Gospel Story Finder

I was almost 13 when my family moved to Pendleton, Oregon, which was a big town to me with about 6,000 people in it. My dad ran the agricultural experimental station for Oregon State University. It was 168 acres in size, and it was fenced all the way around. I had a job hoeing the weeds from under the fence, and initially I hated that job.
One afternoon I was hoeing weeds with a friend named Arlen Jenkins. I was complaining and moaning and groaning about the hard work, but he looked at me and said, “You know, you really need to consider that if we weren’t doing this, we might be doing something worse.” That was his attitude. He was always happy doing any type of work because he knew he could be doing something worse. I have tried to reflect that attitude in every job I have had since that time.

“I was fortunate when I was a boy to have an outstanding Sunday School teacher. When she talked about the apostle Paul, we could almost hear him preaching. She made every character in the scriptures come alive. She was an unusually kind woman and let us boys know that she expected us to be gentlemen.

“In our class we had collected some money to use for a big party. One Sunday morning our teacher came to class and told us that one of our classmates would be absent—his mother had passed away. We were all very unhappy. The subject of the lesson that morning was that it is better to give than to receive. After she had presented the lesson, she talked about the hard times ahead for the absent boy’s family. ‘How would you students like to follow the Lord’s teachings?” she asked. ‘How would you feel about taking our party fund and giving it to this boy’s family as an expression of love?”

“The decision was unanimous. I remember that I was the treasurer of the class, and the teacher said to the boy’s father, ‘Brother Devenport, the class would like to make an expression of their feelings.’ Then she called on me to make an expression, and afterward I handed our party fund to him. I think that was one of the first times I saw a grown man weep. This simple act of kindness welded our class together. We learned through our own experience that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive.

“I am so grateful for the Personal Progress program. I know that it has changed my life for the better. When you think of seven 10-hour projects, it seems like a lot, and you can get discouraged. But when you work on the projects one at a time, before you know it, you’re done with another project and can move on to the next.
“For one of my Personal Progress projects, I helped Grandpa clean his house. This was hard at first, but after a while it didn’t seem like a chore. As we worked, we really enjoyed talking to each other and got to know each other better. I’m glad I was able to strengthen my relationship with my grandpa. I really enjoy Personal Progress.”Tara Lunt, 16Duncan Ward, Duncan Arizona Stake

I begin today by telling you a story about an event that happened to me when I was 16 years of age. My father had recently and unexpectedly passed away. It was difficult for me and my siblings. It was often unbearably difficult and traumatic for my mother.

My Mother was preoccupied with making certain that each of her children receive their patriarchal blessings. She wanted each of us to benefit from the direction that comes from a patriarchal blessing. I was the youngest and the last to receive my blessing.

I was fortunate to live in the ward where the Stake Patriarch also lived. His name was William A. Budge. If a movie was made about a patriarch and Central Casting was asked to find a believable model, William A. Budge would be at the head of the line. He looked the part. He was a respected bank president and community leader. He had beautiful white hair, had a deep and yet calming voice and it was obvious that people deferred to Patriarch Budge. In fact, in my youngest days I mistakenly thought he was President David O. McKay and that the Prophet attended our ward every Sunday.

When I went with my mother to his home for my blessing he engaged us in a discussion about a patriarchal blessing. It was a discussion intended to help a young person understand the significance of the event that was about to occur.

The message he wanted me to hear and to understand was that I was important to our Father in Heaven. I was receiving a blessing given by the mouth of an ordained Patriarch. He had been ordained by an apostle of Jesus Christ after he had been had been called by revelation to a prophet of God.

And I, a sixteen year old kid, was receiving insight through him, but also the insight was coming from a loving Father in Heaven. The Patriarch wanted me to understand the message we find in the Book of Moses (1:39) where we are reminded that the goal of our Father is to "bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man."  And by the 'eternal life of man' he means the eternal life of his children.

He told us a story that I have remembered to this day. When Patriarch Budge was younger he had served many years as a stake president. In preparing for a stake conference, where a member of the Twelve was going to attend, President Budge asked the Stake Primary President to prepare a primary choir for the coming conference and to also compose a new song to sing during conference. Two very daunting tasks! Her name was Nomi Randall and everyone in this room has not only sung the song she wrote, most of you have it memorized.

She wrote for that stake conference the song "I Am a Child of God."  It was pre-formed in the Lorin Farr Stake conference and the rest is history and a wonderful addition to our culture. It is a song that is part of every primary and many adult meetings in the church and it is so important in our culture it is also a frequent song sung by grandchildren at the funerals of their grandparents. We learn we are children of God in our earliest days and as we say goodbye to those we love we help send them on their way by singing this song and reminding us that they are going home to Father. The song is an important thread in fabric of the Mormon experience.

For me the significance of the story was a way for Patriarch Budge to teach me I was a child of God. It was not just a song that contributes to the culture of Mormonism; it is a song that informs the youngest members of the Church a fundamental aspect of the doctrine that we all bear witness to. It is a message I have tried to remember in my roles as a son, brother, missionary, Aaronic and Melchizedek priesthood holder, husband, and father.

Doing what comes naturally brought top honors to Tracey Keogh, 17, and Brenda Richmond, 18, of Dublin, Ireland. Their school year was spent working to improve themselves and the community, and they received the country’s prestigious President’s Award.
Requirements for the award said they had to spend a certain number of hours each week working on community projects, a personal skill, and a special project. Tracey visited an elderly lady, recycled, and learned to use a personal computer. Brenda volunteered at a hospital, acted in a school play, and ran a small company.
Their projects went hand-in-hand with the Young Women Personal Progress program. Brenda said she couldn’t have done all she did that year without the Church in her life. “The Church, its principles, and its leaders have taught me a lot,” she said.

Recently a close friend told me some heartbreaking news. Her dog, Holly, had died! My friend, Alli, had really loved her dog.
As soon as I heard the news, I was devastated. Alli and I had spent year after year playing with and admiring Holly. Once we worked hard to give Holly a bath on a hot summer day. As soon as we finished washing her, she ran into the mud and her legs got all dirty!
I wanted to do something to help Alli feel better. So I made her a care package and delivered it to her doorstep. She loved the kindness I showed her. We spent a few moments of silence as we hugged each other and cried.
When I left, I realized I had done the right thing. Comforting someone is what Jesus Christ would have done. I know that everyone can set a good example and follow Christ.

Matt, 16, and Camille Baughman, 18, of the Summerville Ward were told by their parents to get together a change of clothes, their scriptures and journal, and a flashlight, in case they had to leave home quickly. Camille said, “It was hard because Mom said we should get two things we wanted to save. At first I wanted to take all my clothes, but then I decided on my violin.”
After the hurricane Matt pitched in to help his father, who as stake president was coordinating relief efforts. Camille saw a side of her brother she had never seen before. “I was impressed,” she said. “He got up early, worked all day, and went to bed exhausted. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s not the brother I knew.’”

Then there is the remembered Christmas tale of O. Henry about a young husband and wife who lived in abject poverty yet who wanted to give one another a special gift. But they had nothing to give. Then the husband had a ray of inspiration: “I shall provide my dear wife a beautiful ornamental comb to adorn her magnificent long black hair.” The wife also received an idea: “I shall obtain a lovely chain for my husband’s prized watch which he values so highly.”

Christmas day came; the treasured gifts were exchanged. Then the surprise ending, so typical of O. Henry’s short stories: The wife had shorn her long hair and sold it to obtain funds to purchase the watch chain, only to discover that her husband had sold his watch, that he might purchase the comb to adorn her beautiful long hair, which now she did not have.

A long time ago there lived a handsome king in a gorgeous hilltop palace in a beautiful green land. This king had many servants and costly clothes and delicious food to eat. His crown was covered with rare jewels that shone and twinkled as he turned his head from side to side when he rode in parades.
The king was a good man and a kind man, but because he had never been poor, he didn’t understand the problems that poor people have. He had never had to work hard in the fields or take care of sick children, so he didn’t know what it was like to be weary or very worried.
One day as the king was riding through the countryside in his carriage, a carriage wheel began to wobble. A poor laborer who was working nearby saw the carriage stop. He hurried over, bowed to the king, and offered his services. Pleased that the laborer helped so efficiently and willingly, the king removed his cloak and gave it to him. Now, the laborer needed food for his family, not a cloak that he would never wear, but he humbly bowed and thanked the king.
Another day, when some enemies from afar invaded the king’s land, he sent his ablest soldiers to fight them. His soldiers fought for three days and drove the enemy away. The king was so happy about it that upon the soldiers’ return, he had his entertainers put on a show for them. Now, what the soldiers really wanted was to go home and go to bed because they were exhausted. However, they didn’t wish to give offense, so they humbly bowed before the king and smiled as they watched the show.
One spring a sickness spread throughout the land, and many children became very ill. Mothers and fathers stayed up night after night, caring for their sick children and praying that they would get well.
During this troublous time the king, who had no children, decided to have a beautiful ball and to invite the whole kingdom. He had heard that many families had sick children, but he thought that a ball would cheer them up. The parents cried when they received their invitations because they knew that they must attend. They grieved at leaving their sick children, but the king had such a wonderful time at the ball that he didn’t notice that no one else did.
That night, after the king went to bed, a servant put a container of fireplace embers and ashes just outside the palace door. He had been too eager to get home to his children to dispose of the contents properly. Later, another servant was carrying paper decorations from the palace. He saw the container by the door and, not realizing that it contained smoldering coals, piled the decorations on top of the ashes.
Early the next morning a mother trying to comfort her sick child happened to look out the window and see the whole side of the palace on fire. She sounded the alarm immediately, and the king and the palace workers escaped with their lives. But except for the night clothes that they were wearing, they lost all their possessions. The palace and everything in it were destroyed!
The king stood a safe distance from his once-beautiful palace and watched it burn. His face was covered with soot, and he shivered in the crisp night air. One by one his servants slipped away to return to their families in the countryside. They were afraid to ask him to go home with them, because they knew that he was used to the finest of everything.
So the king crept closer to the charcoaled remains of his palace and sat there all night.
The next day his subjects wanted to take something to the king to let him know that they were sorry for his loss. They knew that whatever they took would have to be something splendid, something fit for a king.
The tinsmith and his wife decided to take a beautiful silver tray and pitcher. When they delivered it to the king, he thanked them kindly. But after they left, he wished that they had brought him some water and a loaf of bread instead, for he was hungry.
The tailor and his wife, forgetting that the king no longer had a bed, took him a pair of satin sheets trimmed with gold thread. The king quietly thanked them, but after they left, he thought that some warm clothes would have been more useful, for he was cold.
When a farmer came with a fine horse as his gift, the king was a little more pleased. At least now he could ride to the river and wash. The king humbly thanked the farmer, but still he wished again that the gift had been some food.
The king could have commanded the people to bring him whatever he wanted, but somehow, without a palace, fine clothes, his beautiful crown, and many servants, he didn’t feel much like a king anymore. He didn’t feel like giving commands.
He rode to the river, washed his face and hands, and drank his fill. Then, as he sat there and wondered and worried about what to do, the poor laborer who had repaired his carriage wheel approached him. The laborer bowed as he held out the cloak the king had given him. “This has never been worn by anyone, Your Majesty, since you gave it to me. I have no use for it.” The laborer was immediately embarrassed by his own words, for he thought that he sounded a bit ungrateful. But the king smiled at the laborer and took the cloak and wrapped it about himself. This man would have been more grateful for food, the king thought, just as I would be now.
The laborer had barely left when a group of musicians and dancers came by. There on the banks of the river they put on a show for the king. The king wanted to cry out, “Don’t bring me music and dance; bring me food and a warm place to stay.” Then he thought of his valiant soldiers, tired and dirty, who had had to sit through a palace show when what they had needed was food and rest.
And he thought of the tired and weary parents who had had to leave their sick children in order to attend his ball. What an inconsiderate and foolish ruler I have been, he thought. If only I could have back my palace, I would be truly kind and help my people according to their real needs.
A long time after the musicians and dancers had left, a shepherd boy approached from the hills. He saw a man, tired and with tears in his eyes, sitting by the river. Not knowing that the man was his king, the shepherd boy sat down beside him and shared his bread and cheese with him.
When the boy returned to his flock, the king mounted his horse and rode back toward the remains of his palace. He was astounded to see loyal subjects from throughout his kingdom hewing logs and shaping stones to rebuild his palace.
The king was grateful for the chance that they were giving him. And he vowed that he would be a much better, kinder ruler.
And he was.

When I was 15, I was invited to live with a Latter-day Saint family. Their daughter, slightly older than I, took me to Mutual. Everyone there welcomed me and paid attention to me. For the first time in my young life, people treated me with love and kindness.
I was introduced to the missionaries, who began teaching me. Soon I realized that I had a loving Heavenly Father, who had protected me throughout my life. I accepted the gospel and was baptized on Christmas Eve 1978. That evening I received my first and still most cherished Christmas gift: membership in the Lord’s Church.

When one of our sons was 11 years old, he woke up with a bad headache. At first I thought he was just delaying going to school, but I quickly realized he had a high fever. I took him to the doctor, and soon we were rushing to the hospital. There he was diagnosed with spinal meningitis, a serious illness.
As his condition became more severe, he began having seizures. The doctor asked me to step out of the room. As I walked into the hall, I was afraid and began to cry. A woman I did not know put her arms around me. I prayed out loud that Heavenly Father would help my son and that all would be well. I remember feeling a great peace.
My son had surgery and many weeks of recovery. Today he is healthy, married, and a father of two beautiful girls. This experience was such an example to me of the power of prayer.

Thomas stood on the banks of the Mississippi River, his bare hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his overcoat. His breath came out in cloudy puffs, and his teeth chattered steadily.
Thomas watched as a chunk of ice bigger than a wagon wheel slowly drifted by. The ferry had been moored for days, and the muddy banks of the river were frozen and hard. The Saints who had hoped to leave Nauvoo ahead of the Canadian storm had been delayed; there was no hope of crossing the icy river before spring.
Thomas had never seen a storm like the one that hit Nauvoo that February 1846. The weather had been mild and warm the first half of the month, and President Brigham Young had exhorted the members of the Church to leave Nauvoo for the camp at Sugar Creek. Many families had followed his admonition. The ferry carried heavy loads of people, animals, and wagons across the river continually until the temperatures dropped. Almost overnight, the storm blew in with a terrible fury. Bitter cold winds pounded Thomas’s wood-frame house from the north, doors and shutters clattering loudly. Great mounds of snow piled up on the streets of Nauvoo. The stinging, harsh blizzard had gone on for days. This morning was the first time Thomas was able to see the ice-choked river.
“Thomas!” called his younger brother, Joseph. “Mama needs those eggs from Sister Patterson right away!”
Thomas looked back across the river one more time. “All right, Joseph. I’m coming.” He pulled his woolen scarf closer around his neck and met his brother halfway up the hill.
Joseph was a year younger than Thomas, but he was already nearly as tall. Named for the Prophet Joseph Smith, he had been born three days before the Prophet’s thirty-first birthday. Joseph’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he was blowing on his hands to keep them warm.
“You run home, Joseph,” Thomas said. “Tell Mama I’m on my way with the eggs for her custard.”
Joseph nodded and loped off. Thomas could see their house up the road and knew that Joseph would soon be sitting in front of the warm hearth.
Mama rarely made her delicious egg custard anymore, especially since they had sold their best laying hens to the Pattersons. Papa said that the hens would never survive the journey west and that the family needed the money to buy more basic supplies. But this morning Mama had declared that they would have custard for dessert and had sent Thomas for the fresh eggs. He knew that his father and mother had been fasting and praying about the weather and that this special dessert was his mother’s way of expressing gratitude for the slivers of sunshine that had broken through the gray clouds today.
As the family gathered around the table to pray over their simple meal, Thomas could see that his father was discouraged. “There was trouble in town again today,” his father said. “Let us pray that the Lord will provide a way for us to leave Nauvoo before anyone is seriously harmed. We are packed and ready to go. There must be a way!”
Thomas bowed his head along with his parents and brothers and sisters, but in his heart he felt a twinge of fear. He did not want to leave Nauvoo.
Although most of their furniture and farming equipment had been sold to purchase a wagon and food supplies, their home was still cozy and warm, and there was always enough to eat. He had been just a little boy when his family was driven from their home in Missouri by an angry mob and forced to settle in the marshy wetlands of Commerce, Illinois. It had been cold then, too, and he remembered how he had cried for a cup of milk. But over the years, he had seen Commerce become the beautiful city of Nauvoo, a place where the Prophet Joseph Smith would stop and play stickball with Thomas and his friends, then invite them to his home for a glass of cool lemonade. Though it had been a year and a half since the Prophet’s death, he ducked his head to hide his tears.
“Thomas?” his Mama asked softly. “Are you well?”
His older sister, Mary Jane, quietly said, “He doesn’t want to go west, Mama.”
Papa put down his fork and folded his arms across his chest. “Is this true, Son?”
Thomas gulped. “Yes, Papa,” he whispered.
He heard his mother sigh, and he felt ashamed. It had already been decided that Mama would leave her piano and her cherished spinning wheel behind. But she reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “We all wish we could stay in Nauvoo. Here we have a lovely home, a prosperous farm, good friends and family, even a beautiful new temple. But the Lord has promised us peace, and we will never find that here.”
Thomas nodded and tried to hold back the tears that still pushed against his eyelids. His father saw him struggling and slowly slid back his chair. “Mama, save us some of your custard. Thomas and I are going to check on the horses.”
Thomas put on his overcoat and scarf and followed his father out to the barn. The sky was clear, and the air was as sharp as a knife in his lungs. Inside the barn, his father lit a lantern and stamped his feet. “Mighty cold out tonight,” he said. “We must pray for our brothers and sisters who are spending this night in a tent or a wagon box.”
Thomas plopped down on a bale of hay. “Papa, if we had crossed the river with the others last week, we would be out there in a tent tonight!”
His father sat beside him, reaching out to stroke the mane of his favorite horse. “I know, Son. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Then why can’t we wait until spring … or even summer? Why must we leave now?”
“You do not realize the danger that surrounds us. I was a close friend of the Prophet Joseph, and his enemies are my enemies.” Thomas felt his father tremble beside him. He looked up and saw the scar on his father’s cheek that had come from the leather thong of a bullwhip. He still remembered how his mother had cried over the wound, praying that God would forgive her for thinking terrible thoughts about the man who had whipped her husband. “And I think this is a test of our faith, Son. Will we follow the prophet—or not?”
Thomas blinked his eyes hard. Suddenly he remembered a very special occasion in his life.
It was May 1843, and he had just celebrated his eighth birthday. His mother had made a cake with butter icing, and he was eating a thick slice on the front porch when he saw a tall, handsome man coming down the lane. Thomas recognized him immediately—Brother Joseph—and ran to him.
Brother Joseph chuckled, “What’s this I hear about you today? I knew it was a special day when I woke up to a chorus of birds outside my window!”
“It’s my birthday, Brother Joseph!”
“Your birthday?” The Prophet waved to the boy’s mother in the garden and clasped his father in a warm embrace. “But it isn’t just any birthday, is it?”
“It’s my eighth birthday! Now I can be baptized!”
The Prophet sat on the porch steps and drew the boy down next to him. “A very special day indeed. But why do you want to be baptized?”
Thomas tried to stretch his legs out far like Brother Joseph’s. “So I can be a member of the Church like you and Papa and Mama and my older brothers and sisters!”
Brother Joseph nodded and put his arm around Thomas’s shoulders. “That’s good. But I think there’s more to it than that. If your family and I weren’t here, would you still want to be baptized?”
Thomas thought for a moment. “Yes, I would, Brother Joseph. Jesus wants me to be baptized, and I always want to follow Him.”
Tears filled Joseph’s kind eyes. “I want to follow Him, too, Thomas. It may be hard sometimes, but we will always be blessed.”
Thomas’s father cleared his throat. “Brother Joseph, we would be honored if you would baptize Thomas.”
Joseph laughed joyfully and ruffled Thomas’s hair. “I would be delighted,” he said.
Thomas felt his father’s arm around him. “Are you thinking about Brother Joseph, Thomas?”
“Yes,” was all he managed to whisper.
His father hugged him tighter. “When you are a grown man, your children and grandchildren will ask if you remember when you were baptized. Your heart will burst with pride when you tell them that you were baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. And then you will tell them how you followed another prophet of God through snow and cold and all sorts of trials so that they could live in a land of peace and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel without being afraid. For many generations, your family will honor you and be grateful for your sacrifices. Your life will be blessed, Thomas, in more ways than you will ever know.”
After Thomas finished his evening prayer, he crawled under the warm quilt. He could hear his mother and father talking downstairs. He was still afraid of what might happen on their journey west, but he felt a calm reassurance in his heart that all would be well.
The next morning, the family was awakened early by a whoop of joy. “It’s a miracle!” their neighbor, Brother Williams, shouted from the front gate. “The Mississippi River is frozen solid! Load up your wagons—we’re crossing over! The Lord has answered our prayers!”
Yes, He has, Thomas thought as he hurriedly dressed in the cold morning air.

Some months ago, I was able to get in touch again, through a video conference, with one who used to be a very good friend in the past—but with whom I had no contact for nearly two decades. He had made some decisions in his life which caused many of his “good” friends, including myself, to decide not to be close to him anymore. During this video conference we were trying to catch up for nearly 20 missing years of our lives. He then called his younger son, who appeared in front of the screen smiling, and he said pointing at me: “Son, I want you to meet your dad’s very best friend!” At that moment I felt a mixture of joy for learning that he still considers me his best friend—and pain for knowing that I had left him alone, perhaps when he needed me the most. We have, since then, reignited the flame of our precious friendship.

Traffic in Santo Domingo is congested and noisy. Motorcycles, cars, and trucks make frequent use of their horns. At the start of our mission, our apartment was located at a busy intersection. During heavy commute times the traffic on this road is bumper-to-bumper. Motorcycles honk at every intersection. Cars honk the moment the signal turns green. Buses and semitrucks are especially loud and honk when they see the light change. The concrete apartment buildings here amplify the clamor. The traffic eases up at night, but some cars and motorcycles take advantage of the chance to gun their engines and race down the road.
Constant noise is hard for me. Early on, the only time I felt relief was at the temple or when working in the office. My brain felt the constant strain of trying to learn Spanish and trying to learn my mission responsibilities, and I desperately wanted a quiet refuge.
One opportunity that we have been given while in the Dominican Republic is to serve as temple workers in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple. In the temple it’s blessedly quiet. One day, coming out of the temple, the blaring traffic hit me hard, and I felt so oppressed. I said to Heavenly Father. “Could you please just make the noise stop for a little while?” In my mind I was huddled in a ball with my hands over my ears, begging.
With this memory, I felt the Holy Ghost whisper, “How about asking for something I can say yes to?”
I stopped there on the sidewalk outside the temple, where horns honked, and engines revved. I knew Heavenly Father would not stop the traffic. Then I remembered the story of the people of Alma in Mosiah 24. Alma and his people were in bondage to Amulon and the Lamanites. They were mistreated and burdened with heavy workloads. Alma and his people poured out their hearts to the Lord in prayer, and He heard them. I’ll bet a lot of those prayers were asking the Lord to make the hard things stop.
“And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.
“And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions” (Mosiah 24:13–14).
As the Holy Ghost brought these verses to my memory, I knew what to pray for. “Heavenly Father, please strengthen my mind so I can bear the noise of the traffic here and not feel the mental stress that plagues me now. I know you can say yes to this, because you did something like it for the people of Alma.”
I felt a new lightness as I walked home, dodging cars while crossing the street to our apartment building. I knew Heavenly Father heard and would answer my prayer. I didn’t know how it would come about; I just knew that He heard me.
About a week later, I was doing some work in our apartment, and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t covering my ears and I wasn’t in pain from the loud traffic. It had stopped bothering me the way it had before. It felt less intrusive and weighed on me less.

In various locations throughout the Church, I have observed members’ lives change as they become fully engaged in helping to establish the Church. Two such individuals are Carlos and Rosario Casariego.

I was serving a full-time mission in Uruguay when I first met Carlos and Rosario. They were teenagers at the time, and both were receptive to the gospel and eager to live by its principles.

Carlos was baptized in December 1970, and three months later he met Rosario when he was asked to speak at the baptismal service for her family. Following their baptisms, both Carlos and Rosario were called to serve with the youth, and soon they became the presidents of their respective groups. They were among the first students when the seminary and institute programs started in Uruguay. Additionally, Rosario served in the stake Primary presidency, and Carlos appeared on the Church’s weekly television program Nuestro Mundo (Our World).

By 1975 Carlos and Rosario were planning their wedding. Then they attended a regional conference, and the course of their lives was changed. During the conference, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) told the youth that every qualified young man should seriously consider going on a full-time mission and that young women should be supportive of that goal.

Carlos and Rosario determined that they would follow the counsel of the prophet. Later that year, Carlos received a call to the Uruguay-Paraguay Mission. Rosario commenced a full-time mission to Argentina six months later. Due to Carlos’s and Rosario’s dedicated service, many good people and future leaders were baptized into the Church.

Since their marriage in July 1981, Carlos and Rosario have had four children and have served in numerous positions in the Church. They have done everything in their power to help establish the Church in their native Uruguay. Their dedication to the Lord has been a blessing not only to those with whom they have served, but in their own lives as well. They are examples of good people who have become fully engaged in helping to establish a strong, multigenerational church in their own country.

Sergio was a young man who wanted to go on a mission. He was studying at a university 300 kilometers from home. He would come home regularly and talk with his bishop and stake president. He did not feel worthy to go on a mission. He said his mind was not clean: he saw and heard too many things at the university that made him think of evil. Sergio was challenged to read the Book of Mormon every morning before going to school. He did this, and in a few months he was able to control his thoughts and he and his leaders felt good about his going on a mission. He went and served very well.

When I was 10, my mother moved us from New York to Utah, away from my father and the rest of our extended family. What was meant to be the two of us quickly became just me, as I rarely saw my mom due to her extensive work hours.
I grew accustomed to being alone. Although I was sometimes lonely, I often preferred solitude to my mom’s company. Behind closed doors, she was very controlling, and her emotions were unstable due to mental illness. I did my best to avoid upsetting her. She often had sporadic outbursts of anger where I endured harsh yelling and hurtful words.
During this time, church and seminary were places of refuge. I looked forward to those moments where I felt the Spirit, because they sustained me the rest of the week.
At times, my mom’s words challenged my faith. She was supposed to teach me what was right. But if I was doing what was right, then why was I suffering?
The Spirit reminded me that the gospel is perfect but people are imperfect. I couldn’t let her influence my thoughts and testimony of the gospel. Even so, I let my doubts get the better of me for a time.
When I went to college, I wondered what would happen if I stopped going to church, reading my scriptures, or praying. It was the worst experiment of my life! After two months, I felt like Heavenly Father was telling me, “Never do that again!” Feeling the light of the gospel return to my life really helped me realize how much Christ had been with me through my difficult, lonely childhood.
As I strengthened my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I realized that things with my mom needed to change. I knew then that He had been with me throughout my childhood and that He would be with me as I tried to mend my heart and forgive my mom.
My mom and I decided to attend counseling, but she soon stopped coming. Once again, I was left alone, wondering if she even cared about me. But once again, Christ did not leave me alone.
As I continued to attend, He helped me change my expectations for my mom. I knew that I couldn’t change her, but I could forgive her while establishing boundaries to protect myself from further harm.
Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said: “When hurt and pain are deep, repairing our relationships and healing our hearts is hard, perhaps impossible for us on our own. But heaven can give us strength and wisdom beyond our own to know when to hold on and how to let go.”
By far the most important part of my healing has been putting the Savior first in my life. I try to keep myself as close to Him as possible, and I’ve seen how strong His power really is.
To me, true happiness is a relationship with Jesus Christ. He can bring light and joy to even the darkest of places.
And, to my surprise, happiness is now also family. I’m married and have a daughter of my own, and I do all I can to be a good example to her and to help her feel the power of Christ in her life. Although my family relationships used to be a source of pain, Christ has helped me realize that I can have happiness in my family when He is part of it.
Elder L. Tom Perry (1922-2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Family is the center of life and is the key to eternal happiness.”
If you are currently experiencing hardship in your family or are trying to heal, lean on Christ. He’s the only person who truly understands, and He can help you forgive, heal, and know how to move forward with those relationships.
As you build a relationship with Christ, He will be your foundation.

Growing up, I often heard people in church say, “Families are forever,” and I’d think to myself, “Sure. If I lived in so-and-so’s home, that would be easy to say.” But I did not come from an ideal family background.
I was adopted and an only child. My mother was an alcoholic, which contributed to my parents’ divorce when I was five. My father raised me alone from then on.
I joined the Church on my own when I was in fifth grade, which introduced the challenge of being the only member in my family. My father supported my participation in the Church to the extent that it helped him in his efforts to raise a moral, drug-free daughter.
By the time I was in high school, he was gone on business trips the majority of the time. He left every Monday morning and came home every Friday night for all but five weeks one entire year. Several families in our stake opened their homes to me when my father traveled.
However, there was one major problem. The more time I spent in these good, Latter-day Saint homes, the more my own home life seemed to fall short. Great Mormon families doing what seemed to be all the ideal things a family should be doing surrounded me. Inside I was frustrated and even dissatisfied.
About this same time my father began to challenge me about the things I believed. When he started to attack my testimony, I felt I just couldn’t take it anymore, so one day I went to see my bishop. I must have wanted someone to side with me or give me sympathy because (as I saw it then), my dad wasn’t as great as other dads since he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint. My bishop said he’d be happy to meet with me the following week after church, but he wanted me to do one thing before our meeting: to go home and make a list of 20 things I admired or appreciated about my father.
I was sure he hadn’t understood why I’d asked for this meeting. Didn’t he realize that I was having a problem because there was so little to appreciate anymore? But fearing he was half-serious, I made half an effort. After a half hour, I only had five things on my list. I figured that proved my case, and tucked it in my scriptures for my appointment with the bishop.
When I returned to the bishop’s office the following week, he invited me in and immediately asked if I’d completed my assignment. I told him I had started and showed him my short list. He responded by telling me that he’d be happy to discuss anything I wanted, at length, but first I had to complete my assignment. He asked if I would like him to reschedule an appointment for the following week. Anxious for some relief from the many pressures I was dealing with at home, I made another appointment and left.
Saturday night rolled around, and I realized I still hadn’t made the list. I decided I’d better do it if I was going to get anywhere with the bishop. Then I remembered a conversation I’d had with a friend that week. She asked me why I didn’t seem emotionally “messed up” because of my parents’ divorce. I thought back on how much effort my father had made to keep me out of the center of the ugly part of the divorce, and, while talking to my friend, I realized for the first time what a tremendous gift that was. It became the first sincere thing I’d written on my list.
Then I remembered how hard my father had fought to keep me in a time when fathers were rarely granted custody of their children. I thought how different my life would have been if I’d had to grow up with my alcoholic mother. Tears of gratitude streamed down my cheeks. This too was added to my list.
And the list grew on and on. At nearly 1:30 in the morning, I looked down at my list of 69 reasons why I felt so blessed for the wonderful father Heavenly Father had given me.
After church the next day my bishop invited me into his office and asked how my week had been. I told him it had been a good week, and that I wasn’t really sure there was a reason for us to meet any longer. When he inquired as to why—though I hated to admit it—I told him it was because of “the list.” I pulled out my list and shared with him what a wonderful man my father was.
My dear bishop taught me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned in life: no one has the perfect situation. But it is up to us to make the most of that situation and help wherever necessary. With my dad, should I focus on the majority that is good or the minority that could still use a little improvement? My bishop helped me realize that when I am discouraged, I can always think about—or maybe even list—the positive things in my life.

Several years ago, while I was serving as president of the Fiji Suva Mission, some missionaries had an experience which reinforced in them the converting power of the Book of Mormon. On a hot and humid day, two elders arrived at a home in a small settlement in Labasa.
The knock on the door was answered by a weathered man who listened as the missionaries testified of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. They gave him a copy and invited him to read and to pray to know, like them, that it is the word of God. His reply was brief: “Tomorrow I return to fishing. I will read it while at sea, and when I return, you may visit me again.”
While he was away, transfers were made, and a few weeks later, a new companionship of elders returned to visit the fisherman. By this time he had read the entire Book of Mormon, had received confirmation of its truthfulness, and was eager to learn more.
This man had been converted by the Holy Ghost, who witnessed of the truth of the precious words on every page of events and doctrine taught long ago and preserved for our day in the Book of Mormon. That same blessing is available to each of us.

In a faraway country many years ago there lived a king who was very unhappy. He had much land and many servants. He had many riches and fine clothes and fast chariots. But he was not happy.
One day the king said, “Perhaps I would be happy if we changed the color of the velvet hangings in the throne room. Royal blue might be a better color.” And all the servants in the royal palace ran to change the color of the velvet hangings in the throne room.
When this was done the king sat on his throne and looked at the beautiful blue folds of the shimmering velvet hangings, and he liked them. But he was not happy.
Perhaps if I had white rabbit fur on my royal robe, that would make me happy, thought the king. So all the king’s trappers scurried around and caught enough rabbits to trim the royal robe with rabbit fur. Then the king sat on his throne dressed in the royal robe trimmed with rabbit fur and the people all admired him. But he was not happy.
Said the king, “Perhaps if I had six horses instead of four to pull my chariot through the streets, then I would be happy.” The servants in the fields brought in another span of fine white horses for the king’s golden chariot, and the king rode through the streets with six horses pulling his chariot. Although the people smiled and waved to him, the king still was not happy.
One day a wise man said, “Oh, king, there are many people in your kingdom who have not half as much as you and yet they are happy. Perhaps if you could wear the shirt of one of them, it would make you happy too.” The king thought about this suggestion and decided that it was a good idea. So he dressed in some old clothes and left on foot to travel throughout his kingdom, seeking a man who was perfectly happy.
The first man he came to was fishing from a small boat on a beautiful blue lake. The king beckoned to him and the man rowed to shore. “Are you happy?” asked the king.
“Of course,” said the man.
“Are you quite sure you are perfectly happy?” asked the king again.
“Well,” said the man, “if I had a bigger boat I could go out farther and get bigger fish. Then I would be even happier.”
“Too bad,” said the king and went on.
The next man he met was chopping wood in the forest with a large axe. “Are you happy?” the king asked.
“Of course,” said the man.
“Are you quite sure you are perfectly happy?” asked the king.
“Well,” said the woodcutter, “if I had a saw that would run by itself and do the cutting faster, I would be happier.”
“Too bad,” said the king.
The next man he met was plowing a field with a hand plow and a single golden ox. The sun was shining, the farmer was whistling, the birds were following in the furrows behind him, and little breezes lifted the grass along the bank where his plow went.
“Are you happy?” called the king.
“Yes,” said the man as he went whistling along.
“Are you perfectly happy?” asked the king. “Don’t you wish you had a fine team of horses to pull your plow?”
“No,” said the man. “I like the easy pace of my faithful friend, and I like to smell the good air. I enjoy watching the rich earth turn into furrows, and it gives me pleasure to whistle along with the birds.”
“Aha,” said the king to himself. “Here is a perfectly happy man.” Walking up to the farmer the king asked, “Where is your shirt that I may borrow it?”
“Oh,” said the happy man, “I have no shirt, for I need none. The sun is warm, the plowed earth is soft to my feet, the breezes keep the air sweet, the birds sing with me as I walk, and I am perfectly happy.” Then the man started down another row.
“Wait,” said the king. And he took off his shirt and laid it on the ground. He put his hand to the plow and worked all day with the man. The sun warmed him, the birds sang to him, and the man talked to him of the good and beautiful things of the earth.
And the king was happy.