was about to close the front door, one of them said, “Do you know that we believe that Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost are 3 separate beings?” Well, the front door opened widely and she invited them in. After that first discussion, the missionaries made an appointment to meet with my father and rest of the family, which consisted of myself being the eldest child and my brother Ron and younger sister Leona.

I remember that night quite well, as my mother kept us children in the kitchen as she prepared glasses of juice for us to take to the missionaries and our Dad. She held us back as she said, that Dad would probably ask them to leave in a few minutes. Well the minutes went by and she finally sent us out to see what was up. My Dad who was a quiet man, was chuckling and having a good old conversation with these two Elders as they were chatting about golfing. You see my Dad was an avid Sunday golfer and he had a whole trophy case full of trophies to show for all the golf tournaments he won. The missionaries had not even begun talking about the gospel but were talking about golfing!! Well a few months later, after hearing all the discussions, my father, mother and I being 9 years old, were baptized in Waiehu, Maui.

I will be eternally grateful to these two humble, faithful missionaries who taught my family the gospel, who listened to the prompting of the Holy Ghost as they stood on our front porch and said what the Lord wanted them to say concerning the Godhead. These missionaries have become lifelong friends and we share a strong bond of love for each other. Although Dwight Flickenger has passed away, we still keep in contact with Mike Mickelson.

When Rakotomalala became interested in the gospel, the nearest church was in Antsirabe, a city 30 miles (50 km) from his village in Sarodroa. Rakotomalala and a friend found a way to make the journey each Sunday.
I wanted to attend church, but I had no money for the bus. I talked to my friend, Razafindravaonasolo, and she said we could ride my bike. We rode two hours one way from Sarodroa to Antsirabe every Sunday. When I would get tired of pedaling, I would ride on the back and she would start pedaling. Then when she got tired, we would switch places again.
Eventually, Razafindravaonasolo’s family and I joined the Church. We attended church in Antsirabe until a branch opened in Sarodroa. We were so happy when we could attend church in our own village!

High school graduation night was hectic, and I was in a hurry. The envelope lying on my bed that evening didn’t look particularly interesting, so I hurriedly opened it, figuring it was just another piece of junk mail I could throw out and get on with my night. But, to my surprise, the envelope contained a letter:
Dear Angela,
Do you get a kick out of remembering things you did when you were a kid? Good, because I’m going to ask you to turn your thoughts back to when you were ten years old. I was your Primary teacher then …
The letter went on to tell me what my teacher, Sister Bently, remembered about me and my classmates. The letter ended:
In June of the year you were in my class, I gave a lesson on the Word of Wisdom. Each of you wrote a letter to yourself that day. Today, I am mailing the note you wrote to yourself so long ago. I do not remember what you wrote. What is inside is strictly for you.
Love,
Sister Bently
I quickly opened the seal on the smaller envelope inside the letter and read the short but beautiful testimony of why it is important for me to keep the Word of Wisdom. I was glad to know that I had been true to myself and kept my standards.
In the years since I had written the note, I had observed the sometimes dire consequences of breaking the Word of Wisdom—things like cancer and car accidents. When I was ten and in Primary, I knew the Word of Wisdom. Now, I also know the wisdom in the words.

I recently returned from my mission and have felt unsure of where to go next in my life. Sometimes I wonder if Heavenly Father really is aware of me, my circumstances, and my feelings of uncertainty.
But then I remember that He is. He knows what I’m experiencing.
And how do I know this?
First, because our Church leaders continue to reassure us of these truths. President Russell M. Nelson, for example, recently said: “I assure you that our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, love you. They are intimately aware of your circumstances, your goodness, your needs, and your prayers for help.”1
And second, I believe Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me because I have had many experiences in my life where They have helped me and shown me Their love.
But the experience I think about most frequently is my adoption.
When I was a baby, I lived in an orphanage in Cambodia. I got very sick with pneumonia, and the orphanage couldn’t afford my medical care.
At the same time, my future mother was visiting Cambodia from Finland for a work trip. She had a spiritual experience that guided her to visit my specific orphanage.
When we met, she felt an instant spiritual connection to me.
She took me to the hospital and paid for my medical expenses. She felt that she had been guided to Cambodia to help me get better—nothing more. But over the phone one night, her dad said to her, “Maybe this little girl is supposed to stay in your life.”
She prayed and felt her own spiritual confirmation that I was meant to be her child. So she started the adoption process. It took a long time, but eventually she returned home to Finland with me.
Whenever I’m feeling unsure if Heavenly Father is aware of me, pondering my unique origin story and the miracles involved always reminds me of this truth: He is intimately aware of and involved in my life.
Remembering this experience was a driving force for me during times when I struggled while serving my mission in London, England. When I was given the option to extend my mission for a few weeks, I really just wanted to go home!
But I remembered that Heavenly Father had provided me with miracles so I could be an instrument in His hands. This knowledge gave me strength to serve for those few extra weeks and share the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ with others.
I know not everyone who is in difficult circumstances may have the same spiritual experiences that I had. But I do know that Heavenly Father has not forgotten any of us. As we reach for Him, He will always give us the strength and guidance we need.
My experience as a child reassures me that even among His billions of children, Heavenly Father knew me—a tiny child in an orphanage—and provided the inspiration that connected me to the gospel and to my family.
And He knows you.
When I feel guilt over my mistakes, when I was overwhelmed while serving my mission, and as I’m now trying to decide what to study at university, I find rest in the knowledge that my Heavenly Father and Savior are with me.
As President Susan H. Porter, Primary General President, recently taught: “God’s love is not found in the circumstances of our lives but in His presence in our lives. We know of His love when we receive strength beyond our own and when His Spirit brings peace, comfort, and direction. … We can pray to have our eyes opened to see His hand in our lives and to see His love in the beauty of His creations.”2
I testify that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can give us the power and love we need to do all They ask of us. I invite you to willingly seek that truth for yourself, and I promise that They will remind you of Their love in the ways you need most.

The author’s parents not long before her father died.
Photograph courtesy of the author
As a child, I always loved spending time with my dad. To me, he was the funniest, smartest person in the world. In my young eyes, he was a lot like Moroni, “a strong and a mighty man … of a perfect understanding” (Alma 48:11). He was one of my greatest friends.
One of the things I remember most about my father was how hard he worked for his family. It was not always easy to support a wife and six children, so he would often juggle three jobs at a time to give us the things we needed. He definitely did “labor exceedingly for the welfare and safety of his people” (Alma 48:12). Even at a young age, I could see that my father’s biggest concern was making his family happy.
Time spent with my busy dad was always time well spent. Some of my fondest memories with him include the nights we watched old Western movies on the couch and the weekends we spent at our favorite campsites.
I especially loved gathering as a family in the evenings to read from the scriptures. My father had a great love for the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. He wanted all his children to know and treasure the Book of Mormon as well.
He often used my brothers’ action figures to reenact classic Book of Mormon stories like those of Samuel the Lamanite, the stripling warriors, and the brother of Jared. He brought to life a book that for me as a child was sometimes hard to understand. My father’s love for the Book of Mormon was contagious. Not only did he share the captivating stories, but he also taught our family to live its teachings.
When I was 14 years old, my family received a visit from two police officers telling us that my father had passed away in a car accident on his way home from work one night. At first it was hard for me to believe that it had actually happened. I felt that we saw things like this only in movies. But it soon became very real and extremely difficult for my family. For some of us, it was easy to wonder why a loving God would take such a great man from a family who needed him so much.
Shortly after his death, my mother gathered us kids around the table that my father had made just a few years before and said something that I have never forgotten. She told us, “Now it is time to put into practice everything that we believe.”
My mind went back to my father’s love of the scriptures, and I began to read them more diligently on my own. Over time, I felt greater peace in my life. Certain verses brought me hope that I would see my father again because of the Resurrection of the Savior. I experienced personally that “the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ” (Mosiah 16:8).
Photograph posed by model
Reading the Book of Mormon has taught me that our loving Heavenly Father knows each of us and speaks to us in times of need through the holy scriptures. I have come to understand that we will all experience trials no matter who we are, but that Heavenly Father loves us enough to give us tools to find peace even during our darkest times. For me, one of these tools has been the Book of Mormon.
I will forever be grateful for my father’s example and for the way his love of the scriptures has changed my life.

I recall tests to my own faith. I went to the 9th through 12th grades of school in Bloomington, Indiana, and the nonmember students constantly challenged my beliefs. At the time, my only defense was to do what Moses and Aaron did—draw closer to the Lord. I reasoned that God must exist since I couldn’t prove that he didn’t. I also assumed that he could and would communicate with me. With these ideas in mind, and with the faith that my parent’s testimony had to be based on something real, I prayed fervently. Out of that intense struggle, I received my own witness of God’s existence.

I remember a warm, sunny afternoon when spring was trying to nudge its way through a long winter in Cache Valley, Utah. My father, whose Saturdays were always filled with chores for his grandsons, stopped by our home with an offer to “go for a ride.” Always happy to ride in Grandpa’s truck, our four- and six-year-old sons scurried into the back jump seat, and I joined my father in the front. Our drive took us through the streets of downtown Logan, which wrap around the Logan Temple, prominently situated on a hill, centered beautifully in the city. As we moved further away from the city, we turned from paved, busy streets to seldom-used dirt roads, where we crossed old bridges and weaved through trees far into the country. We were far from any other traffic and all alone.
Realizing his grandsons were in a place they had not been before, my father stopped the truck. “Do you think we are lost?” he asked the wide-eyed boys as they gazed out the windshield across the valley. Followed by a moment of silent assessment came the profound reply of a young child. “Look,” he said, pointing his finger. “Grandpa, you are never lost when you can see the temple.” Our eyes turned, focusing with his, seeing the sun glistening off the spires of the Logan Temple, far across the valley.

Illustration by Sudi McCollan
One summer, I participated in an internship on an island in Bicol, Philippines. The view of the ocean was wonderful, and I looked forward to each morning.
I dreaded the evenings, however. That’s when the people in the camp would start drinking and having parties. Invitations to such parties were frequent, and my fellow interns and I had to attend, since not attending would be disrespectful.
The first party was a welcoming party for new interns. I was afraid to attend, because I was pretty sure that they would offer us drinks and I wasn’t sure how to decline. I called a friend in my home ward, and he gave me some wonderful advice that boosted my confidence.
When the party began, they offered us drinks but, fortunately, did not compel us to drink. Since my fellow interns accepted my stand of not drinking, refusing the next offers to drink was now easy for me—until one night. During one of the parties, the president of the company came. He was carrying a bottle of lambanog (a local wine made from coconut). Soon after his arrival, I saw him pouring some of the wine. He then said, “You must learn how to drink” and gave the glass to one of the interns. She quickly drank it.
My heart began to pound heavily. It would soon be my turn. I was whispering silently to myself, “I will not drink it. I will not drink it.” Then I saw the president extending the glass of wine to me. I didn’t know what to do. My fellow interns were looking at me, waiting to see what I would do. I smiled at the president and humbly said, “Sorry, sir, but I do not drink.”
I knew he was disappointed. He asked why I didn’t drink. I said, “I am a Mormon.”
He said, “I haven’t heard of that religion. It sounds like a type of food.” Everyone laughed.
I smiled too, not because of his joke but because I knew I had done the right thing.
No one ever offered me a drink again. But still the ridicule did not cease, even from my own friends. One even said that I was lying and that it’s unimaginable that members of the Church do not drink. During this time I felt the pressures that come to members of the Church.
My stay on that island taught me a lot of lessons, not just academically but spiritually. I learned that mockery may never cease, but the Spirit of the Lord will always guide you to do what is right.

Sister Kim told you about the earthquake. It was a 7.6 quake. Many people lived in tents for weeks or months, including some of our missionaries. Most of my responses were automatic because I was involved with Hurricane Iniki that hit Kauai. I was the Senior Medical Administrator at the time in the Guard, and was in the Diamond Head Crater Civil Defense Command Center when the first communications came out of Kauai. In the ensuing days, I worked with other relief organizations and military units to quickly take relief to the people of Kauai. From this experience, I knew exactly what to do when the earthquake hit Taiwan. I learned that experiences in other fields can be transferred to church callings.

About a week after the earthquake, I received a call from the vice-president of the Tsu Chi Buddhist Benevolent Society in Central Taiwan in the morning. He said, "President Kim, we are an organization of older people who have money and good will. We are in the process of building temporary housing for the victims of the earthquake. But we lack the muscles to pour cement and build the foundations for those homes. We know that you have young missionaries here. Can you help us?"
I said, "How many young men do you need?"
"About forty."
"When do you need them?"
"The cement trucks start arriving at 2:00 this afternoon."
I concluded, "I will try and give you the help you need."
I called my Assistants and had them call four zones of missionaries to bike to Chunghsing and help the Buddhists build their temporary housing. Some of them biked over two hours, but by 2:00 they were all working side by side with their Buddhist brothers. Some of our missionaries came from families in the construction business, so they were even of greater help. For two weeks they worked together and built a great relationship. Later, the Vice-President confided in me, "We actually had asked some other churches to help, but they declined saying that they needed to take care of their own members. Your church truly is a church where love has no bounds." This story was even printed in the Tzuchi Foundations' magazine, so we got great coverage from that. I learned that selfless service brings greater rewards most of which are unexpected.

Cassie experienced this after dating Brian for a year. Unfortunately, Brian was abusive. Cassie didn’t realize how much it affected her until after she left the relationship. Since then, Cassie has felt depressed, unable to trust her own thoughts and unable to trust others to support her. She often uses defense mechanisms to avoid getting hurt again and to manage feeling like others are angry with her or will leave her. Sometimes she unknowingly pushes others away or becomes demanding in relationships. These defenses make it difficult for her to get or feel close to others. After talking with loved ones and a counselor, Cassie recognized her trauma and her need to heal—and also that healing is possible over time.

Her name was Millicent, and she was my closest friend—literally. Millicent was a big, bulky back brace I wore in the ninth grade to help straighten the abnormal curvature of my spine. I called the brace Millicent because—well, because someone suggested I give it a name just for fun, and because that was my least favorite name at the moment.
I just wanted to fit in that year, but my days of melting into a crowd were over, at least until I stopped growing. Now I was stared at—a lot. Most of the time I tried to ignore the extra attention, but inside it really bothered me. And sometimes, more often than I would like to admit, I would even glare back.
But one time was different. I was with my family in the airport, eagerly waiting for my brother to get home from his mission. We talked in excited anticipation before his arrival. As we were talking, I glanced across the airport terminal and saw a woman watching me intently. This time, instead of scowling, I smiled and returned to my family’s conversation.
A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the woman standing beside me. “I couldn’t help noticing the brace you’re wearing,” she said. “I had to wear one years ago when I was in high school, only mine was a lot more obvious than yours!” We chatted for a few minutes about our respective experiences, and then she wished me well and went on her way.
That experience got me thinking. I was encouraged to know there were others who knew how I felt. But it also made me realize I had always assumed people had negative reasons for staring at me—that they thought my brace was funny looking or strange. I’m sure some did think that. But there were probably plenty of other people who were not thinking negatively. And maybe I could have made some new friends if I had acknowledged them with a friendly smile.
I realized then how easy it is to jump to conclusions about people. We don’t always know what they’re really thinking or what their motivations are. And a smile will open more doors than a frown or glare ever will.

Years ago my expectant wife, April, and I eagerly attended an ultrasound appointment to discover whether we were having a boy or a girl. We were overjoyed to learn we were having our third son. We also learned there were severe physical complications afflicting his body. Our son was missing sizable portions of his brain, his skull was not properly shaped, and the doctors were unsure if he would survive until delivery.
During the ensuing weeks, every time we received more information, it was distressing news. I distinctly remember when my wife called to tell me the latest update: our son did not have a right eye.
To pray more specifically for our unborn son, we decided on his name early. We chose to call him Caleb, after the Old Testament Israelite who was known for his fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds.
Miraculously, Caleb survived his birth, though it was clear he would remain like a newborn throughout his life. He would never walk, talk, or be able to feed himself.
When we asked how long he might live, the doctor candidly replied, “Take him home and love him, but don’t bring him back to the hospital. There’s nothing more we can do for him. He has a few weeks to a few months left—at most a year or possibly two.”
I was anxious as we left the hospital with our little boy to take him home. The amount of medical equipment needed to sustain his life was daunting. I would regularly sit in his room watching the little green light on his heart monitor. I was nervous about leaving, worried the light would stop blinking and Caleb would die alone.
Simply feeding him took extraordinary effort because he needed to eat every three hours. The process to eat through a feeding pump took one hour to complete. This involved waking up throughout the night: start the pump, sleep for an hour, stop the pump, sleep for two hours, start the pump again, sleep for an hour, and so on. We constantly feared losing him and doubted how we could keep ourselves alive, let alone our fragile son.
Thankfully, the Lord blessed us with many miracles in our seemingly hopeless situation. Earthly angels rallied around us. We had a competent and compassionate nurse and a doctor who made house calls. Ward members, family, and friends provided meals and offered fervent prayers in our behalf. We felt heaven’s sustaining hand upon us and that angels walked our hallways and sat in Caleb’s room. Our three-year-old son said he sometimes saw the Savior watching over us.
The Lord blessed us with many miracles as we loved and cared for our son.
In Caleb’s baby blessing, I assured him he had completed his mortal task by being born and that he would have a brief time to rest as part of our family before returning to his heavenly home.
Yet Caleb and his mother had different plans. They wanted to spend more time together and do a greater work. God had perfectly matched Caleb’s courage with April’s love and daring optimism. April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. With God’s help, she turned what was a sorrowful circumstance into a sacred setting.
April celebrated everything about Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, and cookies for his third week. Every day was a once-in-a-lifetime event for our boy sent home from the hospital without hope. Caring for Caleb became a privilege for us.
Though Caleb’s body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great (see Abraham 3:22). Even his missing eye became a blessing, making it seem as if he was continually winking. His wink became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?” I would jokingly say he was a pirate. But April would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Caleb never spoke the words, but his wink communicated love. His perpetual wink felt like a heavenly message, bringing God’s love and Christ’s light into our lives.
In our family, a wink means “I love you.”
One night our family read in the scriptures about the “man which was blind from his birth.” The disciples asked Jesus, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?”
Our sons saw the similarity and asked why Caleb was born blind. The Savior’s response provided our answer: “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.” Then Jesus healed the man so he could see. (See John 9:1–7.)
Our boys asked if I could heal Caleb. I replied I did not feel it was the Lord’s will for Caleb to be healed. I added that God often orchestrated the healings recorded in the scriptures to bless the lives of those involved and to increase the faith of future readers.
However, not every miracle leads to immediate healing or deliverance. Sometimes miracles appear to be withheld for God’s greater designs to develop. Yet this delay does not suggest God’s indifference or lack of involvement. Heavenly Father cares deeply for His children and relentlessly performs His exalting work. In God’s eyes, Caleb did not need physical healing to fulfill his purpose.
There were times when I thought Caleb would live a long time. He had so often successfully battled sicknesses and surgeries with resilience. He went to the hospital many times but always came back to us. We loved having him in our home. Being in his presence was healing and heavenly.
At age seven, Caleb slipped peacefully away in April’s arms, surrounded by his family. He had spent a courageous day fighting a vicious infection brought on by pneumonia. His body was simply worn out.
My wife whispered in his ear, “I love you, Caleb. I am so proud of you. If your body is too tired, it’s OK. You can go back. You can return to Heavenly Father.”
In the very moment when it was needed, April’s heart changed so she could let him go. April trusted Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ because she knew They personally understood her suffering and would provide comfort and strength (see Alma 7:11–12). And through the Atonement of His Son, God can do miracles. He saves souls. He heals heartache. He inspires hope.
For those seven years, April’s love and God’s will allowed Caleb to be a significant part of our earthly experience. Having Caleb in our family blessed us immensely. He had flooded our home with a regal presence that seemed irreplaceable.
Even when life is hard, God provides the plan, and we contribute faith and courage. We trust in His timing and in His ways to achieve His purposes, especially when such purposes may be unclear from our point of view.
At a stake conference before Caleb’s passing, I spoke with a General Authority about our experience with Caleb. After he acknowledged the exhausting effort needed to care for Caleb, I thought he would encourage me to faithfully persevere in the service and sacrifice I was providing. Instead, his next four words transformed my relationship with Caleb forever.
He simply said, “You are being exalted.”
The Lord taught a similar principle when Joseph Smith, while incarcerated in Liberty Jail, prayed for relief from the great suffering he and the Saints were experiencing. The Lord responded with a comforting promise:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8).
Similarly, Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles testified: “Adversity is not evidence of the Lord’s disfavor, nor a withdrawal of His blessings. Opposition is part of God’s plan to refine us and prepare us for an eternal, celestial destiny (see 2 Nephi 2:11).”
All this time I thought we were taking care of Caleb. In reality, God, through Caleb, had been taking care of us. The Lord was performing a miracle on me, on my wife and children, and on all those who met Caleb.
Caleb could have quickly returned to heaven, but instead he brought heaven to us for seven remarkable years. In our toughest times, God never abandoned us. With faith, courage, and hope, we learned that His blessings often shine brightest during our trials. Caleb’s constant wink was a tender reminder of God’s profound love for us all.
The author lives in Utah.

The construction of a temple in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, fulfilled a dream for Mónica Elena Fuentes Álvarez de Méndez. She is the daughter of a pioneer in the Church who instilled in her a love of the gospel and all its blessings. Her mother, Magda Ester Álvarez, was baptized in 1953, six years after Latter-day Saint missionaries first arrived in Guatemala.
Mónica grew up in the Church and eventually married a good man, Enio Méndez, who was not a member. He supported his wife and daughter in Church activities and admired its members, but he showed no interest in being baptized. Nevertheless, Mónica remembers her mother telling her that one day her husband would become a member. “I never lost faith,” she says, even though she had no idea what could bring about his conversion.
Her mother enjoyed the blessings of periodic visits to the temple in Guatemala City and was filled with joy in 2006 when a temple was announced for Quetzaltenango. But Magda Álvarez suffered from a terminal illness and passed away in 2008, before the temple in Quetzaltenango could be built.
Mónica and her young adult daughter, Mónica Esther Méndez Fuentes, served together as guides during the open house for the Quetzaltenango Temple. Enio attended the open house with them, and unbeknownst to them, he went back two more times.
Leaving the temple together on the last day of the open house, Mónica and her daughter wondered if Magda Álvarez’s prediction about Enio could ever come true.
Enio had always believed it was acceptable for him to be a member of his church and his wife and daughter to be members of theirs so long as they respected each other’s beliefs. But his experiences at the temple open house gave him much to think about. “I began to fast, without saying anything to them, and to pray,” he recalls. He went into the mountains, where he likes to go to ponder. “I asked the Lord, ‘What should I do, then?’” In fact, he already knew what was right, but he needed to resolve doubts.
Enio was baptized in April 2012—a deeply moving occasion for both his wife and his daughter.
The Méndez family was sealed in the Quetzaltenango Temple in October 2013. Sister Méndez expressed their joy at an eternal goal achieved and their hope to be faithful until the end of their lives.

Early in my life, my parents struggled in their marriage, and it affected our family. When my mother’s friend became aware of this, she said to my mother, “How about you come and learn about my church?” My mother said that she and my father were not ready for that. Her friend said, “Then why don’t you let me take your children with me?” I was five at the time. My sister was eight.
This good friend took me and my sister to church for several years. I remember experiencing the joy of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. As my testimony grew, I wished and prayed for my parents to eventually learn about the gospel. When my sister decided to be baptized, my parents felt that they needed to find out a little bit about the Church.
As my parents began to learn about the truthfulness of the gospel, I saw a change of heart in them. They were humbled, and they came to embrace the gospel. A year after they joined the Church, I turned eight and my father baptized me. Heavenly Father had heard and answered my prayers.
Three years later, the Mexico City Mexico Temple was dedicated. I had the chance to go there with my family. We knelt at a beautiful altar to be sealed together forever, and we rejoiced in the promises and hope that Jesus Christ and His gospel bring. Years later, my wife and I were sealed in the same house of the Lord.

My wife, Elizabeth, and I know the power of such feelings firsthand. Nearly 40 years ago, a good friend and colleague, a member of the Church, started bringing up the gospel with us in casual conversation. On several occasions, he sent the missionaries to visit us. We liked the missionaries and agreed to take the discussions, but we were not truly interested in what they had to teach.
That changed in October 1978, when my colleague invited several friends, including us, to the São Paulo Brazil Temple open house. He rented several buses at his own expense so that his friends could join him at the temple, about 50 miles (80 km) away.
When Elizabeth entered the baptistry, she felt something she had never experienced before, something she later recognized as the Holy Ghost. The feeling was a great joy in her heart. She knew in that moment that the Church was true and that it was the Church she wanted to join.
A similar feeling came to me at the end of the open house, when we were escorted to the sealing room and taught the doctrine of eternal families. That doctrine touched me. I was successful in my profession, but I had long felt an emptiness in my soul. I did not know what could fill that void, but I sensed that it had something to do with family. There, in the sealing room, things started to fall into place in my mind and heart.
Within a few days, missionaries contacted us again. This time we were very interested in hearing their message.
The elders encouraged us to pray fervently about the truth. I decided this was the only way I could pray. I knew that I couldn’t make a commitment to join the Church without having a real testimony. I was anxious about approaching Heavenly Father to ask for a confirmation from Him, but at the same time, I was sure He would answer me. I shared with Him the deep desires of my heart and asked Him to give me an answer that would assure me that joining the Church was the correct path.
The following week in Sunday School, our friend who had invited us to the temple open house was sitting behind me. He leaned forward and began talking to me. The words he said answered exactly what I had prayed to know. I had no doubt that Heavenly Father was speaking to me through him. At the time, I was a stern, hardened man, but my heart melted and I began to weep. When my friend had finished, he invited my wife and me to be baptized. We accepted.
On October 31, 1978, less than a month after our experience at the São Paulo Temple, we were baptized and confirmed. The next day we participated in the second dedicatory session of the São Paulo Brazil Temple. A year later we returned to the temple with our two sons to be sealed as a family. All three occasions were beautiful, memorable experiences. We have continued to perpetuate those feelings with regular temple worship over the years.

The girls in the Salt Lake East Millcreek Fourth Ward kept track of their acts of charity in a jelly bean jar. Each week the girls put a jelly bean into the jar for each act of service they had been involved in that week. As the jar filled with the sweets, the girls were reminded of the sweetness of service. When the jar was full, the girls selected a special family and presented the jar to them, explaining what the filled jar meant—each jelly bean represented a charitable act.

During the time of the Korean War, a young man, Rhee Ho Nam, was pressed into a helping role by an American military unit involved in court martials. At the time, being dislocated from his regular way of life looked like a tragedy. Ho Nam, however, made the best of his challenges as did Joseph in ancient Egypt. He developed English as a second language. He carefully observed the things the American soldiers did, especially an LDS lieutenant who was “different” from his fellow soldiers and much admired by Ho Nam. They discussed things often. One day the lieutenant asked Ho Nam what the purpose of life was. Rhee Ho Nam could not answer, saying only that philosophers had struggled in vain with that question for centuries. Thereupon, the officer took out a plain sheet of paper and drew an outline of the plan of salvation. At that very moment, the Lord bore testimony through the power of His Spirit to Rhee Ho Nam’s heart that what the American had told him was true. Ho Nam studied, then joined the Church, keeping that piece of paper for years as a treasured reminder of that special moment.
The Korean War was soon over, but Ho Nam’s life in the Church had just begun. While in his thirties, Rhee Ho Nam became the first stake president of the first stake of the Church on the mainland of Asia. He served with distinction as a mission president in Pusan, Korea, as an outstanding leader among his people. With special conviction, President Rhee taught his missionaries and members to look with hope beyond what is to what may be! Sometimes within difficulty and even seeming tragedy there is opportunity!

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.
One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.
Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).
In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.